by Anna Bradley
Charlotte hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her since their return.
Eleanor gazed listlessly at the dancing couples. Cam was a head taller than most of the gentlemen, and she found him easily—there, at the other side of the room. She’d pled fatigue and begged to be excused from this dance, so Cam had escorted Lily to the floor. He led her effortlessly through the steps now, his face frozen into the same polite mask he’d worn since Eleanor accepted his proposal the evening before they’d left Lindenhurst.
For a man who’d gone to such lengths to secure his bride, he’d been subdued to find he’d won her at last. He’d said nothing at first, but had stood with his head bowed. He hadn’t looked at her, and he’d been silent for so long Eleanor had wondered if he even wanted her anymore. But then he’d kissed her hands, and murmured something appropriate about the honor she did him, which had struck her as ludicrous, given their circumstances.
He’d asked Alec for her hand the next day, and her brother had given his enthusiastic blessing.
And then . . . nothing.
They hadn’t spoken of it since. Eleanor had dutifully informed her mother of her impending nuptials, and since then Cam, his mask firmly in place, had been an ideal suitor. He called on her every day. He took her driving. He escorted her to routs, balls and musical evenings. They’d been to Gunter’s for lemon ices with Amelia on three separate occasions.
He hadn’t missed a step. His mask had never slipped. Not once.
She expected every day for him to insist they call the banns, but here it was, weeks later, and he hadn’t mentioned it. He hadn’t told Amelia about their betrothal, either—if he had, Eleanor was certain Amelia would have asked her about it.
Perhaps he’d at last come to his senses, and changed his mind. Absurd, of course, that this possibility should leave her with such a strange, empty feeling in her chest. It wasn’t as if this were a love match.
“My dear.” Lady Catherine laid a hand on Eleanor’s arm. “You look exhausted. Too much excitement, I daresay. Shall I have our carriage called? Charlotte may come home with Robyn and Lily later, if she chooses—oh, wait. Here’s Charlotte now.”
Eleanor looked up to see Charlotte and Hadley winding their way through the crowd, with Lily and Cam behind them. Charlotte’s face was flushed, and she was laughing at something Hadley was saying. She’d never looked lovelier, and yet . . . behind the laughing mouth, the lines of her neck were taut, her jaw hard, her fingers twisted in her silk skirts.
A chill shot up Eleanor’s spine.
“My goodness, it’s warm,” Charlotte said as she joined them. “Eleanor, come out to the terrace with me, won’t you? I need a breath of air.”
“I’d be delighted to escort you, Lady Charlotte.” Hadley offered his arm.
Charlotte tapped him playfully with her fan. “No, indeed, for I need you to fetch me some lemonade. Perhaps Mr. West can accompany you?” Charlotte glanced at Cam. “My sister looks parched as well, and I’m sure her drink has grown warm.”
Cam bowed to Eleanor, his face distant. “Of course. Shall we, Hadley?”
As soon as the gentlemen were out of earshot, Charlotte grasped Eleanor’s arm and tugged her through the French doors behind them and out onto the terrace. “We’ll be back directly, mother,” she called, and Lady Catherine waved them on.
“For pity’s sake, Charlotte.” Eleanor rubbed at the red marks Charlotte’s fingers had left on the bare skin above her glove. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
Charlotte drifted to the edge of the terrace to stare out into the dark garden beyond, but she looked at it as if she didn’t see it. She saw another garden, under a different moon, on another night, six weeks ago. Eleanor couldn’t have said how she knew this, but she did.
After a moment Charlotte murmured, “Perhaps I did lure him, after all.”
Eleanor joined her at the terrace railing. “Lured who?”
Charlotte didn’t answer, but continued to gaze into the garden, her face unreadable. After a long moment she turned to face Eleanor. “I want to know why you’ve agreed to marry Camden West.”
Eleanor’s shoulders went rigid at the unexpected question. “I can’t think why you’d ask me that, Charlotte, when you know very well why. Because of Amelia, and the scandal with Julian West. Because I haven’t any other choice.”
“No.” Charlotte shook her head. “You tell yourself those are the reasons, but they aren’t. I want to know the real reason.”
Eleanor tried to laugh, but the sound she made was brittle, false. “The real reason? That sounds quite dramatic, but I’m afraid it’s far less mysterious than you think. The reasons I’ve given are sufficient to explain my actions.”
“Sufficient, yes, but not the truth, for all that.”
The truth. Eleanor’s fingers curled into her palms. How strange, that Charlotte would think she even knew what the truth was anymore. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you? Very well, Eleanor. Let’s start with this, then. Tell me, what did mother say when you told her about Amelia being our father’s child?”
Ellie and Alec had told their mother about Amelia’s parentage as soon as they’d returned from Lindenhurst. Like the rest of the family, Lady Catherine was shocked by her late husband’s cruelty, and anxious to do whatever she could for Amelia. “Just what we imagined she’d say—Amelia is a lovely child, and she’s proud to call her a Sutherland.”
“So are we all,” Charlotte said. “We’ll do everything we can for her. The family will take care of Amelia. There’s never been a question of that. You don’t need to accept Camden West on Amelia’s account then, do you? It’s not as if we’d turn our backs on her if you didn’t marry him.”
“But there’s still the question of what’s owed to her—”
“You aren’t the one who owes that debt, Eleanor, no matter what Camden West might say, and I think you’re well aware of that.”
Eleanor’s mouth went tight. “There’s the other matter still.”
“Ah, yes. The other matter.” Charlotte leaned against the railing, her eyes on the garden again. “I doubt there will be any gossip, but if there is, it will die a quick death.”
“Indeed? I wish I could be as sanguine as you are.”
“Oh, you can be. Hadley has made me an offer, and I’ve accepted him.”
Eleanor drew in a long breath. She’d known it, even before Charlotte said it, in the same way she knew each time her sister looked into the garden, she saw Julian West.
Six weeks ago Eleanor would have been thrilled at this news, but now her heart sank. “Charlotte, are you . . . do you love him?”
Charlotte hesitated, then, “He’s a good man, a steady man, and I’ve no doubt he loves me.”
Eleanor squeezed her eyes closed. It wasn’t what she’d asked, yet it was an answer all the same.
“So you see,” Charlotte went on, “you no longer need to marry Camden West to save my reputation.”
Eleanor gripped the railing to steady herself. Of course. Charlotte’s marriage—to a Marquess, no less—would silence any wagging tongues, no matter what Cam or Julian West might say. The ton wouldn’t dare insult the new Marchioness of Hadley, and after all, no one cared if Charlotte were ruined. They only cared if she were a scandal.
Charlotte’s voice came to her as if from a distance. “There’s no reason you can’t walk into the ballroom this minute and jilt Camden West. He hasn’t any power over you now. I expect you’ll want to do so right away, won’t you?”
Eleanor’s heart rushed into her throat. It was true. She could walk away from Cam tonight, this very moment, if she chose. She could forget him— forget the way his eyes turned as soft as spring leaves when he looked at her, forget the warm pressure of his mouth against the pulse at her wrist, the sound of her name on his lips.
Something shifted inside her then, shook loose, fell away. She turned to Charlotte, stricken.
“Shall we try again?” Charlotte asked. “Why have you accepted Camden West?”
Eleanor stared out into the dark garden. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. If she said it aloud, it would be real, and then, then . . .
But Charlotte read the truth in her face. “Marry him or don’t, Eleanor, but don’t lie to yourself.”
Eleanor had the oddest urge to cover her face with her hands, but it was too late. Her polite mask dissolved, exposing the raw skin beneath.
Charlotte touched her hand. “Not long ago you told me you would never marry without love. I believed you then, and I believe you still.”
Eleanor looked down at Charlotte’s hand, but it was Cam’s hand she saw, touching hers.
She’d taken his hand. That night at Lindenhurst, she’d taken his hand in hers and urged him to lie next to her, and it had been the simplest thing in the world. Then she’d panicked, and she’d been hateful to him. He’d been so tender, and she’d thrown it all back in his face, and now maybe he would never believe she cared for him, no matter what she said.
Behind them the first few notes of the waltz drifted through the French doors. “We’ve been gone too long.” Eleanor took Charlotte’s arm and turned back toward the ballroom. “Mother will wonder where—”
“Why did you tell me Julian West wasn’t involved in his cousin’s plan to trap you into marriage?” Charlotte pulled her arm from Eleanor’s grasp. “That day we went shopping, the day I bought you the rocking horse, you denied it, but all along you knew he was, didn’t you?”
Eleanor looked down at her hands to avoid her sister’s eyes. “I knew. That is, I suspected.”
“But instead of confiding in me, you misled me, to keep me out of it. You said Julian didn’t act as if he knew, and then you said he seemed taken with me.”
“He did seem taken with you.”
“Taken. Yes, you have no idea how right you are. The moment you suggested it, I seized on it, because I wanted it to be true. You’ve always been clever at that, Eleanor—at telling people what they want to hear.”
Eleanor stiffened. Clever. It sounded like an accusation. “I beg your pardon. I thought it better you didn’t know. I wasn’t sure what you’d do if you did, and I knew I could manage it—”
“On your own?” Charlotte’s laugh was short, hollow. “Yes, you always think so. You didn’t trust me, Eleanor. I suppose you think I can’t be trusted with anything more important than rocking horses.”
“But I do trust you, Charlotte!”
But Charlotte plunged ahead, as if she hadn’t heard. “As it happens, you couldn’t manage it on your own, after all. You’re as good as wed to Camden West, and I—I . . . dear God, what a fool I’ve been.”
The cold shiver Eleanor felt earlier shot down her spine again. “What do you mean, you’ve been a fool? I know you rather liked Julian West, but—”
“Liked him? Oh, Eleanor. It’s far worse than that. I thought I loved him, and he’s ruined me.”
Eleanor’s breath stopped. She gulped at the cool night air to will her lungs back into motion.
Ruined. No. It couldn’t be. When? There hdn’t been time—
Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, dear God. Lindenhurst. Julian West had come to Lindenhurst. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to find Charlotte, seduce her, then creep out the next morning, before anyone was the wiser.
Charlotte watched with a grim smile as Eleanor reached the obvious conclusion. “I see you’ve worked out for yourself how it happened. While you were busy uncovering Camden West’s secrets, I was, well . . . revealing mine to his cousin.”
Eleanor clawed at the railing. The stone scraped her fingers raw, but she didn’t feel it. This was her fault. Why hadn’t she told Charlotte the truth? She should never have lied, but she’d been so sure she could manage Cam, so sure she could take care of everything herself, and—
Oh, no. She froze as realization dawned.
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
But it was. It was the only explanation for Charlotte’s sudden change of heart about Hadley. She’d accepted him, a man she liked and admired but didn’t love, because of her disastrous affair with Julian West.
Eleanor groped blindly for Charlotte as a wave of nausea hit her.
Charlotte squeezed her hand. “As soon as you told me about Amelia, I realized my mistake. I knew it wasn’t possible Julian could be ignorant of the circumstances of her birth, and even less so that the seduction at the Foster’s ball was a coincidence.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears. She’d been so intent on jerking the strings from behind the curtain, she’d forgotten who was on the other end, and now Charlotte would pay the price for it. “I’m sorry, Charlotte—so terribly sorry.” She wanted to say so much more, but her throat closed, and she fell silent.
Charlotte’s face softened. “I don’t blame you for it. I went into the garden with him. I let him seduce me. Nothing you did afterward could change that.”
Eleanor looked down at Charlotte’s hand, still wrapped around hers. “You should blame me, Charlotte. I never should have—”
“You’re my sister, Eleanor. I would forgive you anything.” Charlotte smiled, but she looked as if her heart would break. “Let’s not ever mention it again. It’s done.”
Eleanor nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. They stood for some time, gazing silently out at the garden, but at last Eleanor roused herself. “Do you suppose he cares for you? Julian West, I mean.”
Charlotte shrugged, but her chin was trembling. “He says he does.”
“But you don’t believe him?”
“It doesn’t matter whether I believe him or not. I can never trust him now.”
Eleanor paused. She had to ask. She had to know. “Yet you love him still, don’t you?”
Charlotte’s face crumpled. “I thought I loved him, but I believed he was someone else.”
Someone else.
A gentleman or a scoundrel, a hero or a villain . . . or both at once?
Julian West had made a mistake—one mistake. A grievous one, yes, but that one mistake wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t all he was, any more than Cam’s mistakes were all he was.
Blackmail, threats, revenge—yes, Cam was guilty of it all. Fury, bitterness, and the ghosts only he could see. He’d let them into his heart, and they’d torn it open. But for all that, he was a man of his word, and somehow, despite everything, his heart could still hold love so deep, so abiding, it took her breath away. Amelia, Mary and Julian West—one had only to look at Cam to see he’d move heaven and earth for any of them.
A hero, or a villain. Cam was both, and so were they all. “It’s not too late, Charlotte—”
“It is too late. For me, it is. I trusted Julian West. I shouldn’t have, and I won’t make that mistake again. But you, Eleanor—it’s not too late for you.”
“But—”
“How can you think I’d marry him now? I’ve refused to even see him.”
Eleanor thought of what Mrs. Mullins had said about Julian West, about never having known a boy with a more affectionate heart than his.
Pure gold, his heart.
Her heart began to bleed then, bleed for Julian West. Perhaps he didn’t deserve her pity. Perhaps, after all, one mistake could condemn a man to a lifetime of regrets. What had Cam said about fate? It was crueler to some than others.
But it shouldn’t be, and it didn’t have to be. Not this time. “You can’t marry Hadley, Charlotte, not if you’re still in love with—”
“No.” Charlotte snatched her hand away. “Don’t say his name to me. After tonight, we won’t speak of him again. I’m to be married to a kind, decent man who loves me, and I will grow to love him back. I’m sure of it.”
Perhaps she would, or perhaps . . .
One never gets over a love like that, do they?
A tiny corner of Eleanor’s heart—the part that whispered Julian West was the one love
her sister could never recover from—withered in her chest.
“He said . . .” Charlotte drew in a deep breath, but her voice still shook. “When I accepted Hadley, he sank to his knees and told me I’d made him the happiest of men. I will grow to love him, Eleanor. How could I not?”
Warmth rushed through Eleanor, warmth for Hadley, who looked at her sister as he had tonight, as if she were a gift, and he was the most fortunate gentleman in the world. Perhaps it would all work out for the best.
Pure gold, his heart.
Eleanor cleared the lump from her throat and struggled to lighten her tone. “I suppose mother is ecstatic? I expect to be put to work right away on the wedding.”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, there will be no grand wedding. Alec granted his permission this morning, and Hadley obtained a special license this afternoon. We’re to be wed tomorrow morning, then we’ll leave at once for Hadley’s seat in Hampshire.”
Eleanor stared at her. “What? So soon? Why?”
“Hadley’s mother is ill, and she wishes to see her son married right away. Of course I couldn’t object, and I have my own reasons to wish to be married quickly.”
Eleanor’s gaze dropped to Charlotte’s belly. Of course. She moved her hand unconsciously to her own belly then, astonished she’d only just thought of it. But Cam—he’d have thought of it. He’d never allow his child to bear the stigma of illegitimacy.
She pressed her hand tighter against her belly. Was that why he insisted on the marriage still? Perhaps it wasn’t about her at all anymore.
“I’ll send a letter to Jul—to him,” Charlotte said, her voice strained. “Tomorrow, once Hadley and I are wed. If he ever cared for me, he’ll honor my wish that he never contact me again.”
Eleanor didn’t reply to that, because there wasn’t anything she could say.
“Eleanor, do you . . .” Charlotte’s voice trailed off for a moment, then, “do you think less of me? Because of what happened with . . . because of what I did?”
