The Duke's Bidding

Chapter 24

He was entirely too close. A mere inch and their noses would be touching. She loved how his eyes crinkled at the edges. This man smiled often. Was she ever going to get the upper hand in their relationship? Mortified, Elizabeth pushed past him, grazing his shoulder as she escaped the confines of his gaze.

"How long have you been waiting here anyway?"

"For some time now," John said.

He didn't elaborate, but it wasn't every day that he came face to face with someone sneaking about his home.

"But you were—" she stopped. Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip, a long-forgotten habit. John was in the ballroom earlier so he could not have known the extent of her search. She decided there was no reason for her to admit to it all. "I hope you were not waiting too long," she conceded.

"Oh no, just long enough to discover you in your current state of—dishevelment." John said pointedly.

Elizabeth crossed her arms, her chin high, and stared him down. She was desperate to exude confidence and show him that she possessed gumption beyond her years. "So much for being a gentleman. Did you forget what is considered proper etiquette for conversational topics with young ladies?"

John smirked, "I don't think you are in a position to lecture me on proper decorum. Especially—well—you know." He waved in her immediate direction, dismissing her bravado as he reminded her of her lack of proper clothing.

"Touché," she muttered. "It isn't exactly like I have a—choice!" She had barely stopped herself from stomping her foot with a fit of temper. What did one have to do? Spell it out for him? I am basically trapped in this room. No one in their right mind would venture out without the proper clothing.

"You are a guest here and can come and go as you please," John said as a matter of fact.

"No, I can't," Elizabeth sighed. Apparently, she did have to tell him. Men! Savages, the lot of them. "I don't have anything to wear—beyond the basics that is." Her voice lowered, as if discussing this was ebbing her resolve.

"Oh—I had not realized," John said sheepishly. John should have remembered, that first night he spent a considerable length of time removing jewels from her clothing, destroying them in the process. "My apologies." He tilted his head to the side. "That was—remiss of me. I will speak to Mrs. Watson and have her procure the clothing you need."

If there was a time that Elizabeth specially felt the need to be swallowed into the woodwork, this was it.

What do you say when the man agrees so readily with you? He is trying. That was something at least. "Was there a reason... why are you here?" Elizabeth asked.

John strode to the side table and grabbed the two novels, "I came to deliver these, but by the looks of it, you have found your way to the—" He perused the stack of books more closely. He was going to say the library, but he would have been mistaken. The books were from his old room, the one at the end of the hidden staircase.

"Do tell, where did you find these books?" John said knowingly. He had found his intruder after all. She would have to confess being in the loft.

Elizabeth detected a change in his tone. He was asking a question but she was sure he already knew the answer. "All right, if you must know, I went exploring the hallways on this floor," she explained. Better to stay as close to the truth as possible. "I happened to stumble into an old passageway. There was a loft you see. I watched you, in the ballroom. On my way out, I followed the staircase and found my way up to another room. I found those in the loft," she pointed at the stack on the right. "And these are from the old nursery."

Her stand was unusual, it was almost as if she was daring him to challenge her explanation. There it was though, John thought. That single bit of a lie that would cause her downfall. She gave herself away when she mentioned the old nursery. "The old nursery you say? And how did you happen to know that the room used to be a nursery?"

Elizabeth was taken aback, visibly searching her mind for a plausible reason for her mistake. "The chamber looked like it could have been a nursery," she corrected. The room looked nothing like a nursery. In fact, it had not done so for years. She paused hoping he would accept her explanation. As he silently watched her, she forced herself to stay calm, appear innocent and convincing. The effect was lost on the man. John was not buying it, of course he would not. "Fine, if you must know, I have been here before. As a child! There! I have said it."

While this revelation may have be monumental for anyone else, John barely showed any surprise. "You don't say." He leaned against the desk, crossed his arms and waited.

What now? She didn't want the awkward silence to continue. "All right, truth be told," Elizabeth twisted the hem of her shirt, "I know the estate, it belongs to the Duke of Ashbourne. He was my father's closest friend." The silence continued. "I used to visit here—before, when the Duchess—" She swallowed her next words.

Initially, John intended to take a page from the Duke's tactical arsenal, staying silent until his victim confessed. It was his father's specialty, after all. The Duke would just wait and wait. John himself was never able to resist divulging all the glorious details of his schemes to his sire. Although he was determined to stay silent, the forlorn look on her face at the mention of his mother brought on a feeling of remorse and compassion.

Elizabeth witnessed the immediate change in him. John pushed off the desk and closed the distance between them.

Why is he approaching me? Her heart beat faster. Elizabeth backed up feeling trapped, "I was to—" Why am I still talking, revealing more? Resigning herself to confess all, Elizabeth rushed on, "If you must know, I was to marry—"

"Me." John said. Finishing her sentence, he further shortened the distance between them. The truth was finally out. She looked just as shocked as he was at his own admission. "Now Beth, do correct my recollections if you will," John said with humor in his twinkling eyes. "I do remember a resounding rejection of sorts, in the form of one flawlessly butchered ending to Handel."

"You remember?"

"Indeed. You were—" he paused at the memory, "—memorable." John smiled.

"You left," she said.

He shrugged. "I was stubborn, and the timing was wrong," he said. He reached out his hand and gently pushed a loose strand behind her ear.

He didn't have to say more. She knew exactly what he meant.

"Do you miss her?" she asked knowing full well how close he had been to his mother.

"Always."

The awkward silence that followed was pregnant with apprehension. What now? Should I change the subject? I shouldn't have brought up the Duchess. The silence is unbearable. Elizabeth, the ever-pragmatic shrugged. "I saw you fighting from the loft. Did it hurt to be thrown like a rag doll? Was it embarrassing?"

John couldn't help but laugh. She was something, all right. Trying to provoke his sense of pride just to snap him out of his reverie. He could now see glimpses of why the Duchess liked her so.