Eleanor had to laugh at the horror in Ida’s voice as she uttered the last two words.
“Pshaw,” Olivia replied, rolling her eyes. “If you don’t want to see one another after you’re married, it’s easy. Just look at Mother and Father.”
Eleanor felt her throat close all over again. Their parents were—well, they did speak to one another, but they barely communicated. Their mother went on and on, and their father responded with a barely disguised measure of dislike. Occasionally a few grunted monosyllables. As though the years had worn away the patina of pleasantry. On both sides, actually. Their mother was hardly subtle in how she wished their father would be more engaged with things relating to the family.
It was ironic that he had stirred himself enough to arrange for Lord Carson to meet, and likely marry, Eleanor. The last time he’d reacted to anything in the family had been when Della had run off with Mr. Baxter, and all he’d done then was break a few vases and stomp around the house.
“Ida has a point,” Pearl said in a slow, considering way. All of them stopped to listen since Pearl uttered her opinion so rarely. “It doesn’t so much matter if Lord Carson does or does not read. What is important is that Eleanor knows these things about him. How can she spend the rest of her life with a man she doesn’t know the first thing about?” She shrugged, offering a shy smile to her older sister. “It is not as though we could have made our debuts this year anyway. As long as Eleanor is married, or at least engaged, within a few months it will be the same as if she’d said yes yesterday.”
That sinking feeling in Eleanor’s stomach sank a bit lower at Pearl’s words, correct though they were. She had a few months to find out what Lord Carson was like, to resign herself to marriage, no matter what she found out about him.
Wonderful. At least the noose lying in wait for her had a deadline.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” The deep voice drew her out of her thoughts. And then plunged her back into them, since of course it was Lord Alexander. Mr. Tree out in the park. Fitting.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Eleanor replied. She indicated her sisters, all of whom were regarding him with a varying degree of interest. Ida, of course, was least interested, just looking down her nose at him—impressive for a girl who was a foot or more shorter than he. “Lord Alexander, may I introduce my sisters? This is Lady Olivia,” she said, suppressing a smile as Olivia blatantly examined him, “Lady Pearl, and Lady Ida. We are taking a walk.” Which was an idiotic thing to say—of course he could tell they were taking a walk.
“Yes, I can see that.” Judging by his tone, he agreed she was an idiot.
So they had that in common.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Olivia said, her eyes wide. “We are acquainted with your brother, Lord Carson.” She wrinkled her nose. “You are altogether too tall, I think.”
“Olivia!” Eleanor said, just as Lord Alexander laughed.
“You’ve noticed,” he said, as Eleanor felt her face heat.
“I suppose it is practical to be that tall if there are apples to be picked,” Ida observed.
Eleanor wished her sisters would just stop talking.
“You have to excuse my sisters,” Eleanor said, glaring at Olivia and Ida. Pearl had stepped to the side, as though to remove herself from the fray. Eleanor wished she could do the same.
“It is that we are not out yet, you see,” Olivia continued, as though it couldn’t get any worse. “Until Eleanor is married, or at least betrothed, we are stuck waiting for our turn.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and gave Eleanor an accusing look.
“Society is much the worse for not having your presence in it,” Lord Alexander said, a gleam in his eye indicating how humorous he was finding all of this. “I wonder if I might speak to your sister for a moment?”
Cotswold cleared her throat behind the group, and Eleanor glanced her way. “Certainly, my lord,” she said, narrowing her gaze at her maid. As though Lord Alexander was going to somehow have his way with her when they were out in the middle of the park. “Girls, how about you go feed the ducks?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Pearl said, which made her sisters all turn and stare at her. She turned as pink as Eleanor knew her own face was. “Let’s go,” she added hurriedly, darting one last look toward Lord Alexander.
“I’ll be just over here, my lady,” Cotswold said. Eleanor didn’t have to look at her maid to know the woman was highly suspicious of Lord Alexander.
If only Cotswold knew the circumstances of their first meeting she wouldn’t allow Eleanor within fifteen feet of him.
“What do you wish to say, my lord?” Eleanor asked, lowering her voice to just above a whisper.
“My brother shared your answer to him with me.” He’d moved closer, and Eleanor felt herself keenly aware of him. His whole self, his proximity to her. As though he were touching her, even though he was still a respectable distance away. And now, so close, Eleanor could see him clearly. Clearly enough to see that same unruly lock that fell over his forehead, and while he was impeccably dressed, something about the way he stood indicated a certain casualness. One she didn’t think was as a result of anything, but just the way he was. The way he moved. “And I want my brother to be happy.”
Did that mean—? “Do you think he will be unhappy with me?” Eleanor couldn’t stop herself from uttering the words, even though she was horrified as she did so. Ladies did not ask direct questions like that. They didn’t even hint that they wished to ask a direct question.
He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I think if you are inclined to marry him he will be very happy with you.” He raised one eyebrow questioningly. “But I understand you are not certain you will be happy, and since you are a lady, and one, so I understand, who is under considerable pressure to marry, I thought perhaps we should discuss your feelings on the subject before you commit to something that might be a terrible mistake. For both of you,” he said in a sober tone of voice.
Well, she hadn’t thought about Lord Carson making a mistake. He had, after all, proposed; but she knew it wasn’t on his own impetus. He had been persuaded into it by his father, but she assumed he was just as sanguine about the plans as she’d thought she was. Even though it turned out she was not.
“Did he tell you it might be a mistake?” she asked. She heard her voice, high and strained. Why did it feel terrible to think someone she wasn’t sure she wanted might not be sure about wanting her?
That was a paradox she would have to pose to Ida. Perhaps her clever sister could examine it further and help her deduce what made her so contrary. Because right now she wished she could march back to Lord Carson and say, “Yes,” even though she was aware that nothing had changed since she’d asked for more time to decide.
“He would not have been so ungentlemanly,” Lord Alexander said in a low, fierce tone. “I am the rude brother. Bennett is nothing but honorable.” He shook his head in frustration, glancing over at where the girls were tossing bread into the lake. “The thing is, I owe it to my brother to make certain he is as happy as possible.” He raked a hand through his hair. That one errant lock got pushed up, but settled back into its usual place. Which was not where it was supposed to be, but where it looked the best.
“I apologize,” Eleanor said in a quiet voice. “I did not mean to be impolite. Or improper.” She raised her eyes to his face. “It seems as though I have been nothing but both of those things since we were introduced.”
His expression froze, and Eleanor felt as though she were moving in slow motion again, that spun-sugar feeling catching her limbs and making it impossible to move. As though there were only the two of them in this world.
“I came here to offer you a bargain,” he said after a long moment of silence.
“A bargain?” Eleanor repeated, sounding stupid even to herself.
His expression changed then, a flash of dismay or disappointment or something else entirely crossing his face so quickly
she was nearly sure she’d imagined it.
“Yes,” he said. “A bargain.”
“What sort of bargain?” she asked. At least she wasn’t just parroting his words back at him anymore.
“The kind where I discover what would make you accept my brother’s suit.”
She frowned as she processed his words. And he wondered, again, if she was stupid or just—different.
“Why wouldn’t Lord Carson want to discover that himself?” she asked, not unreasonably. Not stupidly either.
This was the tricky bit. The part he knew he couldn’t quite articulate, not without making Bennett sound cold and businesslike when his temperament was exactly the opposite. He wished he could just tell her the truth: My brother has an outsized sense of responsibility, and so he agreed to marry you without knowing if it would make him happy. Because of that responsibility, he cannot spare time now to discover that for himself. Not only that, he is anticipating a marriage without happiness, and the least I can do is to ensure his bride is a reasonable person who is capable of recognizing others.
But he couldn’t say that. Not without offense.
“Er, it is just that my brother is so preoccupied with the family’s business.” He spread his hands out, curling his lips up into what he had been assured by many ladies was a charming smile. “I am the second son. My only duties lie with myself and my interests,” and at that a slow blush began to heat her cheeks. He paused, wondering what was causing her to turn pink like that, and then he realized it was that she thought his “interests” was a delicate way to indicate his particular taste in literature.
Not that she was wrong.
But she was replying now, and he couldn’t spend time thinking about any of that. Or how pretty she looked when she was blushing.
“So you are proposing we, what—spend time with one another?” She lifted her chin and tilted her head. “Are you certain that is wise? Given how we first met? I don’t think”—and here she lowered her voice into the barest whisper—“that you are at all respectable.”
Or that perhaps she wasn’t stupid after all.
“I’m not,” Alex said. “But what I am is my brother’s—er, brother.”
Now he sounded stupid.
“Yes, I had noticed that,” she said in a wry tone.
“Bennett is important to me.” He let the words hang there so she might understand how true they were. “I don’t want my brother to be unhappy, and you don’t want to be unhappy either, which is entirely reasonable, so we should take steps—whatever steps those are—to see if happiness is possible.” He wished he could take her hand, to impress upon her how important this was. But if he did that, her dragon of a maid would be on him, and the chance would be lost. “Bennett is exceedingly busy”—he’d said that already, damn it—“and I know both of you are under pressure to at least get engaged. If our families think you are moving toward that goal there will be less . . .” and he paused, searching for the word.
“Fussiness?” she said, the hint of a smile on her mouth.
“Precisely.”
He saw her look over at her sisters, her face tightening into what he thought might be a worried expression. Although her eyes were narrowed, once again, she looked . . . lost. And then she returned her gaze to him, and he saw that she was going to agree to this bargain, whatever the bargain was.
“In return, you will have to do something for me.”
That raised all sorts of intriguing thoughts. Although they were also dangerous; the last thing he could do was to become somehow entangled with this proper, possibly not very intelligent woman who was supposed to marry his brother. There were so many ways that would be wrong.
More correctly, there was no way that would be right.
He folded his arms over his chest. “What is that?”
“I want to feel overwhelmed.” That was not what he had expected. Dance with me at the next ball. Rescue my sister’s kite from a tree. Something like that. Not something so amorphous, yet so descriptive.
What was she asking for, precisely?
She accompanied her words with a lift of her chin, as though aware she was being—not proper. And all of his senses, damn them, fired to life.
She was not stupid. He didn’t know what she was, and that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all—he felt a keen interest in unlocking that mystery, and he knew full well what that would entail. For him, at least.
“Overwhelmed,” he echoed, aware that he was doing just what he’d been dismissive about in her. Now perhaps she would think he was unintelligent.
“Yes.” A flash of frustration crossed her face. “I don’t have the freedom you likely take for granted. Less so now that—” and then she stopped speaking, her expression closing. “Never mind that.” A pause as she thought, and then she shook her head. “The thing is, I didn’t reject your brother outright. I just want—I just told him I needed some time.”
“To be overwhelmed,” Alex replied.
“Yes.” She drew a deep breath. “Once I am satisfied in that, I am certain your brother and I can come to an amicable agreement.” She looked at him directly, having to tilt her chin back in order to stare into his eyes. “Are you able to overwhelm me, Lord Alexander?”
Well, that was a question he could answer. Whether or not he should was an entirely different matter—one which he also thought he knew the answer to.
And what that would all look like—well, that was very dangerous territory.
“It would be my pleasure, my lady,” he said, bowing.
Knowing he was walking on a very thin edge of danger, but impossible to deny his brother’s plea. Or the walking contradiction that was Lady Eleanor Howlett.
Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Be honest. Be forthright. Be noticed.
Chapter 6
“Good afternoon, Mr. Woodson.” Alexander nodded to the bookshop owner, his gaze taking in the few patrons browsing the shelves.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Mr. Woodson replied, a warm smile creasing his face. “I was hoping you would stop by. I want to ask for your advice.”
He stooped behind the counter and withdrew a small dark decanter that held the worst-tasting cordial Alex had ever had. But Mr. Woodson’s wife made it, and the man himself was so proud of Mrs. Woodson’s creations that Alex didn’t have the heart to share what he really felt, his bluntness giving way to his wish to not hurt his friend’s feelings—since Mr. Woodson had become a friend, at least as much as a marquis’s son and a shopkeeper could be friends, in the months since Alex had made his first purchase.
Mr. Woodson was just the latest in the coterie of unlikely friends Alex had made over the years—from the family’s steward and his children, to the lamplighters who recognized him after a long night out, to the various shop owners where he did business. He couldn’t just stay still and let others do things for him—he needed to be there himself, and wherever he went, he found friends.
The only person, it seemed, who was immune to his charm was his father. But that was a fair exchange, since Alex held no respect for that gentleman.
“What do you need help on?” Alex asked, holding his breath as he took a deep swallow of the cordial. It didn’t necessarily remove the taste, but it ameliorated it somewhat.
“I am thinking of taking some advertising for some of the books I sell here,” Mr. Woodson said in a pointed tone. Oh, those books. The ones that Alex bought and that certain young ladies turned bright red over seeing. “And I wanted to know which papers would attract the most likely customers.”
“People who can afford to purchase your discreetly offered books?” Alex replied with a smile.
“Yes, precisely.” Mr. Woodson finished his cordial, and then immediately filled up his glass again, tilting the bottle to Alex to ask if he wanted more.
“No, thank you,” Alex replied. “Yes, I can certainly make a list, and I can help you with the wording of the advertisement as well.”
Mr. Woodson beamed. “Well, isn’t that a generous offer, my lord. I can offer you a percent—” He stopped speaking when Alex held his hand up and shook his head.
“No, I would not take any of your hard-earned money,” he said. “I just want to help.”
And he did. Help his friend, help his brother, help his mother. But he wasn’t always allowed to, so he did what he could; drank the cordial, assisted with reaching the correct people, helped his brother woo his bride-to-be. The things he could do.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” Lord Alexander said as Eleanor descended the stairs to where he stood in front of a carriage led by two brown horses. There was probably a name for their color, a horse-specific name, but she didn’t know enough about horses to be aware of it.
Which just reminded her how ignorant she was of so many things.
“Good afternoon,” Eleanor replied, squinting up at the seat of the vehicle. She heard Cotswold make a harrumphing noise behind her.
It was very high. And the horses seemed very spirited. Perhaps she shouldn’t have wanted to be overwhelmed? Or at least not so vertically?
And there was certainly no room for Cotswold. She would be alone with Lord Bennett’s brother. The final version. The handsome tree.
Her mother had agreed to the unorthodox adventure since, in her words, “It is not as though we don’t know you are to be engaged to Lord Alexander’s brother, even if you were foolish enough not to confirm it at this time.” And then she added many more words, all of which meant the same thing. Her father just grunted in an approving way.
So apparently it was perfectly respectable to drive out with a gentleman so long as the gentleman’s brother planned to marry you. Something she’d missed during etiquette training.
She didn’t think the situation was specifically covered in manuals that purported to detail a Young Lady’s Proper Decorum and Such, but apparently her mother’s blithe approval superseded such rigidity.
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