Read Online Undoing of a Lady by Nicola Cornick - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicola Cornick
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The edges were not even slightly blunted. And seeing him with another woman felt like running a file over that raw emotion, rubbing it to an excruciating pain.
Once before, she remembered, she had been jealous of a woman who had Nat’s attention and she had set herself to eclipse her. That had been poor Flora Minchin, whom she had outshone on the very night Nat and Flora’s betrothal had been announced. Nat had accused her of it that night in the folly and it had been true. It had not been difficult to take the attention from Flora. Flora was quiet and quite plain, a couple of years Lizzie’s senior but in no way Lizzie’s equal except in fortune. But this woman…Fair of hair and brilliant of complexion, with sapphire-blue eyes that perfectly matched her jewels, and a long, sinuous figure swathed in that sensuous, almost transparent fabric, and such town bronze…
If Lizzie had felt jealous of Flora, whom she hadalways known was no real threat, the pale moon to her own dazzling sun, it was nothing compared to the vicious flare of fury and resentment she felt now. For this woman was not her equal. She was so far out of reach that Lizzie felt smaller than she had done since she was a child, down from the nursery and paraded before the grown-ups for a few brief moments of approval. Her fingers tightened nervously on her fan. Suddenly she felt as though she was in a complicated game she was too young to play. She felt insignificant and anxious but there was no one to bolster her, for Tom had already drifted away to speak to an unwilling Mary Wheeler and Sir Montague was halfway down his first glass of wine and looking around for more. Lizzie wished, oh how she wished, that she had taken out her mother’s jewels that night—the famous Scarlet Diamonds—and flaunted them on her own rather less opulent cleavage.
Lady Wheeler was urging her forward. “Might I introduce my cousin, Lady Priscilla Willoughby? She was widowed last year and is staying with us for a space.”
Lizzie’s feet moved forward automatically. Beneath her jealousy was a cold, empty feeling. She had thought that not having Nat’s love was the worst thing in the world. Now she realized that she had got that wrong. Seeing Nat bestow his love on another woman would be a great deal more painful.
She looked at Nat and saw that he was watchingher, his gaze as dark and direct as ever, and she raised her chin and tried to compose her face into a look of perfect indifference rather than one that reflected the rawness she felt inside.
Priscilla Willoughby was still laughing at whatever remark Nat had made to her a moment before and now she turned away from him with obvious reluctance in response to her cousin’s words:
“Lady Elizabeth, may I introduce Lady Willoughby? Priscilla, this is Lady Elizabeth Scarlet.”
“Oh, yes.” The beautiful Priscilla smiled, displaying perfect teeth. Her voice was perfectly modulated, her laugh a perfect little musical tinkle of sound. “How do you do, Lady Elizabeth? Nathaniel—” she turned to smile at Nat “—was telling me that he has known you since you were a child. What a cozy little village you have here!”
Nathaniel, Lizzie thought, not Lord Waterhouse. Informal enough to indicate intimacy but not “Nat”, which was what all Nat’s platonic friends called him. Oh, no, Lady Willoughby had to be different.
“How do you do, Lady Willoughby,” Lizzie said. “Have you known Lord Waterhouse since he was a child?”
Lady Willoughby’s sapphire gaze hardened slightly and she laid one white hand on Nat’s sleeve, squeezing affectionately. “Oh gracious, we are old friends, are we not, Nathaniel? One might almost say old flames!” She gave her little tinkle of laughter again andleaned confidingly toward Lizzie. “Nathaniel and my late husband were great rivals for my hand in marriage.”
“How close the three of you must have been,” Lizzie said. “I trust you made the right choice.” She was
Once before, she remembered, she had been jealous of a woman who had Nat’s attention and she had set herself to eclipse her. That had been poor Flora Minchin, whom she had outshone on the very night Nat and Flora’s betrothal had been announced. Nat had accused her of it that night in the folly and it had been true. It had not been difficult to take the attention from Flora. Flora was quiet and quite plain, a couple of years Lizzie’s senior but in no way Lizzie’s equal except in fortune. But this woman…Fair of hair and brilliant of complexion, with sapphire-blue eyes that perfectly matched her jewels, and a long, sinuous figure swathed in that sensuous, almost transparent fabric, and such town bronze…
If Lizzie had felt jealous of Flora, whom she hadalways known was no real threat, the pale moon to her own dazzling sun, it was nothing compared to the vicious flare of fury and resentment she felt now. For this woman was not her equal. She was so far out of reach that Lizzie felt smaller than she had done since she was a child, down from the nursery and paraded before the grown-ups for a few brief moments of approval. Her fingers tightened nervously on her fan. Suddenly she felt as though she was in a complicated game she was too young to play. She felt insignificant and anxious but there was no one to bolster her, for Tom had already drifted away to speak to an unwilling Mary Wheeler and Sir Montague was halfway down his first glass of wine and looking around for more. Lizzie wished, oh how she wished, that she had taken out her mother’s jewels that night—the famous Scarlet Diamonds—and flaunted them on her own rather less opulent cleavage.
Lady Wheeler was urging her forward. “Might I introduce my cousin, Lady Priscilla Willoughby? She was widowed last year and is staying with us for a space.”
Lizzie’s feet moved forward automatically. Beneath her jealousy was a cold, empty feeling. She had thought that not having Nat’s love was the worst thing in the world. Now she realized that she had got that wrong. Seeing Nat bestow his love on another woman would be a great deal more painful.
She looked at Nat and saw that he was watchingher, his gaze as dark and direct as ever, and she raised her chin and tried to compose her face into a look of perfect indifference rather than one that reflected the rawness she felt inside.
Priscilla Willoughby was still laughing at whatever remark Nat had made to her a moment before and now she turned away from him with obvious reluctance in response to her cousin’s words:
“Lady Elizabeth, may I introduce Lady Willoughby? Priscilla, this is Lady Elizabeth Scarlet.”
“Oh, yes.” The beautiful Priscilla smiled, displaying perfect teeth. Her voice was perfectly modulated, her laugh a perfect little musical tinkle of sound. “How do you do, Lady Elizabeth? Nathaniel—” she turned to smile at Nat “—was telling me that he has known you since you were a child. What a cozy little village you have here!”
Nathaniel, Lizzie thought, not Lord Waterhouse. Informal enough to indicate intimacy but not “Nat”, which was what all Nat’s platonic friends called him. Oh, no, Lady Willoughby had to be different.
“How do you do, Lady Willoughby,” Lizzie said. “Have you known Lord Waterhouse since he was a child?”
Lady Willoughby’s sapphire gaze hardened slightly and she laid one white hand on Nat’s sleeve, squeezing affectionately. “Oh gracious, we are old friends, are we not, Nathaniel? One might almost say old flames!” She gave her little tinkle of laughter again andleaned confidingly toward Lizzie. “Nathaniel and my late husband were great rivals for my hand in marriage.”
“How close the three of you must have been,” Lizzie said. “I trust you made the right choice.” She was
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