Beauty for Ashes

The latch clicked.

Elizabeth froze as the door opened, then shoved quickly backward as someone stepped inside. She couldn’t be caught under— Her head knocked sharply against the side rail. “Ouch!”

“Elizabeth!” Justin rushed forward.

She gave a nervous little gasp as he grasped her elbow and hauled her to her feet. “You startled me.”

“You surprised me, also. I hardly expected to find you crawling around under the bed.”

Elizabeth pulled her elbow out of his hold. “I was not crawling around.” Her cheeks turned warm as she realized the picture she must have presented to him. “I was only—” She stopped, stared up at him for a moment, then quickly looked down and brushed at the dust on her long skirt.

“Yes? You were only…?”

“Nothing. It’s unimportant.” Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked over to the chair. Determination stiffened her spine as she picked up her cloak and swirled it about her shoulders. She would not delay their departure. She absolutely refused to give Justin Randolph any more fuel with which to feed his flaming dislike of her! She would leave without her shoes.

“What are you doing?”

Elizabeth pulled her hood into place and gave him a cool smile. Here was her opportunity to salvage something of her pride—to repair her tattered dignity and make amends at the same time. “I should think my actions clear enough, sir. I’m preparing to leave.” She fastened the braided loops over the buttons on her cloak, adjusted the hood, then swept grandly toward the door.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes?” Oh, how satisfyingly cool and aristocratic her voice sounded. That should favorably impress the arrogant Mr. Randolph!

“Have you forgotten something?”

“I don’t believe so.” She reached for the latch. “I assume your groom will fetch my bag.”

“Indeed. But what of these?”

Elizabeth’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach with a sickening thud at his tone of voice. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Her assumed dignity crumpled into a useless pile at her stocking-clad feet. Slowly—reluctantly—she turned to face Justin. Her shoes dangled from the first two fingers of his right hand.

“You had them!” Hot blood surged into Elizabeth’s cheeks. “You had them all the time, while I—I—” She clamped her lips together and glared at him. She would say no more.

“While you were leaving in your stocking feet?”

The scorn in Justin’s voice and eyes brought forth a surge of indignation. Elizabeth bit down on her bottom lip and remained silent.

“Have you no sense?”

She bit down harder.

In three quick steps Justin crossed the room to stand in front of her. The look in his eyes made her shiver. She squeezed back against the door to put as much space as possible between them.

“Why, Elizabeth?” He stepped closer. “Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

Fear knotted her stomach—her heart thundered in her ears.

“Answer me!”

“I didn’t want to displease you.” The words came out in a whisper.

“Displease me?”

Elizabeth flinched. “Yes. By delaying our departure.” She lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. She would not give in to the fear, not this time. “You told your groom you wanted to leave at first light. That you wanted no delays. I heard you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean stocking footed!” His hand lifted.

Elizabeth gasped.

Justin froze with his long fingers buried in his hair. “What is it?” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. “You’ve gone white as a ghost. Are you ill? By heaven! Are you going to swoon again?”

Elizabeth rolled her head from side to side against the door.

Justin’s mouth tightened. He gave an angry snort and turned away.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and sagged against the door. She drew great drafts of air into her lungs until the trembling that had manifested itself throughout her body began to abate. She opened her eyes. Justin was standing by the washstand watching her. His face was as cold and still as a stone.

“Would you like some water?”

She shook her head.

He stared hard at her for a moment, then released his grip on the water pitcher and walked over to lean against the mantel. “Come away from the door, Elizabeth. We are not leaving this room until you tell me why you were going out in the snow without shoes.”

His voice made her shiver—and that made her angry. In spite of the weakness in her limbs, Elizabeth pushed away from the door and straightened to her full height. “I have told you. I did not want to displease you. I was unjust in my accusations last evening and I wanted to make amends.”

“By leaving without shoes.”

The cynicism in his voice brought the blood surging back into her face. “Yes, Mr. Randolph, by leaving without my shoes! I have caused you a great deal of trouble and embarrassment, and I am determined that I shall not do so again.” She sighed. “I knew you wanted to leave this morning without delay, so, when my shoes came up missing, I decided to leave without them.” She looked at the cold, disbelieving look in his eyes and wondered why she was bothering to explain. “You were already angry with me!”

His left eyebrow shot up.

Elizabeth swallowed her own irritation along with the little pride she had left. “Rightfully angry. And, as you said, the shoes were of little use in the snow.” She looked down at the satin slippers he still held in his hand. How could she blame him for not believing her? It did sound foolish when she put it into words.

Justin snorted. He threw her shoes to the floor, scooped something up off the bed and stalked back to her. “Put these on, Elizabeth. You should find them a comfortable fit—Little Fawn used your shoes to alter the size.”

He thrust a pair of moccasins into her trembling hands. His gaze dropped to the stocking-clad toes peeking out from under her long skirts, then lifted back to her face. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, Elizabeth, but be warned—it’ll not work with me!”

He reached for the door latch. She jumped aside. He frowned, and yanked open the door. “Be ready when Daniel comes for the bags.”

The door slammed shut behind him. Elizabeth cringed. So much for a day without foolish incidents! She stared hard at the closed door and compressed her lips into a thin line. She would never apologize to Justin Randolph again. Never!

Elizabeth clenched her hands—the moccasins squashed. Her tirade stopped short as she looked down at them. Justin Randolph was a most unpleasant man, yet he was surprisingly thoughtful. Suddenly, she giggled. Would that be unpleasantly thoughtful…or thoughtfully unpleasant? Her amusement died. Either way it was incongruous. The two simply didn’t go together—except in her new husband.

Elizabeth sighed, pushed the hood off her head and walked over to sit down in one of the two, crudely made slat-back chairs at the table. What could cause a person to have such divergent characteristics? She glanced down at the leather moccasins and shook her head. What did it matter? Whatever the reason, Justin Randolph was both—she would simply have to make the best of it.

She glanced over at her shoes on the floor in front of the fireplace where Justin had thrown them, gave another sigh, and went to retrieve them. She put them in her bag, then resumed her seat. Her lips twitched, then twitched again. What a picture she must have made crawling out from under the bed and striding haughtily toward the door in her stocking feet!

Elizabeth convulsed with laughter, then, suddenly, began to cry. He hated her. He hated her! She straightened and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Serves you right for trying to play the grande dame! You looked like a big fool. Let that be a lesson to you!