by Lela Bay
Papers rustled as Bitsy picked something up from the pile beside the box.
“This is your husband?”
Eleanor didn’t need to see the small portrait. She nodded.
Rational and kind, George had been the man intended for her. He had been stable and comfortable. She shouldn’t have longed for anything more. Her parents had been wise to choose for her. Look at her now. She should be too old to be swept up by impetuous passions. Rational thought was required. Propriety meant safety. Civility and manners were ingrained from childhood. Why had she thought to dash all of that aside for a man with arms like iron and chocolate eyes? Madness!
They had been fortunate Lady Rosauer was unwilling to risk blemishing her nephew’s reputation, or Bitsy might not be humming and carefree.
Eleanor rubbed her temples.
Bitsy answered a soft knock on the door, while Eleanor fingered the ring on the table, remembering the day George had given it to her. Her life had been so calm, not something to buck against.
She turned her back on the room and huddled in bed.
She’d exchanged no promises with Mr. Stinson. They’d never discussed intentions or looked to the future. They’d burned hot, bright, and as mindless as adolescents. Like Bitsy, she needed to learn reflection and wisdom.
“Eleanor, it’s Mr. Stinson. He wants to talk with you,” Bitsy whispered.
Eleanor pretended not to hear, and the door was shut, ever so softly, on the man she loved.
Bitsy prepared for bed in rare silence.
Perhaps Bitsy believed she was asleep, and did not see the tears coursing from beneath Eleanor’s closed eyelids.
Chapter 6
T he next morning a subdued party met for breakfast. Only Mabel seemed perky, eagerly sitting up for tidbits dropped from Lady Rosauer’s lap. Like the dog, they remained in line and replied promptly to each cue. Good manners ruled the day.
Lady Rosauer suggested that Bitsy might find improvement at a lady’s finishing school, now that her governess had fled, and with her family so busy they could not attend to her. Once she learned the school was in London, not far from the townhouse where Ryder Leon resided with his aunt during the London Season, Bitsy grew to like the idea.
When Lady Rosauer proposed discussing the matter further on the drive to the DeMontrey estate, Ryder Leon noticeably perked up. Eleanor, too, pronounced it an excellent idea, and soon had Bitsy ensconced within Lady Rosauer’s carriage. Delivered by the venerable lady, no one would question her absence.
She was no longer needed as a companion, and said fond goodbyes to the charge she had guarded for three—entirely too exciting—days. They agreed to write letters, and Bitsy gave her a blue ribbon to remember her by. Eleanor gave her the shawl she’d worn to dinner, since Bitsy had already packed it with her things.
Mr. Stinson bid a soft goodbye. Though he had tried many times to draw her out, Eleanor had decided that a circumspect goodbye was best and gave him no opportunity for more than a kiss on her fingers as he departed.
Wondering at her own mood, Eleanor found her driver and requested that he prepare the carriage. She would continue her trip of self-improvement. If they returned to the border, they might even recover her maid, who had likely not yet found public transportation home. Now that Bitsy had left her, that noble woman would return to keep Eleanor on the straight-and-narrow, a path she’d wandered sadly far from.
She boarded the carriage.
The bumps passed unnoticed as they traveled the rutted path toward the border. Her flighty thoughts returned to reality when a new set of hoof beats pounded through the thick mud.
Mr. Stinson, posture perfect atop his gleaming chestnut, fell abreast of her window and appeared to be speaking, but she could not catch the words. Urgently wondering whether something had happened to Bitsy, she leaned forward. Seeing how his eyes met hers and flickered away with a heavy frown of concentration between his brows, her heartbeat sped up.
Fragments of words assembled themselves in a moment of sudden clarity. Poetry?
Laughing, she tapped on the carriage. Her driver drew the horses to a shuddering halt, and Eleanor tumbled out the carriage door, stopping on the step at the last moment as she took in the sea of dark mud coming up the wheels.
Earnest Stinson pulled his prancing mount to a halt and returned, slipping from its back onto the step where she stood, leaning perilously close in the tight doorframe as he continued his recitation. Staggered, the meter entirely off, and with words that Eleanor supposed were intended to rhyme, the poem carried heartfelt emotion as Mr. Stinson gazed into her eyes and finished the last two lines with strength.
“Poetry, Mr. Stinson?” she asked breathlessly.
“Sometimes it is the only way to express what we cannot otherwise say.”
“Yes?” She could hardly think with him standing so close.
“Bitsy helped me. The first was a French poem. The last was my own. She insisted.” His eyes gleamed with humor and a bit of pride.
“Wonderful stuff but I think,” she swallowed thickly, bringing her hands up around his neck, “I think I like your usual method of expressing what cannot be said.”
They kissed, while her driver sat forward and whistled something jaunty to the blue sky. A bird called in the distance.
Careful of her aching side, Mr. Stinson held her tightly with one arm and another braced in the doorway. He leaned back to consider her face.
“Bitsy’s school will not start immediately. She could use companionship while her family is still away. Would you consider residing with her? It would mean you were next to my own estate, and we could further our acquaintance.” He took her hand. “Please?”
“You do not wish to join the two estates?” she teased. Nothing felt off limits.
He tied his horse to the carriage and ducked inside. Eleanor joined him. He pulled her against him. “I think you’ll find my estate is already large enough. You’ll have no complaint.”
“I have no complaints.” Eleanor sighed, and signaled her driver to turn around, taking the long path they’d already twice traveled.
Her poor lady’s maid would have to stick to the straight-and-narrow on her own.
And Eleanor quickly discovered that her imaginings over the impropriety invited by riding in a carriage alone with an eligible bachelor were not disappointed.
A New Novel from Lela Bay
The Storm
Weak from the terrible shipboard storm that killed her father, Petra’s slow recovery in a strange household gives her opportunity to admire Ryder Leon.
The Rejection
Confessing her affection for Ryder Leon is improper, but she begs him to wait while she regains her strength. He crushes her hopes.
The Rebirth
Years later, Petra’s musical abilities have earned her a place in Lady Rosauer’s household. She is shocked when Ryder Leon returns. Ashamed of her past, she resolves to be all she’d promised and more, but Mr. Leon doesn’t even remember her.
Vengeance or Love?
Should she lead him on, so he learns what a broken heart feels like? Or is this a second chance to pursue the man she once wanted so badly?
Tempestuous Music
Lady Rosauer’s suspicious eye, and demand for midnight performances, limits Petra encounters with Ryder Leon, and their attraction is stronger than ever.
Can she leave well enough alone and not follow the…
Tempo of Temptation
Read More Romance From
Meant to Be Press
Lord Harrington’s Lost Doe
By Emmy Z. Madrigal
Lord Alexander Harrington’s life is rather tame until a shoeless, coatless waif is found wandering his estate with no memory of who she is. Despite his stoicism, Lord Harrington finds himself drawn to the lost girl who he compares to a scared doe. Caring for her illness despite speculation of her mental state, he develops feelings for her.
Is she an escaped lunatic, or simply a lost wom
an desperately in need of his help? A revelation about his own family’s history with the mental asylum down the road causes him to question his feelings. When a massive fire breaks out on estate grounds, will he lose her forever?
ABOUT LELA BAY
Lela lives in a modest house in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, children, and pets. Despite living so far north, she requires a certain amount of sunshine every day. Her hands are always cold, but her heart is warm.
When she isn’t writing, she enjoys strolling, gardening, reading, and tea time with friends. Music has always been a large part of her life, and she owns a ridiculous number of instruments.
She frequently contributes movie and entertainment reviews to Meant to Be Press.
Follow Lela on twitter @bay_lela
