Ruined Reputations

by Lela Bay

  In addition to implying taking Bitsy on had been a casual choice, she selectively chose not to mention that her own maid had left after meeting Bitsy, not that Eleanor blamed the woman.

  “Is she well?” he asked at last, his eyes delving into hers for the secret thoughts that flickered by.

  “She is.” Justifiable pride led her to add, “I met her as she checked in. Her company seemed,” Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, and her nostrils pinched with a sniff, “questionable.”

  The jerk of his chin could have been agreement.

  His hands tightened on the arm of her chair, then released as he flung himself to his feet. He gathered his hat and greatcoat.

  Realizing that he intended to go, she rose as well.

  Mr. Stinson wasted no time in urging her toward the entry. “Perhaps I can renew my acquaintance?”

  Eleanor shivered, giddy with the release of a burden. Her knees weakened, and when he offered his arm she almost hugged it with relief.

  He blinked at her bright smile. Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, he escorted her past the desk.

  The silent clerk crossed himself. She flicked her skirts, as eager to pass from his door as he was anxious for her to go.

  Together with Mr. Stinson, she slipped out the door. Eleanor gestured down the street. If he were surprised, he hid it behind his careful mask. He merely switched arms, so he walked closest to the rumbling carts. They were silent a long moment, both locked in their thoughts as they battled the wind. A few stinging drops joined the tempestuous breeze that whipped Eleanor’s skirts against her ankles.

  As they neared the private house where she had rented a room, the only option besides the inn in such a small village, Eleanor’s hands tightened on her purse. Cold hardness within seemed to burn against her fingertips. She swallowed thickly, glancing at the implacable face of the man beside her.

  His firm jaw and hard eyes gazed into the distance, but when she slowed he matched her pace, glancing down with a question. Seeing her shamed expression, his gaze softened and he waited with seemingly infinite patience.

  Words eluded her. She lifted her limp purse, opening it to show him the dark interior.

  He drew back in vague distaste. Icy refinement replaced it as he nodded at her hands. “Naturally, you will be compensated for Bitsy’s expenses.”

  “Oh, no,” A blush suffused her cheeks. Her hands jerked the purse closed, sending the lace back from her wrist where dark bruises lay beneath scattered scratches. She dropped her purse, letting it swing by its cords and hide the shameful item within once more.

  “You misunderstand,” she gasped, aware her guilty expression had led him to worse conclusions and greater contempt.

  He detained her with an arm, pushing both of them off the busy street into an alleyway. His breath was hot against her cheek. “I do not know you, but the DeMontreys are decent people, and I will help them. I would be loath to think ill of you.”

  Though his touch had been gentle, indignation released her tongue.

  A flat recital of finding Bitsy on the threshold of the inn’s bedroom, in her would-be lover’s embrace, painted the wrong picture so she erred on the side of discretion, feeling it gave a truer impression of events.

  She spoke in a furious whisper, her face covered by the brim of her hat. “I am a widow and not entirely unfamiliar with the ways of the world. While Bitsy took her refreshment, I overheard the scoundrel making plans at the front desk. Making a point to speak with the girl, I discerned she believed they were continuing on across the border where they would reach Gretna Green and surprise her family with marriage. I had heard the scoundrel accompanying her seek a room, midday, quite contrary to the girl’s understanding.

  “Convincing her to accompany me was problematic. However, I gave the gentleman an earful and took her away.”

  The girl had been an unwitting innocent. Or very nearly.

  Eleanor bit her lip. Having recited the embellished story nearly flawlessly, the bare truth seemed more difficult to speak. She swallowed, reaching the crux of her story.

  “She remains entirely oblivious of the ruin she so narrowly avoided. For a time, she sought to return to him, and I had to restrain her. The scratches on my wrist are from her.” Tears that pride refused to let fall blurred the bottom of her vision. “In my purse, I have the key I used to lock her into her room.”

  Saying it aloud, she trembled. She could never have conceived of such behavior, of fights or imprisonment, yet she was guilty of both.

  Her conscience clawed at her and a haze of tears threatened. She stared at the tips of her boots. No one who knew her would believe she had interrupted a tryst and kidnapped a girl, even if it was to protect her. To physically imprison the chit, and lock her in, went against all Eleanor believed about herself. She was genteel and solved problems with witty conversation. However, Bitsy wouldn’t be swayed with persuasive words, and the consequences of her impetuous actions were too great to allow. Eleanor’s more advanced years, a decade more than the child’s, told her of the great ruin facing Bitsy. So, she had acted. Her ladies’ maid had fled, rather than be an accomplice.

  Would Mr. Stinson judge her as harshly?

  He did not reply, merely continued to hold her by her shoulders.

  Unable to stand his silence, Eleanor tilted her head so she could see his face beyond the brim of her hat. Admiration shone in his eyes and the slight curve of his lips. In the touch of his hands on her shoulders, she sensed a relaxation of boundaries.

  His soothing murmur rumble in his chest beside her ear. “You did well. Many would not have stepped forward.”

  Her tears miraculously dried, never having fallen. She took his arm as if they were old family friends, the warm roughness of his sleeve a welcome support.

  She had an ally. Her breath hiccupped in her chest. He was everything she could have wished to find. She did not have to deal with Bitsy alone any longer. Though she hardly knew him, she sensed Mr. Stinson’s keen capability.

  She longed to hand him the key and never return. Bitsy would not be pleased to see her, but she must finish sorting out the mess. She needed to be assured Mr. Stinson understood the full delicacy of a young lady’s reputation.

  Eleanor’s head did not top his shoulder, leaving her with a view of his impeccable cravat and the feel of his muscled arm under her hand. She enjoyed the moment, as they strolled the last dozen feet to the narrow building where she had rented a room. Walking up open wooden treads she paused, dropping her eyes to her purse once more. Color returned to her cheeks.

  Reaching out, Mr. Stinson pushed back her lace cuff. One large hand wrapped fully around her slender wrist, measuring the darkness of the bruises. His thumb rubbed a gentle circle that sent her pulse flying. He eased her purse off her wrist, opened the drawstring, and pulled out the large black key.

  He placed the key into the lock.

  Eleanor laid a hand on his arm. “Step back from the door as you open it, for she has deadly aim.”

  His amusement escaped as a bark of laughter, startling her. “Bitsy has not been reduced by events, I see.”

  “Actually, I believe we have come to an understanding, but it seemed prudent to continue as we have begun. When I learned that her family was away and her governess impetuously fled, I resolved to protect her.”

  The key slipped the lock around. The door opened with a creak. Inside the room, Bitsy sat on a box before the window, her hands on her knees as if she’d grown weary of peering eagerly onto the street, no doubt waiting for her lover to sweep up the lane astride his horse and climb the building to rescue her. Eleanor thought it more likely he’d taken the road home, wondering what job he could get without a letter of reference.

  Bitsy set aside a small pile of letters wrapped in a scarlet ribbon. She dropped a tidy curtsey. Spying Mr. Stinson, she burst into a smile, and Eleanor could easily see how a man might be led to mad action by such vitality.

  Bitsy raced across the room in a clatter of ruffled
skirts and bouncing curls, “Lord, but it’s been nothing but dull. I’m happy to see any face, even yours, Mr. Stinson!”

  Her two elders took the happy statement as it was intended, though they shared a quick look and bit back laughter.

  Bitsy gamboled around them, filling Mr. Stinson in on her adventures since she’d left the DeMontrey’s house. Her garbled tales focused much on new handkerchiefs and ribbons, with which Eleanor had bribed her shamelessly, or gossip of her peers. They contained few details and even less sense.

  “Bitsy,” Mr. Stinson interrupted, “your governess brought her concerns to me. I am here to see you home.”

  Bitsy’s eyes dropped.

  “The governess follows?” Eleanor inquired with some concern.

  “No, she felt she had discharged her final duty by coming to me.” His gaze touched on the girl, darkening with sympathy as he moved a step closer to Eleanor and lowered his voice. “She did not seem over-fond of her charge, nor especially bright.”

  “I suspect she is accustomed to being more ornamental than useful.” Bitsy broke in, startling them apart. “She was not selected for her accomplishments. My father cannot abide a dour face. Rather, I had tutors for my improvement.”

  “Yes.” Eleanor said dryly, observing privately that the tutors could also have been chosen with more care. Her serene expression could not mask her disapproval from Mr. Stinson, whose thoughts muddied his own stern composure.

  He frowned gravely. “We will discuss your education when we arrive back. The long ride will give me time to consider.”

  Bitsy’s eyes narrowed.

  “You have the DeMontrey carriage?” Mr. Stinson inquired.

  “The erstwhile tutor took it,” said Elenore.

  “Blackguard. The horses alone will be worth quite a bit. What became of the driver?”

  Bitsy sucked in her pouting lip. “Andre is better than any hired hand. He controlled the team.”

  Eleanor’s eyebrows rose slightly, pleased. She had not seen the carriage they’d arrived in and had assumed it was closed like her own. If Andre were driving, they had not been enclosed together, which boded better for Bitsy’s reputation. Upon consideration, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Naturally he hadn’t wanted a driver along to foil his plans. She scowled, wishing she’d gotten a few more whacks in with yesterday’s bonnet. The poor thing had been smashed to bits of straw anyway. She would not be able to repair it with all the ribbons in the world.

  “Mrs. Spencer, it would be our very great delight were you to accompany us.”

  Eleanor’s imagination bloomed with thoughts of being cocooned with this man for a long ride. As she had said, she was a widow and not unfamiliar with the ways of the world. A carriage would feel small and intimate with him inside. Those long legs would need space or else brush against a woman’s skirts. Their eyes would linger. The road was so very bumpy they could easily be thrown together. Soft touches, quite unavoidable. No one would mean for it to happen.

  She drifted down to sit, her eyes half-closed. “No, of course not.”

  “You will not come?” He cleared his throat uncertainly.

  “Oh!” She straightened her back and hopped to her feet, praying he could not read thoughts. “I do not think that you need me.”

  “Although I am a friend of the family, I am not so close that Bitsy should travel in just my company. All your work would be for naught.”

  Her thoughts had been much along the same lines, so she could hardly argue the point. They must avoid speculation.

  “She has no carriage, and I do not know what I could rent in this small village. You’d be her invaluable savior once more.” Mr. Stinson poured on the charm, stepping quite close to Eleanor as if he cared very much that she accompanied them. It left a warm ball of sunshine in Eleanor’s stomach.

  She nodded, disconcerted by the focus he gave her every blush and stammer. She had never known herself to behave like such a flibbertigibbet. Releasing the buttons on her pelisse with tiny jerks she turned from him. “Certainly, we must be all that is proper, for Bitsy’s sake.”

  “It is late. Would you prefer to stay at the inn a night and begin fresh?”

  “I do not think it would be wise to stay at the inn here in town.” Eleanor hinted. Recalling the beleaguered clerk’s expression brought a rueful curve to her lips. They would not be welcome, nor would she wish to patronize the establishment. “My driver is in the tavern. Bitsy would not provide direction, so I waited for someone to come for her.”

  “We may yet make it tonight, if the storm holds off. I will return once I’ve made arrangements for our travel.” His dark eyes trapped Eleanor’s, smirking with a strange contentment.

  She occupied herself rolling Bitsy’s ribbons into a neat loop around her hand and tying it off, strangely breathless. She would be with them at least for another day. The thought was not altogether unpleasant.

  He nodded, a curl of hair flopping onto his forehead with the force of his shake, and left them.

  Bitsy sang like a caged canary, sailing her new handkerchiefs through the air as she packed and repacked.

  Eleanor caught her breath, astounded how quickly matters had progressed and by how much more dangerous events suddenly seemed.

  Chapter 3

  The two ladies settled in for a ride along the bumpy road in Eleanor’s coach. Bitsy became a bright and cheerful companion, as if they had never argued. Mr. Stinson led his mount past them, decked in tailored riding coat and breeches.

  Despite Bitsy’s declaration that he was positively stuffy, she took more than a second glance as he rode his mount before them and raced off.

  Recalled from her own wool gathering by Bitsy’s bosomy sigh, Eleanor gave the girl a swift thump with her fan. She didn’t need new problems to replace old ones. She had enough of those facing her.

  Inclement weather appeared on the horizon, and clouds created a gauzy bandage across bruised gray sky. They had started late, and Eleanor worried they might be driving in the dark inside the approaching storm.

  She had not seen Mr. Stinson for hours. How far ahead had he ridden?

  Thunder cracked and fat rain drops tapped against the top of the carriage. Her driver turned toward a roadside inn and halted.

  Eleanor pushed open the carriage door, surprised when her gloved hand was snatched up in a warm hold. Chocolate brown eyes met her blue ones.

  “Are we staying?” she asked, breathlessly.

  Mr. Stinson’s teeth gleamed in the fading light while wind from the storm tore at his spotless cravat and mussed his hair with no real chance of damaging his appeal. “I signaled your driver. It’s dangerous ahead. I have had a meal prepared so we might pass the night in comfort.”

  He squeezed her hand. Electricity shot through her. Surprised and flattered, her mouth formed a small O.

  Regretful that they would part, her fingertips slid across his palm in a sensual caress. She bit her lip, aghast she’d been so forward.

  Prickles crept up the back of Eleanor’s neck where the small hairs coiled. She pulled out her fan, but the wind whipped it from her grasp. It dangled by her wrist strap. Why did she have to act foolish like a young girl? At least, she assumed this was how they felt. She’d never had the opportunity for butterflies and awkward hand-holding.

  Eleanor stepped aside, her feet firmly on the ground, to avoid Mr. Stinson.

  After a hesitation, he turned to assist Bitsy, who cooed over their possible desserts.

  Gathering the girl to her, she sailed inside the tidy whitewashed building, wishing she had insisted they continue on. Though the inn might look like safe harbor, she knew all too well that shady dealings could happen on the road. Bitsy’s near-miss was proof of that. However, Mr. Stinson had an impeccable reputation.

  They can’t all be rapscallions, she reasoned, cursing the suspicions that continued to plague her. Judging a man by his sinful good looks, or a vague mischievousness glimpsed in passing, said more about her character than h
is.

  Driven inside by the same terrible weather, an older woman in a jeweled turban stood beside a young man, who held the thin red leash of a small dog.

  Before the frozen trio could consider retreating, the lady turned a cold eye on them, narrowing instantly. “You’re the youngest DeMontrey, are you not? Elizabeth?”

  Feeling her charge’s frozen panic, Eleanor placed a calm hand on the girl’s trembling back. Abashed, Bitsy closed her mouth and dropped a curtsy, nodding.

  The elder lady’s gaze moved from Bitsy, across Eleanor, and settled on their companion.

  “Mr. Stinson, I have never known you to travel for pleasure.” She sniffed. “I don’t hold with public houses, but we are not near our destination. Your home is quite close, is it not?”

  Eleanor bristled at the implication of poor planning, for Mr. Stinson had done all he could to rescue his neighbor’s daughter and return her with comfort and speed. She said nothing, for the elder woman would make the worst of any hint of impropriety. Eleanor did not recognize her, but had seen enough to suspect she was a stickler.

  “Lady Rosauer.” Mr. Stinson did not add protestation of pleasure at seeing the other woman, but his tone was pleasant. “The best laid plans are still subject to the elements.”

  “We must all bow before the effects of God,” she agreed, her eyes already returning to evaluate Eleanor.

  The dog flopped onto its side and gnawed on the leather of the young man’s boot. He tried to kick it away without drawing attention, making the fluffy beast grumble and roll onto her back. Red-faced, he knelt and righted the puppy, who bit his sleeve and began tug-of-war. All the while, his eyes swept to Bitsy and away.

  Oblivious to his looks, Bitsy continued to tremble beside Eleanor, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt so tightly Eleanor feared it would shred beneath her fierce fingers.