There were toasts to the health and happiness of the newlyweds along with salutes to their good fortune at finding each other. As the champagne continued to flow and the rounds of toasting progressed, a few rowdy suggestions were made to the groom concerning the wedding night. Those remarks were met with raucous laughter and Eleanor was pleased to see Lord Waverly take it all in good-natured stride.
As breakfast wore on, Eleanor found herself in need of some fresh air. After informing Aunt Jane, Eleanor slipped away unnoticed, finding her way outside to a private terrace. Standing near the railing, she gazed out at the vast expanse of lawn and neatly clipped formal gardens, musing over the fact that Bianca was now mistress of this lovely estate, her future secure.
What of my future?
The question was unwelcome, an unfortunate reminder of the empty years that stretched before her. She knew she had been right to refuse Sebastian’s marriage proposal, had been right to turn him away.
But here she was weeks later, still struggling to come to terms with her feelings of love for him. It seemed a ridiculous, idiotic emotion given how much he had hurt her, yet there it was, an ever-present reminder of what her life might have been.
She was in love with Sebastian and would no doubt feel that way for the rest of her life. A fine future, indeed.
The sound of footsteps broke into her brooding reflections. Eleanor turned, her eyes resting on a group of wedding guests gathering at the French doors on their way out to the terrace. She blinked in the sunlight, hoping she was mistaken, then realized she was right. Among their numbers was the Earl of Hetfield.
With careful diligence, she had avoided her father all day. Eleanor felt her shoulders sink in an attempt to melt into the background, but then her pride came to the forefront. There was no reason for her to feel so ashamed. The debacle with Sebastian had not been her fault. She had been a victim and as such deserved sympathy, not censure.
The sound of voices grew louder as the French doors opened. Eleanor’s mouth went dry and her heart labored with heavy, slow thumps. She didn’t want to see him or speak with him. Still, he was her father. There was no need to make a scene, no reason that they could not be civil to each other for a few minutes. This was, after all, Bianca’s wedding day.
She approached him cautiously, her head high. The earl’s gaze connected with hers and she saw a flash of recognition in his hard eyes. Then a shutter fell over his face and he turned his head very deliberately away from her. He continued moving forward, walking past her, acting as though she did not exist.
The cut direct. At first Eleanor stood motionless, too stunned to react. She had underestimated him. His cruelty ran deeper than she ever imagined, his anger at her behavior obviously unforgivable. Heat scored her cheeks. She was aware that the other members of his party must have seen his action, were no doubt wondering why the earl had deliberately shunned his eldest daughter.
A wave of mortification rolled over Eleanor and she admitted she had underestimated herself too. She believed she was free of the need for parental approval, parental support, especially given the fact that the earl had always been indifferent toward her, or at times outwardly disapproving.
All would not have been forgiven, or forgotten, had he acknowledged her, but it might have been a start. Instead he had chosen to publicly abandon her, destroying any chance of reconciliation.
She averted her eyes from the others in the group, then felt one of them move to her side.
“Was that your father?” Aunt Jane asked with protective concern.
“No, Aunt Jane, that was a stranger.”
* * *
The return to Bath had all the earmarks of a homecoming. The servants smiled and bid Eleanor welcome, the close-knit society embraced her with eagerness and inclusion. Her bedchamber felt familiar and comfortable, affording a sense of security that any single woman forced out into the world on her own would appreciate.
Aunt Jane continued to be Eleanor’s salvation, understanding and supportive, and she thanked God every day for placing the older woman in her life. Letters arrived from Bianca, cheerful missives detailing all the amazing places she and Waverly were visiting, the wondrous sights they had seen.
Life was pleasant, if a bit dull. As for the loneliness, well, Eleanor hoped it would lessen over time. Or that she would learn to manage it better.
Unfortunately, her tumultuous emotions began manifesting themselves physically. Initially there were slight changes to Eleanor’s body, that gradually became more noticeable.
Her breasts were slightly swollen and tender at the slightest touch. There were afternoons when weariness overcame her so completely she needed to close her eyes for a short nap. At different times of the day her stomach would suddenly feel queasy and the smell of certain foods made her nauseous.
To combat this change Eleanor curtailed her evening activities, going to bed earlier each night and sleeping later each morning. She tried to eat a more sensible diet of plain food, eliminated all sweets, ate as many fresh vegetables as possible, drank no wine. Yet the symptoms persisted.
She did her best to hide the malaise from Aunt Jane, convinced she would feel better soon, hoping that time and the passing of the warm summer weather would return her to normal.
Then one morning while sitting in the drawing room, Eleanor rose from her chair and nearly fainted. The dizziness overtook her so quickly she needed to grab onto the chair back to keep herself from keeling over.
“I’m summoning a physician,” Aunt Jane declared, her gray brows drawn tight with concern.
“Oh, Aunt Jane, I hardly think that is necessary,” Eleanor protested. “‘Tis just a bit of vertigo, nothing more.”
But Aunt Jane would not be persuaded and Eleanor soon found herself lying upon her bed and being examined by a local doctor. He was a stern-faced, middle-age gentleman who kept his expression neutral each time she answered his embarrassing personal questions.
Eleanor had little experience with doctors, having been blessed with a healthy constitution as both a child and an adult. That, coupled with the doctor’s unfathomable expression, made it impossible for her to determine if this was a serious situation or was, as she hoped, a result of her recent heartache.
To make matters worse, once the examination was completed, the doctor gathered his medical instruments, repacked them in his bag, and left without saying a word. Eleanor’s imagination ran wild with concern, heightening considerably when Aunt Jane appeared at her bedside, her face somber.
“Has the doctor gone?” Eleanor asked, panic rising. “He never said what he thought could be wrong. Tell me, Aunt Jane, is it very serious?”
“Given the circumstances he thought it best if I speak with you.” Aunt Jane sat on the bed and took her hand. “It appears, Eleanor, that sometime early next year you are going to have a baby.”
Chapter 18
Sebastian glanced ruefully down the dusty, deserted lane and wondered if his decision to press ahead had been the right one. For the past two hours he had seen no signs of life except for the occasional bird soaring through the sky or rabbit bounding through an open meadow. The lack of civilization in the area surprised him. He had thought by now he would have happened upon a farm or a cottage or some dwelling where the inhabitants could offer him assistance.
With a sigh he glanced up at the bright autumnal sky, trying to determine the time of day. In his haste to leave the posting inn this morning he had neglected to wind his watch and was forced to rely on the sun.
A smile tugged at Sebastian’s lips as he surveyed a few puffy white clouds. He could no more determine the time by observing the sun’s position than he could predict the weather. All he knew with certainty was that it was daytime and despite the crisp fall air he was warm. And thirsty.
No matter. He would continue walking his horse until he found help. A measured, logical reaction to the dilemma, something that would have no doubt eluded him a few months ago.
Failing to ena
ct his revenge against the Earl of Hetfield and his subsequent betrayal of Eleanor had forced Sebastian to take stock of his life. And he had not liked what he saw. Change, he decided, was essential and to that end he at long last embraced the responsibilities of a peer of the realm.
The last few months had altered him. He no longer kept late hours, rarely gambled, drank nothing more potent than a glass of wine with supper. For the first time in his life he took a marked interest in his lands and the workings of his estates. He attended the session at the House of Lords with punctual regularity and was considering sponsorship of a bill demanding higher pensions for veterans of the Napoleonic wars. He even spoke of marriage, though his heart ached when he contemplated spending the rest of his life with a woman other than Eleanor.
His closest friends, Atwood and Dawson, joked that they hardly recognized him, and Sebastian had to agree. Hell, he barely recognized himself.
One of the most profound changes was something he never anticipated. His title. Thanks to the untimely demise of a distant cousin and the lack of male issue on that side of the family, Sebastian was now the Earl of Tinsdale. The title came with limited funds, but there was substantial land in the wilds of Yorkshire in the inheritance. Property that Sebastian was on his way to inspect. Until his horse came up lame.
A quick examination revealed a missing shoe on the animal’s left rear leg. Figuring the last house he had ridden past was a good five miles behind him, Sebastian elected to press on ahead. He gathered the reins and began walking, the stallion following docilely behind. Without his added weight he hoped the horse could travel a good distance without sustaining a permanent injury.
The road curved to the right and Sebastian observed a large cat snoozing peacefully in a patch of sunshine on the top of a weathered stone gate. The sight buoyed his spirits. The feline was too hefty to be feral; therefore, the farm or cottage that supplied its meals must be near.
He passed through a copse of fairly dense trees. The setting reminded him of the walk he had taken with Eleanor at the Ashfields’ garden party. Then again, nearly everything reminded him of Eleanor, and no matter how hard he tried he could not remove her from his mind. Or his heart.
He was a fool to have allowed his need for revenge to destroy their relationship. It had taken a few months, but Sebastian knew now that his grandmother had been right when she exacted that promise from him to forgo any acts of vengeance. Even if he had succeeded, it would not have changed the past. And worst of all, he still would have wounded Eleanor unjustly.
Countless times over the past few months he had reached for pen and paper, wanting to set things right between them. But he knew there was no way he could make up for the harm he had done Eleanor. At best he could hope that over time the memories of her would cease to haunt him.
As he climbed over the next hill he spied a sturdy two-story vine-covered cottage in the valley below, a puff of smoke curling from the chimney. Relieved that help was finally within reach, Sebastian quickened his pace.
A beefy man dressed in dusty workman’s clothes greeted him with a friendly smile. “I can fetch the blacksmith from the village, sir,” the man said after Sebastian explained his dilemma. “He’ll have this stallion put to rights in no time.”
“I appreciate your assistance,” Sebastian replied. “As long as your employer doesn’t object to you being taken away from your work.”
“Mrs. Stewart won’t mind helping out a gentleman in need,” the servant responded confidently.
“Nevertheless, I insist you get permission first.” Sebastian removed a small gold case from his inside breast coat pocket and extracted a calling card. “Give her this, please.”
In no time at all the man returned. “Mrs. Stewart said she’d be pleased if you would take tea with her in the parlor while you wait.”
After extracting a promise to be called before the blacksmith began his work, Sebastian complied. A maid-of-all-work met him at the front door, curtsying repeatedly when he crossed the threshold. Her wide-eyed stare and nervous demeanor demonstrated how rare it was for a titled individual to visit. He hoped Mrs. Stewart was not similarly awestruck. It would make waiting for his horse to be reshod rather vexing.
The interior of the cottage was of a modest size. It was tastefully furnished with a decidedly feminine hand, featuring floral prints, pastel colors, and delicate accent pieces. Some of the items were well-worn, while others appeared new. It was a prosperous household, with the appropriate trappings, the home of a gentleman.
He followed the servant to the parlor, but instead of announcing him the maid blushed, curtsied, and scurried away. Pausing before the open door, Sebastian scanned the interior, noting the presence of a lady near the window. Her back was toward him, but something about her seemed so familiar he felt a peculiar tingle slither down his spine.
He took a step forward, certain his eyes were playing tricks. He blinked several times. Had he been thinking of her so often and so hard that his brain conjured her likeness in another woman?
“Eleanor?”
At the sound of his voice, the woman turned. Christ Almighty! It was Eleanor, of that there could be no doubt. For a moment the two of them stared at each other blankly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. Those beautiful eyes, intelligent and confident, now filled with surprise and something else. Fear? It wounded him to know she was afraid to meet him again.
She was wearing an amber-hued muslin gown, trimmed with brown silk ribbons. The high-waisted style emphasized her height and slender grace and when she moved, the folds of the muslin softly molded her figure. Sebastian blinked again.
Her shape was not at all as he remembered. Her breasts looked fuller, but it was her stomach that drew his attention. No longer flat, it now boasted a pronounced, protruding roundness. It took a moment before he realized what that meant.
“Bloody hell, you’re pregnant,” he said bluntly.
A panorama of emotions flickered across her features and then her hand reached down, covering her belly in a protective gesture. “I … uhm … well, yes, obviously I am increasing.” Her cheeks flushed red and an awkward silence ensued.
She inhaled slowly and deeply, then sank down to the sofa. “What are you doing here?” She lifted the calling card she held in her hand. “The card Robert gave me says the Earl of Tinsdale.”
He felt his eyes narrow. “I recently inherited the title from a distant relation. I am on my way to “York-shire to inspect the property and the manor house, which I was told had been badly neglected. My horse threw a shoe and I was forced to stop and ask for aid.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “You came to be here purely by coincidence?” she asked.
“Apparently.” He dragged his gaze from her troubled eyes, lowering it to her rounded midsection. “Or maybe it was fate.”
Her breath hitched. For a moment she simply looked at him, as if she could not trust what she was seeing. “Damn fate,” she muttered.
Sebastian’s heart beat painfully in his chest. For months he had dreamed of seeing her again, of having a chance to seek forgiveness, to make amends. Now it was too late. She belonged to another man.
“Your husband must be very pleased about the child,” Sebastian said. “Is he here? If you don’t object, I would like the chance to meet him and offer my congratulations.”
Her mouth dropped open. “My husband?”
“Mr. Stewart, isn’t it? Your manservant referred to you as Mrs. Stewart.”
For a moment she stared sightlessly across the room, her hands unmoving in her lap. Then she tilted her head and lifted her chin a touch higher. “There is no Mr. Stewart. There never has been,” she said firmly, gazing at him with grim, sober resolve. “For obvious reasons I am claiming to be a widow.”
The room suddenly felt airless. Sebastian stared at her rounded belly, emotion thickening his throat, astonishment and disbelief rippling over him. “What are you saying, Eleanor?”
The question hovered between them
, crackling the air. “I’m roughly five months along,” she finally answered. “The child will be born sometime next year, most likely in late February.”
His body went still as he did the calculation, though it was hardly necessary. She had been a virgin when she came to his bed, and given her heartache when they parted, it was most unlikely she would have started a relationship with another man. The child was undoubtedly his.
Emotions, tumultuous and uneasy, churned in Sebastian’s stomach. “Why didn’t you send word to me?”
“I didn’t think you would want to know.”
His chest squeezed and he found himself unable to dispute her claim. His prior behavior toward her justified her thoughts, even if they were untrue. Sebastian crossed to the window on the opposite side of the room and looked out over the rolling hills to the horizon.
“I will purchase a special license in London and return in a few days. We can be wed by the end of the week.” Pronouncement delivered, he turned to see her reaction.
She rose, crossing her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Goodness, after all this time you can still surprise me, Sebastian. I never thought you would offer marriage.” She studied him for several long minutes. “I guess the long-dormant honor inside you occasionally escapes. Well, you have done your duty and offered to accept responsibility for the child. I suppose I should thank you for it, but frankly it is the least you can do.”
He nodded, feeling duly chastised. “Where shall we marry? ‘Twould be awkward to do so here, since everyone believes you are widowed. And very recently, given your condition.”
“I never said I would marry you.” “But you must! You are carrying my child.” She turned her back to him. “Please, Sebastian, be reasonable. Our past makes marriage between us an impossibility.”
“You have every right to despise me, Eleanor, but circumstances dictate change. We must marry for the sake of the child.”
She shook her head slowly. “I have established myself as a respectable widow in this community and am slowly gaining acceptance. When the baby is born, it will not carry the sting of illegitimacy, nor will it suffer the cruelty of being a bastard. Aunt Jane is well situated financially and has been both kind and generous. The infant shall want for nothing.”
A Little Bit Sinful Page 26
