Lady Eleanor's Seventh Suitor

by Anna Bradley

  Hart Sutherland had ignored her. He’d ignored Charlotte. They hadn’t mattered at all to him, and yet as bad as that had been, she’d known from quite a young age she and Charlotte had the better end of the bargain.

  Alec and Robyn . . . they’d had a special look for their father, too, but it hadn’t been the look of smiling delight her nephew gave Alec. If baby Alec’s look was the sun itself, Alec’s and Robyn’s look for Hart Sutherland had been the deepest, darkest night.

  And Camden West? Despite his reprehensible actions toward her, she didn’t sense cruelty in him, but he’d said himself she didn’t matter one way or the other to him. Why should she expect her children to matter to him, either? No. The best she could hope for from him was a father who ignored his children, as her own father had done.

  It wasn’t good enough.

  Charlotte lifted the pale blue rocking horse from the display and cradled it in her palm. “I’m going to buy this.”

  “How nice. Our nephew will love it.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I’m sure he would, but it’s not for him. It’s for you.”

  “Me?” Eleanor gave a startled laugh. “Whatever for?”

  Charlotte tucked the horse against her bodice and marched up to the counter. “To remind you,” she tossed back at Eleanor over her shoulder.

  “Remind me of what?”

  “Not to give up.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Denny!”

  Cam was about to disappear into his study when Amelia came charging from the upper staircase onto the first floor landing.

  “What is it, minx? Are you ready to show me your drawings?”

  He’d gone into the schoolroom before breakfast this morning, as was his habit, to visit Amelia before she began her lessons. He’d found her huddled over a sheaf of drawing paper, hard at work with her pencil, but she’d sent him away without a peek.

  Amelia raced down the remaining stairs and landed with a thump in the entryway. “I finished the drawings, and Miss Norwood says we might color them with pastels after luncheon.”

  “Did she?” Cam smiled at Miss Norwood, who’d followed her charge down the stairs. The older woman had been Amelia’s governess for years, and she’d grown so fond of the child she’d readily agreed to come from Lindenhurst with her when Cam settled in London.

  Miss Norwood gave Amelia an indulgent nod. “Oh, yes, indeed. Very fine drawings, Mr. West. I think you’ll be pleased at her progress with her pencils.”

  “I’m sure I will be. Why don’t you have a walk, Miss Norwood, or some tea? I’ll sit with Amelia for a while.”

  Amelia grasped Cam’s hand and tugged him toward his study. “In here, Denny. This is where you do all your important work.”

  Cam allowed himself to be dragged to his desk. “Yes, and the study of art is important work. What have you to show me?” He seated himself behind the desk, pushed aside the papers to clear a space for the drawings, and held out his arms.

  Aunt Mary scolded him for letting such a big girl as Amelia sit on his lap, and even Miss Norwood looked askance at him, but Cam ignored them. He’d missed his chance to hold his sister on his lap when she was the proper age for it, so he’d do it now.

  Amelia climbed up and placed her first drawing in the center of the desk. “See? This is from yesterday, when we were at Lady Abernathy’s garden. This is a still life, you know.”

  Cam grinned at Amelia’s lofty tone, but kept his response serious. “Yes. I see. A close drawing of a daisy, I believe, and you’ve distinguished each petal from the others.”

  Amelia tilted her head to the side to study the drawing. “I have, haven’t I?”

  Cam tweaked one of her braids. “Yes. Are the others as nice as this one?”

  “I think so, rather.” Amelia placed the second drawing on top of the first. “This is another still life, of a whole daisy chain.”

  Cam lifted the sheet from the desk to study it more closely. She’d painstakingly drawn each separate flower, and even added a fine crosshatch texture to the yellow centers of the blooms. “Remarkable, especially the shading, Amelia.”

  Amelia grinned with pleasure over his praise, then took the drawing from his hands, lay it back on the desk, and placed the third drawing on top of it. “This is a landscape of Lady Abernathy’s garden. I’m afraid I’ll use up my green pastel coloring it.”

  Cam studied the third picture. By God, no other eleven-year-old child had ever drawn so well, he was sure. He’d have to buy her more sophisticated art supplies. “Lady Abernathy does have a great deal of green lawn, but no matter. We’ll get you another green pastel. Or a box of green pastels.”

  “Oh, thank you, Denny. I need a great deal of green for the last two pictures, too, for I’ve included a lot of trees, even though they’re portraits.”

  Amelia turned over the fourth sheet and Cam gave a shout of laughter. “Is that Uncle Julian?”

  She giggled. “Yes, and I didn’t make up that expression on his face. He looked just like that, Denny.”

  The fourth drawing was of Julian, frowning as he forced a daisy onto a bit of string. His brows were drawn together into a look of frustrated concentration as he tried to manipulate the delicate flower with his large hands. The poor bloom looked a bit crushed, as did the three or four forlorn daisies already on the string.

  “I brought Uncle Julian’s daisy chain home with me yesterday and tried to revive it with a bit of water.” Amelia shook her head. “But he’d flattened most of his daisies by the time he got them on the string, and they all died.”

  “It’s a lucky thing you drew them while they were still alive, then. Well,” Cam amended with a chuckle, “Mostly alive. For posterity, that is. Daisy chains are not, it seems, one of Uncle Julian’s many talents.”

  Julian himself stuck his head around the study door then. “I believe I heard my name, followed by shouts of laughter. I’m here to defend myself.”

  “Come see my drawings, Uncle Julian.” Amelia beckoned her uncle across the room. “I did one of you.”

  “And there’s no defense for it,” Cam said with a smirk.

  Julian crossed to the desk, picked up Amelia’s drawing, and stared at it for a moment before he comically crossed his eyes. “I don’t look like that!”

  Amelia giggled. “You did yesterday. Didn’t he, Denny?”

  “I didn’t see him hard at work on his daisy chains, minx, but I’ll say this—your other drawings have all been amazingly accurate. Even so, this one of your uncle is my favorite.”

  Julian dropped into his chair in front of the desk. “A scandalous libel, that’s what this is.”

  “You haven’t seen them all yet.” Amelia placed the last drawing on top of the one she’d done of Julian.

  Cam leaned forward to get a better look, then froze.

  Amelia had done a drawing of Eleanor Sutherland.

  It was a close-up drawing of the lady, although enough of her upper body was visible to see she was bent forward at the waist, in the way of an adult when they lean down to speak to a child. Her head was cocked just a bit to one side, and her lips were parted in a half-smile. A few strands of her rich, dark hair floated around her face. Amelia had taken a great deal of care with the drawing, and she’d captured Eleanor’s lush beauty.

  But that wasn’t what caught and held Cam’s attention. It was the eyes. Did Eleanor Sutherland’s eyes really have that soft warmth?

  “Don’t you like it, Denny?”

  Amelia’s impatient voice reminded Cam he hadn’t said a word yet. “I—I do like it.”

  “Let me see it.” Julian held out his hand and Amelia passed him the drawing. He studied it for a moment, then handed it back across the desk. Not to Amelia. To Cam. “What a fine likeness. I think your brother likes it very much, Amelia. It’s his new favorite, I’d wager.”

  Amelia clapped her hands together. “Oh, it’s mine, too! It took me ever so long to get it right, especially her eyes, because they’re so dark
, but not at all flat like some dark eyes are. What’s her first name again?”

  Cam cleared his throat. “Eleanor.”

  “Lady Eleanor Sutherland.” Amelia tried the name out. “It’s a pretty name.”

  “For a pretty lady,” Julian put in. “Do you think her pretty, Amelia?”

  “Oh, yes. Pretty, and so kind. Funny, too. She made a joke about the cakes. Do you think she’s pretty, Denny?”

  Cam looked at Julian, then back down at the picture of Ellie he held in his hand. “Yes.”

  Just then Miss Norwood appeared at the door. “It’s time for your mathematics lesson, Amelia.”

  Cam gathered the drawings in one hand and lifted Amelia off his lap. “Off you go, minx. Thank you for sharing these with me.” He held out the sheaf of drawings to her.

  “Why not leave the one of Lady Eleanor for your brother, Amelia?” Julian asked. “I can tell he admires it.”

  “All right.” Amelia took the other four drawings. “I was going to color them all, but I think Lady Eleanor is perfect just as she is.”

  “I hate to sound prophetic,” Julian drawled as Amelia left, her hand in Miss Norwood’s. “But the phrase ‘out of the mouths of babes’ comes to mind.”

  Cam took another long look at the drawing, then placed it in the middle of his desk, rose, and turned to stare out the window. “Perfect? Hardly. Lady Eleanor is stubborn, argumentative, and in her worst moments, ice wouldn’t melt on her tongue.”

  “Heavy faults, indeed.” Julian stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Why the foolish woman can’t simply succumb to your threats and blackmail, I can’t imagine.”

  Cam ignored this. “She’s not . . . she’s not what I expected. I’ll grant you that much.”

  “No?” Cam didn’t turn around, but he heard a faint shuffle of papers, as if Julian had dragged the drawing back toward him across the desk. “What did you expect?”

  For reasons he didn’t care to probe, Cam had to restrain himself from snatching the drawing away from his cousin. “The usual insipid society belle. Dull. Frivolous. Selfish. Whatever else she may be, Eleanor Sutherland isn’t that.”

  He turned back around in time to see Julian shrug. “You’ve only known her a few days. Maybe she is all of those things, and you just don’t know it yet.”

  Cam shook his head. “No. She was kind to Amelia at Lady Abernathy’s party yesterday. She didn’t have to be.”

  Julian snorted. “That’s hardly an accurate measure of her character. Who could be anything but kind to Amelia?”

  Cam raised an eyebrow. “Playing devil’s advocate again, are you, cousin? I thought you’d be delighted to hear I’m reconsidering my approach to this problem.”

  Julian straightened from his slouch. “There is no problem, except the one you’ve created, Cam. As I said the other day, it’s not too late to change your mind, but at some point soon it will be. Best to end this now, while you still can.”

  “End it? Christ, Julian. It’s your voice that echoes in my head whenever my conscience berates me.”

  Julian smiled. “I consider that a compliment.”

  “I’m sure you do. Nevertheless, I have no intention of ending it, especially now I’ve seen how kind Eleanor Sutherland can be. You heard Amelia just now. She likes the lady.”

  Julian’s smile faded. “Someone should warn Lady Eleanor her kindness isn’t about to be rewarded. You sound as if you’re saying, Cam, that her goodness somehow justifies your cruelty to her.”

  Cam gaped at him. Cruelty? Surely it wasn’t as bad as that?

  Clever or foolish, warm or cold, rich or poor. None if it matters. I don’t matter.

  Her face had shut down when she’d said it, as if someone had yanked closed a curtain in a room filled with light. She’d insisted she wasn’t anyone special, and he’d let her believe he thought so, too. He’d let her think the only thing that mattered about her was the name Sutherland.

  Wasn’t it true, though? Wasn’t it the only thing that mattered to him?

  God, he didn’t know anymore. He knew only that everything about those moments with her had felt wrong. He’d felt wrong, as if he wore someone else’s skin. Someone he thought he recognized, but didn’t.

  “Cam?” Julian watched him, a puzzled yet hopeful look on his face.

  “I’m on my way over to the Sutherlands now, to call on her. I will marry her, but I could perhaps be . . . kinder about it all.”

  “Kinder about your blackmail? Good of you, cousin.”

  “Damn it, Julian. Not blackmail, but perhaps some kind of an agreement.”

  “You expect her to negotiate with you on this?”

  “She’ll have me either way, so she may as well negotiate. What is a ton marriage, if not negotiation? You forget she’d be going through a similar process with whoever she chose to marry.”

  Julian rolled his eyes. “So you keep telling me. Still, you’re moving in the right direction with this. I can at least see a glimpse of the cousin I know, hidden in there somewhere.”

  Cam plucked his coat off the back of his chair and thrust his arms into it. “What does that mean?”

  “That you shouldn’t forget who you are.” Julian picked up Amelia’s drawing of Lady Eleanor. He folded it in half and held it out to Cam. “Here. Take it. Perhaps it will help you remember.”

  To Cam’s surprise, he saw his own hand reach out, take the drawing, and tuck it into his coat pocket.

  * * *

  “Not at home?” Cam stared at Lady Catherine.

  “I’m afraid not. She and Charlotte went off to Bond Street to pick up some toy or other for my grandson.” Lady Catherine smiled. “I’m afraid they spoil him. But you’ll stay and have tea, won’t you, Mr. West?”

  He’d arrived on the Sutherland’s doorstep ten minutes ago, but Eleanor Sutherland wasn’t waiting for him in the drawing room. Instead he’d found the dowager countess entertaining two young ladies who’d also come to call—a Miss Darlington and a Miss Thurston. He hadn’t met either of them before, but both sat up with interest when he entered the room.

  Eleanor Sutherland had slipped through his fingers. Again.

  Damnable woman.

  She couldn’t deny Lady Charlotte was in a precarious position, not after the encounter with Lady Archer yesterday, and yet still she chose to toy with him. Did she believe he wouldn’t go through with his threats?

  No. Even if she doubted him, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to wager her sister’s reputation on a guess. Lady Eleanor was many things, but she wasn’t a fool. She may well be a mind-reader, though, for no sooner had he made up his mind to be kinder to her than she managed to infuriate him all over again. He could almost believe she did it on purpose, to knock him off balance.

  His jaw tightened. He didn’t get knocked off balance, damn it, and he didn’t let his fury get the best of him, but one week in Eleanor Sutherland’s company, and he felt like a turtle tipped onto its back, legs flailing madly to right itself.

  Worse, he wasn’t simply furious. No, there was something else there, as well—something uncomfortable. It felt suspiciously like . . . relief. To find the draperies drawn back and the room alight again. To find the darkness had only been temporary.

  He was a bloody fool.

  “Mr. West?” Lady Catherine was still waiting for his answer. “Can I tempt you with tea?”

  He couldn’t refuse, now he was here. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  “How do you do, Mr. West?” cooed Miss Darlington, once Lady Catherine had made the introductions. “Why haven’t we met you before?”

  Cam took a seat on the settee. “I’ve just returned to London from an eleven-year stay in India.”

  “India!” Miss Thurston shrieked, as if they were in a crowded ballroom instead of a quiet drawing room. “How exciting. Whatever were you doing there?”

  Cam placed his teacup in the saucer, afraid Miss Thurston’s shrill tone night shatter it. “Working for the East India Comp
any.”

  Silence. Miss Darlington and Miss Thurston visibly deflated.

  Jesus. One would think ‘work’ were a filthy word, and he’d committed an unpardonable faux pas by mentioning it in the presence of ladies.

  Lady Catherine hastened to cover the awkward silence. “Mr. West just became the newest principal patron of the Society for the Relief of London’s Poor & Indigent.”

  “Indeed?” The young ladies swelled with hope again.

  If he must work, the least he could do was become staggeringly wealthy, he supposed, to offset the shame of it. The more money one had, the less fussy the ton was about how they got it.

  He studied the young ladies. They put him in mind of two mosquitos, bursting with a surfeit of blood. They were just the sort of women he’d expected Eleanor Sutherland to be, and it would be far easier if she was, for either one of these two detestable females would accept his suit readily enough.

  That Lady Eleanor had turned out to be someone else entirely was either a tremendous stroke of luck, or a disaster. He hadn’t yet made up his mind which.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. West.” Lady Catherine darted a glance at Cam. “I think you said yesterday you prefer to be a silent patron—”

  The sound of voices in the hallway interrupted Lady Catherine’s apology, and after a moment, Eleanor and Charlotte Sutherland entered the drawing room.

  “Ah, my dears,” Lady Catherine said. “Here you are. See who’s come to call. Miss Darlington and Miss Thurston, and Mr. West.”

  Cam stood and bowed to the ladies.

  Eleanor Sutherland eyed him, her expression resigned. “Ah. Of course. Mr. West.” She dipped into a curtsy. “Miss Darlington, Miss Thurston. Such a pleasure.”

  Lady Charlotte wasn’t as circumspect as her sister. She looked at Cam as if she wished she’d thought to bring a pistol into the drawing room, and she didn’t look any better pleased to see Miss Darlington and Miss Thurston.

  “Well, Lady Charlotte,” Miss Darlington began when they were all seated. “I hear you were taken mysteriously ill at Lady Foster’s ball the other night. I trust you are recovered?”

  Charlotte gave her a thin smile. “As you can see.”