Loving Lizzie Finn

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

W hy did this have to be a waltz?

Lizzie followed the steps of yet another dance partner, this time Mr. Culpepper, a lecher who held her too close. Even before they’d set foot on the dance floor, he’d looked at her like he’d rather strip her naked than dance. Revulsion coursed through her. That look had triggered a faint memory.

“I remember you,” she ground out, moving his hand away from the side of her bodice down to her waist yet again. “Shortly before I moved out of Maude’s House, I saw you there.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. “I remember you too. I’d been disappointed when I was told I couldn’t have you. Perhaps I’ll get my chance soon.”

Not if she had a say in who her husband might be. Unfortunately, she probably didn’t, but her uncle might. She searched the crowd for her uncle and spotted him on the far side of the room surrounded by his business associates. She wouldn’t be able to talk to him now.

When Mr. Culpepper’s hand inched up from her waist again, she “misstepped” and came down hard on his foot. He winced but said not a word. Thankfully, the dance ended soon afterward.

She fled toward the refreshments table, leaving him to step from the dance floor with a slight limp. Taking advantage of the intermission, Lizzie headed to the punch bowl, where she poured herself a drink. She took a sip of the punch laced with a liberal amount of rum and scanned the room. Where was Byron? He’d said he would come. Then again, if he were wise, he’d stay away. He wouldn’t be welcomed by her aunt and uncle.

The crush of guests was much larger than she’d expected, and by observation, she knew why. A good portion of these people had come to be spectators. Yes, they danced and mingled, but too often their gazes strayed to her, and they avoided her at her own ball. Meanwhile, her aunt had introduced to her the suitors she’d arranged, giving each of them an opportunity to dance with Lizzie.

The mention of her name caught Lizzie’s attention. A few women about Lizzie’s age had their backs to her and were having a hushed conversation.

Lizzie took a step closer.

“Mrs. Teague has outdone herself,” a woman in a lavish lavender dress commented.

The other two snickered.

“I agree. This is quite the event,” another laughed. “I’ve never seen so many undesirable suitors in one place before. It seems Mrs. Teague has resorted to scraping the bottom of the barrel in order to find a willing match for Miss Finn.”

The third shook her head. “I don’t know what I’d do if I were Miss Finn. The men she’s forced to dance with …”

“You could never be Miss Finn,” the one in the lavender reassured her. “Her mother was a prostitute.”

The comment elicited gasps.

My mother certainly was not a prostitute. Lizzie took a breath, ready to correct the gossipmonger but held back. Had her mother serviced customers? Byron had been told her mother was a doxy. Or perhaps he’d just assumed …?

“I believe the next dance is mine.” An elderly gentleman joined her at the refreshments table.

Mr. Walter Fenton. She’d overheard her aunt talking about him. His wife had died long ago, leaving him without an heir. The thought of providing that heir for him made her insides squirm. Still, she joined him on the dance floor for the quadrille, thoughts of her mother still floating around in her head. Her mother had been a servant at Maude’s House, at least as far as Lizzie could remember. Had her mother been a prostitute at one time? She’d never dared to ask. Honestly, she hadn’t wanted to know.

A doxy was far more valuable to Madam Maude than a mere servant. How had her mother convinced Maude to let her stay if she’d only been willing to do menial tasks? Maude had offered protection to a servant? Perhaps it was time to ask a few more questions at Maude’s House.

Mr. Fenton spoke very little during their dance, but unlike her prior partner, he was courteous and kept his hands where they belonged. Of course, that didn’t mean she wanted to marry him. She released a sigh. Would Byron do as he promised and rescue her from this torture? Byron, please save me.

Byron stood by Ruby’s kitchen table while she finished tailoring Byron’s suit, or rather her husband’s suit.

“Thank you for letting me borrow this, Gabe.”

Gabe tied a blindfold around his son Lewis’s head. “Borrowing? Now that Ruby has modified the suit to fit you, it’s yours now.”

“My turn! My turn!” Jesse yelled, holding out his blindfold to his father.

“Where will I wear something so fancy again?” Byron asked. He’d never been to a ball before, and after tonight, he likely never would again. As it was, he was purposefully showing up late so he could sneak in.

“Your wedding, of course.” Gabe obliged Jesse, tying the cloth so that Jesse’s eyes were covered. “That, my friend, is a lucky suit. I wore it when I married your sister, and now you can wear it when you get married. I only hope your union is as happy as ours,” he said, giving his wife a wink.

Gabe positioned his blindfolded boys on opposite sides of the sitting room. “All right. We’ll start with Jesse as the deer and Louis as the stalker. Are you ready?”

Both boys excitedly shouted, “Yes!”

“Then begin.” With that final instruction, Gabe picked up a newspaper and took a seat on the sofa. The two usually loud and playful boys silently crept around the room, the stalker trying to find the deer.

Byron grinned. He and Ruby used to play Deer Stalker when they were little as well. Only as an adult did Byron realize why his parents had taught them the game. Peace and quiet settled into the room as the boys played.

Gabe was indeed lucky. He had a wife who adored him and two boys who kept their house lively. He envied his brother-in-law. If only he could have this kind of life … with Lizzie. And maybe he would if he could convince her to give him a chance.

His sister slipped the jacket from his shoulders. If Greeley & Company went under, Ruby and Gabe should still be fine. With their skills, they could find jobs elsewhere. His parents were another matter, and the cost to treat his father’s illness … Maybe he should talk to Teague at the ball. Would the threat that he would tell everyone that Teague visited a brothel be enough to get the man to change their loan agreement back to the original amount? Maybe he could offer to reduce the prices for Howell & Harmon.

Ruby sat at the table and picked up her needle and thread. “It must be love.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You’re going to a ball you’re not even invited to for Lizzie’s sake. It must be love,” Ruby clarified.

Byron kept his mouth shut, but a smile tugged at his lips.

Ruby pointed at his face. “I knew you had feelings for her. You don’t have to admit it. I can sense these things. How does she feel about you?”

“I’m not sure.” Lizzie had kissed his cheek, a good sign. “You heard her. She said she never intends to marry.”

Ruby finished stitching his coat, tied a knot, and cut the thread. “A woman can always change her mind.” She held the coat for him, and he slid his arms through the sleeves. “Charm her into changing her mind.”

“The question is how,” he muttered.

“You’re handsome and smart. I’m sure you can figure out a way.” She smoothed the fabric on his shoulders. “Good luck. Now go before the ball is over.”

After saying his goodbyes, he hailed a hack to take him to Teague’s house. When he arrived, he stared up at the large, brick mansion, its steep gabled roof reaching the sky, and doubted his own sanity. The last time he’d been to Teague’s home had been to burgle the man’s house, and now here he stood ready to face his enemy again, even after Teague had warned him away from Lizzie. Was he a fool? A soft laugh escaped. Perhaps a lovesick fool. He scanned the area then rounded the house. He wouldn’t disappoint Lizzie. She must be miserable right now. Just the thought of her being forced to entertain her aunt’s chosen suitors … Who was he kidding? The thought of Lizzie being forced to entertain any man rankled.

Byron slipped through a servants’ entrance and quickly passed through the halls unnoticed, the muted sounds of chatter and music becoming clearer until he found the ballroom. He had no problem melding in with the crowd and soon caught sight of Teague surrounded by guests. Even if he wanted to talk to Lizzie’s uncle tonight, now wouldn’t be a good time.

Byron’s gaze swept the room and landed on the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. Lizzie’s red hair was a mass of ringlets arranged high on her head and cascading down to her shoulders. Her simple blue gown accentuated her figure. His heart raced. Then again, this woman could be wearing a sack, and she’d still outshine all the other women in the room.

She was speaking with a rather somber-looking fellow. As Byron approached, he caught part of their conversation.

“Parson Albers, you do know I grew up in a brothel, correct?” Lizzie asked.

“I am aware of that fact, Miss Finn, but it’s never too late to repent.”

Lizzie frowned. “You wish to marry me … to help me repent? I’ve done nothing requiring penitence.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean to insinuate that you followed your mother down the path of debauchery. Yet, what you witnessed in your childhood must have had an impact on who you are today.”

Lizzie’s frown deepened into a scowl.

He’d heard enough. Byron joined them. “I understand you completely, Mr. Albers. We are all sinners in the eyes of God, are we not?”

The surprise and delight on Lizzie’s face made him glad he’d come.

“Have we met?” the pastor asked.

“I don’t believe so.” Byron nodded to the man of God before him. “My name is Byron Greeley. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and it’s my opinion that Miss Finn has no reason to repent. She’s a fine, upstanding woman who I’m fortunate to have met.”

Mr. Albers opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Byron interrupted. “Now if you’ll excuse us. I have something I’d like to talk to Miss Finn about in private.”

He offered his arm to Lizzie, and she quickly took it, a grin on her face and her eyes sparkling.

When they were several steps away, she leaned in. “Where are we going?”

Byron smirked. “I don’t know. You live in this house. Where should we go?”

They slipped down a hallway and into a small salon. Lizzie shut the door and leaned back against the panel. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Has the ball been all that you’d feared it would be?”

“It’s about what I expected.” She stepped away from the door and meandered around the room, her hand sweeping over the back of a sofa. “My aunt has introduced me to a handful of men who wish to marry me for my dowry or to secure an heir.” She pointed toward the door. “Maybe with the exception of Pastor Albers, who wants to save my soul.” Lizzie resumed her wandering. “And, of course, all of my aunt’s friends and acquaintances who want to witness this spectacle are in attendance. My aunt has made me into a laughingstock.” She huffed out a breath. “Perhaps they even have bets on who I’ll end up marrying.”

“You won’t marry any of them,” he vowed. He wouldn’t let that happen, although he wasn’t sure as of yet how. At the moment, she seemed so melancholy he wanted nothing more than to hold her and comfort her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re right on that count. I won’t let my aunt force me into anything I don’t want to do.”

He closed the distance between them. “If she gives you too much pressure, my offer still stands.”

“Your offer?”

He smiled. “You can always marry me.”

She smiled back and rolled her eyes. “My uncle would have no issue with that.”

“So what if he does?” In his heart, he wouldn’t marry anyone except Lizzie.

“Are you forgetting about the threat to your business?”

“Ah, yes, that does make things a bit more difficult. Our wedding will have to wait until after matters are settled with your uncle.”

She laughed. “Our wedding will have to wait?” She shook her head and strode closer, her gaze meeting his.

Was that challenge he saw in her eyes?

“Are you sure you want to brave all the gossip and censure that comes with me?”

When she would have moved away, he stopped her with his hands gently holding her arms. “As long as we’re together, I’d brave anything.” He grazed his lips along her cheek and felt her shiver.

The corner of her mouth curved upward. “Are you sure you know what you’re saying?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He cradled her head in his hand and angled her face toward his. When he went in for a more passionate kiss, he glimpsed a flash of doubt in her eyes. Well, damn. He released her, but before he could take more than two steps away, she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and planted her lips on his. The initial shock fled in an instant, replaced by a heady rush of joy and desire. He kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her. Remembering the doubt he’d seen in her eyes, he was careful not to hold her too tightly. He let her set the pace. Her scent invaded his senses—floral and feminine, subtle yet intoxicating—and her curves brushing his chest teased him beyond measure. He couldn’t help himself. His mouth nipped at hers, and he drew her closer.

She circled her arms around his neck, and the taste of her fogged his mind. All thought dissipated as their panting breaths intermingled and their kisses became more frantic.

“Greeley!”

Teague’s voice pierced Byron’s brain, and Lizzie backed out from his arms, her face flushing.

“Why does this not surprise me?” a woman scoffed from the doorway. Lizzie’s aunt?

The woman charged forward and yanked Lizzie by the arm. “Come with me.”

Lizzie’s gaze met his as she was dragged from the room. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

If he could, he’d take her hand and whisk her away. He truly would marry her this very moment if she’d agree. Would she? Likely not, and if he fought for her now, he’d only make matters worse. He had to believe she would tell him if she wanted his help.

Lizzie and the woman left the room, and Teague closed the door behind them.

“How dare you come into my home uninvited,” Teague bellowed. “And to be found here, with my niece!” Teague strode across the room to stand before him. “That was stupid of you, Greeley. Do you know what kind of enemy I can be?”

He’d known there might be consequences to his appearance at the ball, but he’d come to Teague’s home for Lizzie’s sake. “Your niece deserves better than this—a ball and suitors she doesn’t want.”

Teague’s eyes narrowed, and a sneer curved his lips. “Do you think you’re a better match for her?”

Byron straightened his spine. “I do.” He cared about her opinions and desires. He’d spend his life doing his utmost to make her happy.

Teague let out a derisive laugh. “You will never, NEVER, be suitable for my niece.”

“Why? Because I won’t bow down to you when you attempt to bully me? Because I fight back?”

Teague shook his head. “Because you’re weak. You don’t have the wherewithal to protect my niece, to give her the life she’s meant to live. She deserves better than you.”

“You think the men you invited to this ball have that wherewithal?” Byron scoffed.

“They have money, and my backing, so yes.”

What a joke. “Money doesn’t determine a man’s character. What he does with it, however, speaks volumes. If he uses money to gain power, power he wields unfairly for his own gain …”

Teague scowled and stepped closer. “You have the audacity to stand in my own home and question my character?”

“I’ve come to understand that you’re a regular visitor of brothels.” Byron gestured toward the door. “What would your clients and colleagues think of your extramarital activities?”

“Now you’re threatening me?” Teague laughed once more. “Do you really think my clients and colleagues will believe your word over mine? Who are you to them? Merely a disgruntled businessman who is lashing out by making up rumors because he can’t pay his loan.”

Probably true, still … “Will your wife believe your word? Or will she have doubts?”

“My wife is fully aware of my faults. As long as she’s well provided for and can spend as she desires, she doesn’t complain.”

“No, instead she takes her anger out on Lizzie.” Byron inwardly groaned. This argument was getting him nowhere. “What if I change back the prices of the goods we sell to the Howell & Harmon store, or perhaps even lower them further?” His stomach churned at the concession.

Teague’s chuckle grated. He crossed the room and tugged on a bellpull. “It’s too late for that, Greeley. I don’t care about your prices anymore. Your interest in Lizzie has made the war between us personal. Be ready for the real battle to begin.”

Teague opened the door. “Get out of my house.”

He motioned to someone in the hallway. “See that he leaves. Throw him out if you have to.”

Perhaps he was a fool to come to Lizzie’s ball given the circumstances, yet he had no regrets. Hopefully, he’d succeeded in winning a little more of Lizzie’s affection. As for this matter with her uncle … This war with Teague had been bound to escalate at some point. After all, he had no intention of letting Lizzie’s aunt and uncle force her to marry. Right or wrong, he’d stay by her side no matter what happened. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t.

Once they were in Lizzie’s bedroom, Aunt Margaret pushed Lizzie into the chair at her dressing table. “Look at yourself. Do you enjoy playing the harlot?”

Lizzie stared in the mirror at her flushed face and her lips now red and swollen from being well-kissed. And she had been well- kissed. She suppressed a smile at the memory of Byron’s firm lips against hers. What had come over her when she’d grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him so brazenly? She supposed she should regret her impulsiveness, but she didn’t.

“Look at you all smug. If you think a liaison with Mr. Greeley is going to change anything, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her aunt flung her hand toward the closed door. “This was your chance to choose a husband, and you’ve thrown it away.”

“What if I choose Byron Greeley?” Where had that come from? Would she really consider marrying him?

“Impossible.” Her aunt shook her head. “I’ll choose your groom for you since you seem incapable of doing so.” She turned her back to Lizzie and crossed to the door. “Stay here. I’ll make your excuses for you.”

Stay here? As if she could leave even if she wanted to. Her aunt had summoned a footman to stand guard outside the door.

The dull ache of defeat pulsed in her chest. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s past time you got married,” her aunt threw back over her shoulder.

Such a lame excuse. “You’ve always detested me. Why marry me off? Why not throw me out of the house?”

Aunt Margaret faced her once more. “What would people think if I threw my own niece on the streets?”

“You could always say I ran away, that I left of my own free will.” Why she pressed, she didn’t know. She hadn’t yet saved enough money to support herself if her aunt did choose to send her on her way.

A look of hatred flashed across her aunt’s features. “You don’t get to escape so easily. You owe me.” Aunt Margaret pointed a finger at Lizzie and stalked closer, her every step menacing. “The humiliation I’ve suffered because of you, your mother, and …” Her aunt took a deep breath. “I raised you despite everything, and now you will do as I say.”

Lizzie stood, her indignation rearing up. “You raised me? You’ve been vicious and vindictive since the moment I entered this house, and now you want me to suffer for the rest of my life by demanding I marry a man of your choosing.” She closed the distance between them and faced her aunt. “You can’t force me to marry!”

The door opened, and her uncle stepped through. “I had my doubts about your aunt’s plans for you, but now I agree with her wholeheartedly. You will marry, and soon.”

“No, Uncle, I—”

“After what I witnessed tonight, the sooner you marry, the safer you’ll be from Greeley.”

What? “How will I be safer?”

“Damn it, Lizzie! Don’t you see he’s manipulating you? He wants to get close to you because he thinks he can use you to sway me.”

Was that true? Byron didn’t seem like a man who would do such a thing. Yet, she’d learned from her mother how duplicitous men could be.

Her uncle’s usually kind blue eyes pinned her with a glare. “Enough! I told you to stay away from Greeley, and you ignored my advice. Now you will marry whomever your aunt deems best.”

“I won’t!”

“You will, or Byron’s business won’t be the only casualty in our war.”

An icy shiver of dread snaked down her spine. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll gladly destroy him and everything he holds dear,” he gritted out, his jaw clenched and a look of utter loathing in his eyes.

She shivered. “Uncle, calm down.” She’d never seen him this livid, this frightening. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I’ll regret nothing,” he sneered. “Lizzie, I swear, he’ll pay dearly for attempting to seduce you.”

“He wasn’t seducing me. I—”

“Don’t try to defend him!”

The thought of Byron and his family suffering even more because of her ignited a desperation in her she couldn’t quell. “You’re saying if I agree to marry whomever Aunt Margaret chooses, you’ll leave Byr—er, Mr. Greeley alone?”

Uncle Eldon stared at her for several tense minutes, as if contemplating what he would do. “Yes, I’ll leave things as they stand.”

Her insides roiled at the thought of agreeing to his terms, but she pressed ahead. “Very well. I’ll do as you say.” At least for now.

Fury flared within her to join the sick feeling in her stomach. She grasped on to that outrage and held tight. Her aunt and uncle had no right to force her to marry a stranger, but how could she stop them? She couldn’t allow her uncle to hurt Byron and his family any more than he already had.

The discussion at an end, her aunt and uncle headed for the door. They would make her excuses and rejoin the party as if nothing had happened. How could Uncle Eldon make such demands? He’d always been so kind to her and her mother. Even though Aunt Margaret had turned her back on them, he’d visited them and brought Lizzie gifts.

Of course, her aunt was another matter. She’d been the one who’d spread the rumor about Lizzie’s mother. After all, Aunt Margaret’s woe-is-me tale of how she’d generously taken in her niece garnered even more sympathy if everyone knew the girl had been raised in a brothel because her mother had been a prostitute.

She’d always believed her aunt was simply embellishing her story, but after talking to Byron about what he’d heard from Effie, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Her heart clenched. Perhaps it was time to pay Effie another visit to find out the truth, even if it meant facing matters she’d rather leave in the past.