Chapter Twelve

T

he following morning, crumpled sheets of ink-stained paper littered the carpet in front of the fireplace in the library where Eleanor labored to compose a letter that would both be diplomatic—not her strongest attribute—and yet convey the urgency of the situation. She propped her forehead on the heels of her palms and gazed unseeing at the padded leather protecting the surface of the desk. Straightening, she rang for her footman. Her orders were direct.

“Tell John Coachman to put the grays to the light carriage. I’m going to Newmarket. I want to leave within the hour.”

As the miles rapidly passed, she prepared her words, rehearsing them aloud in the carriage.

“Lord Miles, as your wife, I command your presence at Rutledge … no… Everleigh, you must accompany me to Rutledge immediately… no… Lord Miles, if you have any regard for me whatsoever, I wish you to… no.” She sighed. She couldn’t address him while prickling like a hedgehog.

For once in her life, she needed to unbend her pride and confess to needing his assistance if she was to stave off disaster. She’d already penned a letter to him in which she thanked him profusely for Day Dreamer, but she’d passed the mail coach to Newmarket at the last toll gate. Now she could express her immense gratitude in person.

Perhaps it would be best to start with the thanks? So how would that go? “I want to express my deepest joy over the gift of Day Dreamer. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. Now, having said that, I require you to abandon Fairwood and return with me to Rutledge Manor for an indeterminate length of time and enter into your role as my husband—in name only of course; you’ll not participate in the day-to-day activities at Rutledge. For how long? Probably for months. Perhaps as much as a year. I feel you must stay through the probation of my father’s will. And how shall I occupy myself as I while away the months? Well…I’ve been told our library has an outstanding collection of …”

She slumped into the cushions of the coach and moaned. Oh yes, that would send him sprinting to her side. Somehow, she had to soften her tone, put away all her defenses and allow her sincere feelings to guide her words. She had another three hours to cobble together a speech that would sway him. Pastoral scenes of English countryside rolled past unnoticed as she stared glumly out the window.

Eleanor looked around the elegantly appointed drawing room with great curiosity. Cream plastered walls and French doors overlooking a covered portico gave the intimate space an openness it might otherwise lack. When she’d driven through the gatehouse to Fairwood Stud and had first glimpsed the manor house outlined on the horizon, she’d been unwillingly impressed with its graceful antiquity. After knocking at the front door for several minutes before the housekeeper answered, she’d requested speech with Lord Miles Everleigh and had been shown into this cozy chamber. That had been forty minutes ago. She was becoming impatient—and increasingly nervous.

The door opened and a lovely brunette of indeterminate age, certainly not in her first bloom of youth but not aged either, entered, followed closely by a footman bearing a tea service which he placed on the low table in front of her loveseat. Eleanor stood.

“Hello.” The brunette smiled sweetly. “I’m the Dowager Duchess of Chelsony, but I wish you will call me Julia, and you must be Eleanor, Miles’ wife.”

This youthful woman with a slight French accent was Miles’ mother? Eleanor dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

“S'il vous plait, please, I shall be very distressed if you don’t call me Julia, and perhaps in the future, ma mère, Mother? After all, you are now my daughter, and I’ve so longed for a daughter. Besides, I’ve never felt family should stand on ceremony. Please sit. May I offer you some tea?”

Such was the gentle kindness of the request that Eleanor couldn’t refuse, though she felt one hundred kinds of a fraud for doing so and wondered what in the name of heaven Miles had told his mother about her. She collected her skirts and sat. “Tea would be lovely. Milk, one sugar.”

Miles’ mother poured her tea and handed Eleanor the cup and saucer. She then poured her own and settled back onto the facing loveseat and addressed Eleanor over genteel sips. “Miles tells me that your marriage is a business arrangement to preserve your inheritance and protect you from the greedy fingers of His Royal Highness.” Sip. “He states neither of you harbors tender feelings for each other.” Sip. She smiled innocently at Eleanor. “Bah. Men can be so blind—even intuitive men like my son.” Sip.  “Don’t you agree?”

If someone had whacked Eleanor alongside the head with a coal shovel, she could not have been more dumbstruck. She held her teacup suspended in front of her mouth and blinked.

The lovely brunette pursed her lips and shrugged delicately. “It is plain to me that you have engaged Miles’ affections, and you cannot be indifferent to him.”

Eleanor shook herself and set her cup and saucer on the table in front of her. “How did you arrive at that conclusion…ah, Julia?”

A lovely trill of laughter filled the intimate room. “Oh, my sweet Eleanor. The three-year-old filly. To have given you such a horse, Miles must hold you in the highest regard... and, well…” Julia raised one elegant shoulder. “Miles is Miles.” She shook her head ruefully. “Oui, I am his maman, but nevertheless, Miles is irrésistible. I would never tell him that, of course. It would give him the big head, but you’d be a very odd woman if you hadn’t fallen a little under his spell.”

She had fallen under his spell. Eleanor conceded it was her unwanted feelings that made his existence such a trial. Such a damning truth to confront and in front of his mother of all people.

In the last few months, emotions of unrelenting worry, ecstatic joy, profound humiliation, and building grief had played havoc with her normally rock-steady equilibrium, jerking it hither and yon until the slightest overset provoked unreasoned emotion. At least, that was the justification she gave herself for the slow filling of her eyes. One blink and the tears released to wet her cheeks.

“Oh, my darling girl, you have been through so much and with no one to help you carry the burden. Donc très courageux. So very brave. Here, you must let me… ” Julia swept across the space dividing them and pulled a lace and linen handkerchief from her cuff. She daubed at Eleanor’s tears and hugged her gently to her breast with soft murmurings of comfort.

Eleanor’s discomposure was such that, without thought, she permitted Julia to cuddle her, an action her own mother hadn’t dared since Eleanor was six.

“Now…my lovely Eleanor, please tell me how I can help you? I solemnly vow whatever you say to me shall never leave this room; it will remain between only you and me.”

Snugged in the comforting embrace of the Dowager Duchess, Eleanor gave ragged voice to her distress. “Your Grace, I am not myself anymore. I hardly recognize the woman I have become. I have never spilled tears for any man until your son, and now it seems I cannot stop. I am so weary of it.” She sniffed back her tears and swiped at her eyes and cheeks with the ball of her thumb.

The Dowager Duchess petted the crown of her head with gentle strokes. “Mon petite, men are very good at making us women cry. They can be wearisome and vexing. I must apologize on behalf of my son as he isn’t here to make his apologies himself. He was summoned to London.”

“London?” Eleanor stiffened in alarm and straightened. “When do you expect him back?”

“He should be home tomorrow or the next day.” The Dowager Duchess’s sympathetic gaze captured hers. “Now, why are you here? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Eleanor poured out the entire story. The Dowager Duchess sat and listened with only an occasional nod and murmur of commiseration and sympathy. Such was Eleanor’s comfort with the maternal air of nurture and warm concern projected by the Dowager Duchess, she revealed much more than she had planned.

“Well, my dear, you must first speak with Miles.” His lovely mother cast an inquiring look at Eleanor. “I assume I cannot entice you to remain at Fairwood until my son returns?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t wish to be gone from my parents for even these few days.”

Julia clasped Eleanor’s hands in hers. “Completely understandable. I will send Miles straight to you the very moment he is back. Must you leave immediately? Or will you stay for tea and a light repast?”

Eleanor sat at the desk in her father’s library, her cheek propped on her closed fist and stared at the unrelenting rain and sleet pounding the windows in wind-whipped onslaughts. It seemed everything was working in opposition to her, and that included the weather. For the last week, the warm sunny days of mid-May had vanished to be replaced with dreary cold and wet more appropriate to early March. The exercise boys had complained about having to take the horses out in such filthy weather, but at least no one would willingly travel, so while she didn’t expect Miles, neither did she expect Mr. Ludlow.

A knock at the library door straightened her in her chair.

“My lady, Lord Miles Everleigh is here asking to speak with you.”

“Oh, good heavens! By all means, show him in, and send Milly to attend this fire. I’m sure the poor man is chilled to the bone. Have Cook send up some of her hot spiced cider with a few dashes of rum and some bread toasted with cheese.”

Next she knew, her husband stood before her and made an exceedingly elegant leg. How someone whose hair was plastered to his skull, whose finely tailored clothes hung ruined with wet and whose every step squelched, could still pleasure the eyes was beyond her.   

“Madam, I trust I find you well?” He closed his eyes in obvious impatience. “Dash it all, Eleanor, I’ve no stomach for platitudes. I’ve been twelve hours on the road in the vilest of weather. What is wrong? Mother said you came to Fairwood in search of me. I know nothing but the direst of emergencies would drive you to do so. I rode here straight away.”

“Miles, thank you for coming. Here…please, take this chair by the fire. You are soaked through and must be freezing.” She stood and moved a wing chair as close to the fireplace as she dared and motioned for him to sit.

He chuckled wryly and indicated his disheveled and dripping ensemble. “Unless you insist, I’ll spare the furniture, but thank you for the courtesy.” He moved to stand in front of the fire and turned to face her. Small drips of water shed from his attire hissed as they hit the hearth.

She couldn’t take her eyes from his. Now that he stood patiently before her, she was unprepared with words. So much had happened to advance her understanding; he’d done little to deserve her wrath, and he was so dreadfully kind and handsome. She felt a blush rise to her face, and she finally tore her gaze away from him and looked down.  “Oh…how awful! Your boots look entirely ruined. You must let me replace them. I expect Hobby in London has your lasts? I’ll send the order right away. Were the roads quagmires of mud? They must have been, or you would have driven. I ordered hot rum cider for you—and toast with cheese…”

“Eleanor, that all sounds welcome.” He paused, weary forbearance inherent in his voice, “Now, will you please tell me what is amiss. What do you require of me?”

“Your mother didn’t say?”

“She told me only that I should come to you with all haste.”

Eleanor sat abruptly on the desk chair making a mental note that the Dowager Duchess had been true to her word not to speak of what passed between them. It would have been far easier for her had the Dowager Duchess spoken. She opened the top right desk drawer and rummaged through a stack of papers until she found the letter from Elsington & Elsington and held it out to Miles. “Read this.”

He read it carefully and looked up when he’d finished. “I take it you have been visited by Prinny’s agent?”

“Over two weeks ago, yes. He was most insistent on speaking with Lord Miles Everleigh. Said he had some questions pertinent to our marital contract.”

“Indeed. What was your response?”

“That you were away on the continent on a buying trip. That I would advise him upon your return.”

A rap at the door sounded, and the chambermaid entered to attend the fire followed by a footman bearing a tray with a covered plate and a steaming mug with odors of cinnamon and apple emanating from it.

“Ah, your rum cider and toast.” Eleanor motioned for the footman to set the tray within easy reach of Miles and watched with some satisfaction as he wrapped a hand around the amply-sized mug, raised it to his lips and took several hearty swallows.

“And?” His gaze held hers steadily.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t think when he looked at her so. “I would be very grateful if you could see your way to remaining here, at Rutledge, and conduct however many interviews it may take with the agent of His Royal Highness, until such time as Mr. Ludlow considers us legitimately living as man and wife.”

“I see.” He removed the silver dome covering the toast, selected one of the thick slices and raised it to his mouth. The melted cheddar cheese elongated into yellow strands which broke and wrapped his hand. His tongue licked them into his mouth. His white teeth made a circular bite into the hearty fare, and he chewed with apparent appreciation, bite following bite until he had finished the entire piece.

She watched his movements with fascination, taken from herself by his almost sensual pleasure in the simple fare until his direct look of inquiry returned her to the subject at hand. 

“Should Father… pass… in the near future, I would be most appreciative if you could see your way clear to remaining until the will has been probated.” She again watched as Miles consumed the other piece of toast and drank what remained in his mug.

Miles carefully wiped his hands on a linen towel provided with the tray. “You are asking me to be absent from Fairwood for a period that could easily span a year’s time—possibly more.”

“Yes. I am well aware that the only beneficiary to dispelling any further inquiry will be me. The marital contract was drawn up in such a fashion as to assure you of your monies in perpetuity. Your funds come out of the Earl’s private holdings and not the entail.” She looked out the window. “I will, of course, facilitate whatever travel or communication you feel is necessary between Rutledge and Fairwood, and will instruct my staff to be at your disposal.”

“Good of you.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and wilted at the dryness of Miles’ voice. “I’m sorry. I’m doing what I always do. I’m as prickly as a hedgehog and making an utter toss-up of this.” She offered Miles a glance of apology before her gaze returned to the window and her tone softened considerably. “I’d meant to throw myself on your mercy and impress you with my sincerity and womanly vulnerability. Instead, I’ve offered to replace your boots and fed you toast.” She wrapped her arms around herself and hung her head. He would refuse to help her, and she had no one but herself to blame. His low chuckle was the last thing she expected to hear.

“I’ll stay until the agent is satisfied and your father’s will is probated—however long that takes.”

She turned and faced him. “You will?” An upwelling of intense gratitude made it difficult for her to speak. “Thank you. I… I… I cannot thank you enough. You are everything that is kind, and I cannot imagine why you should be. I have been absolutely hateful to you.”

“Not absolutely.”

She winced.

He gave her a crooked smile “As a point of curiosity, just where will I be sleeping?”

Eleanor’s face blanked of all expression. She’d never considered… “Of necessity, I suppose in my bed. It would seem uncommon and give rise to damaging gossip for a new groom not to attend his bride every night.”

“To lie inches from you for months on end? I have not been gelded, Eleanor. I cannot promise to remain a gentleman under such intimate circumstances.”

His appraising look and the unusual glint in his eye gave her pause. “You would take an unwilling woman?”

“I never have.”

Relief flooded her. “Well, I should hope not.”

“You mistake my meaning. You will be willing.”

Her mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound.