Almost Heaven Read online

  “My—my what?” Elizabeth gasped, so taken aback that her tight facade of dignity dropped, and for a split second she looked and felt like a child, forlorn and bewildered and trapped.

  “I believe you heard me.” Leaning back in his chair, Julius said brusquely, “I’ve narrowed it down to three men. Two of them are titled, the third is not. Since titles were paramount to your father, I shall choose the man with the highest rank who offers for you, assuming I have such a choice to make.”

  “How—” Elizabeth had to pause to gather her wits before she could speak. “How did you happen to select these men?”

  “I asked Lucinda for the names of any men who, during your debut, had discussed marrying you with Robert. She gave me their names, and I sent messengers to each of them, stating your willingness and mine—as your guardian—to reconsider them as possible husbands for you.”

  Elizabeth clutched the arms of her chair, trying to control her horror. “Do you mean,” she said in a strangled whisper, “you made some sort of public offering of my hand in marriage to any of those men who’d take me?”

  “Yes!” he bit out, bristling at her implied accusation that he’d not behaved in a manner befitting his station or hers. “Furthermore, it may do you good to hear that your legendary attraction for the opposite sex has apparently ended. Only three of those fifteen men expressed a willingness to renew their acquaintance with you.”

  Humiliated to the depths of her being, Elizabeth stared blankly at the wall behind him. “I cannot believe you’ve done this.”

  His open palm hit the desk like a thunderclap. “I’ve acted within my rights, niece, and in accordance with your wastrel father’s specific instructions. May I remind you that when I die, it is my money that will be entrusted to your husband and ultimately to your son. Mine.”

  For months now Elizabeth had tried to understand her uncle, and somewhere in her heart she comprehended the cause of his bitterness and even empathized with it “I wish you had been blessed with a son of your own,” she said in a suffocated voice. “But I am not to blame because you were not. I’ve done you no harm, given you no cause to hate me enough to do this to me . . . .” Her voice trailed off when she saw his expression harden at what he regarded as pleading. Elizabeth’s chin rose, and she clung to what was left of her dignity. “Who are the men?”

  “Sir Francis Belhaven,” he said shortly.

  Elizabeth stared at him in stupefaction and shook her head. “I met hundreds of new people during my debut, but I don’t recall that name at all.”

  “The second man is Lord John Marchman, Earl of Canford.”

  Again Elizabeth shook her head. “The name is somewhat familiar, but I can’t recall a face to go with it.”

  Obviously disappointed in her reaction, her uncle said irritably, “You apparently have a poor memory. If you can’t recall a knight or an earl,” he added sarcastically, “I doubt you’ll remember a mere mister.”

  Stung by his unprovoked remark, she said stiffly, “Who is the third?”

  “Mr. Ian Thornton. He’s—”

  That name sent Elizabeth jolting to her feet while a blaze of animosity and a shock of terror erupted through her entire body. “Ian Thornton!” she cried, leaning her palms on the desk to steady herself. “Ian Thornton!” she repeated, her voice rising with a mixture of anger and hysterical laughter. “Uncle, if Ian Thornton discussed marrying me, it was at the point of Robert’s gun! His interest in me was never marriage, and Robert dueled with him over his behavior. In fact, Robert shot him!”

  Instead of relenting or being upset, her uncle merely regarded her with blank indifference, and Elizabeth said fiercely, “Don’t you understand?”

  “What I understand,” he said, glowering, “is that he replied to my message in the affirmative and was very cordial. Perhaps he regrets his earlier behavior and wishes to make amends.”

  “Amends!” she cried. “I’ve no idea whether he feels loathing for me or merely contempt, but I can assure you he does not and has never wished to wed me! He’s the reason I can’t show my face in society!”

  “In my opinion, you’re better off away from that decadent London influence; however, that’s not to the point. He has accepted my terms.”

  “What terms?”

  Inured to Elizabeth’s quaking alarm, Julius stated matter-of-factly, “Each of the three candidates has agreed that you will come to visit him briefly in order to allow you to decide if you suit. Lucinda will accompany you as chaperon. You’re to leave in five days. Belhaven is first, then Marchman, then Thornton.”

  The room swam before Elizabeth’s eyes. “I can’t believe this!” she burst out, and in her misery she seized on the least of her problems. “Lucinda has taken her first holiday in years! She’s in Devon visiting her sister.”

  “Then take Berta instead and have Lucinda join you later when you go to visit Thornton in Scotland.”

  “Berta! Berta is a maid. My reputation will be in shreds if I spend a week in the home of a man with no one but a maid for a chaperon.”

  “Then don’t say she’s a maid,” he snapped. “Since I already referred to Lucinda Throckmorton-Jones as your chaperon in my letters, you can say that Berta is your aunt. No more objections, miss,” he finished, “the matter is settled. That will be all for now. You may go.”

  “It’s not settled! There’s been some sort of horrible mistake, I tell you. Ian Thornton would never want to see me, any more than I wish to see him!”

  “There’s no mistake,” Julius said with complete finality. “Ian Thornton received my letter and accepted our offer. He even sent directions to his place in Scotland.”

  “Your offer,” Elizabeth cried, “not mine!”

  “I’ll not debate technicalities any further with you, Elizabeth. This discussion is at an end.”

  4

  Elizabeth walked slowly down the hall and turned a corner, intending to rejoin Alexandra, but her knees were shaking so violently that she had to stop and put her hand against the wall to steady herself. Ian Thornton . . . In a matter of days she would confront Ian Thornton.

  His name whirled through her mind, making her head spin with a combination of loathing, humiliation, and dread, and she finally turned and walked into the small salon where she sank down onto the sofa, staring blankly at the bright patch of wallpaper where a painting by Rubens had once hung.

  Not for one moment did Elizabeth believe Ian Thornton had ever wanted to marry her, and she could not imagine what possible motive he might now have for accepting her uncle’s outrageous offer. She had been a naive, gullible fool where he was concerned.

  Now, as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, she could hardly believe she’d ever been as reckless—or as carefree—as she’d been the weekend she met him. She’d been so certain that her future would be bright, but then, she’d had no reason to think otherwise.

  Her parents’ death when she was eleven years old had been a dark time for her, but Robert had been there to comfort her and cheer her and promise her that everything would soon look bright again. Robert was eight years older than she, and although he was actually her half-brother— her mother’s son by her first marriage—Elizabeth had loved and relied on him for as long as she could remember. Her parents had been gone so often that they had seemed more like beautiful visitors who flitted in and out of her life three or four times a year, bringing her presents and then vanishing soon after in a wave of gay good-byes.

  Except for the loss of her parents, Elizabeth’s childhood had been very pleasant indeed. Her sunny disposition had made her a favorite with all the servants, who doted on her. Cook gave her sweets; the butler taught her to play chess; Aaron, the head coachman, taught her to play whist, and years later he taught her to use a pistol should the occasion ever occur when she needed to protect herself.

  But of all her “friends” at Havenhurst, the one with whom Elizabeth spent the most time was Oliver, the head gardener who’d come to Havenhurst when s