An Affair of Hearts

Chapter One

Chapter One

~April 21, 1807~

Everything sparkled. The chandeliers with their crystal droplets reflected the candlelight, the gilt-edged mirrors surrounded by wall sconces echoed the light, even the guests dressed in their finest glittered, laughed, talked, and danced with brilliance. Elizabeth, Countess St. Vincent, sighed happily as she turned to her friend and hostess for this evening’s soirée. “You have done such a magnificent job this evening, Lydia,” she said. Even Lydia was looking quite sparkling this evening with her bright green eyes shining, the color picking up the pretty green embroidery edging her pale blue gown.

“Indeed, Lady Welles, you absolutely have outdone yourself.” Mrs. Aldridge, standing on Lydia’s other side, agreed.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, giving them both a bright smile. “Elizabeth, your dress this evening is lovely.”

“Oh, thank you. It is one I brought with me from the countryside, but I think it’s holding up quite well here in London,” Elizabeth said. She’d only been in town for a month, but already she had a good feeling about this season, her very first since her disastrous come-out six years ago.

She had, of course, also dressed to impress, just like everyone else. Despite the fact she was still in half-mourning for her departed husband, her gown of pale violet with deeper purple ribbons and lace was in the latest fashion, even if the décolletage was a little lower than what she normally wore. It was still quite conservative for a lady of her age and stature, but Elizabeth, with her full figure, had always gone for a more demure look. Her dark brown hair was carefully tamed into a complicated coiffure with purple ribbons woven through and a few curls allowed to rest gently over her shoulder.

“I beg your pardon, Lady St. Vincent?” a footman asked, approaching Elizabeth.

“Yes?”

“Lord St. Vincent has requested your presence in the library,” he said with a slight bow.

“Oh. Tell him I’ll be right there,” she said.

“Is everything all right, do you suppose?” Mrs. Aldridge asked with a look of concern marring her motherly countenance. She was a kind, well-respected older lady who was a member of a very exclusive club known as the Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society, along with Lydia and six other prominent ladies of the ton.

Elizabeth didn’t know exactly what the ladies of the Whist Society did. They claimed they merely played cards together every Wednesday afternoon, but so far, their influence seemed to be quite significant and growing. From what Elizabeth understood, they were responsible for no fewer than six prominent matches among the ton, including that of Elizabeth’s own stepson, who had just requested her presence. They also held an annual party to raise funds for the people of the Rookeries that earned a significant amount as well as being one of The Events of the season.

The ladies of the Wagering Whist Society were, in short, what just about every woman of the ton desired to be—well-respected, well-known, influential. They made a positive impact, helping those who needed it without asking for anything in return. If they had been accepting additional members, Elizabeth would have been first in line. As it was, she was proud to call its members her friends.

“I can’t imagine what St. Vincent wants. I’ll just go and find out. If you’ll excuse me?” Elizabeth gave the two ladies a nod and then went off to find the library.

~*~

“How very unusual,” Penelope Aldridge said as she watched Lady St. Vincent make her way out of the drawing room. “Why would he be in sudden need of his stepmother?”

Lady Welles frowned next to her, also watching the young lady as she went. “I can’t imagine, but I agree something seems off.” She turned and caught the eye of the footman who had delivered the message.

He approached her with a slight bow. “Yes, my lady?”

“Who asked you to find Lady St. Vincent?” she asked.

“A gentleman, my lady. Lord St. Vincent, I presume,” the man said.

“But he did not specifically say?” Lady Welles asked with a frown.

“No, my lady.”

Lady Welles turned worried eyes to Penelope, who in turn asked, “Was he quite tall, young and handsome with blond hair?”

The man looked startled, perhaps at the preciseness of her description. “No, ma’am. He was short and rather rotund. I wouldn’t think he was below thirty or perhaps five and thirty.”

Penelope didn’t like that at all! She shared another look with Lady Welles.

“That’s not Lord St. Vincent,” the younger lady said with a certainty.

“No, it’s not. Thank you,” Penelope said, dismissing the man.

“After you, my lady,” Lady Welles said, indicating the way to the door.

Penelope followed Lady St. Vincent out the door in the direction of the library.

~*~

Elizabeth found the door to the library slightly ajar. Clearly her stepson wanted to make sure she found the correct room, although it was odd he would send a message in that way. She couldn’t imagine why he might want to see her in private during a party. It must be something vitally important if he couldn’t wait to speak with her at home tomorrow.

The room was oddly dark with the only light coming from the fireplace.

“Paul?” Elizabeth called out as she entered the room.

“’Tis I, my ravishing beauty,” a man’s voice said from just beyond the door. His voice was soft and higher pitched than Paul’s.

This wasn’t right. Elizabeth immediately turned to leave, but a hand grabbed her waist and pulled her back forcibly.

Her back met with a hard, rounded form of a man in a corset. The voice, the physique… she realized with horror it was Lord Rogan who had hold of her. He immediately bent his head and began to nuzzle her neck, even as his hands took a firm hold of both her breasts and squeezed.

“Unhand me!” she tried to yell. Her breath, however, felt like it was being squeezed from her lungs, and her words didn’t come out as forcibly as she’d intended.

“Oh, my sweet, delicious, voluptuous Elizabeth,” he murmured. “You are as enticing as I thought you’d be. I do like a full-breasted woman. Let me get closer—”

Elizabeth didn’t think he possibly could get any closer until one of his hands dove straight down the front of her dress. Her stomach immediately revolted. She coughed, gagged, and attempted to scream all at the same time and simply ended up making a strangled noise.

“Lady St. Vincent!” a woman’s voice said from the doorway, her horrified tones so well reflecting the revulsion Elizabeth herself was feeling.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Aldridge’s voice cut from behind the woman Elizabeth hadn’t yet identified.

The first woman turned and moved back into the hall, allowing Lydia to follow Mrs. Aldridge into the room.

“Get off her you brute!” Mrs. Aldridge began using her fan to rain blows down upon Lord Rogan, whose hand was now caught inside of Elizabeth’s dress. Lydia ran straight to the fireplace and grabbed a multi-arm candelabra.

With the distraction her friends provided, Elizabeth managed to tear herself free of the man, wrenching his wrist and ripping her own dress in the process. She may have won her freedom but so too did the contents of her stomach. She ran to the side of the room, helpless to stop it.

She was vaguely aware of Lord Rogan running from the room as she coughed and spit.

Gentle hands rubbed her back. “There, there, it’s all right. He’s gone now. You’re going to be all right.”

Elizabeth could do nothing but burst into tears. Never before had she felt so out of control. Her knees wobbled, but she managed to remain on her feet, leaning one hand against the wall for support. A handkerchief was pressed into her other hand.

She used it to wipe her mouth. Some voices whispered behind her, most likely Lydia and Mrs. Aldridge. A man’s voice she didn’t recognize joined them, but Elizabeth simply didn’t have the courage to lift her face to see who it was.

There was the sound of footsteps retreating, and then Lydia came and gently directed Elizabeth away from the wall. “It’s going to be all right, Elizabeth. You poor thing. Mrs. Aldridge’s son has gone to fetch your carriage. You’ll be home in a trice.”

“Thank…thank you,” Elizabeth hiccoughed. “I’m… I’m so…”

“No, no, don’t even say it. I am appalled, no, mortified that this should have happened to you this evening. I cannot believe my own footman—” Lydia was so overcome, Elizabeth had the urge to comfort her.

“No, poor Lydia. I would…hug you, but I… I think I’m a mess,” Elizabeth managed. She desperately was trying to keep her tears at bay. She was having trouble breathing for the sobs caught in her throat.

“My lady, your carriage is waiting,” said the same man who’d been there a few minutes earlier, re-entering the room. He was well-dressed, clearly one of the guests. His light brown hair shone in the candlelight, even as his dark eyes looked at her with such concern. He came forward, averting his eyes in a gentlemanly manner, and placed her wrap around her shoulders, pulling it forward so it covered her ripped gown.

Elizabeth grasped it closed. “Thank you.”

With barely a touch, he led her from the room, down a much too long hall, to the front door. He handed her up into her carriage and then gave her driver the go-ahead after securely closing the door behind her.

As the carriage pulled away, Elizabeth let go of the breath she hadn’t even been aware she’d been holding and allowed herself to collapse into a fit of sobs and tears.