Chapter Fifteen
Rose came in as Eleanor was eating lunch the next day and she was bristling with news that she wanted to share.
‘Oliver is to be married tomorrow afternoon to Cecilia Lockhart at Vitium et Virtus. The ceremony will be performed under a special licence and we are all invited.’
‘All?’
‘Jacob and I. Frederick and Georgiana. Nicholas Bartlett and you. Jacob has promised to behave himself, but I am not certain what may happen when he sees Nicholas.’
Eleanor’s heart sank. ‘No. I won’t go. Not yet.’ The words fell out in a whisper.
‘And you think that is wise?’
‘Pardon?’
‘To refuse to attend when the people you hurt by such an absence had nothing at all to do with any of it? Cecilia specifically asked for you to be there.’
‘I barely know her.’
‘She likes you. She admires your fortitude. She has told me this over and over again. The wedding is a small one and if you do not come people might also wonder why and any gossip can be damaging.’
‘I cannot see him, Rose. I just cannot.’
‘There are always two sides to every story, Eleanor. What if Nicholas Bartlett is scared of commitment because he is running from something we cannot even begin to comprehend? There are so many questions about Lord Bromley. His disappearance. His scars. His hurt and his danger.’
Eleanor shook her head. ‘But he will not let me help him, Rose. I get closer and then he moves away.’
‘Which is exactly what happened between Jacob and I. Should I have just given up on your brother when I was let go from the household? Should I have left my heart there at his feet to never see him again and gone to hide in shame and sadness all on a mistake? If I had, where would I be now?’
Eleanor smiled, for she could see exactly where Rose was going with this.
‘You think I should fight for him?’
‘I do. Because a man who is worth such emotion is also the one who could keep your broken heart safe.’
‘And if it does not work out?’
‘Then you will have done what you could and will have no regrets whatsoever. It’s a tiny wedding. The only guests there are our friends. It will be the easiest place to see Nicholas Bartlett again with all the celebrations going on about you.’
‘If I agree, I need to be able to leave when I want to. I am not staying if...’
She did not go on and was glad when Rose nodded at her condition.
* * *
She saw him the first moment she came into the main room of the club. He was standing with Frederick Challenger and Oliver Gregory in one corner, dressed in dark blue and beige, the tan of his face made deeper by the whiteness of his neckcloth.
The last time she had seen him he had been naked in bed, flushed by the exertion of sex. Almost as if he could hear her thoughts he looked up, eyes unreadable and a new stiffness in the set of his shoulders and head.
Her brother beside her swore underneath his breath and she understood at that moment this occasion was every bit as difficult for him as it was for her. The undercurrents of friendship, betrayal and enforced joviality hung over Jacob’s face as she stole a glance at him, the sort of emotions that were probably as clearly visible on her own.
Cecilia was laughing on the other side of the room with Georgiana Challenger and as they went over to join them she saw Jacob carry on stiffly towards the men.
She felt like the bad apple who had brought the rot into a barrel, distance amongst good friends, uncertainty to a group who had managed thus far to triumph over every adversity sent their way.
Nicholas had not even once caught her glance and her brother’s stance was sure to be noticed by Frederick and Oliver.
Shaking her head at self-blame, she refused to harbour such nonsense. It was not she after all who had taken what was offered and thrown it all away.
‘Thank you for being here, Eleanor.’ Cecilia took her hand and held it. ‘I only wanted a very small wedding, but I was adamant that it should include women who might be to me like Jacob, Fred and Nicholas have been to Oliver and I have always admired the way you have lived your life exactly in the way you might want it.’
Such words were so unexpectedly sweet, Eleanor simply nodded. Cecilia Lockhart had had her detractors, but she had not ever let them sway them from her cause. Her life had not always been easy, either, for the gossip was rife when any beautiful and mysterious newcomer graced the hallowed halls of the ton.
‘I am very honoured to be asked today, Cecilia. Oliver has been a fixture in the life of the Huntingdons for a long time now.’
The compliment, however, did make her braver and she was glad for the light pink gown she had donned which suited both her figure and her colouring and was one of her favourite dresses. Her hair had been fashioned with only the minimum of fuss and, in an embroidered half-cape to keep out the cold, she knew she looked her best which was important to her today.
A woman with a thousand other pathways to choose. Boudica, the warrior of the Iceni tribe, Ethelfleda, Queen of Mercia, or Gwenllian Gruffydd of Wales. Strength filled Eleanor where doubt had otherwise lingered and she lifted her chin. The power of womanhood could shine as brightly in adversity as it ever did in triumph.
As Frederick called for them all to gather closer and a minister she had not noticed before took his place, she made her way to the large windows at one end of the room. A bower of paper roses had been placed there with streams of cream ribbon and green holly. Appropriate and beautiful for a New Year wedding in a venue that had been important to both Cecilia and Oliver.
Of a sudden her own worries were pushed aside and she felt the delight of a couple who were well suited and about to be joined in holy matrimony.
Nicholas was the best man. This fact surprised her as he came to stand next to Oliver, a ring box in hand. Frederick and Jacob were right next to him, a group of four men who had been close friends since childhood. Each had a sprig of winter jasmine in their lapel and there was a large vase of the same perfumed flower on a table behind the bower. Jacob still looked out of sorts, but less so than he had done on first entering the club. Perhaps he had had a word with Nicholas? She hoped so.
‘We are gathered here today for the marriage of...’
The words of the minister sounded out over silence and it was then that Nicholas Bartlett truly looked at her, his velvet brown eyes locking into her own with a sort of pained desperation.
Shock tore down Eleanor’s spine, for everything she could see on his face was the exact opposite of the words that had been in the note.
She could not take her eyes from his and for a good ten seconds they looked into each other’s souls and then away. Her heart was beating so fast and hard she felt slightly sick.
Disorientated. Dizzy. Gritting her teeth together, she concentrated on the wedding.
Cecilia looked radiant and Oliver looked... She could not quite describe how he looked. He was a very handsome man who had set the ton on fire with his charm and grace, but he had never seemed quite relaxed. Today he did, his smile wide and his eyes bright with love. Their hands were joined tightly together, the white of his knuckles easily seen from where she stood.
They were perfect.
And, God, she wanted that for herself, the melding of one person to the other so that the whole was better than the two halves.
Swallowing twice, she tried to catch on to a failing fortitude. She had known such perfection as she had lain in the heat of Nicholas’s bed and loved him.
Her cheeks burned as the minister glanced her way and then the rings were exchanged, Cecilia’s a small white-gold circle with diamonds and Oliver’s a wider plain gold band.
Nicholas looked thankful that this part of the service was over. Would he make a speech?
She heard Rose sigh beside her and looked at her sister-in-law who was dabbing her brimming eyes.
‘Weddings always make me cry,’ she explained. ‘It’s the hope in them, I think, and the promise.’
Her own lack of true participation made her feel guilty. She had been so preoccupied with seeing what Nicholas looked like up there that she had hardly spared a thought for either the bride or the groom. When she was called up to the front to sign the marriage papers as a witness she was shocked for she would have to stand right next to Nicholas Bartlett and look him in the eye whilst acting as if she was neither devastated nor heartbroken.
The pretence of it was almost too much to bear.
Rose’s elbow came against her, urging movement, and smiling, even though it was the last thing she wished to do, she stepped forward.
Nicholas Henry Stewart Bartlett. He was left handed. She had not known that, but he used his damaged arm to sign his name, with the bandage just visible under the dark cuff of his jacket.
And when he had finished he turned and gave her the pen, his fingers touching hers at the transfer.
‘You need to place your name beneath mine.’ Today the accent of the Americas could be heard squarely in his words. A further separation. Another distance.
With care she bent to add her name to the document, although all she could concentrate on was the feel of him at her side.
He had never said ‘I love you’ when she had been in his bed at the Bromley town house. In the throes of desire and lust he had promised her a lot less than she had promised him and yet he had not been dishonest. He had asked for her consent and she had given it. But he had never spoken of his love.
Now as he stood next to her speaking with Jacob and Frederick and with six inches between them, all she wanted to do was to move closer and touch him.
* * *
Eleanor had barely looked at him save for one glance just before the ceremony began. She was smiling at Cecilia now, a smile that gave the impression that every single thing in her world was exactly as she would want it, his defection a trifling thing, a small inconvenience only.
Eleanor’s middle name was Christine. Like her mother’s. Like their daughter’s.
Eleanor Christine Elise Huntingdon. He consigned her full name to memory.
He was glad that Jacob and Frederick and Oliver were here. It made the day safer somehow with them around. Eleanor would also accompany her brother and sister-in-law home afterwards. A further protection. For the next twelve hours he would not need to worry about her at all.
The thought of that made him smile and as he turned he caught her eye. She smiled back. And the world simply stopped. Just her and him in a room full of winter sunlight and flowers.
The ache of sorrow inside him nearly brought him to his knees, there in the blue salon of Vitium et Virtus, for after the joy of Oliver’s happiness his own seemed compromised beyond recognition and there was nothing now that he could do to make it different if she was to stay safe.
I will always love you.
God, had he just said that? Relief filled him when he realised the words were in his head, although Jacob was looking at him oddly, a sort of shared understanding in his eyes that made no sense whatsoever.
He was pleased when Frederick called him away to help with the wine that had to be brought up from below because it allowed him an excuse to leave her side and regain his sense.
Once in the cellar Frederick turned on him. ‘What the hell are you doing, Nick? Eleanor looks as though you have just stabbed her through the very heart and Jacob has all the appearance of a man who wants to kill you.’
‘My memory is back, Fred, and Eleanor Huntingdon and I were close once.’
‘How close is close?’
‘We were together just before I disappeared.’
‘God,’ he said as his hand slid through his hair, sweeping it back. Such blasphemy in a man usually so very articulate worried Nick further.
‘And now? It’s Oliver’s wedding, for God’s sake. Even he is starting to realise that things are not quite right.’
‘Someone wants to do her harm, Frederick, because of me.’
His friend put down the bottles he had gathered and took in a deep breath. ‘Another note?’
He shook his head. ‘A meeting this time. The informant told me Eleanor was being watched.’
‘So you think to put distance between you. To fool the one who wants to harm you?’
‘If it looks as though I am interested in others I think he will only target me. With my history...’
Fred swore again and took the cork from a bottle of wine before finding two glasses and handing him one. ‘I think we need this more than anyone above does.’
There was silence for a moment before Nick began to speak.
‘I’m the father of her child, Fred. We slept together again two nights ago and the next day I discovered that she was a target, too, because of it. If anything happens to her...’ He could not go on.
‘You love her? My God, you do.’ A smile covered his friend’s face, broad and surprised. ‘You never do things by half, Nick, I had forgotten that about you. You couldn’t just tell her?’
‘That someone still wants to kill me and that if she’s in the way she will be hurt, too? She’d never let me out of her sight.’
‘I see your point, for Georgiana would be exactly the same. Jacob has to know, though, so that he can make sure Eleanor stays safe when in his care.’
‘You’re right.’
‘And Oliver is part of it, too.’
‘Tell them today for me after I have left, Fred, when you think the time is right.’
‘And what will you do?’
‘Keep looking for some clue as to who it is who hates me so much and then deal with him.’
* * *
Nicholas raised his glass, calling the small crowd before him to order, and Eleanor turned to listen. She had not spoken to him again after the signing of their names as witnesses, but instead looked about the room, seeing the club through the eyes of someone who had never been in this type of place before.
She’d been astonished by the large array of books on the shelves and if the statues and pictures were more than racy, then that, too, added to the character.
Nicholas looked at home here, she thought, the stuffy strictures of the ton disappearing completely and there was a freedom inherent in the place that was beguiling.
Cecilia and Oliver were now standing next to him and he smiled at each of them before beginning to speak.
‘I’ve had no true experience with marriage and what it entails, but it seems that love conquers all difficulties and any problems. It moves people on from one place to a better one where together they can solve life’s problems. It makes them stronger, more whole, more accepting, bolder. So here’s to adventure and courage and to faith in the future. Here’s to Cecilia and Oliver Gregory. To a long life together and a happy one.’
Faith in the future? He’d used those same words before they had slept together and look where they had got her. The wine tasted like dry vinegar in her mouth as she raised her glass along with the others. Another few moments and she would be able to slip away from such lies and go home to Lucy. Tomorrow she would make her preparations for returning to Millbrook. Away from Nicholas. Away from heartbreak.
‘They look so good together, don’t they?’ Rose’s words came through a tunnel and she nodded. ‘Bromley, however, looks like a brick has hit him, though. He keeps glancing your way when he is sure you are not looking.’
‘Guilt, I suppose.’ She ground the words out quietly even as Rose laughed.
‘His words on marriage are surprising for a man so frightened of commitment. Your brother looks less angered by him, too. I wonder if they have spoken?’
Without giving a reply, Eleanor tipped up the glass with the rest of her wine and finished the lot.