by Liana Lefey
A sigh sounded in the night beside him. “I suppose it would be best for him to know the truth of it, though I’d hoped to spare her the embarrassment.”
“I hope you won’t think ill of me for saying it,” Sorin said drily, “but any embarrassment the lady suffers is due entirely to her own inability to hold her temper in check.”
“She has an impetuous nature, to be sure,” conceded Marston. “But unlike you, I find her candor refreshing. So many women bury their true feelings behind an impenetrable mask. With Miss Caroline, one always knows where one stands…whether it’s in the warm sunlight of her happy regard or the cold shadow beneath her heel,” he said with a chuckle. “For the moment, I see only the bottom of her dainty slipper—but I’m looking up.”
Sorin couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed overloud against the soft backdrop of crickets and frog song. “Bollocks, man. You are the most optimistic fellow I’ve ever known.”
“It’s not optimism, my friend. It’s desperation, pure and simple. I’ve sunk so low in her esteem that up is the only direction remaining open to me.”
Sorin grimaced in the dark. He’d been in the same situation himself only recently. It was a sobering thought. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Marston. “I’d hoped to begin making amends tonight, but Fate seems to be set against me. She still paints me the villain of her fairy tale and will believe nothing else.”
“Perhaps I can ask Eleanor to try to—”
“No,” interrupted Marston. “I could never ask such a thing. It would only set her against her friend. Still, Lady Eleanor appears to be a good influence on her. They must’ve had quite a chat indeed. I’ve never seen Miss Caroline so…docile.”
“I don’t doubt it. Ellie can be quite persuasive.”
“Persuasive? She pulled a bloody lion out of that room and brought a lamb back in. I’d like to know how she performed such a miracle. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to ask her?”
He hated to crush the man’s hopes. “Eleanor has never been one to prattle, and no amount of questioning will make her surrender that which she does not wish to reveal.”
“A rare woman.”
Indeed.
“I don’t suppose we’re really going hunting in the morning, are we?” asked Marston wistfully. “I’m afraid I failed to pack the proper attire for such an excursion.”
“Why not?” Sorin answered. “I would not mind bagging a few more birds before leaving for Town. We’ll find some clothes for you and you can have your pick of my rifles. As for the meat, it’s been a hard winter here and I’m sure there are some families in the village that will appreciate a gift of fowl.”
“When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” said Marston with a wry laugh.
“You cannot.”
The men rode in companionable silence the rest of the way to Holly Hall at which point they parted for the night. Upon reaching his room, Sorin at once penned a note to Charles explaining the situation between Marston and Caroline and asking for his and Rowena’s aid and discretion in managing the matter. Giving it to his valet, he ordered that it be delivered first thing in the morning.
As he lay awake, he thought, as always, of Eleanor. She had grown into an astounding woman in so many ways. Her ability to quash her friend’s temper had been most impressive, yet he wondered how long the armistice she’d brokered would last. He also wondered if the women’s friendship would survive once he began openly courting Eleanor—if indeed it ever came to that.
Chapter Nine
A pounding headache greeted Eleanor the following morning. She’d hardly slept for fretting about Caroline. And then there was Sorin. He’d left so abruptly, and his good-bye had been so formal and cool. She hadn’t expected it.
“Lady Eleanor?”
She turned to answer the servant’s inquiry. “Yes?”
“Her Grace has requested your presence in her sitting room.”
No doubt to give me a good tongue-lashing for my conduct last night. “Thank you. Tell her I shall come as soon as I’m dressed.” Sighing, she rose and rang for Fran. Going to the wardrobe, she grabbed the first serviceable gown she saw and prepared to don it. There was certainly no point in fussing over her appearance today.
When she arrived, Rowena wasted no time getting to the point of her summons. “I think taking Caroline with us to London would be a mistake. I plan to write to her parents today and tell them that we find ourselves unfortunately short of space.”
Eleanor blinked in surprise and took a moment to steady herself. “You deserve an explanation for last night. In all honesty you need to know the truth in order to prevent any further incidents, but please wait until you hear what I have to say before you write to her family.”
“I am already aware,” interrupted Rowena, cutting her off. She rose, her long skirts hissing angrily as she paced the room. “She knew he had been invited,” she said, her voice low and hard with suppressed fury. “Why did she not tell us? It would have saved everyone a great deal of discomfort!”
“She was too embarrassed,” Eleanor said in her most soothing tone. “She truly thought she could be civil to him.”
“Civil? She all but gave him the cut direct!”
“She was unprepared to learn that he was such close friends with Sor—with Lord Wincanton,” Eleanor continued, desperate to calm her down. “When she saw them talking, she assumed the worst and thought Lord Marston was speaking ill of her to him. It upset her terribly.”
Rowena sat on the edge of a settle and passed a hand over her pale, pinched face. A moment later, she withdrew a folded piece of paper from her pocket and held it out.
Taking it, Eleanor unfolded the missive, instantly recognizing Sorin’s neat hand. Her heart sank as she quickly scanned the lines.
When she was done, Rowena took it back and began to refold it. “You realize this means I cannot invite Lord Marston to any of our at-home events in London. We cannot have that kind of tension in the atmosphere without it causing talk and endangering your chances.”
“My chances? What of Caroline’s?”
“She is not my primary concern.”
“Neither am I,” Eleanor retorted. “I don’t intend to marry—and I wish you would stop trying to force it on me! Besides, the matter is irrelevant, anyway.”
“Irrelevant?” said Rowena, her voice rising. “The whole purpose of taking you to London is to—”
“That’s not what I meant.” She sighed. “I made a promise to Caroline and I won’t break it.” She then relayed the conversation she’d had with her friend the evening prior. “She vowed to behave herself, and I vowed I would help her find a suitable husband.”
Rowena fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Do you honestly believe her to be sincere?”
“I do. She knows this is her last chance.” Eleanor looked to her pleadingly. “I realize it will make things a bit difficult—”
“A bit?” Rowena’s eyes were wide with incredulity.
“But there are ways around it,” Eleanor hurried on, determined. “There is no rule demanding that we all must be in the same place at the same time. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe Lord Marston will be offended by an occasional exclusion. When you do wish him to attend an event, Sorin can escort Caroline and me to another function somewhere else.” Please. Please. Please!
Rowena took an agonizingly long time to answer. “Very well,” she said at last. “I won’t write to her parents unless things begin to degrade—and they had better not,” she warned with a glare. “We will do our best to see her married quickly and without any scandal. God help us.”
Elated, Eleanor opened her mouth to thank her.
But Rowena was not finished. “Understand that this in no way alters our plans for finding you a husband. Caroline’s must not be the only wedding this autumn. As such, you will put forth the expected effort to that end once we reach London.” Her face softened. “You cannot stay here fore
ver, my dear,” she said, reaching out to touch her cheek. “It would not be right. You need to build a life for yourself, have a family of your own. Your parents would want you to live fully and you cannot do so if you remain with us.”
Eleanor’s already heavy heart plummeted straight to her toes. So, he had been telling the truth. It wasn’t that she’d doubted him—he’d never lied to her—but she’d rather hoped he’d been exaggerating things. “I understand,” she murmured, numb.
The last vestiges of hardness melted from Rowena’s face. “It’s for your own good, my dear. I wish you would trust Charles and me. We just want you to be happy.”
Eleanor wanted to scream that she was already happy, but the truth was that her sense of contentment had inexplicably begun to diminish. A strange sort of restlessness had overtaken her. Change was coming. It was inevitable.
She shook herself. Now was definitely not the time for melancholy rumination. Right now she had to appease the powers that be. “I know. Thank you for caring about me so much.” She meant it. Her guardians’ intentions were good, if misguided. “I cannot promise you that I will find an acceptable gentleman, but I’ll try to be more open-minded.”
It was enough. Satisfied, Rowena dismissed her.
The following days were filled with the business of preparing for their journey to London. Caroline remained unusually quiet throughout the controlled chaos, but Eleanor didn’t worry overmuch. London would soon cure her of her brooding. Besides, she had enough to think about concerning her own dilemma. Each restless night brought her closer to Thursday and leaving Holbrook.
“It’s been over a quarter of an hour since you last turned a page in that book,” commented Rowena quietly as she ticked off items on the long list in her hand. It was the morning before their departure.
Eleanor looked up and blinked. “I guess I was woolgathering.”
Rowena shot her a piercing glance. “You’re not the only one to be acting queerly of late. Caroline has been far too quiet for my peace of mind. Is all well between you?”
“Quite. I was just thinking how much I shall miss this place,” she said, looking around the room.
“You can always come and visit, my dear,” said Rowena, frowning down at her list and crossing out a line. “In fact, I shall be quite upset if you don’t make it a point to do so frequently, for I will greatly miss your company.”
It took every bit of self-control for Eleanor to keep from showing her upset. She’d meant that she’d miss Holbrook while they were away in London, not forever! She hadn’t yet given up all hope of remaining here. “Thank you,” she replied past the sudden tightness in her throat. “Holbrook has been my home for so many years that I have great difficulty imagining myself anywhere else.”
“I missed my home when I married Charles. But I soon grew to like it here, and I’m sure you’ll come to love your new home as well.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile. “Especially once you and your husband begin filling it with children.”
My husband? As if there was any man on earth I’d be willing to marry!
Unbidden, an image of Sorin flashed in Eleanor’s mind. Shock suffused her, followed closely by utter confusion. Why in heaven’s name did I think of him? Sorin was the stiffest, sternest, most proper gentleman in all of England—possibly the entire world. He’d scold and correct her at every turn, just as he’d always done, and though she was quite fond of him, she would eventually resent him for it. They’d make a terrible couple!
The ridiculousness of the whole idea almost made her laugh aloud. It was ludicrous! Even if she were to consider him for a husband, he would never agree to it. In his mind, I’m still a child.
But that thought harkened back to Rowena’s last comment concerning children. Longing seized her heart in an iron grip. She couldn’t deny that she wanted children. But freedom and children were mutually exclusive. If she wanted the latter, she would have to give up the former.
The thought of filling Holly Hall with Sorin’s children, particularly of the act that precipitated such events, brought instant, scorching heat to her face and an uncomfortable tension throughout her whole body. She looked up to see Rowena staring at her. “Yes, I—I suppose I shall.” She ducked her head over her book once more, ignoring Rowena’s soft chuckle. But throughout the rest of the day, her thoughts kept wandering back to the idea. It was a source of both frustration and bewilderment that she could not put it out of her mind. That night as she lay abed, unable to find peace or slumber, she determined to settle the futile argument with herself once and for all. Sorin would never consider her for a wife—and despite her high regard for him, she’d never be happy with so overbearing a husband.
There! Satisfied, Eleanor closed her eyes and kept them shut, until at last sleep took her.
Thursday morning arrived, and with it complete turmoil. Maids and footmen rushed to and fro making final preparations for their employers’ departure. Traveling trunks were trundled off to the carriages and the servants’ wagons for loading. An early breakfast was bolted down. Finally, Sorin and his mother arrived followed closely by the Yarboroughs, and then it was time.
“Do you not think him completely handsome?” whispered Caroline as they walked to the carriage.
Eleanor followed her gaze to find that it rested on Yarborough. She ought to be thankful that the comment had referred to someone other than Sorin, but all she could muster was a faint sense of unease. “I suppose,” she answered with a shrug.
“His jacket is simply splendid,” Caroline went on, her voice eager.
She looked again. Indeed it was—and far more suitable for a promenade down Rotten Row than for the start of a six-day journey on horseback. He looked every inch the dandy from the top of his jaunty felt hat down to his gleaming and obviously new Hessians. The ensemble had no doubt cost a fortune, but Eleanor knew the difference between a surface gloss and deep shine. No amount of expensive trappings would ever make a true gentleman of Donald Yarborough.
Her gaze lit then upon Sorin beside him. By contrast, the Earl of Wincanton wore the modest, practical clothes appropriate for a long journey. The morning sun kissed his hair and face with gentle golden light as he soothed his overeager horse and jested with Charles. He’d never been unpleasant to look at, but it struck her now that he was actually quite handsome.
“Eleanor?”
The insistent inquiry forced her to return her attention to Caroline. “Remember what we discussed,” she said quietly. “Be polite during our journey, but do not encourage him overmuch. You don’t wish to give the impression that he has your favor before we reach London, lest he boast of it to others upon our arrival and lead them to think you already spoken for.”
“But what if—”
“You have only just met him,” Eleanor cut in, giving her a stern look. “Neither of you knows anything about the other, much less whether or not you will suit. Let his actions speak for his character along the way without your prompting. If you still find him of interest after we arrive, I’ll be glad to help further the connection.” She lightened a little. “Be patient, and keep in mind that you may soon have many more appealing options to consider. You don’t want to limit yourself before you’ve even seen what is available.”
The pout didn’t entirely disappear from Caroline’s face, but she nonetheless nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well, I shall be careful not to let him think he has any advantage.”
Satisfied, Eleanor led the way to the coach where Rowena waited for them with Lady Yarborough.
“There you are, my dear,” the woman crowed as she approached. “I was beginning to think we might have to send a search party for you. London awaits—come, let us be off!”
A twinge of dislike ran through Eleanor as the lady gave her cheek a maternal pat before turning to board the coach. The woman was barely acquainted with her and ought not to be so familiar. She waited until Lady Yarborough’s ample backside disappeared inside the vehicle’s confines. Like
her offspring, she was ridiculously overdressed for the occasion. With her feathered bonnet, heavily be-ringed hands, and the ceaseless prattle issuing from her mouth, Lady Yarborough reminded her of nothing so much as a stout magpie.
The ladies settled themselves while last-minute adjustments were made to the luggage to accommodate their traveling companions’ trunks, and then they were off.
As Holbrook slipped past her window, Eleanor filled her eyes with its emerald lawns and sun-dappled woods. Already she felt a pang of homesickness. If she didn’t return to Somerset, she would have to make a new home. Was there a way to marry and remain in Somerset? Yarborough was out of the question, of course. She’d sooner wed a pig! Again, her thoughts turned to Sorin.
Could I be happy as his wife? Another question arose, one that presented a whole new set of problems. Could he be happy as my husband?
Just as she held every man up to the standard he’d helped her set, so did he hold every woman up to his. A sense of hopelessness flooded her at the thought of Miss Jane Perfection Stafford. Over the years, he’d painted a vivid picture of the woman as meek and mild, patient and kind, never uttering a wrong word or acting in any way other than modest and proper.
How in heaven’s name am I ever to measure up to that?
The answer was she couldn’t. She wasn’t meek, she was rarely mild, and while kindhearted, she often lacked patience. Speaking her mind was one of her biggest faults. How many times had she argued with Sorin? Between him and Rowena, she’d learned modesty and propriety, but the urge to rebel against starchiness was still strong. No matter how much she aspired to be like Jane, she always fell short of the mark.
And I always will. I cannot become something I’m not.
He’d said he had yet to find Jane’s equal, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one out there. She could see it now: he’d find a quiet little ingénue tucked away in a corner at some ball, her shy and retiring demeanor the perfect antidote to the brazen behavior he so deplored, and Saint Jane would be replaced by Saint Someone Else.
