To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

She held up a finger. “That was one other time, Oliver. One!”

He stepped closer to her and folded her finger down. She watched the action closely. “Elizabeth, there’s nothing wrong with your sense of adventure. It’s who you are—that’s all I meant. I don’t want to see you settle for someone who will not bring you happiness.”

Her gaze held his and then dropped to his mouth before returning to his eyes. That was all it took to send his heart racing. “I just”—her voice was quiet—“would hate for anyone to think I am not capable of making a good wife because I am too reckless.”

He swallowed, becoming aware of a sudden conviction to say all the things that he had resolved should remain unsaid. “I don’t believe anyone would think such a thing about you.”

Their stares fixed and neither broke away for several breaths. “I…had the strangest dream last night,” Elizabeth said, reaching up to lightly rub the side of her neck. He watched her movement, knowing she was remembering what he had hoped she wouldn’t from the night before. He and Elizabeth had always had a way of speaking with their eyes. He could see her questions. He could see her wondering if all he had said the previous night was true and real. Did she hope for that?

“Was it a good dream?” he asked, even though

he shouldn’t have.

She smiled softly. “Wonderful, in fact.”

The air closed in. The world outside of them disappeared, and it was just he and Elizabeth standing in the sun-drenched room. He wondered, now more than ever, if she loved him in return. What would he do if she did? What if he told her how he felt, and they kissed, and he courted her, and married her, only to find out Frank Turner had been right about who he would become? Oliver had never struggled with temper or alcohol thus far. But what would happen when children came along and life grew more stressful? What about when he was living in close quarters with a wife? What if he felt angered by her?

His father’s words haunted him. My blood runs in your veins.

Oliver’s throat felt as if it closed up. He took a step away from Elizabeth. “Dreams can feel oddly real at times, but it’s best to remember that they are nothing but figments of the imagination.”

Her face fell along with her hand.

The sadness in her eyes had him opening his mouth to say something—anything—when a voice at the threshold of the door filled the room. “My lady,” said Jeffers. Of course he would interrupt this moment. “These have just arrived for you.” The butler gestured toward the massive display of white roses in his hands. “Where would you like me to place them?”

Oliver watched with a sinking feeling as a small smile peeked onto Elizabeth’s mouth. “Do you know who they are from?”

“Lord Hastings, my lady. His lordship delivered them personally with his best wishes for a quick recovery from your illness, and a promise to pay you a visit as soon as you are well.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. It would seem that the man wasn’t deterred after all. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Chapter Fourteen

Elizabeth eyed her navy and white striped walking dress in the mirror as she finished the last gold button on her deep blue spencer. She retrieved her straw bonnet from the dressing table and headed for the door. Lord Hastings was due to arrive at any moment, so she hurried to tie the silk ribbons under her chin.

Because of the illness Elizabeth was supposedly recovering from, she had been forced to miss two balls, and a night at Almack’s. And she was utterly broken hearted over it. At least, that’s what she would tell people when she re-entered Society. But really, she had quite enjoyed herself over the past several days.

Elizabeth had spent more time with her brother than she had spent with him in years. Carver, Rose, and Elizabeth had stayed up intolerably late every night playing games and telling stories. Rose was teaching Elizabeth how to aim a pistol, though Carver—a stick in the mud—would not let her shoot it inside like Rose had. And Elizabeth was teaching Rose how to embroider like a proper lady. Though that was also laughable since Elizabeth was known amongst her family as the worst needleworker of the lot. That included Papa and Carver.

Anyway, it didn’t actually matter because she and Rose hadn’t been able to concentrate on their stitching long enough to accomplish much of anything. Rose would start to tell Elizabeth about one of her ruses from when she was a thief and they would put down their needlework and glance at it occasionally with an expression of we should really return to our stitching, but then they would decide to ignore it for the rest of the night.

Those nursery linens for Mary’s baby would never be finished.

But the previous evening, Rose and Carver had felt that Elizabeth’s illness had run its course and she could reasonably be expected to re-enter society without raising suspicions. So they had all attended Lord and Lady Hamilton’s ball. It had gone tolerably well, and Elizabeth had felt rather proud of herself for how much decorum she had displayed. Not a single untoward incident had occurred through the whole evening. Not a single one.

Well. Not a single one—aside from getting her hair tangled up in the branches of a giant fern. She was still convinced the thing had somehow come to life and reached out to grab her as she’d passed by. It was really too bad that Oliver had found her that way. Did he have some sort of alarm bell that rang in his ears whenever she was in an embarrassing situation? He was the one man in the world she wanted to see her as sophisticated and attractive and alluring, and yet, he was the one man who was always catching her with her slipper torn or hair tangled in a fern. It was just as well. She needed a reminder that she had not come to town to impress Oliver. Why did she seem to keep forgetting that fact?

Other than that one small moment—which was hardly even worth mentioning—the evening had gone off without a hitch. Elizabeth’s hand had been claimed for every dance and it seemed that no one was the least bit suspicious of the champagne incident. She knew her rescue was mostly attributed to Oliver and the stories he had concocted of her sudden decline the night of Miss Loxley’s soirée. But she didn’t want to let her mind stray to Oliver again, or the fact that she had missed out on an evening of fantastic entertainment. Apparently, Miss Loxley had hired a traveling carnival to take the stage and perform all sorts of tricks with fire that left everyone in raptures. She was beyond sorry to have missed it.

At the ball, however, Elizabeth had danced nearly every set of the evening, including two with Lord Hastings, and apart from the fern incident, she had successfully avoided Oliver. She was well on her way to pushing him out of her heart for good.

During Elizabeth’s days of quarantine, Rose had given her a few pointers about how to appear confident in times of stress, lessons on how to effectively flirt without taking it over the top, and even examples of how to extricate herself from unwanted conversations. Because of those lessons, Elizabeth had been able to smile demurely at plenty of potential suitors, not once trip over her dance steps, carry on polite conversations with gentlemen and matrons, and over all…remain miserable throughout the entire evening.

Not once had she found herself smiling because she felt like it. Not once had she laughed out of instinct rather than force. Not once had she danced with Oliver. But never mind all of that. Everything was going on as planned. Somehow she had managed to hold the attention of Lord Hastings, and he was currently her most serious suitor. Elizabeth would let herself be happy later—when she was married and starting a family and had forgotten all about her unrequited love for Oliver.

Elizabeth finished tying off the ribbons of her bonnet and made her way downstairs to await Lord Hastings’s arrival. The previous night, after he had escorted her from the dance floor and back to Rose’s side, he had asked for permission to call on Elizabeth and take her for a drive in the park the following day. Rose had momentarily flashed Elizabeth a look that said do you want to do this? There’s still time to tell Oliver how you feel. To which Elizabeth had flashed a look back that said Oliver who? Rose gave her consent in a haughty, motherly way which made Elizabeth want to openly laugh, and then the night had carried on just as she imagined every other ball would: dead boring.

Dancing felt restricting and stale. The refreshments were merely tolerable, the conversation stilted, the smiles fake. And…well, nevermind. What good was it to dwell on the bad? The handsome Lord Hastings would be there any moment to take her on a drive and that’s all that mattered. Things were looking up.