by Liana Lefey
Anything that smacked of childishness, whether in appearance or behavior, had to be avoided at all costs—and a freckled face screamed immaturity. Grown ladies did not expose their faces to the sun.
I’m an adult now, and I must look and act like one. It was vital that Sorin see her as his equal, his match, in every respect.
He’d gone to fetch her some lemonade, leaving her to wander along the banks of the pond and admire the swans as they made long vees on the water’s surface. He would be back at any moment, but for now she was free to let her mind wander. Edging beneath the shade of an obliging willow, she leaned back against its trunk, closing her parasol.
In just two days, she would don the rose gown, her new diamonds, and her most seductive smile. He would come and offer her his arm. They would appear together and be announced together. And then they would dance. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself in his arms, floating across the ballroom floor. He would look at her, and he would say—
“Lady Eleanor, how delighted I am to see you again.”
A little yelp of surprise burst from her as she jumped and turned to face the unwelcome intruder, her skin crawling with distaste. Fighting the urge to scowl at him, she affected a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Sir Yarborough.”
Coming closer, he made an elegant leg before her. “Surely you and I have known each other long enough for you to call me by my Christian name?”
“Oh, but I mustn’t,” she said, stepping away from the tree to give herself plenty of maneuvering room in case she needed to retreat in haste. “It would be highly improper of me, Sir Yarborough.”
His smile widened, and he took a step closer. “Since when have you ever worried about propriety?” he asked, reaching up to rub his jaw, a deliberate reminder.
Damn.
He laughed. “You needn’t scowl. I came not to stir up old grievances, but rather to let you know that I’ve missed your company. I can only assume that, like so many, you’ve found London’s distractions pleasant and absorbing.”
It was an unsubtle hint that she’d been ignoring the almost daily invitations he’d been sending. “Indeed,” she said brightly, snapping her parasol up and open, though there was no need. “I’ve been so very busy. In fact, this was the first time I’d been afforded a moment’s peace.” One unsubtle hint deserved another.
A crease marred the space between his brows, and he took another step closer. “Perhaps you should take some rest from this whirlwind of activity. I should dislike it very much if you were to fall ill from overexertion.”
She’d show him “overexertion” if he came any nearer! Her fingers gripped the ivory-headed handle of her parasol. “I can assure you, Sir Yarborough, that the state of my health is more than satisfactory.” Behind her back, she balled her other hand into a fist and braced herself. “One might even go so far as to say it is robust.”
“Indeed, quite so,” said another voice. It was Sorin. He parted the trailing willow branches and entered the shade bearing two cups. “She has practically run me to Bedlam these last few days. Ellie, your lemonade.”
She accepted the cup he proffered and took a grateful sip to hide a grin of pure glee. The look on Yarborough’s face was one of frustrated indecision. She understood his conundrum well enough. On the one hand, being considered a friend of the Earl of Wincanton would do him no harm socially. On the other, the illustrious Earl appeared to be blocking his efforts to woo the object of his desire—thanks be to heaven. One day, perhaps, she would find the opportunity to thank her rescuer properly. Or perhaps improperly…
“Lord Wincanton, a pleasure to see you again as well,” said Yarborough finally, though the words sounded empty. “I met Miss Caroline near the bowling lawn a short while ago. She told me she was looking for you.”
Sorin’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Yes, I know. I spoke with her just a moment ago.” He turned to face Eleanor fully, giving Yarborough his back and blocking the fellow’s view. “She was most troubled concerning a letter she received from her aunt regarding a young cousin.”
Eagerly, she took up the thread. “Yes. Apparently, she was proposed to by a young man to whom the family strongly objects. They wish her to refuse him, but she is being most intractable.” She moved closer and lowered her voice just enough to make it plain that she was excluding certain parties from the conversation, but not enough to prevent that conversation being overheard. “She claims it is a love match, but her family feels the young man has mercenary motives.”
“Perhaps they ought to reconsider their position,” interjected Yarborough, coming around to again stand before them. “After all, the young lady may never receive another offer of marriage.”
Eleanor felt her hackles rise. “I can think of far more tragic circumstances than spinsterhood, Sir Yarborough—one of them being that of a young woman trapped in an imprudent marriage to a man who claims to love her while his true and only interest is in pilfering her purse.”
Now it was Yarborough’s turn to bristle, but any rejoinder he might have given was cut off by Sorin before it could be voiced. “I can only agree,” said he. “Better for her to remain unwed than marry a fool, or worse, a deceiver.”
Eleanor observed that his eyes were fixed on Yarborough as he said it. Oh, my.
All color, save two high splotches of red on his cheeks, drained from the younger man’s face as he visibly struggled for composure. Finally, he cast his gaze down and bowed shortly. “I’m afraid I’ve intruded upon a conversation that was intended to be private. Please excuse me.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away, leaving the two of them alone.
“Oh, bravo, my friend,” she murmured to Sorin, setting her cup down on a nearby stump. “I could not have done that better myself.”
“I must apologize,” he said at once, coming over to set his still-full cup beside hers. “I should have been more forbearing. He is, after all, still very young.”
“He is a year older than I,” she objected, looking down so that he wouldn’t see her disappointment.
“Perhaps, but you are far wiser.”
Something in his voice drew her gaze back up again. Beneath the budding willow branches, his hazel eyes were so very green, so intense in their regard of her. “Am I?” Her voice shook just a little.
He drifted closer. “Of course you are. You have a maturity about you to which that whelp can hardly ever hope to aspire, as well as many other fine qualities.”
Light and warmth blossomed within her. She allowed the current that had been steadily tugging her toward him draw her a step nearer. “Such a compliment from you is high indeed and worth more to me than any he could ever give. Yours are genuine, while his are no more than empty words contrived to lead me astray.”
They were less than an arm’s length away from each other now. All she had to do was reach out and she could touch him, place her hand upon his chest. Her heart hammered wildly as his gaze dropped to her mouth.
With a suddenness that left her swaying on the spot, he drew back and turned to walk to the edge of the pond. Stooping, he picked up a small twig that had fallen from the willow and twirled it for a moment between his fingers before casting it lightly into the water. The swans turned curiously, no doubt hoping to receive an offering of bread. “I’m glad to hear you say it,” he said without looking at her. “It shows you’ve learned the art of discernment. Another mark of wisdom.”
Mortification flooded through her, leaving behind a bitter taste. Damn, damn, and damn! For a moment, just a brief happy moment, she’d thought he might kiss her. But no, not Sorin. Wisdom indeed! She was an unmitigated fool. Stooping, she too picked up an object, a fist-sized stone. Since his back was turned, she indulged her ire and flung it with all her might into the pond. It sank with a loud thwunk and a satisfyingly large splash. The poor swans fled the disturbance in a flurry of wings, honking protest.
Not wanting to endure censure over having abused the wildlife, she began walking. She’d only gone a few steps
, however, when a warm hand grasped her elbow—a hand that was just as quickly snatched back as though it couldn’t bear to touch her. She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut to prevent tears from starting.
“If I have given you offense, then please accept my apology,” said Sorin softly. “Truly, I did not mean to sound so condescending.”
She turned and looked up at him in anger and frustration. But his face was full of such remorse that she couldn’t stay wroth. The wind, as he would have said, had been taken out of her sails. “No. The fault is mine. You spoke of my ‘wisdom’ a moment ago, but I fear I must disagree with you and therefore make myself even more unpleasant.” His frown told her she’d only managed to confuse him further. She sighed. “Increasingly of late, I find myself prone to grossly misunderstanding the intentions of those around me, even those whom I have long known. Forgive my conduct just now. I reacted in a manner most unbecoming.”
“It seems we both suffer the same malady,” he replied heavily. “I, too, have been guilty of misinterpreting the words and actions of even my closest friends in recent days. Come,” he said, offering his arm. “Let us forget our shared inclination toward misperception and enjoy this fine day and each other’s company.”
“Agreed.” Indeed. She vowed from that moment on to never again read more into his words than what was on the surface. Taking his arm, she let him lead her out from beneath the willow branches and into the sunshine. She was sorely tempted to leave her parasol closed and just enjoy the warm sun on her skin. What was the point of preserving herself from freckles if he never looked at her with anything more than benign detachment? Vanity, however, won out in the end.
“Shall we see if the others would like to play a game of bowls?” he asked politely as she paused to open her parasol.
“Why not?” she answered in the same, too-light tone, reining in an urge to smack him with the contraption. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t attracted to her.
Bollocks, but that was close! Sorin breathed a slow, silent sigh of relief. What in the seven hells was the matter with him, staring at her like that? Now she was all nervous and fidgety. Truly, he had not meant to sound like such a condescending ass, but as with just about every conversation he’d had with her of late, he’d said the wrong thing. “Will you be joining Mother for tea this week?” he asked in an attempt to keep her talking as they traversed the wide lawn between the pond and the house.
“I shall,” she answered, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere amid the colorful blankets and parasols dotting the green expanse.
“I’m glad. She’s looking forward to your weekly visits as she has not anticipated anything in years.”
“As am I,” she answered at once. “She also promised to introduce me to several friends with unattached sons and grandsons. Apparently, she’s in agreement with my cousin on the matter of my unwed state. She said it was high time I overcame my reticence.”
An icy fingertip brushed his spine. Did she, now? It took every scrap of control to keep his tone nonchalant. “I can only imagine that you will benefit greatly from her connections. She knows everyone of importance and has much influence.”
“I really ought to be more grateful for her sponsorship,” she mused, sounding contrite. “Charles will certainly be pleased, as will Rowena.”
“And you?” he finally asked. “Your opinions regarding matrimony are certainly known to me, but I don’t suppose you’ve shared them with Mother?”
She shot him a wry, sidelong look. “I would have declined her offer of assistance, but I feared she would persist in spite of my objections and I did not wish her to feel slighted. Nor did I wish her to tell my cousin that I’m being uncooperative. Privately, I will tell you that I dread the idea of her playing matchmaker. Of all my acquaintances—excepting you and Rowena, of course—she is the most likely to influence his decisions. If she indicates her approval of a particular gentleman, Charles will surely insist that I seriously consider him.”
Just what the bloody hell is Mother playing at? He must dissuade her from any further benevolent interference as quickly as possible before her “master plan” misfired. It rankled, but he knew he had no right to be so possessive of Eleanor. She was nothing of his to prevent her from meeting other men, and he was nothing to her but a friend. And that was how he must behave now or else risk exposure.
“Well, as my mother is not a person to be persuaded once she’s made up her mind, I’m afraid you’ll have to endure her meddling.” He clamped down hard on his reluctance and forced himself to continue in a cheerful tone. “She but seeks to assist you in much the same manner as you’ve agreed to assist me,” he reminded her, watching her closely. “You may of course choose to decline any offers that come your way, but I cannot so easily avoid the marital noose. I’m expected to bring home a bride, and shall therefore need all the help you can give me in order to make the right choice.”
“Well,” she said, again averting her gaze. “I can certainly be your eyes and ears and help to determine the true character of your considerations, just as you will doubtless do for me. I want you to know that I’m very grateful to have you as an ally in this matter. I only hope I prove equally worthy of your trust and confidence.”
Was it possible to feel any worse than this? Here they were, arm in arm, walking in the bright sunshine—discussing marrying people other than each other. His spirits had not been this low since he’d first fled England’s shores. He led her over to the shady plot where her family had staked a claim.
“Eleanor! Do come and sit beside me,” said Caroline, patting the blanket beside her. “Penwaithe has gone to fetch me some lemonade,” she announced without preamble, a smug little smile forming on her mouth.
Sorin’s head began to pound. Lemonade. What he needed was a stiff brandy. A large one. Eleanor obligingly sat where she was directed, and he waited to see if she would offer him the place beside her as she usually did. She quite markedly did not. So he sat next to Rowena.
“You’ve made progress in gaining his attention, then,” said Eleanor to her friend. “I congratulate you. I understand he’s difficult to approach and that he does not often deign to converse with people with whom he is unfamiliar.”
“Well, he has deigned to do so with me,” replied Caroline, sticking her nose in the air. The effect was completely ruined by the unabashed grin under it. “He happened into the library while I was there, and—”
“You were in the library?” interrupted Eleanor, her brows rising.
“Yes, and you needn’t make it sound as though I mistook it for the ladies’ respite room,” snapped Caroline. “I went to look for some poems recommended by another friend, but got distracted by a book concerning Greek myths. I was looking at it when Lord Penwaithe entered. He immediately took notice and then proceeded to converse with me on the subject. He’s a great admirer of all things Greek.”
“How wonderful for you to have found something in common upon which to begin building a rapport,” said Eleanor. “Many married couples have nothing at all in common, a circumstance which I feel causes much disharmony. If I am ever to marry, he must be someone with whom I can feel completely at ease discussing any subject.”
He could take no more. Standing, Sorin bowed. “Ladies, if you will excuse me.”
“You are leaving so soon?” said Eleanor, frowning. “I thought you wished to play at bowls?”
He wondered if her disappointment was personal or just an expression of general politesse. “I did, yes—but I’m afraid I forgot a promise I made earlier.” His mind raced, looking for a likely excuse. “I was to meet with Lord Brampton,” he lied. “I’m woefully late already and must take my leave at once. I wish you all a most pleasant afternoon.” He bowed again and turned before anyone else could object.
Coward! His back prickled as he strode away across the field. How he was to survive this Season was unknown. One thing was certain; Ellie would never find anyone more compatible than himself. If by some miracle she did,
he would be hard pressed not to kill the bastard.
Chapter Fifteen
Solemn green eyes stared back at Eleanor from the reflection. She looked every inch a lady tonight. While the soft rose of the gown was certainly acceptable for an unwed woman, its cut was quite modern and daring. Grateful now for her prudence concerning the parasol at the picnic, she searched the wide span of flesh exposed between shoulders barely covered by tiny, puffed sleeves. Not a freckle in sight.
Everything was just as it ought to be. The diamond necklace Sorin had helped her select glittered above a décolletage flattered by the design of the dress. Matching earrings swayed from her lobes, and her hair rose in an elegant braided twist with curls piled high atop, giving her the appearance of greater height. It was by far the most elegant and attractive she’d ever looked.
And it was all for naught, as the one man who interested her was completely blind to her.
I might as well be wearing a smelly old sack for all he’ll look at me. A fit of ill temper made her slam the jewelry box lid closed with a loud clack!
This whole week had been a right disaster, starting with the picnic where everything had gone wrong with Sorin. Since then, Yarborough had continued to be a bother. He’d sent two more invitations, both of which she’d very politely refused. Then it had come to her attention yesterday that a friend of Rowena’s had heard Lady Yarborough sniping about her “overweening pride” to a group of contemporaries. Add to these things the fact that Caroline, despite her promise to behave herself, was near to the point of open warfare with Marston and that Rowena had begun to feel ill, and one had the perfect recipe for insomnia.
Poor Rowena. She was trying to put on a brave face and keep her condition a secret, but Eleanor knew it wouldn’t be long before Charles found her out. His nerves were already on edge from having to deal with Caroline and patience was in short supply. The instant he learned his wife was again with child, there would be absolute chaos in this house.
