Chapter Twenty-Two




Amazingly enough, William’s face seemed to look even worse the following morning than it had the night before. Then again, perhaps it was merely the bright morning sunshine streaming through the dining room windows and illuminating every cut, every bruise and every swollen place on his face that made him look so terrible. At any rate, Buffy winced when she saw him, and Anne, who after all had not been prepared for this the night before, shrieked.

“William!” she said in horrified tones. “What on earth has happened to you?”

He edged into the room slowly, and Buffy could see from the way he eased down into his chair that his ribs were causing him pain. Damn it. She should have made him put ice on them, too.

“Nothing happened,” he said softly and proceeded to divert her with the same story he had given Buffy the night before. However, unlike Buffy, Anne seemed to see nothing odd in the excuse of falling on ice; or if she did, she kept her suspicions to herself.

When it became clear that his mother was not going to dispute the story, William quickly changed the subject.

“What of things here?” he asked. “Has everything gone well in my absence?”

Anne shot a glance at Buffy, who looked away guiltily.

“We—ell…” she said slowly. “Things have been rather fine, I think. Although, we certainly did miss you while you were away.”

“How has your cough been? Has Dr. Gull been looking in on you as I asked?”

“Oh, yes. He has been quite attentive. And the new syrup seems to be working very well, doesn’t it, Elizabeth? I do not think I have had a night of unbroken rest since the doctor prescribed it.”

“That is wonderful.” He was obviously struggling to keep his eyes from falling to Buffy, and neither woman failed to notice it. His mother looked a little exasperated and a lot amused by this lack of attentiveness to her. She took a sip of tea and then threw an incongruous—and not entirely innocent—smile at her son.

“Well, we are certainly pleased to have you with us. Aren’t we, Elizabeth? And a few days early at that. Was everything fine at home?”

“Quite all right,” he answered. “This year’s seeds have been bought, and since some of the tenants are quite behind on their rents I negotiated with them to forgive the money past due if they would do the planting free of charge.”

“What does that mean, ‘free of charge’?” asked Buffy. She meant it for an idle question, but suddenly both the Hartleys were staring at her in surprise. As a rule, women were not interested in the mechanics of business. Nor were they encouraged to be. Still, William seemed more than happy to explain it to her.

“Generally the tenants work our lands as well as their own,” he explained. “They receive a share of the profits for their labor, and we don’t have to bother with hiring farm hands, so this benefits us both. However, it was a poor growing season this past year, and they hadn’t a great deal to harvest from their fields or ours. A good many of them could not pay the rent, or they could pay only part of it. It was not their fault they had not enough money. I told them I would forgive their debts if they would forego their share of the profits from this year’s crops. Of course, they will still be earning income from the harvest of their own rented land. If all goes well, they will earn enough from this to pay their rents and provide for themselves.”

“That was very nice of you.”

He flushed and looked pleased. “Of course, I could not allow all the men to do that; some were not trustworthy enough. As for the rest, I am sure they will do very well.”

“So, after the crops are harvested what do you do?”

“It depends. Most of it we ship to London to sell. Some of the grains are kept back in order to feed horses and livestock.”

“Who does the selling? Do you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Not I. There is a hired man that handles most of the negotiations with buyers. Though of course I have the final word on prices and such, I’m afraid I do not enjoy business matters enough to pursue them full time.”

Buffy took a bite of her toast. “Do you make a lot of money at it?”

Though she did not realize it, Buffy had just broken two rules of etiquette. She had spoken with her mouth full and asked him a question about money. William didn’t seem to mind or even to notice, but Anne frowned.

“Elizabeth!” Her voice was stern. “I don’t think you should be bothering him with such questions. Business matters are no concern for a lady.”

Buffy sighed.

So much for showing an interest in his work. Are women allowed to have a brain at all in this stupid society?

“She may ask questions if she wants,” William said mildly. “There is no harm in it, and certainly she is bright enough to understand.”

“I am sure I did not mean to insinuate she lacked the intelligence to comprehend,” answered Anne. “However, dear, you must concede that a lady should not trouble her mind in such matters as business. It is not her place to do so.”

“She is a lady,” snapped William. Suddenly, he looked very annoyed. “And she may ask all the questions she likes, on this subject or any other.”

Buffy was shocked. She had never heard him speak to his mother that way. However, Anne seemed neither surprised nor offended. Rather, she looked at her son with something akin to pity.

After a moment’s awkward silence, Buffy reached across the table and plucked at William’s sleeve. “You’re not eating.” Her tone was determinedly cheerful, and his face relaxed into a smile.

“I—I haven’t much of an appetite this morning.”

“You never have much of an appetite,” she answered playfully. “Now, quit staring at me and eat!”

Dutifully, he picked up his fork. However, his eyes remained on her for the rest of the meal.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




“It seems that she has caused you a bit of trouble.”

Slowly, William looked up from the book he was reading. His mother was staring at him steadily, her knitting needles lying idle in her lap. Elizabeth was upstairs; she had an appointment with the dressmaker. They were alone in the parlor.

He tilted his head at his mother, carefully scrutinizing her face. “I am not certain I know what you mean.”

It was a careful answer, and both of them knew it. Anne looked at him sadly.

“Miss Summers, of course. Elizabeth. Is she not the reason for your injuries?”

Had he not been so shocked, William might have thought of something to say, some excuse. No, not an excuse. An explanation. However, she had caught him utterly off guard, and he could think of nothing—nothing—except the bald, terrible truth.

“I suppose one could say she is, though only by virtue of the fact that some of our so-called society ‘gentlemen’ have been making vulgar insinuations of her.”

“William—”

“It is wrong of them to do so,” he interrupted. “And I had no choice but to put a stop to it. It was not Miss Summers fault; she has done nothing to draw such malevolence.”

“Hasn’t she?”

Anne’s tone was kind, but it angered William that she should question his beloved. He lashed out at her. “No, she has not!”

“Then, you don’t consider that her behavior in society has, perhaps, attracted the wrong sort of interest? That she might have done things to make people believe she is not quite a lady?”

“How could you even suggest—” His voice was shaking with rage.

“Sweetheart, you haven’t any idea the things that have gone on in your absence—the trouble Elizabeth has gotten herself into.”

“Trouble—”

“Two night’s past she left the house quite late. So late in fact, that all of the servants were already in their beds. She said she went for a walk on the street in front of the house, although it was quite cold and I am not sure what possessed her to do such a thing. Regardless, her behavior did attract the wrong sort of attention that night, and she was assaulted.”

“Assaulted—?” His hands gripped the arms of the chair, and for a moment, he started to propel himself out of it. Only Anne’s firm hand kept him from panicking completely.

Is she all right? Was she—did he—”

“Thankfully, not. That is—she insists he did not. She says he was merely trying to rob her, and that he did not succeed. However, William…she is a beautiful young lady, and there are so many immoral men in this city. She might easily have been hurt. Her boisterous behavior is attracting their attention as well as society’s scorn. For some time, I have been aware that things are not well for you…that your affections for her are not favorably looked upon in London. That does not matter, so long as you are content with your lot. However, those same behaviors that you find vivacious and charming are bound to lead her to some harm. She must learn to behave like a lady at all times, so as not to attract their attention.”

He knew in his heart that his mother was right. Elizabeth was lovely and perfect, yet her natural exuberance was dangerous in a city such as this. Also—

She had been outside in her nightdress.

William felt suddenly ill at the thought. Sitting in the parlor the night before, she had told him that she was outside because she heard a noise. At the time, he had been too exhausted and distracted to take much notice of the story. Now he cringed at the recollection. How dangerous of her to explore strange noises on her own! At night, at that, and dressed in only her coat and a frail sleeping garment.

He thought back to the promise he made her, not to venture into the city at night alone. Did her troubles trigger that sudden concern for him? What exactly happened two nights ago?

He sank back into his chair, weak with fear and with anger. “I—I shall speak with her, of course,” he muttered. “We are very fortunate no great harm came to her. I will explain it to her. She mustn’t—”

“William, she needs more than just an explanation!” Anne’s voice was loving, but hard. He understood she must have been greatly worried by Elizabeth’s attack. She continued, “You must be firmer with her in the future. You have been so indulgent of her, as of late. She has gotten into the habit of doing what she likes, and saying what she likes. It is not ladylike, and is sure to cause her some trouble. Not to make mention of—” She hesitated.

He looked up from the floor.

“What?”

“You seem so very…fond…of her. And she of you. I assume that you hope this affection will lead you to marriage. Yet if you leave things as they are, you will find yourself with a willful and disrespectful wife, full of habits that must be whipped out of her with more or less discomfort and trouble, later on.”

Whipped out of her. He flinched at the mere mention of it. Yet he knew what his mother said was correct. It was a man’s responsibility to ensure that his wife was decorous and a credit to him. It was a man’s privilege to achieve those means by any way he saw fit. Many men hit their wives; he knew that. Even his own father had been known to discipline his mother when she was disobedient. Never cruelly and she had not seemed much disturbed by it. But…

He could not imagine handling Elizabeth’s soft, white flesh with anything but tenderness. He could not imagine replacing the laughter and love in her eyes with tears.

“I would never…”

He did not finish, but Anne smiled sympathetically and he knew she understood. She put a hand to his knee and patted him gently. “You won’t have to, dear. Not if you begin straight away. Not if you are quite assertive with her. It is for her well-being that I tell you this. Her joie de vivre is charming, but it might well lead to her being hurt. If you speak with her now…”

“If I speak with her now…” he echoed hollowly.

“…you won’t have to be concerned about her in the future.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




Thank God, that was finally finished.

Buffy waited until Mrs. Simms had gathered her sewing basket and departed. Then, she jumped off the cushioned footstool that she had been standing on while the seamstress basted a hem, and she moved toward the door.

Almost immediately, she jumped back in surprise.

William was standing in the doorway.

She gasped and then laughed. “God, you startled me! We’ve got to stop meeting this way.”

He did not smile, and hers quickly faded.

“William, what’s wrong?”

He looked dazed, a little uneasy. “I was—I—I wanted—”

“What?”

He stepped into the room, moving so suddenly that Buffy had to jump to the side so he wouldn’t run into her. Abruptly, he pulled up and turned on his heel to face her.

“Why were you outside, last night? It was so late. Why were you outside, wearing—?”

“Wearing what?” She was completely baffled. He blushed.

“Wearing—wearing your—your—sleeping—”

Although he did not finish the sentence, finally it dawned on her what he was trying to say. Her nightdress. He wanted to know why she was running around outside in the middle of the night without any decent clothing. A valid question, but one she had no idea how to answer.

You lie enough as it is. For once, why not tell him the truth?

Revolutionary thought, that. Since nothing better came to mind—and since she was in fact growing quite tired of lying to him—she decided to tell him the truth. Part of the truth, anyway.

“I told you why, William. I heard a noise. I had my window open, and—”

“Why?” His voice was so soft she could barely hear him. She moved in a bit closer.

“What?’

“Why was your window open?”

Then she knew. Like a blow to the head, she knew that Anne had told him. Buffy wanted to be angry with her, but she could not quite manage it. Perhaps because she knew that for better or for worse, Anne had only told him because she cared. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.

“I have a feeling you already know why.”

He swallowed and looked away.

“Tell me about it.”

“About—”

“The assault. Tell me about the assault. Tell me why you were outside in the predawn cold. My mother said that you told her you were taking a walk. Is that true? Were you—?”

It was odd. The truth was so hard to muster, yet once spoken it made her felt better. Buffy drew a breath and pulled her shoulders back, mentally preparing herself to do more of it.

“No.” She said it softly, simply.

“Then, why? Why in God’s name would you be out there? Tell me!”

Sweetheart, you have no idea how badly I want to…

“I—I don’t know if I can tell you. I don’t know if you’ll understand—”

“Perhaps not, but I implore you to try.”

It was on the tip of her tongue, the truth. It had a bitter taste, coppery like blood. She thought that if she could just spit it out, then everything would be all right between them. But how could she spit it out? How could she burden him with all that?

“I was worried about you,” she said finally. It was only part of the truth, but it was all she felt she could give him. “I was worried about you, and…and for some reason I thought that I could fix it…”

“Fix what, Elizabeth?”

“Whatever it was that went wrong between us. Whatever it was that left me thinking you were somehow in danger.” She looked him in the eye, her words growing stronger. “I did lie to your mother, William. I wasn’t just walking up and down in front of the house. I was halfway to Mayfair, on foot. I had walked all night. I was looking for…something.”

His eyes never left hers; she had him spellbound.

“Looking for what?” he whispered.

“For the thing that was going to hurt you.”

She thought that he would question her further along those lines, but he did not. Instead, he focused on the attack.

“What happened while you were walking? A man came upon you…”

“Yes.”

“Was he trying to rob you?”

“No.”

A single word, but she knew from the pained look on his face that William understood implicitly. He clenched his jaw.

“He wanted to interfere with you?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t seem to look at her, then. He turned his face away.

“Did he succeed?”

“No. I fought him off.”

He exhaled deeply, and she could almost feel his relief. When he turned back to face her she could see it—so profound as to be almost painful. She traced the edge of his lapel with her fingertips.

“It’s all right, William”

He shook his head. “If something had happened to you…if something did…”

She leaned up to kiss his bruised face. William dropped his head a little lower, nuzzling at her nose and her cheek. Then lower still, until his lips finally found hers.

“Nothing happened,” she murmured into his mouth. “Nothing…”

He made a soft sound, an expression of relief. But he did not stop kissing her. Time after time, his mouth captured hers. They were soft kisses but passionate: his tongue laving against her bottom lip, barely seeking entry into her willing mouth. Tenderly, he caressed her, explored her. And she, for once willing to relinquish control, let him.

Slowly, the kisses grew deeper and he dared more, touching his tongue to hers. Lightly at first and then deeper, his mouth opened wide and hungry. When she tightened her arms around his neck, he pushed his body in eagerly and pressed it against her.

By now, they were both panting, and she could feel the hard length of his erection against her hip. She wanted to put her hand to it, but she knew better than to try.

It was a good thing. After another moment, he pulled away.

“I—we must return to the parlor,” he whispered guiltily. “Mother will think—”

She nodded and touched his cheek tenderly. When he offered his arm to lead her away, she took it.

Restraint, she thought as they descended the staircase. I can do this. I can.

But she wasn’t sure if she really believed it or not.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




The library door was slightly ajar, the room warm with the glow and the heat of the hearth. William was sitting on the sagging divan in the middle of the room, slumped down in an informal pose that, for him, was quite unusual. This position had more to do with the throbbing pain in his chest than any desire for relaxation.

Elizabeth knocked on the doorframe shyly. When he twisted his head around to look at her, she gave him a small wave.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Do you mind if I come in?” There was hesitance in her voice, even a little embarrassment. He knew that she was thinking about their last encounter in this room.

“Of course, I do not mind,” he said. The answer, while immediate, was a little self-conscious. He was thinking about that night, too.

William straightened up when she stepped around to sit next to him, but he flinched as he did so. Elizabeth noticed this immediately.

“Still hurt?” She touched the side of his chest lightly.

“Only just a bit.”

He winced at the pressure of her fingertips, yet he could not quite bring himself to pull away. Her touch was so gentle, so loving. If it was uncomfortable on his injured ribs…well, that was but a small price to pay.

“Would you like me to get you some ice?”

Her eyes were so soft he wanted to get lost in them. He slumped again, pushing his chest down until it was beneath the full flat of her hand. He couldn’t help himself.

“No…” he whispered in answer to her question. “Truly, I will be fine.”

Without lifting her hand, she slid it over to the middle of his chest. Her fingers rested lightly against the place where his shirt buttons began, below his open collar.

“Do you think they could be broken?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.” He shifted, trying to ease the ache that was building between his legs. The response to her nearness—her hands—

“Can I look to see?”

He felt shocked by her request. It was as indecent for him to expose his chest, as it would be for her to expose hers. Then again, she had put her hands on him. She had done things no other lady would do. Still, it was wrong of him even to think of it. Certainly, it was out of the question to do it.

Then why did he say yes?

She undid his buttons slowly, all the while searching his eyes for some sign he might be changing his mind. He didn’t change his mind. Although embarrassed and ashamed, he could not bring himself to stop her.

He did not want to stop her.

William closed his eyes when he felt the edges of his shirt part. She eased them further open, and he felt her slide a hand underneath, prodding gently at the puffy bruises on his ribcage.

“Can you breathe okay?”

He couldn’t speak; he nodded.

“I think it’s all right then,” she whispered. Her voice was as soft as her eyes, as soft as the hands that were now caressing the uninjured parts of his torso.

He arched his back, leaning into the fingers that were rubbing his shoulders and his neck, stroking a line down the center of his chest to trace the contours of his abdomen. The ache had become a need so powerful he felt almost maddened by it. He twisted his lower body, trying to hide the dreadfully apparent bulge in his trousers.

Seemingly oblivious to his predicament, Elizabeth leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the bare flesh of his stomach. He gasped at the unexpected pleasure of it, also at the shame. She did not stop, but continued kissing her way up his belly—up his chest and his neck—until she reached his mouth. She was between his legs now, rubbing her pelvis in languid circles against his erection. Her lips hovered over his.

“Do you like it when I touch you?” she whispered.

“Yes.” He was panting. Pleading.

“Then I’ll keep doing it.”

One by one, she undid his fly buttons and reached her hand inside…

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




William bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, trying desperately to stifle the groan as it tore from his throat. It didn’t work. He stood leaning forward, one hand braced against the bedroom wall and the other wrapped around his erect member. He climaxed with such intensity that he felt almost sick with the release. When it was over, he was trembling.

He had been fighting the urge all afternoon, sitting in the parlor and looking at her. She was so lovely that day, wearing his favorite dress—simple and perfect, the color of claret—and on her wrist was his claim to her. Her hair was pulled into an elegant twist at the back of her head, but some of it had escaped, so that several loose, curling tendrils followed the curve of her slender neck. She was so beautiful, so desirable. The fact that she was sitting only ten feet from him and he could not touch her was maddening. Hours on end sitting there—wanting her—

He'd barely made it into his room--barely been able to shut the door behind him--before he surrendered to his fantasies. He couldn't be bothered to lie down, couldn't even be bothered to lock his door. He was that hard, that desperate for release.

Finally succumbing to the desire was only a fleeting pleasure for him. When he came back to his senses to find himself standing there, covered in his own spendings and holding his softening penis in his hand, he felt mortified. Those thoughts he had of her during that appalling act. That sordid fantasy—

He bowed his head, allowing his brow to rest against the cool wallpaper as he slowly pulled his hand from his trousers. There was an ache in his chest; he felt almost like weeping.

“What is wrong with me?”

But from the darkness of the empty room, there came no answer.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~