by Liana Lefey
Eleanor’s temples had begun to throb. She didn’t want to confront him, but she didn’t seem to have much choice. “I’ll think on it,” she promised. Putting down the post she’d been crumpling, she eyed her friend. “Speaking of confrontations, you’ve been very quiet of late. Still determined to avoid him?”
“I’m determined not to make a fool of myself,” replied Caroline coolly. “I’ve wounded him. If I try to recant now, he will only reject me. Again.” Her shoulders slumped. “I have no desire to be publicly humiliated. Neither do I wish to cause him further pain.”
“Why not let Lord Wincanton speak with him and ascertain his mood? He might have had a change of—”
“No! He must not interfere. Marston would be ashamed to learn that others are aware of what occurred between us. Let the matter remain private, I beg you.”
Though she had deep misgivings, Eleanor nodded. Excusing herself, she went downstairs. As she neared the family sitting room, she heard Rowena speaking and paused a moment to listen.
“I cannot help but suspect that this sudden illness was a sham,” she heard Rowena say. “I’m certain something happened between them but what, exactly, I know not. Thus far there have been no rumors but even if nothing surfaces, I still—”
“Let it be,” interrupted Charles. “Whatever happened, it appears to have been kept private or we would have heard something by now. We ought to be grateful the girl seems to have finally learned her lesson without causing permanent damage to her reputation.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Rowena again spoke. “Charles…there is something else I wish to speak with you about.”
Eleanor waited, barely breathing.
“What is it, my sweet?”
The concern in his voice as well as his use of the pet name made Eleanor smile.
“I’m with child again,” came Rowena’s soft reply.
A soft exclamation erupted from Charles. “You are certain?” he asked in a quavering voice.
“I am. I saw Doctor Harper yesterday and confirmed it. Provided all goes well, our next child should be born in late autumn.” Her words were followed by the sound of someone rising in haste, no doubt to embrace the bearer of such good news.
Reluctant to intrude on such a private moment, Eleanor retreated. Later that night, she found her thoughts returning to that moment. All day long, there had been a quiet feeling of joy throughout the house. The servants knew, and word was no doubt spreading across London even now. While she was pleased for Charles and Rowena, she couldn’t help feeling lonely.
I’ll never experience that sort of happiness…
She was not the only one suffering. Though Caroline had also offered them both heartfelt congratulations, Eleanor had caught a look of profound sadness in her eyes as she’d turned away. She said nothing, however, for fear of making her friend feel even worse.
As she lay abed listening to the rain against the window panes, Eleanor’s thoughts turned to Sorin. Things had improved since the night they’d brought Caroline home, and she lived in terror of saying the wrong thing, of ruining the growing warmth between them. Despite her earlier resolve to become a spinster, she’d again begun to hope to change his view of her. Rowena had dismissed Jane’s example, but Eleanor wasn’t so sure Sorin desired something different.
I have to try. If Jane pleased him by being demure and proper, so can I.
But in her secret, innermost thoughts, she longed to please him in other ways—ways no proper lady would even imagine, much less act upon. Things she wouldn’t have any knowledge of if it weren’t for Caroline sharing certain scandalous conversations she’d overheard between her married sisters. Things that made her feel hot and uncomfortable to think about now. If Sorin knew she was having such thoughts about him he would be shocked. Maybe even appalled.
He would certainly think her far too wicked to consider for a wife.
Lightning flickered, causing shadows to leap and dance throughout the room. An earth-shaking rumble of thunder followed an instant later, and the rain began to lash the windows in earnest. A painful sob heaved its way up from her chest, and tears streamed from her eyes as if mirroring the torrent outside. All the frustration and fear she’d been holding in for so long, she now released. No one would hear. No one would know.
“Eleanor?”
Eleanor leaped from the bed with a squeak of fright, her heart pounding. “Sweet Lord above!” she gasped, trying surreptitiously to wipe her eyes. “Caroline, what in heaven’s name are you doing up and about at this hour?” Despite the rug, the floor was frigid. She eased herself back onto the bed and tucked her feet beneath the covers.
“I’m sorry,” said her friend, coming into the room fully. “I did not mean to frighten you. I came because I could not sleep.”
“Marston?”
“Yes. But that is nothing new.” She joined Eleanor on the bed. “You, however, have been crying. Are you still upset about Yarborough?”
Though her conscience pricked her, she couldn’t tell Caroline the truth. Better for her to believe she already knew the answer. “He and his horrid mother have all but ruined London for me this year. My only consolation is that he will soon have no choice but to pursue someone else. After all, he must marry by the end of the Season, and he’s already wasted so much time chasing after me—or rather, my inheritance.” She sat up, gladly turning her mind from her misery. “In fact, I think I’ll put it to him in just those words.”
“Then you will speak with him?”
She nodded. “At the Cleveland ball. I just have to figure out a way to do it without causing a scene.”
Caroline’s gaze bored into her, and for a moment Eleanor feared her misdirection had been too obvious. “I agree,” her friend said at last. “I think it wise to deal with him quickly and in as direct a manner as possible.”
The tension in Eleanor’s stomach began to ease.
“But are you sure there’s not something…else bothering you?”
“Nothing,” Eleanor answered firmly, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve been so worried that this business with Yarborough would get out of hand and cause Rowena and Charles unnecessary concern. You’re right, of course. I cannot remain passive anymore and must take action. I’ll speak with Charles and let him know my plans. He will support me.”
“Good.” Caroline rose. “Well, as you’ve problems enough of your own, I won’t bother you with my well-trodden woes.”
“Nonsense, I’m always happy to listen to whatever you have to say.” Reaching out, Eleanor caught her hand. “Please, stay and talk.”
“No, really, I’m quite all right now,” said Caroline, giving her fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go. “I really just needed to hear a friendly voice, I think, and your good company has eased my heart enough that I feel able to sleep now. Good night, Eleanor.”
“Good night,” she replied, feeling helpless as she watched the door close. With Caroline gone, Eleanor’s thoughts returned to her true problem. Pointing out eligible prospects to Sorin had resulted in a most puzzling and enlightening experience. His flustered reaction had been such that she was sure now he hadn’t actually meant for her to take up the role of matchmaker. But if he didn’t really want her help finding a bride, what was his reason for asking her to assist him?
There was only one thing to do if she wanted to find out, and that was continue until either she figured out the truth or he told her to stop. By Jove, he’d asked her to help him find a suitable wife, and that was what she was going to do—to all appearances, at least.
Sorin watched from the corner of his eye as Eleanor walked beside him exploring the new tulip beds he’d had installed in the garden. Her behavior was growing stranger and stranger. Instead of easing into comfortable familiarity as he’d been trying so hard to get her to do, she’d gone the opposite direction, becoming more and more formal. She had also been driving him to Bedlam trying to suggest possible matches for him.
Already, he had endured no le
ss than nine introductions. He’d begun to feel like a fattened goose on Christmas Eve—every time he bowed before one of her “finds” he could almost hear the sound of an axe being sharpened. Though all the ladies in question had been lovely and were no doubt delightful under other circumstances, he’d not found a single one even remotely interesting. Of course, he’d known this would happen. Until Eleanor married and was once and for all unavailable, he would be unable to truly consider anyone else.
“Next year, I think I should like to replant these roses along the back wall, over there,” he said just to break the silence. “Several of them have stopped blooming.”
“Is your gardener fertilizing them properly?”
He marked that she maintained her distance, never coming closer than arm’s length. They used to walk with their arms linked. “I’ve asked him, and he swears he’s done everything correctly. He seems to think they suffer from a disease, but has been unable to determine which. There is no indication of mildew or spotting. He’s checking the roots tomorrow to be sure it’s not soil-related.”
“You should write to the king’s chief gardener and ask his opinion,” she suggested, keeping her hands folded primly behind her. The sun on her hair made it shine like burnished gold. “After all, as a peer, you have the privilege.”
“I had not thought of that, but you’re quite right. I shall do so later today.” He turned to her. “How goes it with Miss Caroline?”
A crease marred the perfection of her brow. “Not well, I fear. She’s far too quiet. Charles and Rowena are delighted by her apparent reformation, of course, but I dislike it. She is not herself.”
“Neither are you of late.”
She glanced up at him, startled. “I? How so?”
It was a risk, but he had to know if there was a problem. “You’ve not been as open with me as you once were. It has been many a day since you spoke to me of anything beyond that which may be covered in drawing room small talk.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down. “I meant nothing by it, I assure you. I’ve been…distracted.”
“By?”
“Yarborough, if you must know,” she replied, her voice taking on an edge. “He seems determined to remain a nuisance, and I’ve been trying to decide how best to deal with him.”
Calm. He must remain calm. “How has he been troubling you?”
“He writes daily, just a line or two, but it is enough to set the servants talking. And the invitations from his mother to come and call remain unceasing. People are calling me a heartless ice maiden while admiring his dedication and her forbearance.”
Sorin struggled to rein in a sudden flare of fury. Yarborough had not heeded his warning in the least! “You should have Ashford speak with him.”
She shook her head. “I was planning to do so, but my cousin has enough to worry about with Rowena. The doctor says all is well with both her and the babe, but nausea has rendered her unable to leave the house for nearly a week now.” Her mouth thinned. “I must deal with Yarborough myself. At the first opportunity, I’m going to speak with him, refuse his suit, and then point out that it is in his best interest to look elsewhere before it grows too late in the Season. He cannot, after all, concentrate on wooing another when he is openly set on conquering me.”
Sorin felt the blood leave his face. It seemed he and Yarborough had something in common, after all.
“It is my hope that he will see reason and desist,” she went on, oblivious. “I would ask Charles to intervene in the event Yarborough takes it badly, but…”
“I would be honored to assist you in his stead,” he finished for her in as neutral a tone as he could manage. A thrill raced through him at the prospect of being her champion. Unfortunately, he would have to wait until after she tried to dissuade the blackguard herself. He almost hoped the bastard would provide him with such an opportunity. “Let me know when you plan to speak with him so that I may make myself available.”
“Easily done,” she said with a grim smile. “People might arrive at the wrong conclusion if I allow him to call on me at home, so I’ve decided to address him at the Cleveland ball—discreetly of course. My purpose is not to humiliate him, but simply to make him understand that I am uninterested in his suit.”
He nodded. It was just a week away. “That seems a wise course. He’s less likely to react poorly in a public setting.”
“Just so,” she confirmed, her expression softening. “I knew you would see the logic of it at once.”
An hour later, Sorin strode into John Stafford’s office.
“I was just going to send you a message,” said John, looking up with a smile. “I found the information you wanted.”
“Let us hope it is enough to frighten the bastard off and keep me from having to shoot him.”
John’s brows rose. “Things have not been going well, I take it.”
“Not particularly.” He didn’t feel like elaborating. “What have you discovered?”
“Well, the Yarboroughs’ financial dealings, while they appear to be disappointingly legal, indicate that they are quite thinly stretched. Your fellow is up to his eyeballs in debt.”
Sorin frowned. “But what of the Irish property?”
“Oh, it was sold,” said John, smirking. “But not for anywhere near the amount they would have everyone believe. The estate was small, only about a third the size of yours. The proceeds from that along with the sale of their old London residence were enough to pay for the house in Golden Square as well as a few relatively minor purchases—a new carriage and four, some jewelry. As for the improvements to the property in Golden Square, they were contracted to the lowest bidder who would require only half the money up front. The new furnishings were all bought on credit as was the majority of their new finery. I would venture to say that Yarborough’s very teeth are in danger if he does not marry exceedingly well.”
“They are frauds, then,” Sorin muttered. “They haven’t a penny to their name, yet they’re living like kings—on credit.”
John nodded. “A practice all too commonly employed, I’m afraid. I also discovered that their house in Somerset has been rented to a family from Derbyshire. A solicitor friend of mine at Bailey & Gerald informed me the contract has been drawn up, signed, and that a deposit has been made—and doubtless already spent.”
“They never intended to return to Somerset,” Sorin said, experiencing a twinge of guilty relief at the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to put up with the pair on the return trip. “They plan to remain in London and live off his bride’s inheritance.”
“A right assumption, if you ask me,” agreed John. “He’s going to look for the biggest purse he can find and marry it quick as you like—before his creditors can come after him and have him locked up in Marshalsea. It’s no wonder the fellow is so reluctant to give her up.”
All of London knew Eleanor’s inheritance was substantial, but few knew the exact amount. Charles and Rowena had done everything in their power to keep that information a secret. The family’s solicitor was one person who knew. Sorin was another. Though they’d passed her off as no wealthier than any of half a dozen other heiresses currently on the market, he knew she was ‘worth’ a little more than two hundred thousand pounds. The question was, did Yarborough know it, and if so, how?
“And you say he’s done nothing illegal?” he asked John.
“Naught that could land him in prison—yet,” added John with a wink. “Best be having an eye on that lady of yours, though. He’s not afraid of dirtying his hands to get what he wants. The man that oversaw the work on his house said he feared for his life after he demanded the rest of what was due. Said Yarborough threatened harm to his wife and daughter if he said aught to anyone about anything. The only reason the fellow talked to me was so that if something did happen, we would know where to look first—an idea I’m proud to say I helped plant.” He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Any man who would threaten another man’s family, well, I would not
put it past him to try anything. Especially if he’s desperate.”
“Thank you, John,” Sorin replied, his thoughts spinning as he declined a visit to the pub and departed. It was clear now that the whispers about Town concerning the pair, no doubt largely generated by Yarborough’s mother, were part of a greater plan.
The pieces began to fit together. They were laying a siege and had planned their battle strategy down to the smallest detail. Yarborough’s familiar and suggestive manner with her, the constant barrage of letters, the way he was always lurking about watching her, and the intimidation of her rivals. As with the previous two Seasons, there should have been swarms of men beating down Ashford’s door to court Eleanor, but there had been only a few this year and they’d not lingered very long.
Taking a step back, he could see it all clearly. Everything Yarborough had done from the moment he’d arrived in Wincanton was carefully constructed to discredit Eleanor’s public rejection of him, to make people believe there was a secret relationship between them that did not, in fact, exist. No doubt he planned to come forth with news of a secret engagement or something of that nature. Eleanor would deny it, of course, but the damage would be irreversible.
All the elements were against her. They were from the same county. They’d known each other from childhood. She’d refused all her other suitors. Though she would deny any relationship, her character would fall under suspicion. There would be enormous pressure to marry him in order to avoid a scandal. It was clever. Quite clever. And it showed the Yarboroughs capable of playing a long game indeed—if he could confirm his suspicion.
Upon returning home, he received an invitation from Charles for an evening at White’s along with Marston. Blessing his good fortune, he replied acceptance at once. It was the perfect opportunity to have a look at The Book. A most useful tool for enlightenment concerning current gossip, it should provide confirmation, if any existed. He played a few hands of cards before quietly going to consult the infamous Tome of the Ton. An unpleasant prickle spread across his flesh as he turned back through the more recent pages to find an alarming number of wagers concerning Lady E. and Sir Y.
