Chapter 5

London, 1820

"Ms. Webber?"

Elizabeth rolled onto her back, clenching her eyes shut at the knocking on her bedroom door. The voice was female, meaning that Jason had clearly given up on coaxing her out of her room as he'd been trying for the last two days, but it could have been a ploy. She wouldn't put it past him to snatch some poor woman off the street and pay her to knock on the door in hopes that Elizabeth would answer.

"Just a moment," she called out, pushing herself up. She crawled to the foot of the bed to grab the robe that was hanging on the bedpost, hurrying to shrug it over her shoulders.

"May I ask who…" Her voice trailed off as she fought to slide her feet into her slippers.

"Georgie Jones, miss," came the tired response. "Mr. Spinelli let me in and showed me to your room."

"Oh," she murmured quietly, knowing the woman didn't hear her. The name was all too familiar and she whispered it aloud several times to herself before it finally clicked. "The seamstress?"

"That would be it," she replied, letting out a heavy sigh that made Elizabeth feel embarrassed for forcing her to wait.

Spinelli hadn't been setting up a wench after all.

"Forgive me," Elizabeth said, pulling the door open just a crack. She could tell from the way the sun streamed in through the window that it was late afternoon, and she couldn't believe how lazy she'd been. "I've just gotten up…from an afternoon nap."

"No worries, miss," she grinned, tipping her head expectantly and waiting for her to open the door. "Mr. Morgan sent Mr. Spinelli. He thought you might like some new gowns and dresses. I was also informed you're going to be married, so a wedding dress too. I apologize for coming so early, but he wanted the wedding dress as soon as possible."

"I see," she murmured, holding her robe closed with one hand and pulling the door open. "Mr. Morgan's been rather busy the past couple of days."

"You did not know I was coming?" she asked, setting her box of supplies down on the table by the door and starting to unload all the material from her arms.

"Must have forgotten," she replied, gently closing the door and watching as Georgie sorted through the fabric.

It wasn't as if she could tell the woman her fiancé was a complete scoundrel, and she'd locked herself in her room to avoid seeing his face. To the seamstress he would seem kind and loving, having requested a new wardrobe for his soon-to-be wife, and well, it wasn't like she could tell Georgie a thing really.

Oh, how she wished she had someone to talk to during all of this.

She'd gotten used to having an empty, quiet house all to herself, but in the past few days her home had managed to become quite lively. With not much to do in her room but sulk, she'd listened to the sounds of Jason and Spinelli's feet on the stairs and their hushed voices as they passed through the hallway. She really had learned so much about them in her self-induced solitary confinement.

Jason's feet were heavier than Spineli's, which made sense seeing as he was a much bigger man. He moved as awkwardly as Spinelli when he was upstairs, and she was always hearing him bumping into things and swearing under his breath. At first she thought it was Spinelli, but the second she heard him placing the word bloody between every thing he said, she knew it was Jason, and for some reason it made her smile. There was just something about him being so twisted up that he couldn't even walk straight that pleased her. Though he could be equally as content with how she'd withdrawn to her room.

They were going to make for such a lovely marriage.

There were also times when he moved so lightly as if his feet barely touched the floor. That was usually when he left a tray of food outside her door along with some silly note apologizing for being such a fool – his words not hers – and she refused to let him get off so easily. A note and a few bowls of stew wouldn't change that he had questioned her belief in her father and her desire to free him. There was just so much that Jason didn't know and wouldn't understand, and she couldn't help but resent him for thinking he had the power to change everything.

"Ready, miss?" Georgie asked, holding a measuring tape in one hand and several yards of fabric in the other.

"You said that Jason sent for you?" she asked, her hands still fisted in her robe. "I am just curious as to why. I have an entire wardrobe that I believe is just fine."

"I suppose it's a wedding gift of some kind," she replied, giving her a kind smile. "You're starting a new life, and a bridal trousseau is traditional. Perhaps, Mr. Morgan wanted to honor that seeing as…" Her voiced trailed off as her cheeks turned pink, fearing that she'd insulted Elizabeth. Georgie was correct in that she had no family or mother to carry out any wedding traditions.

"Don't worry," she said, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile at the young girl. She couldn't have been any older than Elizabeth, but if she remembered correctly, her family had always been in the tailoring business. "What exactly does this entail?"

"Mr. Morgan gave me a list of what you might like," she replied, digging through her box of supplies. "Here it is: a velvet dress or two, some walking dresses, ball dresses, dresses for traveling, robes-"

"Why would I need all of that?" Elizabeth interrupted, tightening her robe around her small frame.

She would take a new dress or two simply because she hadn't updated her wardrobe in months. Ball gowns and fancy frilly things with lace just seemed unnecessary, especially for a marriage that was happening because it was convenient.

Unless…

Oh, she really needed to discuss their situation with Jason.

Georgie's eyes lifted from the paper as she gave her a curious smile. "You are marrying a Viscount, miss."

"Yes, you are right," she agreed, doing her best to hide the fact that she'd practically forgotten he was a Viscount.

So what did that require from her?

This was all so very confusing.

"Well," Elizabeth sighed, loosening her grip on her robe. "Perhaps we should get started."

"I'll need you to pick up the certificate tomorrow," Jason murmured, slicing onions for a soup on the kitchen counter as he spoke to Spinelli. "Once I can get this out of the way, I can focus on the case." He tried to ignore the way his assistant stiffened, clearly disagreeing with something he'd said. "Yes?"

"Sir, while I haven't the exact knowledge of what a marriage means – I believe it's safe to say it isn't just something you get out of the way," Spinelli replied hesitantly, clutching his list of tasks tightly in his hand. "How are you even sure Fair Elizabeth will leave her room long enough for a wedding ceremony?"

Jason cleared his throat, shrugging as he continued to slice the onions. "She won't have a choice."

"Does that make a difference?" he questioned, frowning at his boss. "The lady has had no choice in any of what's happened so far and has made it clear how she feels."

"I know," he said softly, shoving the slices aside.

He did not need Spinelli to tell him how miserable and upset Elizabeth was. Jason had been living with her for days now; her ear piercing silence and heartbreaking sobs were enough to make him feel as if he were going mad.

Had she been any other woman, anyone other than Jeffrey's daughter, he would have kicked her door down and demanded she speak to him. Instead he was taking Spinelli's advice and trying to understand her feelings – something very foreign altogether, but he was trying nonetheless.

He never understood why women simply took to their rooms when they were upset – not that he had ever really lived with many. Sighing, he shook his head, knowing he hadn't really given Elizabeth much of a chance to do anything. Spinelli was always telling him he was a very difficult man to talk to, and for once he was trying to see what his assistant meant.

Why did she have to be Jeffrey's daughter and force him into caring?

"I assume she allowed Georgie in?" he asked, scooping the pile of onions into his hand and dropping them into the pot of stock on the stove.

Spinelli's eyes widened at the seamstresses name. "Yes, I heard the two of them laughing happily in Elizabeth's bedroom," he answered, smiling secretively. "Oh, she has the most beautiful laugh."

His lip twitched in annoyance at Spinelli having heard her laugh, and he hated that he was displeased to hear Elizabeth was happy. Or rather that his friend had been there to enjoy it.

"Her eyes are quite beautiful too," he continued, letting out a content sigh. "And those beautiful, delicate hands that she creates such-"

"Spinelli," he growled, turning around to face him, not sure why he was so annoyed. It was just very inappropriate for him to be talking about Jason's fiancé this way.

His assistant's eyes went wide and he shook his head, immediately starting to stutter. "No, you think that I was implying such…" He paused, holding a fist to his mouth as he grimaced. "No, no, no. I meant Wise, Beautiful Georgie – Not that Fair Elizabeth isn't wise or beautiful, but oh-" Pursing his lips, he nodded towards the doorway and waved his papers at Jason. "I do believe I have enough to keep me busy."

"Yes, you do," he replied, debating on whether or not he should turn to the doorway, knowing that Elizabeth was standing there and had heard the end of their exchange. He felt her presence, the never-ending awkwardness that followed her about the house from the moment she appeared. The last thing he wanted was for the silly girl to misconstrue their conversation and think that Jason cared if Spinelli had affection for her.

Besides, it wasn't as if such affections would go anywhere.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she said softly, one hand clutching the doorway after she'd stepped aside so Spinelli could leave. She kept her eyes cast downward as if she were too afraid to look at him. "I wanted to thank you for…for today." His brow wrinkled as he tried to figure out what she meant. "The dresses. You really didn't have to go through such trouble. I do have dresses, you know."

"Of course," he sighed, never imagining she would take offense to an offer for a new wardrobe. "It is tradition when a woman is married…"

"I know," she murmured quietly, wringing her hands in front of her as her eyes finally found his. "It's all very overwhelming."

"The clo-" He stopped, realizing that she wasn't talking about the new clothes, but the entire situation period. Damn that Spinelli for having been correct. "Yes, I suppose it is."

She nodded slowly, and he watched the questions form in her eyes. "What will be expected of me?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, and he hated to think she was afraid of him.

"Expected?"

"When I am your wife."

"Oh," he said dumbly, his mouth going dry at her question. He honestly hadn't had a second to really think about the possibilities, or if there would even be any. "What do you think should be expected of you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Do men usually ask their wives such a thing?"

"I'm not like most men."

A brief smile flashed across her plump lips, and he found himself grinning in return as the room relaxed around them. "I'm beginning to see that, but that doesn't change the question at hand." Her eyes narrowed as if to enforce her firmness on the matter. "What do you expect of me?"

"You know why I asked you to marry me," he stated, not bothering to ask because he had no doubt that Elizabeth had him pegged.

"To force me into submission," she murmured softly, arching her eyebrows. "Isn't that why any man marries a woman?"

"How many times has that tongue of yours got you into trouble?" he asked, secretly admiring her boldness.

"As many times as you avoid giving answers," she replied, her jaw growing tight with annoyance. "I am doing my best here, Jason. I am complying and agreeing to your wishes, and when Georgie arrived today, it set in how real this is. She is making clothing fit for a Viscount's wife, and she is working on a wedding dress…" Her voice trailed off as she frowned and shook her head. "A dress I won't even get to see before I'm married in it."

He assumed such was important to a woman, and he never really understood why. Wedding gowns were overpriced and overdone, not to mention they cost a fortune only to be worn once. Sure, Elizabeth would have liked to meet with Georgie and discuss her dress in detail, but they only had so much time. Jason needed to get the damn wedding over, so he could focus on freeing her father.

"Um, yes," he muttered, when she cleared her throat, still waiting for his answer. "Well, I want to free your father."

"And you expect me to stay out of the way while you try to do so?"

"And to comply if necessary."

"That is all?" she pried curiously, and he couldn't figure out why she wasn't fighting him about demanding information from her. "The dresses…the marriage…Is it all just for show?"

"Should it mean anything more?" he asked, causing her to scowl. Shrugging, he turned back to the counter as he remembered the pot of soup. "If you wish to go into town or to attend…something – I thought you might like-"

"You mean as in you would attend with me?" She grunted, rolling her eyes and looking appalled. "Of course, you think appearing in society as if all is normal will get you somewhere with my father's case."

"It's possible."

"You're using me."

"You give me something, and I gladly give it in return."

"And that is all that you're asking me to give?"

He stiffened, not quite sure where she was going with this, but having a very good idea. Leave it to Elizabeth to make him feel even worse about their situation.

"Men usually ask a specific thing from their wives." She pushed herself away from the door and stepped into the kitchen. He didn't have to see beneath her skirts to know her knees were trembling.

"To have never been married before you seem to know a lot about wives and husbands."

"I hear lots of things, and I have a right to know if you expect me to…to handle certain…needs."

"No worries there. I won't be asking anything of that sort," he replied, dropping the knife on the counter when his hands started to tremble. He refused to look at her, not wanting to know her reaction.

It was going to be trying enough to be in a marriage where he wasn't receiving the benefits, and it never dawned on him that she would expect him to want her. Is that what this was about? Or did she want such a thing? And how could he deny her?

This was very perplexing.

Letting out a shaky breath, he quickly reminded himself this was Jeffrey Webber's daughter, and he had to move on from any impure thoughts that he may have. "I, uh, I take it you're feeling better?"

"About that…the way I acted…" She blushed, obviously thinking over the last exchange they'd had in the kitchen. "I was upset and instead of acting like a lady, I threw a tantrum that was the equivalent of a child's reaction to-"

"Don't," he cut in, shaking his head as he lifted his eyes to hers. She arched an eyebrow in reply, not understanding him. "Don't ever apologize for what you feel or how you show it." She nodded, leaning her hip against the counter as she looked at him, unsure of what to say. "I wasn't very kind to you either."

"I imagine that's hard for a man like you to admit," she replied quietly, a slow grin spreading across her face.

"No," he corrected, gripping the knife, his shaky hands finally steadying. At least she didn't hate him that much. "Admitting I'm wrong is easy, especially when Spinelli is around to remind me. It's doing what is right after the mistake where I usually fall short."

"So…what is right?" she asked, craning her neck to watch him expertly slice the onions and drop them into the pot.

Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath and tried to sort his words, knowing the wrong ones would send her back to her room. "You are Jeffrey Webber's daughter; therefore you deserve the same respect I would give him."

"Isn't it a tad bit ridiculous to respect me on name alone?" she inquired, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him expectantly. "Did you bother to think I may have some enjoyable qualities? Or do you see me as just another silly girl?"

He grunted, failing to hide his grin at her sudden playfulness. "Aren't you respecting me for the same reasons?" he asked, dipping a wooden spoon into the pot and stirring the onions he'd just dropped in. "Your father has done us no favors in connecting us."

Her eyes darkened, challenged by his statement. "I was raised to respect most men, and you are a Viscount-"

"That's nothing more than a name," he interrupted, waving the spoon at her.

"Well, then perhaps I'll just have to find some likeable, respectable qualities about you," she replied, inching her way along the counter, desperate to peek into the pot on the stove.

"I'll try to do the same," he said, shaking the spoon off over the pot and laying it onto the counter.

"You cook," she murmured, sliding up beside him, her elbow resting against the counter.

He didn't realize at first that she meant it as a compliment, and it felt surprisingly good to hear such from her, and he couldn't decide whether or not he liked the feeling.

"You could always learn," he offered, sliding the knife across the counter to her. He had no idea why he felt the urge to teach her, but he figured it would be easier than standing side-by-side in complete and total awkwardness.

She shook her head timidly and clasped her hands to her chest. "I believe I've made enough messes already."

"Honestly, it isn't that hard," he said, peeling another onion and slicing it in half. He slid his hand down the knife and carefully clutched it by the blade as he held it out to her.

"Jason, I don't know," she murmured, clumsily gripping the handle in her palm. He knew immediately what her problem was; that she held the knife too limp as if she were afraid, and he remembered how roughly chopped the vegetables looked from her stew that he'd thrown across the room.

"Come here," he replied, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face the counter. Wrapping one hand around hers, he held the knife over the onion, lifting her other and placing it around the vegetable to hold it in place. His finger grazed the side of her hand, reminding him of the burn, and he dropped his head down so that it was close to her ear. "Does it still hurt?"

"No," she answered, her body fighting between letting go and staying tensed.

He couldn't help but grin at how she reacted to his closeness. How she shifted uncomfortably, causing her back to graze against his chest, forcing him to fight the urge to press himself against her. Or how her soft, velvety skin sweated beneath his, leaving him to wonder if a man had ever gotten this close to her.

"Jason?"

"Um, yeah," he muttered, methodically lifting the knife, his hand cupping hers as he lowered it to cut the onion into thin strips. "Like that."

She nodded, sighing heavily when he released her hand, but remained behind her. Moments later, she was loosely holding the knife again and fumbling to cut the onion. Her strips varied in size, many entirely too fat, and he started to place his hand over hers again and help, but she quickly dropped the knife and backed away.

"I'd rather you did this. As you know, I'm a terrible cook, and thankfully, you aren't. Otherwise we would surely starve once we're married," she said, practically twitching as she rambled. "You could always hire a cook, or perhaps, we could just stick Spinelli in here. Or maybe-"

"You act as if you're afraid of it," he interrupted, nodding towards the knife.

"Not exactly, but they do make me uncomfortable," she admitted, folding her arms over her chest and drawing her shoulders tightly around her as if trying to shrink away.

"Your father," he sighed, shaking his head and silently scolding himself for not thinking. Had Spinelli been here, the damn fool would have noticed immediately. She neither confirmed nor denied his speculation, so he simply finished the onion himself and dropped it into the pot.

"Well," he murmured, glancing over his shoulder at her as she continued to stand completely still. He wondered why the knife had shaken her that much, but he didn't dare ask. Instead, he did his best to think like his assistant, searching for something to ease the awkwardness that was filling the space between them. "I suppose I'll have to look somewhere other than the kitchen for your finer qualities."