Marry Christmas. Jane Goodger

the Earl of Wellesley. He’s accompanied me here to keep me company. I have asked your mother to include him in any invitations I receive and she graciously has agreed,” he said. Elizabeth was hardly listening as he went on about his friend and his estate and for goodness’ sake how could she think of anything but her Henry who was standing just a few feet from her?

      The duke had finally stopped talking and was looking down expectantly at her. “I’m sorry, it’s so noisy here, what were you saying?” she asked. She should at least attempt to pretend interest in him.

      He gave her a strange look, then smiled briefly. “My friend, Lord Hollings, the Earl of Wellesley,” he said, obviously repeating himself. Elizabeth turned to find herself looking up into the face of a dashing fellow, with bright blond hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She quickly curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Hollings.”

      “I see Rand has dragged you to the pastries. He eats like a fiend and not an ounce of fat on him,” Edward said.

      Elizabeth forced herself to look at the two English men, though she felt as if her head were being pulled by a magnet in Henry’s direction. She could still see him from the corner of her eye and she longed to go over to him, just to let him know she loved him still. How awful it must be for him, she thought, to see her walking arm in arm with the man she was to marry. She dropped her hand then and dared to look his way, being careful to school her features before she did so.

      Oh, Henry, Henry. He looked so wonderful, but so very sad. He took a hesitant step toward her and her heart nearly beat from her chest.

      “A friend of yours?” said a deep voice by her ear. She started so quickly she nearly knocked heads with the duke.

      “An acquaintance,” she managed to say, chastising herself for allowing the duke to note her interest in another man.

      “Your acquaintance is coming over,” he said, then moved to face Henry as he approached.

      Elizabeth darted her eyes around, frantically looking for her mother. Please, please don’t let her mother see them chatting together as if all were right in the world. She realized that this might be the last time she would ever see Henry if Alva discovered them. No one had more social power than her mother and she would guarantee that Henry would not appear on anyone’s guest list for the rest of the Newport season.

      “Your Grace, Henry Ellsworth,” Elizabeth said, proud that even through her frayed nerves she sounded calm.

      “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Henry said smoothly. He nodded to her as if, indeed, she was simply another woman he slightly knew. And then, he grasped her hand and squeezed without looking at her eyes, pressing something into her palm. Elizabeth’s heart sang as she closed her hand over a folded piece of paper. No matter what it said, she would cherish it forever, for Henry had written it, had kept it with him on the chance he might pass it to her.

      She nodded genteelly, then turned back to the two peers, who were politely waiting for her attention, knowing she had managed to fool them and anyone else who had been looking. Though her heart ached with a terrible combination of joy and pain, no one would know. No one would ever know, she thought, smiling up at the earl.

      Rand clenched his jaw, his eyes glancing down at her still-fisted hand and he had the most curious urge to force her fingers open so he could read the missive. Now he knew why his lovely bride-to-be did not want to marry him. It was far worse than not wanting to marry a duke or not wanting to marry at all. She was in love with another man. For some reason, that thought bothered him far more than it ought. After all, hadn’t he told her just the day before that their marriage was nothing more than a way for him to get money and an heir? Perhaps it was the thought of her trying to be brave in the light of such a tragedy. While he hadn’t expected a wildly enthusiastic bride, he’d hoped for one who was not mourning a lost love.

      Rand longed to pull her away so he could speak privately to her. Obviously this Henry fellow was considered part of the New York Four Hundred else he’d not be among this crowd. He wondered why, when the two so obviously loved each other, they had not been allowed to marry. He made a mental note to find out more about the man who moved so easily among those gathered in the piazza.

      “Rand, did you know Miss Cummings speaks four languages?” Edward asked, apparently already smitten with his future wife. How she managed to be so charming to every man but him, he couldn’t fathom.

      “English, of course. French, German, and a bit of Italian.”

      “Very impressive, Miss Cummings,” he said, meaning it. He’d had no idea she was so educated.

      “My mother always stressed the value of education for women.”

      “Ah. So your mother is a student of Emmeline Parkhurst,” Rand said, referring to England’s most ardent suffragist.

      “She’s not so radical as your Mrs. Parkhurst, but she does admire her ideals,” Elizabeth said.

      “And what of you, Miss Cummings?”

      “I do believe women deserve the same rights as men. It makes no sense to me that we cannot vote,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not quite so enthusiastic as my mother. I am the product of her zeal, which meant for me long hours in the classroom learning tedious lessons while I longed to play outside,” she said, smiling.

      Rand had a picture in his head of a small girl with an unruly mop of hair sitting in a gloomy classroom being browbeaten by a tutor. “Like you, there were many times I wished to be anywhere but the classroom,” he said.

      “I think I’ll wander to the tennis courts, if you don’t mind. I play a bit myself and would like to see your American courts,” Edward said, smoothly removing himself from their company.

      “Would you care for some pastries?” Rand asked when Edward had left.

      Elizabeth looked at the table rather longingly, then seemed to abruptly change her mind. How, indeed, could she hold a plate and eat while clutching an illicit note? Again, Rand had to remind himself he should not be jealous of a girl he wasn’t even certain he liked. Strangely, he already felt possessive of her even though nothing had been formally settled between them. In fact, nothing informally had been settled either. Her parents had made the rather gauche offer, which he was, also rather gauchely, considering. Still, the fact she so ardently held a note from her lover while standing next to him was more than disconcerting.

      “Perhaps you should put the note in your reticule,” he suggested in an overly pleasant tone. She blushed scarlet, as he intended she should. She started to speak with a small shake of her head, as if she was about to deny having a note, but then she stopped.

      “That is a good suggestion,” she said, looking straight at him, as if challenging him to take the note away. And damn if he didn’t want to. She took the note, not bothering to hide it, and slid the pink-tinted paper carefully inside. Rand couldn’t help but wonder what sort of man used pink stationery.

      “I would ask that you not make a spectacle of yourself. Or of me,” he said, feeling uncharacteristic anger shoot through him. His anger must have come through in his voice, for she shot her chin up.

      “I have done nothing of the sort,” she said.

      “Accepting a note from another man while standing with your intended would qualify as a spectacle had even one other person seen what you did,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I am many things, Miss Cummings, but I am not a fool. Nor will I be made to look like one. I have come here in good faith, at the request of your parents, and I will not—”

      “Your Grace, if I might interrupt, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Astor,” Mrs. Cummings said.

      It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Mrs. Cummings that she may not interrupt, but good breeding prevented him from doing so. “Of course,” he said, looking quickly to Elizabeth, whose cheeks were flushed with anger, before bowing toward the acknowledged leader of the New York Four Hundred. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth clutch her reticule containing the precious note even