Rules of Engagement

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Then the second one seemed easier. She took it and Cian’s arm fell away from her. A third step while Cian’s gaze stayed on her face. He said nothing. She was grateful for that. If he had said anything at all, her resolve would fail.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was weak, yet the silence was so complete she was sure everyone heard her. “Thank you for everything you have done for me,” she told him. Her trembling was increasing. She took a deep breath, so she could speak the last words. “You have made me whole again. I will never forget it.”

  She turned and moved back to the carriage when James waited. Only by keeping her chin up and her head facing forward, without looking to either side, could she do this. James handed her up into the carriage. She sat on the edge of the seat, unable to relax. If she relaxed, then everything would unravel.

  James settled beside her and the door was shut. The carriage rocked as the driver climbed back onto his seat. The shuffle of leather as the reins were picked up. Then the click of his tongue. The carriage rolled into motion and Eleanore watched the grand old Innesford house grow smaller. Then they rounded the bend in the long driveway and the trees hid the house from view. A silent wail started in her heart.

  James picked up her hand. His were hot against hers. “Are you quite all right?”

  She shook her head. The trembling was overwhelming her.

  James tugged her closer. “I’m only your older brother,” he said gently, “but my shoulder is strong enough for this.”

  It was the gentleness in his voice which was her undoing. The understanding. He did not chastise or rail at her for her wanton ways and improprieties.

  Eleanore rested her cheek on his shoulder and wept. Each tear scarred her heart and left it bleeding.

  the carriage turned around the bend in the drive and could no longer be seen, yet Cian remained where he was. He wasn’t aware of anything else around him.

  A hand gripped his elbow. Another slid under his arm, holding him up. He had not realized he needed propping up. Now he noticed that his knees were weak.

  “God, he is shaking,” someone said softly.

  “The library is closest,” another voice said. That was Raymond. “Let’s get him inside and shut the door.”

  There were moving him, turning him, taking him back in. “I’m fine,” he said. At least, he thought he said it. Only he could not hear his own voice. Did that mean he was not fine at all?

  He didn’t know the answer. He knew nothing for certain, anymore.

  Will’s face appeared before him. Will peered into his eyes. That was when Cian realized he was sitting, now. Will crouched in front of him, looking up. Will raised a brow. “What do you need? What can we do to help?”

  Raymond had said something about family, only a short while ago, yet it felt as though that conversation had taken place many years ago. What was it about family? The question formed in Cian’s mind slowly, unfreezing his thoughts, breaking through the ice.

  Cian shook his head. “Nothing,” he made himself say. “There is nothing which will fix it.”

  Will gripped his arm. “You want to go to your room? Do you want to be alone?”

  “Of course he does,” Jack said from nearby. “It’s Cian. He always wants to be alone.”

  Cian shook his head again. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to be alone. Not this time.”

  There was a scrape of the chair across the floor, then Will settled on a seat beside him. Jack dropped onto another chair. A third chair was bought closer and placed between them. Raymond sat down.

  The four of them sat, saying nothing.

  Cian didn’t mind the silence. It wasn’t an empty silence. They were there, and it helped.

  A little, anyway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eleanore’s attention was caught by the sound of her mother’s voice lifting stridently. Her mother never shouted. It was not ladylike, she said. This sharp tone was as close as she ever came to shouting.

  Eleanore listened. She felt no compunction to get to her feet and move through the house to where the shouting was coming from, to discover what the issue was.

  She didn’t care what the issue might be. In this house, there were always crises. Coleman didn’t like the drafty house in Durham. He always complained about the heat, or the chills. Her mother always seemed to be vexed by the lackadaisical efforts of the service, or the endless maintenance the old house required.

  When Eleanore heard her own name, her attention was caught.

  “I tell you James, it is not natural!” her mother said. “Eleanore has not moved from that chair for nearly a month! If you do not do something, she may sit there until Christmas!”

  Eleanore was quite happy to stay in this chair forever. Did they not understand that?

  “You must give Eleanore more time to find herself,” James said. His voice was clear and soft. “She has been through a great deal and she must adjust.”

  “Find herself?” Her mother repeated, her tone appalled. “Eleanore has been living a highly improper, hedonistic life for years. How much longer must we cater to this bohemian impulse of hers? Any other girl would have been long married by now. I am surprised Prince Ferdinand has not appeared on our doorstep years ago, demanding we fulfil the promise which was made to his family.”

  “As he has not yet demanded we meet the promise, I do not see what the fuss is about,” James said. His tone was firm, which was unusual for James when he was talking to their mother.

  “She smokes far too much and as for her drinking…”

  “That has nothing to do with the betrothal,” Jane said sharply. “Really, mother. What is your complaint here? Could you please pick one battle and stick to it?”

  “James!” Her mother sounded astonished. There was a pause. Eleanore suspected her mother was regathering herself and her energy, ready to dive back in to the discussion once more. True to form, her mother said, “Very well, then. I think we have indulged Eleanore far too much. I think, as head of the family, you must reach out to Prince Ferdinand and move the engagement forward.”

  Eleanore’s heart skipped a beat. She could not say what the emotion was which trickled through her veins. It gave her the energy to stand. It felt as though she had not stood for a long while. Her head pounded as she straightened.

  She moved out of the morning room and heard James say from the library, “That is a discussion for which Eleanore should be included, Mother.”

  “Then have Tennyson pry her from the chair and bring her here!” her mother said.

  Eleanore moved to the library door, which was open. “There is no need for that. I am here.” She moved into the room as her mother and James both turned to her. It did not surprise Eleanore to see Coleman sitting in the big chair behind the desk. It was James’s chair, yet Coleman constantly used it, forcing James to use a lap secretary, instead.

  It occurred to Eleanore that she did not like her uncle very much. Cian had always insisted she listen to her instincts. Until now, she had not listened to her instincts about her uncle, yet finding him behind the desk clarified her feelings about him.

  He was not a nice man.

  Eleanore put her back to him. She faced her mother and James.

  Nancy Neville straightened her shoulders and glared at her daughter. “The wedding must go ahead,” she insisted. “You are beyond the marriageable age and in danger of becoming an unsuitable age for a man who seeks heirs. The Prince has been far more patient than I would expect a man of his station to be. You cannot put him off any longer. James, I insist you write to him and set up a meeting, so we can formalize the engagement.”

  James looked at Eleanore. She understood why he was hesitating to agree to his mother’s demands.

  She lifted her hand to her forehead and brushed an irritating hair out of the way. It took effort to do that much. “It is all right, James,” she said softly. “Perhaps you should write to the Prince. It is time.”

  James licked his lips. His so
ft brown eyes seemed to widen as he studied her.

  Eleanore found the strength to form a small smile. “This is as father intended,” she said. “We do this to honor his intentions.”

  James shook his head. “No.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” her mother said, her voice rising.

  James drew himself upright. “I said no, Mother. I will not let this engagement go ahead. It is not what Eleanore wants. It is no longer what I want, either.”

  Eleanore sucked in a deep breath. Had he really said that?

  Coleman shot to his feet. “What sort of a fool are you?” he demanded of James.

  James whirled to confront him.

  Coleman stalked around the desk, his brows drawn together, fury working his jaw. “She has been promised to the Royal family for decades! The Gainfords cannot break that promise!”

  “Yes, they can.” James voice was firm. “The people who made the promise are all dead. It is only us who remain who are insisting upon the promise being upheld. I no longer feel it should be. Things have changed.”

  “Of course, they have changed!” her mother hissed. Her green eyes, which had faded from the bright green Eleanore remembered as a child, now snapped with fire. Nancy Neville had a temper. They were all aware of it even though she had subsumed her temper and her wishes to those of her husband and her life. It did not stop their mother from punishing them both later, when their father was not present.

  James swallowed. His chin stayed up, though. “You are not listening to me, Mother,” he said. “I am the head of this household. And I have decided that a promise made over twenty years ago is no longer one we are obliged to meet.”

  Eleanore held her elbows, trying to contain her shaking. Hope soared in her chest. She was afraid to speak. She was afraid that if she said anything at all, James might change his mind.

  Coleman, however, did not stint himself. He elbowed his way between Eleanore and her mother and confronted James, with barely a body width between them. Coleman was taller than James and glared down at him. “It is not simply a matter of upholding a promise made decades ago,” he said. “Aligning ourselves with the Royal family will solidify the Gainford title.”

  James shook his head. “We will have to find another way to do that.”

  Eleanore wanted to cheer. She held her teeth together.

  Coleman’s face turned a ruddy pink. “You, boy, have no understanding of such matters. If we thumb our noses at that family, we will be the laughingstock of Europe. Our reputation will never recover. They will make sure of it.”

  James swallowed again. His hand clenched and Eleanore realized his face was white. There were dots of perspiration on his brow. Defying Coleman and her mother was costing James.

  Concerned, Eleanore shifted a little closer to him.

  James kept his chin elevated, though. He looked Coleman in the eyes and said, “The Williams family is one of the grandest families in London. They have managed to live without the approval of Europe. I am quite sure the Gainfords will survive, too.”

  “The Williams!” their mother cried. Actually, it was a shout. Nancy had lost all her ladylike control.

  Coleman swore, belittling James. He used words which Eleanore had only heard around card tables, late in the evening, when drink had loosened men’s tongues. It was gutter talk and it was shocking to hear it in the great Gainford library.

  James breathed in little pants. Eleanore reached for his arm, alarmed. His face was not only white, now. It was gray around the edges, with a blue tinge to his lips she did not like. “James?”

  James’ lips moved. No words emerged. Then he grimaced, the tendons in his neck straining. He clutched at his chest, his fingertips digging into his jacket.

  “James!” Eleanore screamed.

  James sagged. She caught him. He was heavier than she expected and all she could do was lower him to the floor where he twisted, his face contorting in pain.

  Their mother dropped beside him, her hand hovering over him as if she was afraid to touch him.

  “Out of the way, Mother,” Eleanore snapped. She knocked her mother’s hands out of the way and swiftly loosened James’ tie. She unfastened the pin to loosen his collar. She looked up at Coleman, who stood over them with his hands on his hips, as if James had done this deliberately to change the subject. “Coleman, tell Tennyson to send someone for the doctor immediately.”

  Coleman’s face seemed to grow darker.

  “Just do it!” Eleanore snapped. She returned her attention to James. He was trying to talk. His gaze was on her face. She held his hand in hers. “Don’t try to speak,” she told him. “Just rest, James. The doctor is on his way.” She glanced up at Coleman, who scowled and walked away.

  James squeezed her hand. It was a weak movement.

  “Perhaps a brandy might help,” her mother said.

  Eleanore ignored her. James was trying to speak to her and she must hear what he said. She leaned closer, so she could no longer see her mother. She met James gaze. “I didn’t hear you,” she said softly. “I am listening this time. Tell me.”

  His lips and jaw worked hard for a long moment, then he managed a few weak words. “You are already one of them. Marry him.”

  Eleanore stroked his face. Fear gripped her throat and made it hard to speak. “I only wanted to help you have what you wanted.” Her vision blurred.

  “This is what I want,” he said and sighed. He grew still and did not breathe. His fingers grew slack in her hand.

  Nancy screamed. She beat at her chest and tore her hair.

  Staff rushed into the room, brought by her screaming.

  Eleanore looked at the staff, blinking her eyes so she could see them clearly. “Take my mother to her room. Someone sit by her until the doctor can give her something to calm her. Go now. Leave me alone with my brother.”

  She sent everyone away, including Coleman, who hovered with a guilty expression. Finally, Eleanore was alone with James and could say goodbye.

  Jeremiah Saunders had been the Gainford family solicitor for nearly forty years. He had known Eleanore’s father well and seen James and Eleanore grow up.

  He had traveled up from London in time for the funeral. After the small ceremony was over, he requested time to speak to Coleman and Nancy and Eleanore.

  Coleman suggested they meet in the library, which Eleanore had flatly refused to do. She had not stepped foot in the library since James died.

  “We can use the morning room,” Nancy said. “The house guests will be in the drawing room and we can shut the door.” She had barely spoken in the last four days and seemed to be losing weight rapidly.

  Eleanore did not have the energy to address her mother’s issues.

  Saunders got directly to business. He withdrew from his large satchel a bundle of sealed and beribboned documents, which he put on Nancy’s writing desk.

  Eleanore ignored that Coleman was sitting on the chair behind the desk.

  Saunders touched the pile of documents. “There is a great deal of documentation here, although I can summarize it quickly for you. James wisely had a will in place, and the attachments to the titles are clear. Lady Eleanore is the heir presumptive, until she bears a son, who will immediately inherit the title.”

  Coleman made a strangled sound. “Titles move to the younger brother if there is no heir apparent.”

  Saunders shook his head. “I am sorry, my Lord. In this case, the title had already moved to the next generation. As the younger sister of the Duke, Lady Eleanore carries the titles in trust until she bears a son.”

  “Then I get nothing?” Coleman demanded.

  Saunders did not blink. “Everything attached to the title, including this estate and the assets in London—including the house—and all other estates and titles, including the minor ones—except, of course, your title, my Lord—everything passes on to the heir.”

  “Of which there is none,” Nancy said. Her voice was bodiless.

  “Therefor
e, Lady Eleanore inherits everything in trust for her son,” Saunders said smoothly. His voice was neutral. He gave a short bow, aiming for somewhere between Eleanore’s mother and Coleman. “It is a simple matter, for which you may be grateful. The inheritance of titles and estates can be complex and aggravating affairs. James kept everything quite simple.” Saunders picked up his bags. “I will leave the will and other documents with you until you are ready to speak with me again. You may wish to review them. Although I’ve had the best solicitors in London examine them.”

  He hurried out of the room as if he was eager to be gone. Eleanore did not blame him.

  Coleman stared. “This is outrageous,” he muttered. “We have supported James all his life and this is the thanks he gives us.”

  Nancy did not speak. Her gaze was upon the pile of documents on the desk. Her face was pale.

  “Coleman,” Eleanore said. “You are a real blackguard. My father swore the Williams family were no good because of one action generations ago. I think he overlooked that the true nastiness was here in his own home.”

  Coleman’s face turned red again. He blustered.

  “It wasn’t generations ago,” Nancy said quietly.

  Eleanore turned her. “What do you mean it wasn’t generations ago?”

  Nancy shook her head. “It wasn’t Castlebar which drove your father mad with anger whenever a Williams was mentioned. He clung to that excuse, of course. He was too embarrassed, too shamed, to admit the truth.”

  “What truth?” Coleman demanded. “You mean a Williams never court-martialed a Neville at Castlebar?”

  “Oh, they did,” Nancy said. “Although I dare say our ancestors deserved it. No, the insult to your father was far closer to home.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Mother?” Eleanore demanded.

  Nancy laughed. It was a strained expression. “The lengths you and James went to, to uphold the family honor. It was not honor at stake at all.”