Her days were calm, filled with gentle routine. She might’ve thought it boring if she had considered it a year ago. Back then, she had always looked to the next party, the next card game, the next ball or event which might prove diverting and give her a sense of living.
At Innesford, there were no sharp peaks of excitement. Instead, there was peace.
After breakfast they would walk. Most often they walked along the coast and sometimes on the beach itself. They could walk through the woodland, across the land or into Truro.
Mostly they avoided people.
On those walks, they talked. Not about themselves or the future. Instead, they spoke of ordinary, everyday things, including Cian’s business affairs. These were as vast as the estate itself, covered half the globe and involved hundreds of people who relied upon the family’s business ventures.
Eleanore had not suspected the family business affairs reached so far and so deeply. She suspected James would be impressed if he knew.
Sometimes they spoke about her. Her early life, in Europe. Her awareness of the Prince to whom she was betrothed, which shaped her entire life. How she had resented that bond as she grew up.
Cian offered no judgment. He had known about her betrothal since the beginning. It hung like a cloud over their heads. It was an unresolved barrier.
After lunch they tended to laze about. There were books and a warm hearth. When no one was in the room with them, there were caresses and kisses from Cian, which kept her body tingling with the promise of the coming night.
The nights… The nights were feasts of lust and pleasure, beyond anything she suspected had been possible. Cian was inexhaustible. He drove responses from her body which left her weak and drained. He never seemed to tire. His energy never lacked. He had a supernatural knowledge of how to drive her out of her mind with pleasure.
She slept later and later in the morning, to make up for the sleepless nights.
And she also learned about discretion, the Williams way.
More than once she heard Cian say, “within the family we do as we please.” She only had to look at his formally proper behavior out in public, his very polite behavior in front of the staff, and the passionate heated man who shared her bed at night, to understand what he meant.
During the second week of her stay at Innesford, he folded his copy of The Times newspaper and passed it to her across the breakfast table. He tapped an article with his finger.
She read the article, her heart sinking. Trenton Belmont had been arrested. He was accused of beating a woman almost to death. The circumstances were unclear, although the few facts were suggestive. The woman was one he had been seen with socially. When the police could speak to her, she told them she had refused Belmont’s advances and he had rewarded her with his fists.
Eleanore put the newspaper down, feeling ill.
Cian watched her. He raised a brow. He knew about Trenton Belmont, now. She had told him everything. When she had confessed it all, Cian was amused. “You remembered to keep your thumb tucked in,” he said. “Well done. You didn’t break it.”
Now he said, “It appears your instincts about him were correct.”
“I didn’t think he would be quite this bad.”
“Are you sure?” Cian asked softly.
She hesitated, thinking it through. “Perhaps, deep in my heart, I believed he was capable of it.”
“That is why you responded as you did. You listen to your instincts, you used them to save yourself. If I had not taught you how to defend yourself, it could have ended as badly for you, too.” His smile was warm. “You are not such a terrible judge of people at all, Ellie.”
James sent her letters, inquiring about her stay with the family. In between the lines she could hear his concern. James did not dare tell her she must return to Durham. He had attempted that before and learned to his regret it only stiffened her resolve to do exactly as she pleased.
Instead of telling James about the family, Eleanore tried to explain to him what had happened on the boat and how it had changed her life. Now she needed time to reflect. Staying away from the Gainford family was giving her the distance she needed to develop an unfamiliar perspective on life. She would return, she told him, when she knew she was ready to face the future.
It was not a direct promise that she would marry the Prince, although it was enough to keep James happy.
She tried to feel guilty for the lie. She had not thought about the future at all during her time at Innesford. In a way it was a relief to not have to think all the time. She could relax and let her thoughts wander, and not worry about what anyone thought of her.
Cian was exceptional at engineering such reflective moments. This surprised Eleanore. She had heard many tales over the years about the wild Williams family and the equally outrageous head of it, Seth Williams. Cian’s father was a convict, a transportee, possibly a pirate. He drank hard and was more than willing to wade into any fight. He had enjoyed life and had an enormous capacity for it.
Everyone said Cian looked exactly like Seth Williams. Everyone said he was exactly like Seth Williams.
“I might have ended up like my father, once,” Cian told her. “Only, he died when I was eleven years old and suddenly, I was responsible for all the estates, the titles and my entire family. My mother, Natasha, shielded me from the burdens as much as she could, yet I grew up with the knowledge that everyone relied on me to keep them safe.” He shrugged. “I never had a chance to be like Seth.”
“Do you regret that you did not get that chance?”
“I used to. Then I met you and suddenly the world made sense.” He considered her. “For the last few years you have been living as Seth did. Tell me, did you truly enjoy it?”
Eleanore shifted uncomfortably. “I have never thought of it that way. Is that what he did? Was he looking for meaning in life?”
“I don’t know,” Cian replied. “I never sat down with my father to talk about such things. I would like to believe he lived as he did because that was who he was. Only, it isn’t who I am. I don’t think it’s really what you are, either. We have lived wild adventures, you and me. I suspect it has cured us of looking for more.”
The days rolled by, unmarked by her, until six weeks passed. Cian sent out the invitations to the family for their annual gathering at Innesford in early October. At dinner that night, Cian pushed an addressed envelope toward her.
She looked at his strong script. Then she looked at him.
“I am inviting you to join the family at the gathering,” he said.
“I am not family,” she pointed out. “I have heard about your family gatherings for years. No one but family is ever invited.”
“That is not entirely true,” he said. “Sometimes people who may as well be family are invited.”
“Is that what I am?”
Cian didn’t answer at once. He did not meet her eyes. Instead he stared at the tablecloth and straightened out the folds with his fingers. “If my ancestor had not court-martialed your ancestor on the battlefield of Castlebar, then in my mind you would be family already. You would have been family for years.”
Her heart fluttered uneasily and her breath shallowed.
“I still do not know what lies in the future,” he said softly. “For now, though, you are here. I want the family to meet you. I want you to meet them. I want, just for one week, to experience what might have been.” His gaze met hers once more. “Please say yes.”
“I did not think I would have to face any more storms,” she said.
“I will be beside you for this one, too.”
And so, two weeks later, as the many various family members, cousins and family-by-choice members arrived at Innesford, Eleanore stood beside Cian on the front steps. One by one, Cian introduced her to every one of them. Not a single person raised so much as a brow in her direction.
The Gathering had begun.
Chapter Twelve
There were twelve people at the luncheo
n table, all of them strangers to Eleanore, except for Cian. Everyone was polite and kind. Eleanore struggled to remember the names which went with the faces, because they were not the names she knew from society. Many of the people here had pet names used only by the family. Or they use a middle name. Otherwise everyone called each other by their first names.
The only other person whom Eleanore called by their first name was James, which was unique within her family. Her mother thought the practice crude.
The first person in Cian’s family Eleanore met who insisted she used their first name was Cian’s mother, Natasha.
Natasha was a beautiful woman. She had black hair made distinctive with a thick white streak which ran from the temple to the crown of her head where the rest of her curls were pinned.
Natasha’s gaze wandered over Eleanore speculatively. However, she smiled warmly. “You must call me Natasha,” she said, as she spread her napkin over her lap.
Eleanore blinked. “If you are sure…”
“Oh, you will grow used to it quickly,” Natasha said. “I am Natasha and this is my husband, Raymond.”
The man sitting beside her nodded. “We met at the door,” he said. His smile was easy. “Do you play croquet?”
Eleanore relaxed a little. It would have been natural at this point for Raymond and Natasha to ask her about her family and her antecedents. They would be within their rights to cross-examine her on her relatives and her reputation.
They had done neither. Instead Raymond was asking her about croquet.
“I have never played croquet,” she confessed.
“It is a perfectly acceptable sport for ladies, these days,” Natasha said.
“That is probably why I have never played it,” Eleanore said. She felt her jaw slacken. What on earth had made her say such a thing?
Raymond laughed. “Oh, you will fit in well here.”
The middle-aged woman sitting on Eleanore’s right had blonde hair and wore spectacles. She had blue eyes. She turned to Eleanore with a smile. “We also met at the door,” she said. “However I am sure you have forgotten everyone’s name by now. I am Annalies.”
“Princess Annalies…”
“Yes, that is me,” Annalies said. She raised a brow. “Has someone been talking about me?”
“Cian has told me much about everyone here,” Eleanore confessed.
The man beside Annalies, with high cheek bones and a hawk-like nose, looked interested. “Oh, and what did Cian tell you about us?”
Eleanore chose her words with care. “He described you, Mr. Davies, as one of the best lawyers in England. Cian tells me you are a bluestocking in disguise, Princess.”
Annalies laughed.
“And what did he say about me?” Natasha asked
Eleanore shook her head. “He may have said something, only I have quite forgotten. Whenever I have contemplated meeting you, Lady Natasha, all I remember is that you are Cian’s mother, and that you saved the estate when he was young. Also, that you are a most admirable woman.”
Raymond shook his head. “It’s a polite response. I am glad to see you are a cautious one, too.”
“I have learned that caution is a worthy value,” Eleanore told him. “Which is why I did not repeat Cian’s description of you, Lord Marblethorpe.”
Everyone laughed. Even Raymond.
Natasha sipped her soup. “Have you known each other for a long time?”
Eleanore glanced at Cian helplessly. There were many ways to answer the question.
Cian lowered his spoon. “We have known each other for years and years, mother. We met at the opera and we have been corresponding since. I know her brother James quite well, too.”
Natasha raised a brow, in the same way Cian often did. “Really? That surprises me. The Gainford family and the Williams family have not always seen eye to eye. Something about Castlebar.”
“The Battle of Castlebar?” the gray-headed man at the end of the table asked, raising his voice. He was the Marquess of Farleigh. Eleanore remembered his first name was Vaughn. “What happened there?” he added.
Natasha shrugged. “Seth mentioned it once, in passing. I’m not sure.”
Eleanore stared at her. The court marshaling which her family had obsessed about for generations was less than a passing memory here.
Natasha put her soup spoon down and touched her lips with her napkin. “Castlebar is not the only thing I have heard about your family. Forgive me for asking, Eleanore, only I have heard you are engaged to a European Prince. Is that correct?”
Eleanore’s heart fluttered uneasily. “Yes, it is more or less true. I was betrothed to Prince Ferdinand of Temeswar when I was three years old.”
“Simon?” Annalies said, her tone shocked.
Eleanore jumped a little. “Do you know Simon?”
“Slightly,” Annalies said. “He is my cousin.” She gave a small laugh. “You really have been betrothed to him since you were three?”
Eleanore twisted her napkin on her lap and felt stitches tear.
“Ben,” Cian said, lifting his chin. “Are you up to playing cricket later today?”
The man Cian spoke to looked up from his soup. He had dark hair and pale skin, and a full, black beard. “As long as Peter is not bowling.”
Peter, a tall man with dark hair and a thoughtful way of speaking, shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with my bowling,” he said. “It is your batting which is insufficient.”
The discussion of cricket and croquet and swimming and sailing took over the luncheon table. Eleanore wondered if anyone else noticed that Cian had changed the subject. No one asked any more questions about her family or the Prince. Not that day.
After the luncheon meal was finished, the older members of the family moved into the oversized drawing room which took up the entire south side of the huge house. The tall windows, of which there were dozens, let in bright sunlight. It was in those pools of sunlight where everyone drew up chairs and tables and sat and talked, to catch up on news.
Younger members of the family moved outside. A wide carpet of lawn stretched down to where the cliffs began. The section of lawn closest to the house was mowed and rolled and turned into a croquet court.
Beyond the croquet court was another long section of lawn. Cricket stumps were planted at either side of the lawn. It was a cricket pitch, which was where all the men headed. Jasper tossed a well-polished cricket ball in his hand.
Sharla and Jenny stopped by Eleanore’s chair. Eleanore knew from Cian’s letters and from the long talks they had shared these last few weeks that Sharla and Jenny were closer than sisters, even though neither of them were related to the family by blood.
“Would you like a game of croquet?” Sharla asked. “If you want to try the game at all, you should not think about playing with Mairin and Bridget. They are far too competitive.”
“Yes they will beat you to paste just for the pleasure of winning,” Jenny added.
Eleanore’s interest rose. “They like to win?”
“Very much so,” Sharla said.
Eleanore glanced at the twins. The two women were moving out of the house arm in arm, their heads close together. As she watched, they walked over to the barrel where the croquet mallets were stored. They sorted through them, still talking hard.
“It looks as though Mairin and Bridget are playing, now,” Eleanore said. She looked beyond the croquet court. The men sorted themselves out into small teams. There seemed to be a lot of laughter involved.
Eleanore got to her feet. “Thank you for the invitation to play croquet,” she told Sharla and Jenny. “For now, I must slip up to my room for something. May I try a game later?”
Sharla and Jenny moved outside, while Eleanore hurried up and changed. Her heart beat faster than it should. Was she being foolish in letting down her guard with these people so quickly? It was difficult to judge because the family was like none she had ever met before.
They were nothing like her family. Ci
an had told her so many times over the years, yet she had not understood until just now. If she had noticed such differences within the span of a short meal, how many more would she perceive over the week to come?
She smoothed her hand over her white cotton dress. when James had sent her the trunk with her clothes, the cricket dress had been included, and the sleeves repaired. Not that it mattered about the sleeves. They would tear as soon as she played once more.
Would she get to play, though?
She hurried back downstairs, across the drawing room and stepped through one of the big French doors. She walked over to the croquet court, where the four women were sorting out their first game. They all looked up and smiled.
“You’re welcome to watch,” Jenny said. She was an exquisite woman, although there was a light in her eyes which made Eleanore think her past has been no less checkered Eleanore’s.
Eleanore shook her head. “Thank you, but there is something else I must do right now.”
She moved around the four ladies, toward the cricket pitch.
The men still sorted themselves out. It seemed to be a casual game. Eleanore walked up to the man holding cricket ball. Peter, she reminded herself.
Peter raised his brow at her. “Do you like cricket?” His voice was low and deep.
Eleanore saw that Cian was one of the men standing about the pitch. He said nothing.
“I thought perhaps, you might let me bowl,” she said to Peter. “I am far less of a threat to Ben than you.”
Peter smiled. “You might be at that. Have you ever bowled?”
Eleanore was pleased. Peter had not snorted in derision. He had not looked her up and down, examined her shortened dress, or made some disparaging remark about women playing cricket.
“I have bowled a little,” she said. Over Peter’s shoulder she saw Cian smirk.
Peter tossed the ball to her. She caught it. He whirled and strode toward the other end of the pitch. “New bowler,” he called.
Rules of Engagement Page 13
