As he climbed the stairs after lunch, Lord Worthing thought about their too brief conversation at lunch. He wished he’d been able to talk more with Miss Daventry and to hear her say she’d understood. When he had first arrived, she had not held his gaze. No wonder. He had left her so quickly last night it was on the point of being rude. But after he explained the reason, the warmth in her regard returned. He would settle for that—for now.
An evening at the theatre in the same box would have afforded him plenty of opportunity for further conversation. He reached the landing and exhaled through clenched teeth. Plenty of opportunity to lay further claim to her heart. It cut that she’d already accepted to go with Carlton. Was she already engaged then? Surely Ingram would have said something.
When he entered Ingram’s bedchamber, his friend shooed his valet out of the room. “Finished, are you?” Stratford asked.
Ingram waved him to the chair. “I assume you have some news for me?”
“Fitz asked me to relay this information to you and promised to come with a report as soon as possible. Your office was broken into at headquarters last night.”
“Did they catch the man?” Ingram shifted restlessly. “Fitz had someone watching headquarters, so they should have seen the break-in.”
Stratford shook his head. “It happened at the close of workday while there was still staff present. There were too many people entering and exiting the building for the trail to distinguish any unusual activity. As per your request, your secretary is letting Fitz investigate fully, and the break-in is not widely known. Your secretary said there was a partial list of inventory he had forgotten to take with him, and the thief stole that. It will not be too damaging, he said, but it’s still useful information for the enemy, and he blames himself. He said his resignation will arrive by courier tomorrow.”
Ingram made a dismissive gesture. “It must be urgent for the thief to attempt it at such a high risk. I wonder if the enemy is planning a broad-scale attack for them to be so intent on getting this document.” Ingram let out a short expletive. “I loathe being bed-bound this way. I’m completely useless.”
Stratford nodded, not adding insult to injury by attempting to console. After a minute, he said, “There was an announcement in the paper of Conolly’s betrothal to a widow of no small fortune, and he’s selling out. You can have Fitz continue to follow him, but I don’t think he’s your man. Delacroix’s run of bad luck, on the other hand, has continued.”
“Very well. We’ll drop the trail on Conolly,” Ingram replied, vaguely. “Delacroix might just be desperate enough to sell information to stay ahead of the dun. And he’s French.”
Stratford leaned forward. “Now, that’s the piece that makes me think it’s not him. I know these French who came over during the Reign of Terror. They worked with my father in Spitalfields. They’ve no ties to the emperor and are eager to distance themselves from everything on the Continent.”
He met Ingram’s gaze. “However, in full disclosure, I must add that Delacroix was expected last night at Almack’s and did not show. I overheard his cronies expressing their surprise at his absence. Said it was most unlike him to miss out on advancing his interests with a particular lady of fortune when there were so many other suitors vying for his place.”
Ingram stared at Stratford shrewdly. “That is a useful piece of information and is worth looking into. These clues make him suspect, but there’s too little proof to bring him in. Since he’s our only solid lead and it costs nothing to follow him, let’s keep doing it. Despite the confidence you may have in him, evading creditors can lower a man’s morals, no matter how lofty he starts out.”
“Yes, of course,” Stratford said.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lord Carlton arrived at six o’clock, along with his sister Cecily, to escort Eleanor for the evening. Lydia, still on an extended riding excursion, would miss their departure and be in time only for her own family dinner. Eleanor was glad for the Ingrams to have dinner just among themselves. Though Lady Ingram was unfailingly cordial, it must be a strain always to have another person about who was not a member of the family.
They were to follow dinner with the theatre, and the plan was for Eleanor to meet Lydia there and return with her to Grosvenor Square. Eleanor wore a gown in claret red that came to a slight V in the back, lower than she was accustomed, with tiny pearls sewn into the enclosure. There were garnets around her neck, and matching pendants in her ears, and her cheeks were unusually bright.
Eleanor felt—feared, actually—that Lord Carlton would propose tonight. The thought made her nervous because, while he was everything she could wish for when imagining an ideal, it was not love she felt for him. His beautiful face did not swim before her eyes when she was falling asleep. His kindness was appreciated, but it did not thrum an inner cord.
Even without Lady Ingram’s warning, Eleanor couldn’t ignore Lord Carlton’s partiality for her when he had been so open about his feelings at their last meeting. Too open. She wondered whether feelings that came so quickly could disappear as fast. His social standing meant nothing where there was no love, and it did not add to the temptation. Yet there was some part of her that wondered whether love would ever come, and if it were not better to seize what was offered and learn to be content.
As soon as the thought entered her consciousness, she shook her head. The attention Lord Worthing showed in increasing measure each time they met made her say no. It was not enough to learn to be content.
Lady Carlton received Eleanor in her drawing room and made to rise, but her son assured her it wasn’t necessary. Eleanor came and made her reverence before his mother, taking a seat on the settee with Cecily when she was bid.
“May I offer you some cordial water, Mother?” The frail woman shook her head but signaled that he should bring some to Eleanor. He did so and then sat across the room watching her. Although Eleanor returned the look, his expression didn’t change, and she turned to face his mother feeling like a bug under a glass.
“You’re to attend the theatre tonight,” said Lady Carlton. “Who will join your party?”
“I had understood Cecily …” Eleanor looked in confusion to Lord Carlton.
“Cecily will not be attending. We will be joined by Sir Braxsen and a Miss Redgrave.” Eleanor felt a flash of annoyance that he’d not shared this information with her earlier, even if she was glad it was Sir Braxsen, whom she knew. He asked, “Do you know Miss Emmeline Redgrave?”
Eleanor shook her head, shoving down her displeasure. Perhaps Miss Redgrave would be a comfortable replacement for Cecily. “But I shall be delighted to make her acquaintance.”
When the butler opened the door to announce that dinner would be served, Lady Carlton stood. “We are quite informal here, but you must excuse me if Lord Carlton takes my hand. I find I’m not as stout as I would wish.”
“Of course,” said Eleanor. She stepped alongside Cecily. “I hope you mean to tell me where you found that ribbon threaded through your hair. It suits you becomingly. I’ve been on the lookout for furbelows to dress up one of my plain muslins, and this would suit quite nicely. Never fear,” she added with a laugh. “I shall not put you out by choosing something identical.”
“I would not dream …” Cecily said, eyes downcast. “In any case, I’m not yet out, and no one will see what I’m wearing.”
Eleanor squeezed her arm. “You will be next year, will you not? Which will come before you know it—although I had hoped you would be able to accompany us to the theatre. I thought this was a treat even for those who have not yet made their debut.”
“Matthew said he preferred I not go. He said it would be inconvenient …” Cecily’s voice trailed away when her brother glared at her, causing her to turn crimson.
Oh dear, thought Eleanor, suddenly nervous. Was it too much to hope Lord Carlton would not try to press his suit tonight? If she knew nothing else, she knew she was not ready to promise anything.
Whe
n the first dish came out, Lord Carlton continued to stare at Eleanor, and she accepted the bowl of soup with a pang of dismay. She’d be unequal to the task of eating anything with her nerves jangling so.
“Where will you spend the summer months, Miss Daventry?” Lady Carlton asked. “They are almost upon us. I own to being ready to seek the fresh air such as we get in the country house.”
“I will stay with my aunt, Mrs. Daventry, and her sister, Mrs. Renly, in Bath. They are there now, and Mrs. Renly’s poor health will be keeping them there through the summer.”
“I wondered why Lady Ingram might be sponsoring you this Season. She must quite dote on you.” Lady Carlton took one sip of her soup, but lifting the spoon to her mouth a second time seemed beyond her.
“Lady Ingram has been most generous,” Eleanor said. “She offered to sponsor me because she thought it would be more pleasant for her daughter to have a companion for her come-out. But she didn’t know me beforehand. I think she trusted in my guardian’s sponsorship as credit enough. Lydia—Miss Ingram—and I are very close, and I’m thankful we’re able to have our come-out together.”
“As am I,” Lord Carlton said. “I might not otherwise have met you.” He smiled warmly, causing Eleanor to freeze with alarm. Though his mother and sister seemed to take nothing amiss, Eleanor felt his was too public a declaration when she had never given him cause to believe his feelings were returned. It might speak of a pleasing boldness in him, but she would prefer a gentleman to be sure of her feelings before he wore his heart on his sleeve.
Over dinner, Eleanor taxed her brain to find ways of engaging in conversation a widow, a gentleman, and a girl not quite out of the schoolroom. Lord Carlton was not much help, alternating between a state of rumination and fixing his regard on her in the most discomfiting way. All together, it was not the most delightful of evenings spent.
Finally, Lord Carlton announced it was time to leave for the theatre as the others would arrive any minute. No sooner had the words been spoken than a muffled knocking was heard with the sounds of the front door being opened.
Outside, the sky had darkened, and one or two stars were visible. Sir Braxsen alighted from the carriage to help Eleanor into it, all apologies for having kept them waiting. He gave a perfunctory smile at Lord Carlton’s suggestion that the delay might be explained by his complex cravat, and the number of discarded neckcloths required in order to achieve the perfect mathematical. Miss Redgrave greeted Lord Carlton warmly, but gave only the stiffest bow to Eleanor. Hmm. I wonder if Miss Redgrave has her sights set on Lord Carlton! She may have him, thought Eleanor, still uncomfortable from his marked attention.
At the theatre, Emmeline Redgrave took her place next to Lord Carlton in their box and engaged him in chatter, while Sir Braxsen sat at Eleanor’s side. Eleanor scanned the seats, searching for Lord Worthing, whose eyes, she discovered, were on her. When their gazes met, he jerked upright and looked away.
Sir Braxsen finally woke to his duty to Eleanor. “Miss Daventry, how is Lord Ingram faring? Have the doctors said when he will get up?”
“Not for several weeks, unfortunately.” Eleanor wrenched her gaze from Lord Worthing’s box. “He is not a compliant patient.” She smiled up at him. “I had not realized you were so closely acquainted with Lord Carlton.”
“He was friends with my younger brother and would join us at the clubs in London over the holidays. I gave him his first black eye at Jackson’s. A round of boxing,” he explained.
Eleanor laughed. “I can see the friendship was deeply forged then.” She shot a glance at the subject in question, adding, “But Lord Carlton? I cannot imagine him engaging in the sport.” Nor can I imagine your exerting yourself in such a way.
“It’s only because he’s caught your fancy that you think him so nice …” began Sir Braxsen with an arch look.
Her expression must have been forbidding because he pulled back slightly as the curtain opened, and the footmen snuffed the candles. He leaned over to whisper, “I taught him a salutary lesson, and he did not try that again.” Eleanor smiled but was relieved by the ensuing darkness.
At intermission, Miss Redgrave stated her wish to get some air and have a glass of refreshment. Sir Braxsen stood, saying, “Why so do I.” Turning to the occupants in the box, he added, “Shall you join us?”
“None for me,” answered Lord Carlton, “I thank you. Miss Daventry, you do not wish to endure the crush, do you?”
She looked across the theatre and saw Lord Worthing’s box fully occupied with more people pouring into it. Without the hope of meeting the earl in the gallery, she felt she may as well stay where she was. And surely Lord Carlton wouldn’t be so improvident as to choose the theatre to propose. “No, I’m content to remain.” She smiled at Sir Braxsen.
When the two left the box, Lord Carlton switched seats to the one next to her. “Have you enjoyed the first part of the play?”
“Immensely,” Eleanor replied. “This is my third time to the theatre, and I’ve not yet found it boring. I wonder if I ever shall.” She looked up, studying the gilded moulding on the ceiling.
“Some people are able to find joy in everything,” Lord Carlton said, in a breathless voice that brought her gaze straight ahead in alarm. She did not dare look at him but could feel the heat emanating off him.
“Miss Daventry, I must have a word with you. It will not wait, and since I will not be accompanying you home … It’s a nuisance, but I can’t seem to get you alone long enough, and this will have to do.” Eleanor glanced at Lord Carlton’s red face and felt her stomach drop.
I’ve been naive. I’m not ready for this. It was too late, and Eleanor could not stop him from proceeding.
“From the moment I met you, I have held you in high esteem. I dare not enumerate all the ways, for the situation we find ourselves in may not permit it.” Lord Carlton looked behind him. “I don’t know when Braxsen and Miss Redgrave will return. Miss Daventry—” He took a discreet hold of her hand. “Eleanor. I love you, and lately I have dared hope that you have some feelings toward me. Will you make me the happiest man alive and become my wife?”
Until the words were out, Eleanor still hadn’t known how she would respond. Lord Carlton was everything she should want. He was pleasing to look at, considerate of her comfort, and he seemed to love her, if his words and attention could be believed. She didn’t love him, of that she was almost sure. But she didn’t dare refuse him. What if I’m wrong? At the last minute, she found she could not, without further reflection, turn away the security of belonging to someone even if it were based only on esteem. Just as quickly, she despised herself for such weakness.
“It’s sudden for me,” Eleanor said. “You have always been so kind. I don’t think … I ask only that you give me time to consider. I don’t know my heart.” I should have said no, she thought in a rush. I’m getting his hopes up. But what if saying no is a mistake?
Lord Carlton’s face had fallen. “I confess my disappointment. I’d hoped you would be led to … perhaps I was not wise in choosing my setting. If we had been more private, I could have convinced you …”
“I don’t think,” Eleanor said before he could follow that train of thought, “the location would have changed my answer. I will not pretend ignorance that your feelings have developed for me over the last two months. I’ve known this, but I have not been sure of my own. Your proposal today throws me in confusion, and I must have time to search my heart.”
Eleanor reached out and touched his hand. “Will you give me this time?”
Lord Carlton was looking down, but at her gesture he met her gaze fleetingly and answered, “I will not yet despair.”
No sooner had he said these words than Sir Braxsen and Miss Redgrave rejoined their box, and Lord Carlton’s demeanor changed. He began to quiz them on being unable to endure the crowds just as he had warned them. Eleanor wondered at Lord Carlton’s ability to change on an instant and questioned if the current of his feelings did n
ot run deep. He will indeed be a good politician.
She looked across the theatre. Phoebe was standing in conversation with Lydia and Major Fitzwilliam, and Anna stood in their box scanning the crowd. Lord Worthing was still seated with no one at his side, his eyes fixed on her. And this time he did not look away.
Chapter Thirty
All the next morning, Stratford kept remembering Lord Carlton’s face across the theatre, animated and smiling as he talked to Miss Daventry. The visions taunted him.
However, if he were not very much mistaken, Carlton had chosen to declare himself to Miss Daventry right during intermission and had been met with a rebuff. If not refusal, at least not an immediate acceptance. His was not the face of a man who was aux anges. As a gentleman, Stratford did not wish such unhappiness on anyone, but he could only be happy that Miss Daventry hadn’t thrown herself away at the first offer she got.
Not that she had done that, Stratford recalled. She had not said yes to Amesbury, and she had not said yes to him.
Stratford hated to leave while Miss Daventry’s heart was not secured, but his trip to the estate could wait no longer, and he had promised the bailiff he would come. Setting out the next day, he accomplished the voyage in short order, entering the stables and handing the reins to Jesse, who greeted him as if he’d just returned from an afternoon ride as opposed to two months’ absence. “See that you give her a good rub-down,” Stratford said. “I didn’t change her at the last stage as I ought to have.” He patted the horse’s side and turned toward the house.
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