Beauty for Ashes. Dorothy Clark

      Justin leaned against the mantel and watched Elizabeth. She seemed fascinated by the Indian woman, who was shuffling about placing steaming plates of stew upon the table. For the first time she seemed unaware of him and he took advantage of the opportunity to study her closely. There was something about her—something that gnawed at the edge of his mind whenever he looked at her. What was it?

      The thought eluded him. Justin turned away in disgust, then, abruptly, turned back again. He searched her face, taking note of the delicate bone structure, the exquisitely arched brows, the long, curling lashes that threw sooty shadows across her pink tinged cheeks. An ache began deep inside him and spread throughout his whole being. How lovely she was. How—

      The door closed behind Little Fawn interrupting his thoughts. Just as well. The thought was a sour one. Justin looked down at the glass in his hand—the cider tasted sour, too. Everything was sour lately! He scowled and set the glass on the mantel. Silence filled the room.

      Elizabeth took a sip of her tea and risked a quick glance at Justin from under her lowered lashes. He looked as grouchy as a bear with a sore tooth! Why didn’t he say something? With a hand that was not quite steady she placed her empty cup back on its saucer. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something. But what? She groped around for a suitable topic of conversation but her mind seemed to have turned to mush. “Thank you, Miss Pettigrew.” She muttered the disgusted words under her breath and reached for the pewter pot to pour herself another cup of tea.

      “I beg your pardon.”

      Elizabeth jerked her gaze to Justin’s face.

      “Did I hear correctly? Did you say, ‘Thank you, Miss Pettigrew’?”

      “No.” There went that eyebrow again. The man must have the hearing of a cat! Elizabeth felt her face flush. “That is—yes. But not really.”

      “Well, which is it?” Justin gave her a cool look. “It can’t be both.”

      Elizabeth put the teapot down. “I did make the remark. I suddenly thought of Miss Pettigrew, and her name…slipped out.” She gave him look for look, though her cheeks were burning. “I said, no, because the remark was not meant for your ears.” There! That should put Mr. Justin Randolph in his place.

      Elizabeth rose to her feet and made a small business of brushing at some imaginary lint on her skirt while she composed herself. She had no intention of telling him why she had suddenly thought of— A deep-throated chuckle froze her in midmotion.

      “Miss Pettigrew. Yes, of course—Miss Pettigrew! I understand now.” Justin’s chuckle turned to full-blown laughter.

      Elizabeth gaped at him. “You know of her?”

      “Oh, yes indeed.” He grinned down at her. “Miss Pettigrew was the bane of my sister Laina’s school years. Let me see now…how did that go? Oh, yes.” He squared his shoulders and held his hands rigidly at his sides. “‘Miss Pettigrew’s Academy for Young Ladies. Proper deportment and appropriate conversation for all occasions.’” He relaxed his stance and chuckled. “Did I get it right?”

      “Yes!” Elizabeth fairly snapped the answer. It wasn’t that amusing!

      “And you feel that Miss Pettigrew was somewhat…er…lax in covering this particular situation in her teaching. Is that it?”

      Elizabeth stuck her chin into the air at his teasing tone and turned to the table. “I think remiss would be a better word! I certainly could not recall one gambit from her ‘Appropriate Conversation’ class…though I tried.”

      Justin laughed and walked over to hold her chair. “Do not judge Miss Pettigrew too harshly, Elizabeth. After all, this is an unusual occasion. And she did come to your conversational rescue in the end.”

      The starch went out of Elizabeth. Her lips twitched, then curved into a smile. “She truly did—though certainly not in the way that she intended.” She tilted her head back and looked up at Justin. He turned away and seated himself.

      “No, not in the way that she intended.” Justin picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of venison and lifted it in mock salute. “Nonetheless…to Miss Pettigrew.” He looked across the table at Elizabeth. “May she forgive us for the black eye.”

      Elizabeth laughed, picked up her fork and joined him in the foolish toast. “To Miss Pettigrew…may she never know!”

      The meal was a simple one, the room rough, but their conversation, once the ice had been broken, was interesting and lively. Justin suddenly realized, halfway through the meal, that he was enjoying himself. He found Elizabeth intelligent and sensitive, with a quick humor that caught him off guard and made him burst into laughter. It felt good. It had been a long time since he had laughed. And he liked her demeanor—liked! The word exploded through his mind. Liked! How could he so forget himself? He knew better than to allow Elizabeth’s personal charm to blind him to her true nature. He knew—

      The knock at the door interrupted his dark thoughts. He laid down his fork, grateful for the intrusion. “Yes?”

      “Your bags, sir.”

      “A moment.” Justin walked to the door and slid back the bolt. His groom stood just outside, outlined by the smoky candlelight of the common room.

      “Good evening, sir.”

      “Good evening, Daniel.” Justin’s gaze dropped to the bags the man was holding. “Put the bags there—against the wall.” He waved his hand to indicate a spot on the floor. “And fetch the carriage robes, we’ll have need of them.” The groom nodded and turned away. “And, Daniel—” The groom looked back. “See that the carriage is ready to go at first light. We have a great distance to travel tomorrow and I want no delays.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Elizabeth laid down her fork and rose to her feet with words of protest frozen in her throat as the groom walked away. She stared at the bags the man had brought and her heart started an erratic beating that left her breathless. Two bags. But she had only one. She lifted her gaze to Justin and her mother’s words surged into her mind— “They are all alike…they are all alike…they are all alike.” Reginald Burton-Smythe’s leering face swam toward her out of an approaching darkness. She tugged at the lace around her throat, trying to get more air, then clutched blindly for the table as her knees began to buckle.

      “Well, Elizabeth, you’ll by pleased to know—” Justin latched the door and turned back toward the table “—tomorrow’s ride will be— Elizabeth!” He leaped forward and caught her in his arms as her limp body slid toward the floor.

      “Let me go!” The darkness receded as quickly as it had come and Elizabeth fought furiously against the grip of Justin’s powerful arms. Terror lent her strength. “I said, let me go!”

      He lowered her onto the bed.

      “No!” The anguished cry burst from Elizabeth’s mouth. She wrenched herself free of Justin’s relaxed grip, threw herself across the bed from him, and scrambled to her feet. “No!” She leaned against the wall behind her, quivering with fear.

      “No?” Justin stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “No, what?”

      “Th-this.” Elizabeth waved her trembling hand in a sweeping motion through the air over the bed.

      “What are you—?” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You think I have designs on you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well you are mistaken, madam! Nothing could be farther from my mind!”

      The roared words were full of contempt. Elizabeth flinched, but held her ground. “I am not mistaken, sir!” Anger replaced her fear. She lifted her hand and pointed toward the door. “That is your bag with mine!”

      “Of course it is!” Justin glowered at her. “Is that the evidence on which you judge me guilty?” His voice lowered ominously.