The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(24)

“Is she dying?” Ah. Mary was there as well.

Someone dabbed a cool cloth to her forehead. It was heavenly.

“Elizabeth. Dear. Can you hear me?” Presumably that was Catherine, patting her hand.

“Mmm.”

“Oh, her lashes are flickering. She’s not dead.” Why did Mary seem . . . disappointed?

“Did she really retch in front of Twiggenberry?” Victoria asked.

“On him.” For once, Anne sounded amused.

“It was the pomade,” Elizabeth said, but it came out garbled and it was unlikely they understood. No matter. It hadn’t been the pomade, although that hadn’t helped. It had been the prospect. The horrifying prospect of waking up every morning for the rest of her natural life to see that face, to suffer those wormlike lips on hers . . . to have to learn to stomach that smell.

“She said something.”

Well, hell. Hamish was here too. How mortifying. She groaned and covered her face with her arm, but somehow that didn’t make him go away.

“Perhaps she needs some tea?” Oh, Esmeralda and her tea.

“Perhaps she needs a nip of something stronger.” Hamish had the right of it. She was not one to imbibe in spirits, but a little oblivion about now would be wonderful.

“We are not giving her whisky,” Esmeralda barked. “That will only come back up.”

“You don’t suppose she’s ill, do you?” Mary again.

Oh, she was.

“She had kippers at nuncheon,” Anne said. “Perhaps they were bad?”

“I had kippers too.” Victoria sniffed. “You don’t see me vomiting on earls.”

Esmeralda tsked. “Language, please.”

“Vomit is a word.”

“It is a vulgar word.”

“Do you suppose she’s too ill to go shopping this afternoon?” Mary asked in a maudlin tone.

Victoria sniffed. “No one is ever too ill for shopping.”

“Do you suppose she’s too ill to attend the ball tonight?” Anne sounded far too hopeful. “Perhaps I should stay home with her.”

“You are going to the ball, young lady. It is high time you found a husband.”

“Masquerades are singularly unhelpful in finding husbands on account of the fact that the men in question are in disguise.”

“Nevertheless. You are going.”

Elizabeth steeled herself and forced open a lid. Six faces peered down at her, but only one captured her attention. He looked so concerned, it made her heart leap.

She’d just thrown up on a lord and swooned, two things she rarely, if ever, did. Of course he was concerned. It couldn’t be anything else. Could it?

Foolish girl.

Maybe he was right. She was a fanciful child.

She sucked in a deep breath and murmured, “I’m fine. I’m going to the ball.”

Esmeralda loomed closer. “Are you sure, gel? There is much to do.”

“And shopping,” Mary put in.

Elizabeth forced a smile. “I feel better already.” She pushed herself into a sitting position. “See? I’m fine.”

She was.

Twiggenberry was nowhere to be seen.

She glanced around at her sisters, her aunt, her friend, and her . . . whatever and smiled. “I could use some privacy, though.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” They all nodded and filed out. Though she noticed Hamish glanced back more than once.

“Not you.” She grabbed her aunt’s hand, which precipitated the elegant arch of a brow.

Esmeralda set her palm on Elizabeth’s forehead to check her temperature. She didn’t speak until the door had closed. “Well?”

Ye Gods. How to say this. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“What?” Her aunt actually blanched.

“Don’t tell anyone he proposed. Please.”

“But this is fabulous news.”

“It is not.”

Her aunt’s gaze narrowed. “Never say there is someone else.”

There was, in a manner of speaking, but since he didn’t return her feelings, she shook her head. “He’s just . . .”

“What? An earl. A rich, rich earl? From an excellent family? A tremendous prospect? The catch of the season?”

“I don’t want him.” It was as simple as that.

One would think she’d just announced she was marrying a footman, based on Esmeralda’s expression. Her aunt said nothing, save some assorted sputtering. After a minute or two, she collected herself enough to say. “You don’t want him?”

“No.”

“How can you not want him?”

There was no response to that, so Elizabeth shrugged.

Her aunt sighed and sat back, staring at the ceiling. “I shall never understand the gels of your generation. In my day, we were happy with a proposal from an earl. We were delighted to join our families for the purpose of strengthening the dynasties. There was no I don’t want him nonsense. In fact, my father never even asked. He betrothed me to Van Cleve when I was in the nursery. I never had a choice. Never wanted one.”

“Were you happy with Van Cleve?”

“That is beside the point.”

“Is it? Would you have chosen differently if you’d had the chance?”