There was nothing at all unpleasant about any of it. She could even imagine, without distaste, allowing his love-making to go further. But she was aware that she viewed it all as a spectator, almost as if she were still sitting on the bench observing herself in close embrace with Mr. Main-waring. She felt no spark of passion, could force none into her reactions. She removed her arms from around his neck and pushed gently against his shoulders.
"I am sorry," he said, releasing her immediately. "Did I offend you?"
"No, not at all, William," she replied, "but I would not wish to be seen."
"Why not?" he asked, and she could see in the moonlight that he was grinning again. "You are soon to be my wife, are you not?"
She stared at him blankly. "William," she said, "you forget that I am married already and that all these people know it. Even if we do marry, it cannot be until after Robert has divorced me, and that may take a long time."
"I think not," he said cheerfully. "I shall leave tomorrow for Hetherington Manor. Robert is there, I believe. I shall tell him frankly that we wish to marry. Someone with his rank and influence can obtain a speedy divorce, I am sure. And surely he cannot have the least objection. He seemed quite indifferent to you when he was here."
Elizabeth winced and turned away. He grasped her by the shoulders.
"I could cut my tongue out, Elizabeth. I am sorry," he said. "I am afraid tact is not my strong point. I swear, my dear, that I shall give you the peace and happiness that you have missed during these years. Only say that you wish to marry me. Please."
Elizabeth leaned back against his tall frame and closed her eyes. "Oh, yes," she said, surrendering to the longing within her, "make me forget, William. Make me love you."
His arms encircled her from behind. "I shall leave in the morning,"he said, "and be back in three days at the most, my dear. I shall have you free soon, never fear."
They returned soon to the ballroom, Elizabeth very much aware of the duties she had been shirking.
Chapter 13
The older generation was somewhat disturbed when they found out that Mr. Mainwaring had left Ferndale.
"He is a quiet sort of a man," Mrs. Rowe told her family and Elizabeth at dinner, "but not bad-natured, I believe. I did think at first that he was conceited, but recently I have been convinced that he is merely shy. What do you think, Mr. Rowe?"
"Indeed, my dear," he replied, "I have not considered the question at all. But now that you press me to do so, I would say I find him a gentlemanly man, a worthy neighbor."
"It seems most extraordinary that he should leave Ferndale without telling anyone," his wife continued. "I wonder where he can have gone and why. And I wonder if he plans to return soon."
"If I had only had an inkling of his going," Mr. Rowe returned, "I should have backed him into the nearest corner, my love, and forced answers from him. As it is, I am afraid I cannot enlighten you."
"Oh, how absurd you are, Mr. Rowe," his wife said crossly. "I am merely showing a neighborly interest in the man."
Elizabeth did not join in the conversation, or tell anyone what she knew of Mr. Mainwaring's journey. She did not want anyone to know of her secret betrothal until Hetherington had sent her the divorce papers. And for all William's optimism, she believed that that could take quite a while.
Cecily too showed no inclination to join in her mother's curious wonderings. She and the other young people of the area were too full of enthusiasm over the presence of the young visitors at Squire Worthing's. While her mother talked, Cecily's head was full of a certain auburn-haired giant who had paid her lavish and quite outrageous compliments the night before. He had also told her that he and his sisters and cousins were staying for a week, perhaps longer.
Elizabeth had expected the following days to drag by as she waited for William to return and tell her how Hetherington had reacted to their request. But she had little time to brood. The young people began a frantic round of activities: riding, walking, shopping, picnicking in the daytime, playing cards, charades, and other games during the evening. Elizabeth accompanied Cecily everywhere and, by popular request, was made the sole chaper-one at the daytime activities. This proved to be a dizzying task as the group often showed a tendency to break up into smaller groups that wandered off in different directions. How did one watch a couple visiting a traveling library, while four others had gone for ices, and a few more to a haberdasher's? She finally solved the problem by laying down the rule that no group of fewer than three persons could go off on its own. Once that rule was accepted, she felt that she could relax her vigilance somewhat.
In the evenings, too, Elizabeth was expected to accompany Cecily. The elder Rowes usually went to the same house, glad of the excuse for increased visiting, but they usually settled with the older adults, playing cards or just gossiping. It was again up to Elizabeth to oversee the activities of the younger set and settle the disputes that frequently arose.
One of the most heated arguments arose when Ferdie and the auburn giant, captains of the two teams for charades, were picking their team members. Ferdie took loud exception to the giant's choosing Cecily. But Elizabeth pointed out that Ferdie had had first pick and had chosen Anne Claridge ("because she's the best actress in the whole county," he explained, exasperated) and that the giant was therefore free to choose whomever he would. Ferdie sulked and Cecily flirted for the rest of the evening. Elizabeth was forced to scold her at home later, when they were alone.
"I do not know how you feel about Mr. Harry Worthing," she said, "but you did set your cap at him in a rather vulgar manner tonight, Cecily."
"Pooh," said her charge, "I was merely cross with Ferdie, Beth. Why must he always behave as if I belong to him? I have never even kissed him more than two or three times, and he has never made me a declaration. I cannot resist teasing him when he becomes so possessive." She blushed suddenly. "I was not so outrageous, was I, Beth?"
"I am afraid you were, love," her companion replied, "and that young man seems quite taken with you."
"I really did not mean to encourage him so," Cecily said in dismay. "It is exciting to have new company, but I really have not meant to set my cap at anyone."
"I know that, love," Elizabeth said. "But I do not wish anyone to gain the impression that you are fast."
By the fourth day after William's departure, Elizabeth was exhausted. She had a headache by dinnertime and a tickling in the back of her throat that seemed to threaten a cold. She begged to be excused from that evening's gathering at the vicarage.
"Well, of course, my dear Miss Rossiter," Mrs. Rowe said, all solicitous concern. "You must go to your bed immediately. I shall have some warm milk and laudanum sent up to you and a hot brick for your feet. Don't worry about a thing, my dear. I shall watch Cecily tonight. I knew when I saw you outside yesterday without a pelisse that you would catch a chill. I told Mr. Rowe so."
"And so you did, my love," her husband agreed. "But since it was almost too hot yesterday to wear a dress even, I do not believe the absence of a pelisse caused the cold. I should say that Miss Rossiter is probably hagged from chasing after a pack of young devils for several days."
"Papa!" Cecily complained.
Elizabeth retired to her room, the relief of having a quiet evening to herself already easing the headache. She undressed and sat in her nightgown close to the empty fireplace. She drank the warm milk that Mrs. Rowe had sent up, but set aside the laudanum. She never felt rested after a drug-induced sleep; she would avoid it if she could. She smiled too at the hot brick, wrapped in cloths, that the maid placed between her bedclothes. She would certainly not retire until that had cooled off thoroughly. The night was almost too warm to allow of bedclothes at all.