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  “That would be lovely. I shall send a note to my aunt first thing on the morrow. I shall want her to list the places she would have me see.”

  “You will have ample time before summer arrives.”

  He must think her silly, though he was being very kind.

  “She has two young children. I never expect a hasty response, yet she rarely leaves me waiting. In this case, I would not have her forget something important.”

  He began to laugh again, and her cheeks became even warmer, if possible. He possessed the most wonderful laugh, deep and rich. One could not help but be cheered by the sound.

  “I made the acquaintance of your aunt, Lady Matlock, at Madame Bonheur’s, a few days ago. She assisted me in my selection of a gown for the theatre.”

  “I believe my aunt is often found at her dressmaker’s.” He attempted to sip his tea, but it was too hot, so he set it down on a table to cool. “Georgiana and I have enjoyed a close relationship with our aunt since our mother died five years ago. She often calls on her way to or from Madame Bonheur’s shop.”

  “She is amiable,” said Elizabeth. “I enjoyed her company very much. Your cousin, Viscount Carlisle, and his brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam, escorted her home.”

  “Carlisle and I have always been close—like brothers.”

  “You are not close with the colonel then?” She closed her eyes and clenched a hand. His relationship with the colonel was none of her concern. “I apologise if I am intrusive. I simply wondered when you failed to include him.”

  “Pray, do not make yourself uncomfortable. I understand. Honestly, Richard and I are strikingly different. He is not what he seems.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “His manner was all that was proper when I met him, yet I shall keep what you have said in mind.”

  “I am certain you will hear tales of him, but in the meantime, I implore you not to trust him.”

  Her eyes widened, and she set down her tea to clasp her hands in her lap. “I thank you for your honesty, sir. I promise to heed your warning.”

  Nodding, he had just opened his mouth to speak when her husband entered followed by Mr. Darcy.

  “I do hope the two of you found something to speak of in our absence,” said her husband.

  Fitzwilliam turned in his seat to follow the entrance of the newcomers. “Elizabeth informed me of making the acquaintance of my aunt.”

  “Aah yes, I introduced them when I escorted Elizabeth to Madame Bonheur.”

  “You, in a dressmaker’s establishment?” questioned the elder Darcy.

  Her husband laughed as he took a seat beside her on the sofa. “I saw her to the dressmaker on the way to my solicitor’s office. When my business was concluded, Lady Matlock was kind enough to offer Elizabeth to return with them.

  “After my appointment, I travelled to the Lyceum. I have been told since the fire last month, the Drury Lane Company will be staging their productions there.”

  The younger Darcy sat forward in his chair. “I heard the same today at my club. Is it certain then?”

  The duke gave a definitive nod. “Quite certain, I reserved a box for Friday next. It will be the opening performance of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.” He glanced over to George Darcy and smiled. “Would you and Fitzwilliam care to join us?”

  Mr. Darcy looked to his son. “Would you care to see it?”

  “I would,” he said with a smile.

  Her husband beamed. “It is settled then. We shall attend the play, and after, we shall dine here.” He lifted his eyebrows when he turned to her. “Would that be agreeable to you?”

  Her hands held one another tighter to contain the surge through her body that occurred when her husband announced their outing. “I believe it will be an enjoyable evening. I would be happy to plan a meal after the event.” Now that she had hosted the Darcys once, doing so again should only make her more comfortable in the activity.

  Her husband clapped his hands in front of him. “I shall send a note to the Matlocks and Carlisle. Perhaps they would enjoy joining us as well.”

  The prospect of entertaining an earl, a countess, and a viscount in one dinner made her head spin. At least, her husband had not simply thrust a full dinner party complete with peers of the realm tonight for her first attempt. Mrs. Grigg would need to be told before Elizabeth retired for the evening; preparations would begin when they met in the morning.

  Once plans for the next week were finalized, the Darcys returned home, leaving her alone with her husband once more. As soon as the front door closed behind the Darcys, Mr. Hughes disappeared behind the door to the servants’ passage, and her husband turned to face her. He took her hand and gave it a swift kiss.

  “You planned a wonderful dinner. Thank you.”

  “I am glad you were pleased.”

  She stood stiff, unsure of what to make of him. His manner remained as friendly and engaging as when they first met, but he certainly was not what she expected a husband to be—not that she had much frame of reference beyond her parents. Her mother discussed marital relations prior to the wedding, but he claimed he was unable—not that she understood his meaning.

  The entire situation begged one to question why he desired a wife in the first place. After he came to her room on their wedding night, he had implored her not to speak of his problem to anyone. To this day, she had not even confided the truth of her marriage to her aunt, despite how deeply she wished she could. Aunt Gardiner could have explained what Elizabeth did not understand.

  “I wish to retire.” He bowed over her hand. “Sleep well.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly, while he disappeared up the stairs.

  She notified a footman she wished to speak to Mrs. Grigg. Her conversation with the housekeeper took but a moment, so she stopped in the library to search for a book. Perhaps reading would help her sleep. Twelfth Night was found with ease, and she held it to her chest with both arms as she walked silently to her bedchamber where Lalande waited to prepare her for the night.

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday March 22nd 1809

  Elizabeth stepped out of the carriage with the support of her husband’s hand and surveyed the building before her. The Lyceum was not as opulent as the Theatre Royal, but since the fire, the Lyceum was certainly grander than a pile of cinder.

  “Have you never been here before?” asked her husband, offering his arm.

  She shook her head but made certain her expression remained pleased. “No, I have not. My aunt and uncle have taken me to the Theatre Royal in the past, but my uncle did not seem inclined to attend an event here.”

  “Perhaps due to the variety of shows?” He glanced at the building and then back to her face. “For a time, it was used for a circus, then a concert hall, and last I had heard, Madame Tussaud displayed her wax portraits here.”

  Her chin hitched back a little. “Wax portraits?” How odd?

  “Yes, they resemble sculptures.”

  They began to stroll to the large doors as a footman followed.

  She laughed, glancing over as he watched her curiously. “I attempted to imagine my uncle in such an exhibit. He attends art exhibitions in order to keep my aunt happy. I do not think he would consent to a show featuring wax statuary. I do wonder if Lady Vranes would find them worthy of her time?”

  One side of his lips quirked as he disengaged his arm within the doors for the footman to remove his coat before the servant stepped forward to take her cloak. As soon as their coats were carried away, they started towards the stairs.

  They were only a few steps inside when her husband’s name rang across the hall. “Leeds!”

  “Aah, Sir Isaac,” her husband replied. “I do hope you and your wife are well.”

  “Yes, we are quite well, as you see.” Sir Isaac’s wife strolled up, and her husband’s arm tensed. “We heard you had returned to town,” said Sir Isaac, “but it seems we have not attended the same soirees.” The gentleman’s air was jovial, but his wife was another stor
y. She nodded to the duke upon her approach, then appeared to be interested in everything in the room but Elizabeth.

  Her husband leaned slightly towards the wife. “Lady Beatrice, I would like to present my wife, Her Grace Elizabeth Osborne, The Duchess of Leeds.” Lady Beatrice pursed her lips and crinkled her nose, appearing as though she had been made to drink dirty bathwater.

  She curtsied as Elizabeth did. “Your Grace,” she responded. She still never looked at Elizabeth’s face.

  Sir Isaac froze in place and swallowed hard. His head jerked to the side. “Ah! There are the Clarkes!” Sir Isaac glanced back to her husband. “Pray, forgive us, but we were to meet them here.”

  Her husband gave a curt nod. “Of course, we understand.”

  Elizabeth curtsied. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance.”

  Sir Isaac’s head bobbed. “Yes, we were pleased to make yours as well. I hope you both enjoy the play.”

  She pressed her lips together to prevent a giggle until they were far enough away. “He reminds me of Sir William Lucas.”

  “Yes, they have much in common.” His voice was lower than was his wont. “He is an agreeable fellow. I do not care to be in company with his wife.”

  “You did not appear pleased to see her.”

  “No, once upon a time, I protected Darcy from her schemes. She made no secret of her disappointment when his engagement to Lady Anne Fitzwilliam was announced. Lady Beatrice was the laughing stock of society for the remainder of that season.”

  “Why had she set her cap at Mr. Darcy, do you think?”

  “Her father married her off to Sir Isaac a year following Darcy’s marriage. Her father’s estate and a few other holdings were sold not long after. His debts were severe. I believe she coveted George’s wealth. The Darcys’ reputation for managing their assets is well-earned.”

  She peered over her shoulder at Lady Beatrice, who smiled as she spoke to whom Elizabeth assumed was Mrs. Clarke.

  “Your Grace, we are pleased to join you tonight.” Elizabeth turned at the familiar voice, smiled, and returned Lady Matlock’s curtsey. Lord Matlock and Viscount Carlisle stood at the lady’s side chatting with her husband, so Elizabeth removed her hand from her husband’s arm to stand a bit closer to the countess.

  “Your dress turned out lovely,” complimented Lady Matlock. “I still adore the colour.”

  Elizabeth glanced down at her new evening gown. The rich apple blossom red velvet clung to her chest with a very high waist before it flowed down in long, elegant waves. A delicate lace trim adorned the top of each tiny puffed sleeve at the shoulder. The lady on the fashion plate wore a feathered monstrosity, but Elizabeth insisted on the excess velvet to wrap through her hair, fashioned like a Greek statue. A flower necklace of garnets graced her neck with matching drop earrings from the Leeds collection. Her mother would faint if she saw her.

  “Thank you, I am pleased with the result. I appreciate your help in selecting the material at the drapers that morning. I had not noticed the bolt in the corner.”

  Lady Matlock gave her a motherly smile. “That colour suits your complexion and hair very well. I heartily approve of the wrap over the feathers.”

  A hand rested upon her arm, drawing her attention to the Darcys who had joined their group. “It seems all of our party has arrived. Shall we make our way to the box?”

  Elizabeth nodded, and her husband led her towards the stairs, halting at the sound of someone calling Lady Matlock from behind.

  “There you are, Mother!” Colonel Fitzwilliam squeezed sideways through the last of the crowd and stopped before Lady Matlock.

  Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Fitzwilliam as he rolled his eyes to Carlisle. Carlisle closed his eyes and sighed.

  The colonel took no notice. “Harrison said you and father had come to the theatre, so I decided to join you.”

  Lady Matlock coloured and opened her mouth twice before she could utter a sound. “B . . . but, Richard, we are here at the invitation of the Duke of Leeds.”

  The colonel showed not the least appearance of remorse or embarrassment. “I had not realised.” His smile faltered slightly, but he recovered without pause. “It is no bother. I shall return to the barracks . . .”

  “Colonel, you are welcome to join us this evening,” said her husband in his usual voice. “I am certain we have a seat for you.”

  The earlier grin instantly returned to the colonel’s face, and he executed a quick bow. “I would be most grateful. I am so often at my duties. I rarely have a spare evening at the theatre with my parents.”

  Her husband merely dipped his chin before he resumed their way to the boxes. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s assessment of his cousin must have been correct. Her husband surely indulged the colonel out of respect for Lord and Lady Matlock since her husband’s tight expression certainly did not appear as though he was pleased to see the colonel.

  Once they arrived at their box, the colonel offered to procure refreshments, excusing himself for a glass of wine. They had arrived early, which allowed them to visit with the other guests before taking their seats. Lady Matlock strolled over and took Elizabeth’s arm, leaning towards her ear.

  “I am terribly sorry Richard has imposed himself.”

  His behaviour had indeed been rude. Lady Matlock, however, had been a kind friend to Elizabeth, and she knew from experience one could not always control or influence their most unruly of relations.

  “Please do not make yourself uneasy. He confessed himself that you did not invite him. I would not be comfortable if you were unable to enjoy the evening out of worry that you have offended us.”

  Lady Matlock took her hands and squeezed them firmly. “You are too kind. I fear I am too indulgent with him at times. You see, Nicholas—Viscount Carlisle—was actually the younger of a set of twins. His elder brother, Albert, died of a fever when they were but three.”

  How terrible it must be to lose a child! No one aware of her misfortune could blame Lady Matlock for her indulgence. Elizabeth pressed her hand to her chest to express her condolences, but Lady Matlock forestalled her by speaking first.

  “I hope I did not upset you too terribly. I wished you to understand if I seem to indulge my sons from time to time. I was devastated when Richard joined the army rather than taking orders. I do worry for him so. I fear I give in to him far more than I should.” There were tears in the countess’s eyes, but she swiftly choked them back. “Tonight is for us to enjoy. I apologise if I rendered the mood melancholy.”

  “Not at all, Lady Matlock.” Elizabeth squeezed the lady’s hand.

  “No more Lady Matlock. I should like you to call me Evelyn.”

  Elizabeth balked. She should address her as society dictated, should she not?

  “I insist,” said Lady Matlock.

  “But . . .”

  “I do hope we are friends. My friends address me as Evelyn.”

  Her husband and Lord Matlock joined them as Elizabeth nodded.

  Lady Matlock released her hands to clasp hers in front of her. “I intend to pay some calls early next week. Would you care to join me?”

  The duke grinned. “I think it is a wonderful suggestion, Elizabeth. You have received callers, but have not yet returned any of the visits.”

  The countess’s adamant eyes returned to hers. “Then let us plan on Monday. I am willing to wager we have a few of the same names on our lists.”

  She could not refuse such an earnest offer of friendship. “I would be pleased to join you. But, if I am to call you Evelyn, you should call me Lizzy.”

  The colonel’s voice heralded his return, and he stepped forward with his brother and the younger Mr. Darcy hovering nearby, which unsettled Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy wore an odd expression that made the hair on her arms stand on end, and whenever she happened a glance in his direction, he stared at her. What could he mean by such behaviour?

  A bell signalled the performance would soon begin. Her husband steered her towards the first row of chairs
, seating her beside Fitzwilliam, yet her husband did not sit to her opposite side. Instead, he took a seat almost behind her at the end of the row. He smiled at her, and she returned the gesture. Lady Matlock took the chair to her right with Lord Matlock to the opposite side of his wife. This was non-sensical. Lord Matlock sat beside his wife, but her husband was seated on an entirely different row? Would she ever understand him? He remained as much of a mystery now as when they first wed.

  Fitzwilliam tensed when Thomas seated the duchess to his right and peered over his shoulder as his godfather took his usual seat—to the back and at the end. As Fitzwilliam diverted his attention back to the stage, his eyes met those of the duchess, and he involuntarily gripped his legs. Why did he respond in such a way whenever she was near? The sensation disturbed him, to say the least, but never failed to be present whenever her wide eyes held his.

  In an effort to settle himself, he leaned towards her. “Have you previously attended the theatre in London?” Despite that strange sensation she caused, her conversation oddly calmed him. Perhaps it would now as well.

  “Yes, with my aunt and uncle.” Her eyes twinkled just as they had when she last spoke of her relations.

  “The aunt who hails from Lambton?”

  “The very one.” She responded in a quiet yet higher tone. “I am particularly close to them. Before my marriage, I spent a prodigious amount of time with their family.”

  “I do not believe you mentioned your aunt’s name when we discussed her last. I am curious to discover if I have ever made her acquaintance.”

  “Her father, a Mr. Harold Price, owned a small estate called Grovewood. My aunt was his only daughter, Miss Marianne Price.”

  He startled in astonishment. “I remember Mr. Price. I believe he passed on some time ago.”

  “Yes, it has been about ten years now. My aunt married my uncle the year prior to her father’s death.”

  “I met Mr. Price a time or two, but he did not have a daughter with him. He was a friendly man. I would imagine my father possessed more of an acquaintance with him than I.”