by Ella Edon
Eric smirked, his eyes hardening to black crystals. “You’re right. I’m not.” He stepped away so quickly that Vanity swayed. “Have you received a letter from your son? It’s been nearly two weeks since you sent your letter to him.”
“Only this morning.” Vanity bit her lip. “He’s on his way back. It is only a short way ahead of him, so it’ll more than likely be tomorrow or the day after that he’ll land back in London.”
“Good.”
Eric looked very pleased about it. Vanity stared at him. How could he be so cold about this? He really wanted to kill Nathan. All Nathan had done was exist. Eric hated that. Vanity understood why, but it still scared her at the animosity Eric had towards a man he had never met.
“Why are you doing it this way?” she asked.
Eric cracked his knuckles, the noise making Vanity wince.
“I want to toy with him, get him distracted. Besides, the girl I’ve picked out would be perfect for me. It won’t take much to kill your precious son and insert myself in his place. She won’t notice the difference.”
“That’s if the girl is stupid.” Vanity pointed out. “If she falls in love with Nathan, she’s going to know the difference.”
Eric chuckled. “Not even his closest friends are going be able to tell the difference. Only you and Desiree here will know the truth. I know neither of you are going to tell the girl. She’ll be married to the Earl of Brixton and that’s all that will matter to her. She’ll be so delighted with a marriage that it will barely register.”
Such a cold way to talk about a young woman. Vanity had received a letter from Eric about the girl in question, and from what Eric had written, the young woman was clever and kind. Quite the opposite for someone like Eric. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near her.
She was going to be deceived, just like Nathan. Only Nathan wouldn’t be walking away from this. Vanity’s heart clenched at the thought of losing her son. They may have had their differences, but she didn’t want him dead. Hopefully, he would be able to figure it out before Eric hurt him.
“Look, why don’t you just talk to him yourself? He’ll be able to guess the truth just by looking at you. He doesn’t care for the title at all. That boy prefers to play soldiers. His title of Captain is more important than Earl of Brixton. If you told him what happened and who you are, he would happily give up the title.”
Eric sniggered. “But then it would all come out, wouldn’t it? That you committed something atrocious. You wouldn’t want that to be revealed to everyone, would you?”
Vanity faltered. Damn him. He knew that was a weakness. Vanity didn’t care if Nathan knew about it, but what about everyone else in society? People were very cruel, and Vanity had survived one scandal with Jasper Black. She couldn’t do that again. This time, she couldn’t paint herself as the victim.
You don’t need to kill Nathan,” she whispered.
“I do.” Eric advanced on her. “Then I take my place where I’m supposed to be, and I can take everything. Titles, land, the girl...perfect.”
“And how are you going to explain to the British Army that you’re not going back to the front line in the middle of a war with France?” Vanity demanded. “Nathan loves being in the army, and abruptly asking for a discharge is going to raise some eyebrows. You’ve never fought in the wars, so how are you going to pass yourself off as Nathan if you ever cross paths with his soldier compatriots?”
Eric looked a little amused. “I’ll be fine. Like you, I’m good at acting. But thank you for worrying about me...Mother.”
He looked her up and down, and Vanity swallowed hard. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. It was something Jasper had right before he struck her. Back then, Vanity had been a little more outspoken. Jasper had liked that at the beginning, and then as soon as he had Vanity sucked in, he had tried to beat it out of her. Years afterwards, Vanity would hear rumours that Jasper hated the fact he had been forced out of London over something he never did.
She had had the bruises to prove it. They took a long time to fade. Vanity knew what Jasper was capable of, which left her in no doubt that Eric would do the same to her if she said anything out of turn. Once he was the Earl, he would certainly do that.
What had she done?
“Eleanor? Where’s the basket?”
Eleanor looked around, trying not to squeeze the stem of the dead rose in her hand. Even with gloves on, the thorns hurt. Then she saw the basket just behind her.
“Oh, it’s here. Do you need it?”
Marion Laurie snorted as she approached.
“You know I do.” She dropped her dead roses into the basket with a sigh. “We need another basket. Either that or get rid of a few rose bushes.”
“We can’t afford another basket right now.” Eleanor pointed out. “And Father loves these rose bushes. You know he won’t be happy if we cut one down for convenience.”
Marion sighed. “Well, I suppose we’re going to have to cope with one basket while we dead-head four rose bushes.”
“We could make a basket ourselves,” Eleanor suggested, snipping another dead rose before dropping it into the basket. “I know someone who makes wicker baskets. It would be useful.”
They were going to need to become self-sufficient sooner rather than later. With their money woes putting them in dire straits, Eleanor knew it would be only a matter of time before there was nothing. They would need to use their wits to keep themselves afloat.
As it was, they had to let the gardener go. They could afford a few servants - for now - but not a gardener. Which was why Eleanor and Marion were out here looking after the garden at the front of the house. Eleanor didn’t mind; it kept her busy and she got to wave and greet people as they went past. It was a nice enough day for it. She just wished people weren’t aware of their financial situation. Her father made a fool of himself every time he went out to gamble. Everyone seemed to know about it by morning. It was embarrassing.
At least one person was standing by her for certain. Marion had been the daughter of Eleanor’s governess. Eleanor was a little older, but the two of them had become fast friends. Marion was tall with raven-black hair, just like Eleanor. They were close friends, but they often got mistaken for sisters. Eleanor did see Marion like a sister. She could share absolutely anything with her. Even their mothers had teased about Eleanor and Marion being sisters.
Now their mothers were gone, along with Marion’s father, and the only parent left between them was a drunk who loved to throw his money away on a game he couldn’t play, all because he saw a chance to get more money.
If only one of their mothers was still alive. It would help a lot if there was a voice of reason around right now.
“If only we could have a power of attorney to monitor the money,” Eleanor said, looking at the secateurs in her hand. “But Father would find a way around it.”
“How bad is it?” Marion asked.
Eleanor grimaced. There was no one near them, but Eleanor still lowered her voice.
“Let’s put it this way: he came home last night, long after I did. I thought he was in his room. All of us did. But then he slammed his way into the house, drunk as usual.” Eleanor scowled. “After he promised not to go out and Parsons locked the doors and windows.”
“Then how did he get out?”
“Parsons and I looked around this morning. He was as confused as I was. The window in the study had been jimmied open.”
Marion stared. “He broke out of his own home to go gambling? That’s just desperate.”
“It’s an addiction for him, Marion.” Eleanor shook her head. “Father won’t admit that it’s an addiction. I hate that he’s consumed by it and he promises to be good, but it’s just getting worse.”
Marion looked worried. She shuffled from foot to foot. “What are you going to do?”
Eleanor had been thinking about it most of the night. It had resulted in very little sleep, but Eleanor hadn’t been able to turn off her thoughts to
rest. Her father’s health was more important than her sleep.
“My Aunt Brenda lives in Cornwall. She’s staunchly against drink and it’s isolated down there with just a few neighbours. Wealthy, but they’re all sensible people. I’m going to write to her and ask if we can come and stay for a while.” Eleanor paused. “Mostly for my Father than for myself. Because if he stays here, we won’t have a house anymore.”
“But what about the servants?” Marion asked. “You and me? What will happen to us?”
Eleanor could see Marion was more worried about Eleanor than she was about herself. That was Marion all over; she was selfless. Kind and selfless. Since Marion had come of age, she had been a companion for Eleanor, and Eleanor was grateful. She didn’t trust many people, but Marion was first in line. She reached out and took Marion’s hand.
“We’ll think of something, Marion. Chances are we’re going to have to let everyone go. If we have enough between us, we could probably find somewhere to rent, but it’s more than likely we’re going to have to leave London to find something affordable.”
“I suppose.” Marion shook her head sadly. “This is a mess.”
“I know, but we’ll figure it out. I’m sure Sister Cecilia and the other nuns will be able to help us.”
Cecilia knew about her financial situation. Eleanor was embarrassed to admit it, but it couldn’t be kept a secret, not even from the nuns at the orphanage. Cecilia had reached out several times with offers to help, but Eleanor had been too prideful to accept it. She thought she could handle it. But the more her father kept going out, the more Eleanor knew she was going to have to swallow her pride. Cecilia wouldn’t judge her, nor would any of the other nuns.
“Watch out, Eleanor. Behind you.”
Marion was looking over Eleanor’s shoulder, towards the street. Frowning, Eleanor turned to look over the bushes. Her heart sank when she saw the tall, slim man with fair hair standing on the other side of the street. He didn’t move as people went past him, several of them giving him odd looks, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was focused on Eleanor.
Chapter Seven
Oh, God. Not him. Not now. Eleanor had managed to get away with not seeing him for the last few years. Evidently, her luck had run out in more ways than one.
“When did he come back to town?” Marion hissed. “I thought he moved away years ago.”
“I thought the same.” Eleanor bit back a growl. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about it?”
“Would anyone let you know that the man who was constantly harassing you ten years ago is back in London?”
“They should.” Eleanor felt her heart racing as the man started to cross the road. She clutched Marion’s hand. “Don’t you dare leave me alone with him.”
“Not a chance,” Marion whispered back. “Do you want me to use the shears on him?”
That was tempting, but Eleanor knew it would just make things worse. She could only hope that Matthew Leyton’s behaviour wasn’t as bad as before and age had changed him. Maybe they could have a decent conversation. While Eleanor would happily not see Leyton ever again, she wasn’t a vindictive person. She wanted to be sociable with everyone, even Lady Lorraine Chapman. Life was too short to be angry at people, and Eleanor had spent many years hating Leyton.
If he had changed, maybe they could start over. If he hadn’t, Eleanor would be happy telling him where to go.
Leyton reached her, staying on the street. He didn’t cross the threshold of their property, taking off his hat and bowing from the other side of the steel railings. Eleanor was relieved. At least he hadn’t forgotten his manners about property boundaries.
“Lady Eleanor.” His voice was as smooth as before. Deeper, but just as smooth. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Mr. Leyton?” Eleanor took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Even telling herself to be cordial, her instinct was to run. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I come by and see how you are?”
“I don’t really know. I remember what happened the last time you wanted to talk to me.” Eleanor suppressed a shudder. “That is not a fond memory.”
Leyton looked a little uncomfortable. Good, he should be uncomfortable after what he did years ago.
“I just...I just want to talk, Eleanor.”
Then Eleanor had a flashback to that day when he had followed her during a ball. Eleanor had stepped out for some fresh air - it was a hot evening - and Leyton had followed her. Eleanor had given him the benefit of the doubt back then, and it had almost cost her a scandal.
It was then that Eleanor realized that she couldn’t give him a second chance. Her gut was telling her to run. The memories of what he had done before wouldn’t leave her alone, and Eleanor could feel her hands getting sweaty inside her gardening gloves. Taking a deep breath, she took off the gloves, folding them over her secateurs.
“Matthew, I gave you that opportunity during our first season. I thought you were awkward around me and acting strangely because you were young, but you showed your colours that night. I’m not going to do that again, and certainly not alone.”
Leyton blinked. “That was ten years ago, and you still remember that?”
How could Eleanor forget it? And it didn’t help that Leyton looked almost the same as before. He was a bit more refined about his face and his body had broadened out a little in the shoulders, his hair receding back from his forehead, but he was still an attractive man. This made it even more terrifying that he could do what he did because he just had to smile that women melted over.
Except for Eleanor. Her instincts had told her that Matthew Leyton was bad news. And they were telling her now that it was best to keep her distance from him. He may be on the other side of the fence, but he could easily cross into Eleanor’s property. Eleanor glanced at Marion, who nodded once. At the slightest signal, they were running. Eleanor had a bad feeling about this already.
“You scared me that night, Mr. Leyton. I knew I should never be around you.”
“What about now? We’re older and wiser now. At least, I am.” Leyton spread his hands. “Can we at least start again? See where this goes now?”
“You’re asking for another courtship?”
“Of course I am.”
Eleanor knew it. He hadn’t learned anything. If Leyton was a decent man, he would be asking for forgiveness and an opportunity to be friends. But there was that look in his eyes, that slightly crazed look that made the hairs on the back of Eleanor’s neck stand up.
Why did she let her good nature get in the way and speak to him in the first place? Because you’re a fool, that’s why. You think there’s good in everyone. You forgot there is nothing good about Matthew Leyton.
Why didn’t she go back inside the house as soon as she saw him? At least Eleanor wouldn’t have to talk to him now.
“I do think you’re perfect for me, Eleanor.” Leyton went on. “Even now in your old age.”
Marion winced. Eleanor’s eyes widened.
“I beg your pardon? What did you just say?”
“I…” Leyton winced. “That came out wrong.”
“It certainly did.” Eleanor folded her arms with a scowl. “I am on my own by choice. Even if I was going to find myself a husband, it wouldn’t be you. Not after what you did to me. Let it sink in this time and go away.”
“But don’t you want to start over? Second chance?”
“No. I will admit, I was considering it, but now I’m most certainly not.”
Leyton looked perplexed. “What have I done to make you suspicious of me again?”
“You opened your mouth,” Eleanor shot back. “Even if we were to start over and you called on me properly, I know Father would refuse you. After what you did in his presence, he’s certainly not going to entertain you.” She turned towards the house, picking up the basket as she walked away. “Just stop hoping for something that won’t happen and go home.”
As soon as her heart stopped racing, Elean
or was going to send a letter to Mr. Leyton’s parents. They were still alive, last she heard, and they were meant to oversee their son. Hopefully, a stern word in their direction would have them reeling Leyton in. Eleanor wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone who didn’t seem to be content with apologizing and starting over. If he had started with the apology, Eleanor might have entertained a chance at reconciliation, but Matthew Leyton didn’t apologize. He never apologized. It was never his fault.
Nathan could smell the smog of London before they reached the docks. That was just London all over. You could smell it before you saw it. It was how things had always been. Nathan had been born in the family country home on the Isle of Wight, but he had been raised in Brixton for most of his life. He was used to the thick smoke in the air from the factories and the terrible smells that came with it. A factory that made soap out of animal guts was close by, as well as the factory that made bone china. The whiff of animal bones was stronger than anyone realized.
