Elizabeth had made up her mind not to interfere in her brother's entanglement. It was a dirty matter and she preferred to keep her hands clean. But as the weeks passed in his house, no matter how much she attempted to avoid them both, she could not help but become aware of how very peculiar their situation was.
She had expected to find her brother fully at the command and persuasion of his mistress. That was the natural order of things where Richard was concerned. It was in his character to see himself as second-best. There was a humbleness there that had often irritated Elizabeth, though she had never been irritated enough to wish to correct it by kind encouragement. However, to her critical and unpleased eye, it appeared to be quite the opposite: there was a submissiveness in Laura that Elizabeth could neither understand nor like, a tendency to look to Richard for judgement, a desire to please him. Elizabeth, who had never submitted to any man, never looked to any man for judgement, and never sought to please anyone but herself, was made more uncomfortable by this behaviour than she was by the occasional kisses she witnessed or endearments she caught whispered between them. She was naturally irritated that Richard would sully the respectability of their family name by his attachment, but it was Laura who truly disappointed her. Once, Elizabeth had approved of Laura for her independence and spirit. Now it appeared that spirit wished to be tamed.
There was also in Elizabeth a strong preference for the well-being of her own sex. She would not have called herself a radical, but she had spent the first seventeen years of her life in fear of her father, and the next seventeen in contempt of her husband, and between them both she had come to believe that all men were either brutes or fools. What started as disdainful curiosity into her brother's affair became then surprised interest and at last a righteous concern. Laura admired Richard too much. She was in his power. It was a dangerous position for a woman to be.
For some weeks yet, Elizabeth managed to control her desire to correct this strange course of events. But the country bored her, and at last she persuaded herself that it was her duty as the older and the wiser of the two to guide Laura to a better path.
With that in mind, she waited for a morning when Richard was out of the way in the far reaches of the estate with his steward and hunted Laura down in the library, where she was lounging on the couch with a novel Elizabeth shut the door behind her and waited for Laura to look up, but Laura only turned another page of her book placidly as though she hadn't heard her come in.
Elizabeth was not one for meaningful coughs. She sat directly down upon a hard-backed chair near Laura and said her name. Laura sighed, let her book drop to the floor, and reluctantly sat up.
"What is it?"
The insolence, which demanded to be corrected, must yet be faintly approved of. There was spirit in Laura still, and spirit might save her from being entirely Richard's captive.
"There's no need for impertinence, my lady. I merely came to have a little chat with you."
"Did you?" Laura raised her eyebrows. "Goodness. Whatever could this be about?"
"It's about you and Richard," Elizabeth said directly, because she never saw the point prevaricating with a woman.
Laura rolled her eyes, in a manner annoyingly reminiscent of Elizabeth's eldest daughter. "I really don't think you've anything to say upon the subject that I want to hear."
"Yes, but we don't always want what we need." Elizabeth straightened her posture. "I insist you listen, my lady. I have decided I must give you warning. You are getting too fond of Richard."
Laura opened her mouth and frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry. In my position, should I not be? Ah. But perhaps you are worried I will marry him. You need not worry. I won't."
Elizabeth did not know if she was relieved by that or not. A few years ago, she would have welcomed a marriage between Laura and Richard, but its practical objections now could not be ignored: Laura's first marriage had brought her into a lower circle, and now that she was Richard's mistress, she had nothing left in money or connection to offer him in marriage. On the other hand, Elizabeth could concede that marriage was not only a matter of commercial interest. There was the moral question to think of as well, which could only be answered by a marriage between the two. Then there was the need for Richard to have a son — a legitimate son. Elizabeth eyed Laura's slender figure speculatively. Marriage between the two, though not the most desirable event on earth, could not be an evil if a child came of it. Or precipitated it.
She smiled at Laura. "You have me quite mistaken. I cannot condone your current circumstances, but if the day comes when Richard's happiness is secured by making you his wife, then I will welcome you as a sister."
Laura stared uneasily back at her.
"Indeed," Elizabeth continued, in as sweet a tone as she could muster, "I have no ill feeling for you in particular, it is only this situation that gives me pause. Natural concern for my brother, yes, but also concern for you."
"For me?" Laura was now incredulous.
"Yes. For you. I have seen in recent weeks that it is not at all as I had thought. I had assumed he was under your thrall — but I find, instead, that it is you who adores him. And to adore any man, let alone one who is attached to you nothing more substantial than his current whim, is a dangerous position for a woman."
Laura blinked, open-mouthed. "What on earth are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you need to be more cautious," Elizabeth said patiently. "You are in danger of breaking your heart over him."
With a burst of hard laughter, Laura got to her feet. "Oh, Eliza, if that is the worst danger you envision, I welcome it."
"You must see the danger in it, surely." Elizabeth frowned up at her. "You seem to admire him very much. But he — I think he is only amusing himself with you."
"Amusing himself!?"
"I have seen no evidence that his deeper feelings have been touched. But I can tell even now that yours have." The flush in Laura's cheeks and the anger in her eyes told Elizabeth that. But Richard — his phlegmatic nature had not been disturbed. "I seek only to warn you. You are too open with him. You give him too much of yourself."
"No. You don't." Laura looked down at her, her brows drawn, her eyes dark and narrow. "I can see exactly what you are doing. Rather than doing me any kindness with these cruel words, you seek to make me distrust your — your wonderful brother. You see that you cannot persuade either of us to quit this and think that you can sabotage us into ending it. Well you can't."
"That is not what I mean at all," Elizabeth said, frustrated. "I am thinking only of your welfare."
"Oh don't be ridiculous!" Laura tossed her head. "You came down here for the purpose of splitting us up — no other reason. And soon you return home and this is your last chance. You have bided your time certainly, but I won't be taken in."
"I came because Catherine—"
"—Is perfectly healthy and in no danger of getting a pox." Laura's eyes flashed. "Let me give you a gentle warning, too, Elizabeth. Your children will not forget nor forgive you for abandoning them at such a time."
"I had no choice," Elizabeth said, her irritation becoming anger.
"You had every choice in the world. And you chose against your children." Laura flung herself back down on the couch and picked up her book again. "I can imagine no reason for that, no excuse. Nothing but selfishness. Unforgivable in a mother."
Elizabeth's anger rose and burned inside her with self-righteous fury. She had meant to be kind to Laura, and to receive not just ingratitude but such accusations inflamed her. Her children were the only creatures in the world whom she truly considered superior to herself. She loved them with the sort of fierce pride that would have seen her cheerfully murder anyone who threatened their happiness — the sort of fierce pride that could never bear to consider she herself did not always know what made them happy.
"I would die nursing a child if I had to," Laura said, her voice throbbing with contempt.
"That's easy to say when you have no risk of dying," Elizabeth snapped. "It's my health that's delicate, not Catherine's. It's me who was ordered away to avoid the pox."
Laura froze and then slowly raised her head from the book. Elizabeth felt a vicious pleasure in seeing the guilty shock on her face.
"You didn't say a word," Laura said. "Not even to Richard."
Elizabeth shrugged. "He could hardly help."
Slowly, Laura sat up and leaned forward. "Are you — are you very ill?" she asked tentatively.
"Not so much anymore." Elizabeth wondered if she should keep it back or not, and decided to tell it all. It was getting to that point anyway. "I'm having another baby. The doctor says that catching the pox in this condition could kill me, and certainly would kill the baby. Otherwise, I assure you, I would be at my children's bedside. But I thought they needed me alive in future more than they needed me with them now."
"Oh." Laura's mouth opened in surprise. "I— I congratulate you."
"Thank you," Elizabeth said primly. She was a little regretful to have revealed so much, but pleased that she had triumphed over Laura.
"Does Richard know?"
"Not yet. I'm going to tell him when he gets back — you won't say a word to him first, will you?"
Laura shook her head and gave a small, rather wobbly smile. Still tasting the sweetness of triumph, Elizabeth had the graciousness to feel a slender tug of compassion for that smile — she suspected whereof it came. So she paused on her way to the door, looked back, and extended a dry twig of an olive branch.
"Everything I have said today, I mean. I hope you can see that now. I act according to principle, Laura."
"Your principles must differ from mine," Laura said. "But I thank you for your advice, my lady."
Elizabeth was content to call that a truce and left full of satisfaction with the interview. Later, when she heard Richard return, she went straight to his dressing room where he was changing out of his riding clothes. In a few short words she explained her situation, and, pleased to see him smile broadly on hearing it, accepted the hug he gave her without complaint.
"I thought you were looking pale lately," he said, letting her go and stepping back. "I congratulate you — and Farthingdale too."
Elizabeth nodded graciously. "Thank you. If it's a boy I plan him for the church."
"I hope he likes it." Richard went to his dresser to find a cravat, but Elizabeth kept her gaze upon him. After a moment, he looked up. "What is it, Elizabeth?"
"Well you'll keep a living for him, won't you?"
Richard rooted through the drawer a moment before answering. "Elizabeth, I will gladly help any of my nieces and any of my nephews with their futures. But I do think you might wait until he — or she — is born and until he — or she — has developed some interests and abilities of his or her own before I set it in stone."
"Infants don't have the wisdom to decide on their own futures so we must do it for them."
"But young men and young women do. And they very frequently decide against the wisdom of those who chose for them." Richard sighed. "Sometimes, I just think, you're setting yourself and my nieces and nephews up for a lot of trouble in the future, Liz."
She pressed her lips together. "Richard, what on earth do you think you know about raising children?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He shrugged. "It was just a thought. How much longer are you staying on? There's a huge cluster of blackberries coming out on the east side of the woods. I thought I might take Cate on a drive there with me next time I have to go."
"Catherine," Elizabeth corrected, shuddering at the name and the thought of her sweet, clean little daughter covered in blackberry juice. But it was good for Catherine that Richard took an interest in her, so she nodded her consent. "I'll be here another week or so. I don't know. Farthingdale has written to say the boys are nearly out of their scabs, but I don't feel well enough to travel yet. I'll leave when I think I can."
"Then we'll have your company a while yet."
There was another smile with that, and something resembling cheerfulness in his voice. Elizabeth contemplated asking him if he was merely trifling with Laura or not. But she doubted he would be honest with her, and anyway, she had already warned Laura, and considered her duty done.
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A/N: There. Elizabeth's cruelty explained. Originally this chapter was written from Richard's point of view, but I thought it really needed Elizabeth's thought process. One of the things that changed in it was when Elizabeth nods her head -- in Richard's point of view, she nods her head imperiously. In her own, she nods her head graciously.