The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,19

think we would change our plans for you.

Lady Wyndham

Elizabeth’s heart constricted with each succinct word, folding in on itself until she felt small, just as she had when she was a child. Her mother was horrid. Horrid, horrid. Even if Elizabeth did acknowledge that her scandalous presence imposed on her parents, and had forced her mother to cancel their evening’s entertainment in a most undignified way, surely Elizabeth deserved to receive this setdown to her face. A coldly worded note only served to emphasize the very aloofness from her parents that had driven her into the arms of a silver-tongued captain.

She stared dully at the papered wall of her former bedchamber, knowing her sisters’ old rooms were on the other side. For years she’d felt bitterly toward her parents, who had cut her from their family without so much as a look-in to see if she was happy with her choice. What if Captain Moore had loved her? What if they’d eventually married? Her parents would have had to acknowledge her then, wouldn’t they? It had never come to that, but she’d resented that they washed their hands of her, rather than try to save her.

Elizabeth tucked away her melancholy as best she could and reviewed the collection of her gowns now freshly pressed and hanging in a wardrobe. Though her mother’s note hadn’t outright extended an invitation for her to join them at dinner, it did give roundabout permission. She vowed her parents wouldn’t find fault with anything she wore down.

Mrs. Dalton helped her to dress carefully in a watered silk gown. Elizabeth drew a satiny gold wrap around her shoulders and checked her appearance. In the month during which Nicholas had kept her child from her, she’d become skeletal, but over the last week she’d begun to fill out again. Nonetheless, the gown didn’t stick to her like it used to and she breathed a sigh of relief. The less kindling she gave them, the better.

She was shown to the drawing room by Dodger, who couldn’t keep his smile hidden. She hung back before entering the room. “Might you and Mrs. Elf go up to the nursery after the dinner’s been cleared?” she whispered.

He almost blinded her with his delight. “Oh, certainly, certainly. It’s been so long since there was a little one here. I miss seeing you and your sisters toddling down the hallways.”

She smiled faintly and touched his sleeve. “I’m so glad to see you again, Mr. Dodger. Thank you.”

With that, she stepped into the drawing room. It was empty. Were her parents not coming after all?

Before she knew what he was about, Dodger reached out and squeezed her hand. “You will always have Mrs. Elf and me.”

The click-clack of her mother’s sure steps, pitted against her father’s long strides, caused Elizabeth to jump away from Dodger. He stepped back against the wall, leaving Elizabeth only somewhat alone to face her parents.

The Countess of Wyndham was fearsomely handsome. That hadn’t changed. Her dark hair was done in a crown of simple braids that accentuated a sharp widow’s peak a less formidable woman might have concealed. She looked down her long, patrician nose at Elizabeth and tugged on her husband’s arm. “At least she’s finally outgrown her baby fat, Wyndham.”

“Now, Jane,” her father boomed, “she’s what, five and twenty? Long in the tooth to be sporting chubby cheeks. Even so, Elizabeth, you will want to mind what you eat. A trim figure doesn’t come easier with age.”

His brown side-whiskers were threaded with white now, as was the hair on his head. Otherwise, he looked exactly the same. He’d always worn a poof of hair in a curl over one eye, and he preferred the brass-buttoned coat issued by his old regiment to a dinner jacket. Ten years ago, the red coat had been outdated. Gaping open across his belly now, it looked the victim of another two wars. “Well, girl, don’t just stand there,” he said to her, “a homecoming like this calls for whisky.”

Realizing Dodger had abandoned her after all, she went to the sideboard and poured a whisky and two sherries. When she returned with the tray, it was to see that her parents had seated themselves in two wingback chairs facing a long sofa.

She was to be interviewed, then.

She settled onto the sofa. The large bench dwarfed her, likely their intention. Her mother and father sipped their drinks and watched her with unflinching contempt. She swirled her sherry, uninterested in imbibing spirits when so