Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice Read online

Colin wasted no time in assisting Miss Armistead to a standing position and refused to let go her hand until she had proven she was no longer in the least faint.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” she said quietly. “I am persuaded I don’t know what could have happened. One should think my sea legs would have been of more benefit to me in this instance, should they not?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  It was with some difficulty that Colin resisted the impulse to fall headlong into the depths of her emerald eyes. “I must take the full blame for your mishap, Miss Armistead, sea legs or no. Now, do feel free to lean against me as we depart,” he instructed as he took her arm. “We shall force ourselves to go slowly, shan’t we? Doubtless both carriages will have arrived out front once we gain the steps down to the street.”

  She followed his directions without comment and, though she leaned on him very little, she felt scandalously near. He thought how completely different was his life but a fortnight ago when he knew he should die of grief over his broken betrothal. It seemed but a blink of an eye ago and yet, here he was, very much alive and enjoying every moment.

  Their journey through the now voluminous crowds of the ballroom and down the stairs staggering with the weight of party-goers on their way up was not in the least conducive to conversation. The silence between them continued, however, as they waited in the chill night air for the carriages, which did not arrive as quickly as promised, to heave into view. However, once they had seated themselves in his comfortable coach lined with ruched gray satin, the squabs covered in petal soft velvet, and the door had shut behind them, Analisa ensured that it would be a most memorable ride.

  “So! I do believe I heard Colin give a date for his dinner party. Please say that it is an evening you are free, Miss Elizabeth,” Analisa urged.

  “I really couldn’t say for certain. Mama, do you agree that we ought to check with Aunt Augusta before we accept any invitations? She might have accepted one on our behalf for the same date and has not of yet divulged the matter to us.”

  “Very true.” Mrs. Armistead wagged her head sagely. “Lady Augusta would take it amiss if we were to accept an invitation without her approval. Not that she would disapprove of our dining at Lloyd-Jones House, to be sure,” she added nervously. “It is only a matter of being made sure she has not already accepted an invitation on our behalf for the self-same night, don’t you see?”

  “Yes, of course,” Colin assured them but he could not help but feel their protestations were on account of something else. He thought perhaps Miss Armistead would venture a more illuminating comment if there were a silence to fill. As such, when Analisa took a breath to speak, he squeezed her hand in his own as warning.

  The brief silence stretched on into an awkward breach and Colin wondered if perhaps he had got Miss Armistead all wrong.

  Finally, she drew a deep breath and spoke. “You have both been so very kind and attentive. I am persuaded Aunt Augusta shall understand should it be required to break an engagement for the sake of your party. I imagine her possible ire might be greatly reduced should she receive an invitation, as well. I am aware that having yet another lady to the party might lead to difficulties and yet I am persuaded you shall have no trouble finding enough gentlemen to balance the table should Miss Analisa be in attendance.”

  “An excellent notion, Miss Armistead,” Colin replied, “and expressed so prettily! I should be honored to add your aunt to the guest list. I have a few ideas of my own as to which gentlemen to invite, but I wonder if there are any you would most especially wish to attend?”

  Miss Armistead’s expression was difficult to read in the darkened carriage, but he could well enough detect the note of censure in her voice. “Certainly Miss Analisa’s assessment on the matter should be of far more use than mine. After yourself, I can have no reason to wish any other gentleman in attendance save my betrothed, who will not as of yet have arrived from India.”

  Colin admired Miss Armistead’s address. He admired, also, her appearance but owned that her admonishment stung. “Analisa, as you can see, I have been appropriately upbraided. I daresay I shall regret the question based on your response the last time I posed it, but, pray tell, whom should it please you to invite to balance out the ladies?”

  “I shan’t mock you again on account of Sir Anthony, have no fears on that score,” Analisa chirped. “Meanwhile, I do believe it far easier to call to mind the names of those I shan’t wish invited. Let’s see, I suppose we must ask four gentlemen to make the party even. We can’t ask Papa, as Mama will come along and then we shall be right back where we started.”

  “Shall I invite Lord Northrup just to tease you?”

  “Colin, no! If not for my comfort but for Miss Elizabeth’s. You mustn’t forget that now that I made it clear I shan’t have him, he shall be demanding her hand instead. I am persuaded she should find it not in the least pleasant or she would not have fobbed him off on me in the first place, is that not so Miss Armistead?”

  “Indeed, it is so,” she said, laughing, “but, pray, do not exclude him on my account.”

  “I believe Osterley and Plimpton should make excellent conversationalists,” Colin suggested. I plan to insist that the ladies from India share with us the stories of their adventures there, and the two gentlemen named should prove worthy foils in that endeavor.”

  In spite of the darkness, Colin knew Analisa wrinkled her nose in disdain. “Oh, pray, not those two! They battle between them as to who is to be allowed to speak most already as it is. Should you have hopes to allow anyone else the slightest moment to converse, they are quite, quite doomed. No, I believe you should ask Mountbank, Mr. Laraby and Billingham. I shall leave the fourth to you as long as it is not one of those two gossips.”

  Colin silently congratulated himself on his skill in bringing Analisa round to exactly the point he wished her to be. “Thank you, dearest. Now I know precisely whom I shall begin to consider as potential grooms for you.”

  “Oh, Colin, don’t be absurd! You know Mr. Laraby has been betrothed this age and Billingham is poised to offer for that Runyon girl.”

  “You are quite correct, Analisa, however, in spite of my respect for the vows of matrimony, a mere betrothal is no impediment should you desire to have him.”

  The silence that followed his remark was so thick he felt as if he might merely reach out and fill his hand with it. “I must beg your pardon, Miss Armistead, for such a clumsy remark. In light of my recent broken betrothal, of which I doubt not you have heard tell, and the honor in which you hold your current betrothal, I cannot have failed to offend. Please do me the kindness of viewing it in the light it was offered; as adulation for my sister of whom I think most highly, love more dearly, and for whom I wish the best of all things.”

  “I find I cannot doubt your love for your sister, sir; she is all things admirable as well as amiable.”

  “As are you, my dear Miss Armistead,” Analisa was quick to proffer.

  However grateful Colin felt for Miss Armistead’s words, he could not help but note how they failed to absolve him. “Perhaps it is arrogant to suppose my motives for refusing to honor the promise I had made to Miss Ponsonby should be of the least interest to any of you. However, I find I wish to speak of it, with your permission.”

  “By all means, sir,” Mrs. Armistead cried, “you have my leave to speak.”

  Though he would have preferred to know her daughter’s opinion on the matter, he pressed on. “Thank you. In truth, I should never have cried off on my account alone in spite of my having every reason to do so. If Analisa had been safely married prior to now, I still might have married Miss Ponsonby. As matters stood, I was not at liberty to make such a choice this season of all seasons. I wish Analisa to make the best match possible for her happiness and having Miss Ponsonby for a sister should have reduced her opportunities to literal ashes.”

  “But of course, you did just as you ought,” Mrs. Armistead declared. “It is my fervent opinion tha
t you have acted with honor, sir!”

  “Such is the world, Ma’am, that I could not treat both young ladies with honor despite my wish to do so.”

  “I hesitate to speak to the subject, Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” Miss Armistead said, “on the chance you are still in love with Miss Ponsonby, but I can only assume your own honor should prevent you from crying off if she, indeed, had been worthy of you.”

  Colin felt his heart fill again with gratitude at the generosity of Miss Armistead’s words. “You are correct in that she misled me, took advantage of me, and passed herself off as someone she is not. However, I did not wish to see her so publicly disgraced. I did believe myself to be in love with her, I must confess, but the depth of her betrayal put an end to such finer feelings. I hope that I might have found a way to overlook her offense if she had but confessed the truth to me at the outset of our association. The fact that she did not was that which I found so intolerable. Sadly, due to the manner in which her circumstances were made known, I had no hope of keeping it a private matter between the two of us. In the end I did the only thing possible, no matter the personal cost.”

  “Truly, Colin,” Analisa said, “I do believe you are well rid of her, the airing of her dirty linen, regardless. I am persuaded you only believed yourself to be in love while it is certain she did not love you nearly as well as you deserved.”

  “But, surely, there is more to marriage than romantic love,” Miss Armistead interjected. “What of regard, admiration, compatibility, friendship and objectives in common?”

  “I have been all of my life a single man, Miss Armistead, but I have observed many marriages. What you say is true, yet, you have left off one of the most important aspects, one that serves as the foundation for any successful relationship; that of trust. Without trust, there can be no faith in future happiness.”

  “I should happily applaud you, Colin,” Analisa said a bit smugly, “if you hadn’t allowed your disappointment in one woman to destroy your trust in all of her kind.”

  “Whatever can you mean? Do I not trust you?” In spite of his protestations, Colin knew his sister had a valid point. Had he not instantly mistrusted the motives of Miss Armistead and her mother from the moment they had met?

  “I am not at all the same thing and you know it. This silly pact you have with Sir Anthony to avoid all entertainments this season in order to keep your heart fortified against further injury is that to which I refer.”

  “We only hope to support one another in our mutual heartbreak,” Colin said as he put his arm around his sister and squeezed her shoulder as warning to mind her words.

  “Heartbreak! Heartbreak? Rebecca broke Sir Anthony’s heart. . what? Two seasons ago? It should have mended long since. Pray tell, you shan’t be so willing to eschew the company of women as long as he and over a woman who has proven to be even less deserving of your love than Rebecca was of his?”

  “I do not believe our cases to be in the least similar,” he replied with yet another warning squeeze for Analisa. “Sir Anthony’s proposal of marriage was rejected at the outset whilst Cecily and I spent months planning our lives together. If I were to mourn over the loss for twice as long as he has mourned Rebecca, it should not be in the least indecorous.” However, he was astonished to note that he no longer felt the least grief over Cecily or her betrayal. Indeed, to his further astonishment, at the moment the only burden his heart bore was the possibility of risking the loss of Miss Armistead’s good opinion.

  “Well, Miss Armistead, what have you to say to that?” Analisa queried exactly as if Miss Armistead’s assessment was of as much consequence to Analisa as it was to Colin.

  “Once again, my sentiments do not come into the matter,” Miss Armistead insisted. “Though, I confess to feeling sorry for you, Mr. Lloyd-Jones, that you have been forced to endure such a drastic state of affairs. A broken heart is one thing, but to be faced with such a decision, one that affected everyone you hold most dear and promised to be the cause of such scandal, should have been more than I could have borne.”

  Her speech was followed by another silence, this one more companionable and far less unendurable. Colin felt his heart yet again swell with gratitude at Miss Armistead’s generosity and was content to merely say nothing as he absorbed the balm to his wounds. However, it would seem that Analisa was of a different opinion.

  “I find I do not believe you, Miss Armistead, not in the least.”

  “I fear I did not hear you aright,” Miss Armistead said faintly.

  “But of course you did, my dear. I do not believe you to lie, only to be mistaken. I am persuaded you might bear a burden as great, if not greater, than has Colin. There is something about you that I can name naught but noble. Your manners are impeccable, you are unfailingly kind and your integrity is without end. You are made of sterner stuff than Colin, and that is the truth.”

  Miss Armistead laughed with delight, a sound belied by her words. “You should not say so if you knew me well, Miss Analisa, but I thank you for your kind opinion.”

  “It is not mere kindness,” Mrs. Armistead hastened to add. “It is true, my Elizabeth possesses all of those virtues and more. I have been quite, quite proud of her, I must say.”

  “I thank you, as well, Mama, but you should know better even than they. I blush to think of the moments when I have disappointed you and Papa.”

  “Moments are what they were, my girl, mere moments. I shall stand by my words, my dear. Mr. Cruikshank has no idea what a bargain he made when he won your heart.”

  Colin saw, through the shadows of the carriage, how Miss Armistead bent her head and suspected she would say no more on the subject.

  “Well, it would seem we are all pattern cards of erect behavior, are we not?” he bantered. “I shall expect nothing less at my dinner party Thursday next. Specifically, in spite of the fact that you are a woman whose heart and hand are fully engaged, Miss Armistead, I trust you shall still regale us all with tales of growing up in India, shall you not?”

  “But, of course, I should enjoy it vastly,” she replied.

  “You must be certain to ask her how she met her intended, Mr. Cruikshank,” Mrs. Armistead proclaimed. “It is a story worth hearing, I do assure you.”

  “I would not miss it for the world.” Indeed, Colin was willing to hear any amount of stories about Mr. Cruikshank in hopes that they revealed what sort of man could command the heart of a girl such as Miss Elizabeth Armistead.

  “My mother makes it sound far more exciting than it was. I have told her she ought to consider becoming a novelist along the lines of Mrs. Radcliffe but she insists such an undertaking is beneath her dignity.”

  “Dearest, you know what they say about ladies who read lurid novels,” her mother replied. “What they must say about those who write them, I shudder to think. Besides, I am persuaded Mrs. Radcliffe is in truth a man.”

  “Oh! What a rapturous idea!” Analisa said as she threw her hands into the air. “I should be quite jolly should that prove to be the case.”

  “Analisa!” Colin rebuked. “I hadn’t known you read Mrs. Radcliffe!”

  “But, why ever should I not, dearest? Her books are most entertaining, are they not, Miss Armistead?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” she replied without the slightest hint of censure in her voice. Her reticence made it difficult for Colin to determine whether or not she was a reader of novels at all whatsoever, a fact about her which he suddenly yearned to know.

  “We must rectify that as soon as possible!” Analisa exclaimed. “I can’t be positive, but I should be willing to bet money that Colin has at least one of her novels in his collection.”

  Unsure as to what should afford him the least credit in Miss Armistead’s eyes, to have read Mrs. Radcliffe or not to have read her, he remained silent.

  “Oh, come, Colin! Don’t say you cannot recall as I do our conversations on the subject of The Romance of the Forest. You said how queer it was that the author chose to call on
e character Peter and another Pierre as they are essentially the same name. You claimed to have read it through to the end in hopes that the reason for this choice would be made obvious, but it never was. I must admit to having been so vexed by it that it quite ruined the story for me. Yet, if Colin had never mentioned it, I should not have noticed it at all.”

  “Then I suppose it would be safe to say that I read The Romance of the Forest through to the end at the very least,” Colin grudgingly admitted. “If you, Miss Armistead, find that the hours weigh heavy on you as you wait for your Mr. Cruikshank, I shall be most happy to conduct a search for it if you should wish to borrow it.”

  “I thank you most sincerely. I should be delighted to pay a visit to your library. English books are few and far between in India and once I marry and have made my home on the family farm, I daresay there shall be a sad lack of printed material there, as well.”

  “I am persuaded it shan’t be that primitive,” Colin suggested. “Where is this farm?”

  “It’s in Sutherland, very close by a breathtaking beach, or so I am told.”

  Her reply caused Colin to wish he had not made so bold a statement as Sutherland was nearly as primitive as one could wish. His fervent desire that such a fate not befall the glowingly alive Miss Armistead struck him with such force, he nearly gasped aloud. “There is naught to farm there but seafood. Unless, perhaps, they raise cattle?”

  “I . . I don’t know. I feel of a certainty that he referred to it as a farm. It hardly matters, though, as long as we are together. I am looking forward to escaping the relentless heat of India. I have so enjoyed the bracing weather during the course of my visits to London.”

  “The highlands of Scotland,” Analisa ventured, “are hardly the same thing. I’m afraid you shall find that the winters are quite brutal and the summers hardly better.”

  “Well,” Miss Armistead replied a bit shortly, “as I have said, I am anticipating the change with much enthusiasm.”

  There was another silence, this one of the uncomfortable sort that stretched out until the carriage came to a halt.