by Brooke, Meg
“You will always have it, you know,” Leo said. Then he chuckled. “You know, when I suggested that Eleanor try to snare you, I never thought it would actually happen. And yet even as I said it I realized that the two of you might do well together.”
“You suggested she try to snare me?” Colin asked. Was that why Eleanor seemed so comfortable with the idea of being his wife? Because she believed it would make her brother happy?
“I did, though it sounds as though it happened the other way ‘round,” Leo said.
Colin forced himself to smile, though he felt as though he had swallowed a lump of lead. By the time they reached Sidney Park he still had not been able to rid himself of the worry he felt, but there was little time to confront his uneasiness. He still had to speak to Colonel Taylor and do a thousand other things, and night was coming on fast.
Just as he was about to go into the house, however, Leo gripped his arm. “You must tell her, Colin,” he said. “You will, won’t you?”
Colin nodded, though he could not imagine revealing his failure to Eleanor. He could hardly refuse Leo, though. Still, he thought as he went inside, he had not promised to tell her now.
It could wait, he told himself, until after they were married.
Eleanor met Colin on the stairs as they were both going down to dinner. He held out his arm for her, though his expression was stoic.
“You look rather grim,” she said.
“I don’t suppose it’s just the black eye.”
She had to smile at that. “It does give you a rakish look. I suppose it will lend a little dramatic flair to the wedding.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked sharply.
“No,” she said softly. “Of course not.”
“Good,” he said. “A penchant for the dramatic may get you noticed on the Continent, but it will not gain you any respect.”
“Do you mean for us to return to the Continent, then?” she asked.
“Will that make you happy?”
She stared up at him. Something had happened, something had changed to make him so irritable. Had Leo said something to him? “I think,” she said after she had gathered her thoughts, “that I could be happy anywhere. I have hope, Colin, that we will do well together.”
“Do you?” he asked as he held the drawing room door for her. Inside, her mother was waiting along with Georgina and Colonel Taylor, and Maris and Mr. Strathmore came in on their heels, and so Eleanor could not ask Colin about his strange behavior. After Colonel Taylor had been introduced, two of his men came in. They were Captain Barry and Lieutenant O’Keefe, both young men of good breeding who were the colonel’s assistants. That afternoon Eleanor had asked Mrs. Clarence to invite the three men to dinner, hoping to make amends for the fact that they would be sleeping in tents for the next week. From the way the captain and the lieutenant beamed as they were introduced, her plan had worked. Maris seemed determined to charm them both, and Eleanor found herself thinking again of poor Lydia Bennet. In one way, at least, Eleanor was not like the foolish youngest Bennet daughter: she was not quite as determined a flirt as Maris. At least her own downfall had been rather unpredictable.
But Colin did not see it as a downfall, she reminded herself. Or at least he had not last night. Was that why his behavior had suddenly altered? Was he wishing to escape their engagement?
There was no opportunity to ask him about it during dinner, and when she finally managed to escape with him into the salon at the end of the evening, she found herself suddenly tongue-tied. He led her resolutely up the stairs, clearly having decided that there would not be a repeat of the previous evening. When they had reached the top of the stairs, however, she could bear the silence no longer.
“You are angry,” she said quietly, not daring to look at him. “Have I done something wrong?”
He did not look at her, either. In a cool, even tone, he said, “When did you decide that I would make you a good husband?”
For a moment she was not sure how to answer. At last she said, “I am not sure I have decided.”
Now he turned to face her. “Are you certain your mind was not made up before we even met? That you did not mean to try for me because your brother suggested it?”
She scoffed. “My brother never suggested any such—” but then she remembered that day, not a week past, when Leo had smiled and joked that she should pursue Colin, that he might be a good match. She had brushed the idea away, had discarded it outright even when Maris had asked whether Leo did not mean for his friend to marry one of his sisters. “Did he tell you that?” she asked.
Colin nodded. “I wondered what a woman like you would want with a man like me,” he said. “I have been puzzling over it all day. But when Leo told me what he said to you, all the pieces fell into place. I despise arranged marriages, Eleanor. I think they are cruel and mercenary and wrong. I will marry you tomorrow because it is my duty, but I cannot stomach the thought that you will marry me only because you think it is what your brother wants.”
Eleanor felt hot tears stinging her eyes. She did not know what to say, so instead she bit her lower lip to keep from crying. Was this what he thought of her? Did he really believe her so callous as all that? But then something he had said rose up through the fog of misery in her mind. “What do you mean, a man like you?” she asked.
He turned away, and it was as if a great stone wall had sprung up between them. “Not tonight,” he said. “I will see you in the morning.” Without meeting her eyes he lifted her hand and kissed it, and then he disappeared down the dark hall.
For a long time after he had gone Eleanor stood there in the darkness. Was it too late to call off the wedding? Of course it was. It had been too late from the moment they had come out of the lodge to find Leo waiting beneath the trees. Even before that, her fate had been sealed when he had kissed her by the waterfall. There had never been any turning back. And now she was trapped, and she could not even resent him for it. It was her own fault. Tomorrow morning he would be her husband. But now that she knew there were secrets he was keeping, could they ever really be happy?
SEVENTEEN
September 2, 1834
It was nearly dawn when Colin finally collapsed into his bed. After the row he had had with Eleanor, he had gone to his room and thought about going to bed, but he knew he would not sleep. So he turned and went back down the stairs and out into the stableyard, where Strathmore was just coming back in from riding a patrol. As his assistant leaped down from his horse and handed the animal off to a yawning groom, Colin said, “Nothing yet, I suppose.”
Strathmore shook his head. “We’re lucky to have the militia, though. They’re surprisingly well trained for a group of men who are mostly commissioned. I have faith that they’ll spot anything out of the ordinary.”
Colin nodded, satisfied. “I agree.”
“Then what’s troubling you?”
“It’s not the assassins I’m worried about. I think we’ve done everything we can on that front. It may seem as though nothing is happening now, but that’s a good thing. They’re waiting to see what we do, and we’re waiting for them to make their next move, which they will do sooner or later. What worries me is their co-conspirator.”
“You think they have one, then?”
“I cannot see how else Yates’s death could have come about. They would not have taken him in the first place unless someone who recognized an agent when he saw one advised them to do so, and they would not have killed him in the manner they did unless they had the help of someone with more knowledge than they. I won’t say that they’re being led by a traitor to the crown, but I do think they are receiving material assistance, perhaps even being concealed by our mysterious friend.”
Strathmore looked dour. “Have...have you considered, My Lord, that it might be a local?” He was gazing off to the south.
“You suspect someone?”
“It’s just...well, that Mr. Hollier. I knew I’d seen him somewhere, and today I thou
ght of it. He was in Algeria.”
Colin stared at him. It had not occurred to him for a moment to suspect a local of aiding the assassins. He had assumed that if someone was providing them with assistance, it was a discontented Foreign Service man, someone who had a grudge against the Foreign Office. Indeed, he had been searching his memory all day, trying to think of any man who might fit that profile. The idea that the assassins might have a local contact made a great deal more sense, especially if one took into account that it seemed as though the Serraray had targeted Sidney Park from the start. “That’s genius, Strathmore,” he said. “But we must move carefully. We can hardly accuse a member of the local gentry without some sort of proof.”
“Should I put a man on him?”
Colin shook his head. “No. No, I think one of us will have to do it.”
“Of course,” Strathmore said, sounding eager for the action. “I’ll ride over now, shall I?”
“And do what, exactly?”
Strathmore shrugged. “Watch the house? Look for anything suspicious?”
Colin shook his head. “I’d better go along,” he said. “It’s not safe for us to travel alone, not after what happened to Yates.”
With a shudder, Strathmore said, “I suppose you’re right. But tomorrow is your wedding day. Oughtn’t you be...preparing, or something?” he asked in a tone that clearly conveyed a belief that getting married and trekking the depths of Africa were equally daunting prospects.
“I think I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be,” Colin said, and he turned and went into the stable to wake the poor groom.
Hours later, when they finally returned to Sidney Park after a fruitless patrol around the Hollier lands, Colin was regretting his choice. The prospect of a wedding to a woman he was not certain was entirely thrilled about the idea of being his wife was bad enough without sleep deprivation thrown into the mix. As he staggered up to his rooms, Colin wondered if he would always be this inept at balancing his work and his personal life. He really ought to be defter by now, he thought bitterly.
Still, as he climbed into bed with the sky beginning to lighten outside, he felt a sense of satisfaction. He had spent the night, at least, doing something he was good at, even if it had yielded no results. They had not seen a thing in the hours they had spent riding to Havenhall and sneaking through the darkened grounds, searching around the house for anything that seemed out of place. There had been nothing that could be of use, not a trapdoor or an abandoned outbuilding or even any strange footprints in the damp earth. But at least Colin was able to return to Sidney Park feeling that he had accomplished something.
If only he could be as capable a husband.
Eleanor awoke with a splitting headache. It was not surprising, really, since she had cried herself to sleep. She had fallen asleep with her face pressed to the pillow, which was still slightly damp, and when she rolled over she could feel that the linens had left creases in her skin. Lily would not be pleased. Eleanor stretched and looked over at the vast expanse of empty mattress beside her. Tonight Colin would be filling that space. But did she still want him there?
It was too late now. There was no escaping the mistake they had made; they would simply have to live with the consequences. Still, Eleanor could not help but wonder at his strange behavior the night before. What had he meant, a man like him? In her limited experience, he was an ideal husband: intelligent, understanding, and adaptable. Until their bizarre argument in the corridor she had been looking forward to exploring their relationship further, to the possibility of finding happiness with him. Now she felt anxious as she thought about spending the rest of her life with him.
The door opened and Lily came in with coffee and toast on a tray. When she looked at the food, butterflies began to dance in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach.
“You must eat something,” Lily scolded her. “The wedding breakfast is hours away yet, and you’ll need your strength. My mam said her wedding day was the longest day of her life.” Then, giggling, she added, “Of course, my da got so drunk at the pub between the wedding and the dinner that he hopped on a horse and rode clear to King’s Lynn before anyone could catch him. People still talk about it.”
Eleanor could not help but smile a little. “Oh, miss,” Lily groaned, “you’ve got a crease in your cheek.”
It seemed that Colin had barely fallen asleep when there was a pounding at the door. He jerked awake, sitting up as the door flew open and Leo strode in. “Get up, old man, or you’ll miss your own wedding!” he cried.
Colin blinked at him through the bright daylight streaming into the room. It had to be at least ten, and the wedding had been set for eleven. With a groan, he forced himself out of bed.
“Don’t sound so eager,” Leo said cheerily, crossing to the desk beneath the window where, mercifully, a coffee pot stood ready. Leo poured a cup and held it out. Colin took it gratefully. He glanced over at the chair where Thomas had laid out the closest thing he had brought to a morning suit: a blue jacket and dark gray trousers. It would have to do. Colin knew his mother would faint if she saw him wed in such an ensemble, which was one of the myriad reasons he was glad she was not here today.
Now, as he gazed out the window, inhaling the invigorating scent of the coffee, he said, “I am sorry about this, Leo. I know I said I wasn’t, but it’s not true. Your sister deserves better.”
“Thank you,” Leo said. “I appreciate your saying that. But you know, I don’t think Eleanor could do much better, Colin. You will be a good husband to her—I have every confidence. Try not to think so meanly of yourself.”
Colin took a long sip and nodded, but he could think of nothing more to say.
“You haven’t asked me yet,” Leo said at last.
Staring at him, Colin said, “Asked you what?”
Leo grinned. “Come on, man. You can’t be thinking of having that puppy Strathmore as your best man, and there’s no one left but me, unless you’d like to ask John Mowbray or Mr. Jameson.”
Colin had to laugh at the idea of the brawny groom standing beside him in the salon. “Well, then,” he said, “will you do it?”
Leo crossed to him and put a kind hand on his shoulder. “Of course I will,” he said.
It took a vigorous massage and three hot, damp towels, but finally Lily was satisfied that Eleanor looked far more fresh and alert than she felt. After her hair had been dressed, her maid brought out the dress they had chosen for the wedding. It was her presentation gown, the dress she had worn to make her curtsey to the king and queen, although it was hardly recognizable as the old-fashioned Georgian confection it had once been. Lily and one of the other upstairs maids had worked on it for a whole day to make it into something Eleanor could wear without looking like a foolish, frivolous debutante, and as her maid did up the laces she had to admit the effect was very pleasing. As was traditional, the gown was a creamy white, though Eleanor had chosen a fabric with a faint pink hue that flattered her coloring. The acres of lace and beading had been removed and the skirts narrowed and drawn back, allowing the lace underskirt to peek out. Somewhere Lily had found a length of pale pink silk ribbon, which she had used to embellish the sleeves.
“You look like a vision, Miss,” Lily said, smiling at her in the looking glass.
Eleanor had to fight not to clutch the fabric of the delicate skirt. It would wrinkle, she told herself, and so she balled her hands into fists in her lap and forced herself to smile back. “Thank you, Lily,” she said.
“Of course, Miss,” Lily said, and she made a little curtsey and disappeared.
When her mother came in, she seemed quite pleased with Eleanor’s appearance. In fact, there were tears in her eyes as she said, “You make a beautiful bride, my dear.” She held out a small velvet box. “These are from your father.”
“What do you mean?” Eleanor asked, taking the box in her hands but not daring to open it. She fingered the soft blue velvet.
“When we were married, he gave me a necklace,”
her mother said. “It was extraordinary, but then he always had excellent taste. Five rows of perfectly matched pearls, all exactly the same color and size. When we knew there was no hope of more children, he had the necklace broken up into four strands.” She took the box back and opened it, revealing a strand of elegant, pale pink pearls, an exact match to the one Lady Sidney herself often wore. “He meant to give one to each of his daughters on their wedding days,” she said, and now there were tears streaming down her cheeks. “But it has fallen to me.”
“Don’t cry, mother,” Eleanor said, feeling her lower lip beginning to tremble. “I’ll start, too, and then where will we be?”
Her mother wiped at her cheeks and removed the necklace from the box. Eleanor turned obligingly and held still as she fastened the pearls around her neck. She put her fingers to the necklace, watching her reflection in the looking glass. “They’re lovely,” she said.
Putting her hands on Eleanor’s shoulders, her mother said, “Not as lovely as you, my dear daughter. I know...I know I have not always made it clear how much I treasure you. I know that many of my burdens have been laid on your shoulders. But you have borne it all with grace. I only wish your father could see you now.”
Meeting her mother’s eyes in the mirror, Eleanor took her hand. There were no words for that moment, and so they gazed at each other until Leo knocked on the door to say that the guests were waiting in the salon.
The room was slowly filling with strangers and people Colin knew only as marginal acquaintances. He stood near the small table that would serve as the altar, trying to ignore their curious stares. Mr. and Mrs. Hollier seemed especially interested, though Colin noticed that their son was not in attendance. Georgina and Maris sat near him, whispering behind their hands about every new arrival. For perhaps the first time since he had met them they were dressed similarly, both in pale blue frocks. They were to act as Eleanor’s bridesmaids, though at the moment they appeared more absorbed in the arrival of the guests than whatever duties they were meant to fulfill. Colin had to admit he had no earthly idea what those duties might be—the last time he had been to a wedding had been just after his arrival in Brussels, when the Princess of Orleans had come to marry King Leopold. That had been a lengthy, almost torturous affair to which he had been invited as a mere matter of course, and he had been seated so near the back of the church that he might as well not have witnessed the event at all. Colin had always studiously avoided weddings. He saw them as simply another demonstration of the wealth and privilege to which those of his class were born, as a celebration of the mercenary arrangements made to preserve the riches of the two families. Certainly the marriage of King Leopold and Queen Louise was one of convenience, though they seemed fond enough of each other.
