Chapter Two
Eleanor lounged beside Caroline on the picnic blanket and watched her idly strip the petals from a wildflower. “You’ll stain your fingers,” she warned.
“Do you know, I think you may have been right about Lord Wincanton,” said her friend.
Tilting back the broad brim of her straw hat, Eleanor peered at her. “Oh? How so?”
Caroline discarded the now-barren stem and sat up to face her. “Well, most men seem to share the opinion that we females have nothing between our ears but air. They often speak to me as though they believe me incapable of intelligent thought, but not him. Of all the gentlemen present last night, excepting your cousin, of course, Lord Wincanton was the only one to treat me with respect, as though I was his equal.”
“That has always been his way,” Eleanor replied, readjusting her hat so that it provided better shade. It was still quite chilly out this early in the spring and the sunlight felt heavenly, but she could ill afford to spot her face. “He would not dream of disrespecting anyone, least of all a lady.”
A dimple appeared in her friend’s cheek. “I asked him what it was like being at sea, whether or not he’d seen any whales and, if so, were they truly as large and terrifying as it is said. I once asked the same questions of a visiting navy captain, and the man laughed and told me only that I need never worry about such things. But Lord Wincanton described for me a whale in detail and then told me about a terrible storm his ship had survived. It was dreadful! The way he described it made me feel as if I were right there with him,” she finished dreamily.
Eleanor refrained from scowling—just. He’d told her about the whale, too, but he hadn’t mentioned any storm in any of his letters. A sense of unease settled in her stomach as she looked at Caroline, marking her misty eyes, her blushing cheeks. “I take it you’ve changed your opinion of Lord Wincanton since we last spoke of him.”
Caroline’s gaze slid away, her color deepening. “I really cannot say. We spoke only briefly after we danced. I should need more time to come to any final conclusions about him.”
They danced? It must have been while she was occupied elsewhere. But why had he danced with Caroline? She was nowhere near his rank.
Cool reason applied itself almost at once. He’d danced with many women of all stations last night…but he hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time talking with anyone else afterward. Certainly not long enough to tell tales of storms and whales. He practically ran the instant the music stopped after dancing with me. She forced a pleasant smile to her lips. “Well, since it appears he is to remain in England—for the time being, at least—you may well have your chance.”
She watched her friend’s face carefully, but Caroline was now concentrating on weaving together long blades of grass to form a fairy basket. “That would be nice,” she said, holding up the half-finished product and smiling. “Remember when we used to make these and leave them filled with dandelion fluff for the fairies’ beds?” She bent once more, returning to her handiwork. “The real question is whether or not he plans to come to London. Though his mother is quite insistent on the matter, he’s still undecided regarding whether or not to put himself up on the block this Season.”
Eleanor sat bolt upright. “Surely you did not ask him such an impertinent question?”
“Of course not!” answered Caroline, clearly appalled that she would think such a thing.
Which meant he’d volunteered the information. Why would he tell such a thing to Caroline and not me? “And?” she prompted. “Did it seem like he was leaning in any particular direction?”
A sly smile crossed Caroline’s face. “I cannot imagine him staying behind to molder away in the countryside while everyone else frolics in London. No, I’m certain he’ll be going. Have you ever been to Holly Hall? He told me about it a little, but I cannot quite picture it in my mind.”
“Yes. I’ve been there many times,” Eleanor answered, trying to calm herself. He’d told someone—someone other than her—of his adventures abroad. He’d included details he had not shared with her, he’d talked about his estate, and worst of all, he’d mentioned the Marriage Mart. To Caroline. Surely he wasn’t planning to woo her? She looked at her friend with new eyes, seeing her fine, freckle-less skin, dark auburn hair, and blue eyes in an entirely different light. Caroline had always been very pretty. But she was also impatient, short-tempered, pouty when she didn’t get her way, and generally impulsive in her conduct—all qualities Sorin frowned upon. But still, she was quite pretty.
And she couldn’t be more wrong for him.
“Are you unwell?” asked Caroline.
Following her friend’s concerned gaze, Eleanor realized she was holding a hand to her stomach which, to be honest, was feeling a bit unsettled. She snatched it away. “I’m perfectly well. But I think perhaps I might like a cup of tea. I’m a bit chilled.” She rose.
But before she could take even one step toward the house, Caroline pointed down the hill and let out a little squeal. “Oh, look! They’ve returned. See? Here they come!” Tossing aside her half-woven basket, she leaped to her feet.
At the edge of the wood, a group of men was emerging amid a boiling sea of rowdy hunting dogs.
“Halloo there, ladies!” called Charles, grinning and waving. “Just look at this lot we’ve brought back—enough to feed the whole county for a week!” He pointed proudly at the string of dead birds dangling from a pole slung across the shoulders of two sturdy men.
Eleanor laughed and waved back, but her eyes were not on the birds. Sorin, his face lit with one of his rare smiles, strode alongside her cousin. It filled her with pleasure to see him here, back where he belonged.
“You were right—he does smile,” whispered Caroline, ruining the moment. “Quite nicely, in fact. He really is a handsome gentleman, is he not? I don’t know why I failed to see it before.” She giggled softly.
An odd impulse swept through Eleanor, an unpleasant one that made her long to shove her friend down the hillside. Head first. “Well, of course he smiles. He’s not made of stone.”
Caroline turned to her, brow puckered. “You needn’t bite my head off. I meant no insult. I was simply admitting I’d been mistaken about him.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit out of sorts from lack of sleep, I suppose. It was a long night.” Yes. That’s it. I’m tired. “Come, let us go down and meet them.”
“With all of those dogs running about loose?” said her friend with a look of horror. “Are you not afraid for our gowns?”
“My cousin’s hounds are very well trained, I assure you.” If one knew the proper commands, which she did.
Caroline looked doubtful, but followed anyway.
Eleanor waded right into the churning mass of dogs without any hesitation, leaving Caroline to cautiously pick her way through with many a gasp and squeal of dismay.
“A successful hunt, I see,” Eleanor said, grinning at the men. “I suppose I should run and tell Cook what we’ll be having for dinner for the rest of the week.”
Her cousin beamed at the compliment. “Blasted creatures were so complacent I could have simply plucked them from the ground like fallen fruit and shoved them into sacks.” He turned to Sorin. “You will take some of them with you, won’t you?”
“I’ve got plenty of my own, I’m sure,” replied Sorin with a shake of his head. “Mine have had five years’ respite, whereas yours have been undisturbed for only two. Perhaps you might render me the same assistance in thinning them out next week?”
“I should be delighted,” said Charles with gusto. “But look at these lovely creatures that have come to witness our triumphal return!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the two women. “How brave of you ladies to risk your slippers and hems amongst this unruly lot. Down, Albert!” he commanded one particularly excited dog that had decided to personally greet Caroline—who was even now squeaking a horrified objection.
Eleanor repressed a laugh as the dog obediently put its forepaws back on the ground. Caroline’s previously pristine skirt now bore an enormous pair of muddy streaks down its front. “You cannot let them know you’re afraid,” she tutted without sympathy. “As long as you appear fearless and in command they won’t bother you.”
“Yes, well I rather wish you’d told me that before coming down here,” said her friend crossly. “Just look at my gown—it’s ruined!”
“Not to worry,” Eleanor soothed, flicking a glance at Sorin. “Fran will have it out in a blink.” Good, now he’d see what a petulant ninny Caroline could be. She turned to him. “You did enjoy yourself, I hope?”
He barely glanced at her, so intent was he on retying a knot that had worked loose on one of the birds during their walk back. “Very much indeed.” He turned away from her to face Caroline. “And I’m glad to see we were not the only ones taking advantage of the spring sunshine. How sorry I am to see your lovely gown spoiled, Miss Caroline. I’m sure Eleanor meant it when she said it could be quickly put to rights.”
Shock suffused Eleanor as he smiled down at Caroline—and as Caroline blushed to the roots of her hair in happy response. Her heart began to hammer in her chest in a peculiar, almost painful manner.
“Cousin Eleanor?”
She started and looked to see Charles staring at her expectantly. “Yes?”
“I asked if you would be so kind as to run to the house and tell Rowena we’ve returned. Oh, and do let her know the menu will need adjusting. We’ll feast on pheasant tonight!”
“Yes, of course,” she replied woodenly. Turning back, she again stared at Caroline, who was now batting her lashes in the most preposterous manner. Despite her foolish appearance—she looked as if she had something in her eye—Sorin was being quite cordial toward her. Attentive, even.
Her cousin cleared his throat, clearly impatient for her to get on with it. Feeling alone and put out, she began walking up the hill. It didn’t make any sense at all. Sorin loathed women who behaved like Caroline. Or so she’d thought. Hadn’t he always told her that a lady who flirted too brazenly was no lady at all? Hadn’t he always adjured her to conduct herself with more dignity?
Confused and nettled, she trudged across the lawn and into the house. Pausing on the doorstep, she turned and listened. Faint sounds of laughter drifted back on the breeze—Sorin’s and Caroline’s. As there was no one about to care, she gave in to a sudden fit of ill temper and slammed the door behind her with a resounding bang, causing the glass panes to shudder in their frames.
The noise brought her up short. Why am I so tetchy this morning? Sorin was only being…Sorin. Obviously, he’d come to accept Caroline as part of the family, that’s all. She stared at the floor in shame and noticed how damp and dingy the hem of her skirt had become from the walk through the grass.
By the time the other three had finished their leisurely stroll back to the house, she’d changed her gown and was waiting for them with Rowena in the salon, a pot of fresh tea at the ready. In they came, still red-cheeked from the chilly air and talking excitedly of the shoot.
Caroline, still bearing the muddy paw prints, hung at Sorin’s elbow, her eyes shining with admiration. “Do tell me about the elephants, Lord Wincanton. I’d give anything to see one myself, but since that is, of course, impossible, I should love to hear about them in every detail.”
If Eleanor was irritated before, she was now positively ready to take her friend by the ear and toss her out of the nearest window. “Tea, anyone?” she offered brightly. “You must surely be chilled to the bone. This just came from the kitchens so it’ll be nice and hot.”
“Ah, yes!” boomed Charles. “How very thoughtful of you, cousin. Wincanton, have some tea. And if that won’t drive away the bite, there’s always a nip of brandy, eh?”
Eleanor watched with bewilderment as Sorin seated himself by Caroline rather than taking the seat beside her as he’d always done in the past. What in heaven’s name is going on? Carefully, she thought back over the evening prior, trying to remember if she’d done anything that might have offended him. But other than forgetting her gloves, nothing came to mind. While they talked, she poured. “Lord Wincanton?” she said, handing him a cup. “Dash of cream and half a spoonful of sugar, is that not how you take yours?”
“Yes, thank you,” came his absent reply as he reached out and took it from her. She shivered as his fingers briefly brushed against hers. Strange, she’d thought it quite cozy in here a moment ago. Her temper warmed her quickly, however, as he immediately turned his attention back to Caroline, who was talking about the nature sketches she’d been working on over the winter.
Frustrated by his short answer and lack of attention, Eleanor poured for her cousin and Caroline. The temptation to put lemon in her friend’s cup instead of sugar was strong, but she decided against the juvenile prank. Caroline was not to blame for his odd behavior, after all, even if she was making a complete cake of herself. For the life of her, Eleanor couldn’t understand why Sorin was paying her any mind at all. He intensely disliked women like Caroline—or at least that was what he’d always claimed.
But if that was so, then why was he acting like this?
It took every ounce of self-discipline not to look at her. Sorin could feel the strain as every one of his nerves tugged in her direction. Doggedly, he instead kept his eyes fixed on her vapid little friend, refusing to give in.
He still couldn’t get over how much Eleanor had grown and matured. She’d taken the trouble to change her gown and looked radiant in pale yellow muslin. Like sunlight and daisies. How very like her to remember just how he liked his tea, too.
“We’ll be staying the whole Season this time,” Charles was saying.
“And we’ll have young Miss Caroline with us,” added Rowena. “When her parents informed us they would not be making the journey this year, Eleanor insisted we have her come and stay with us.”
Eleanor smiled sweetly. “London is always so much more fun when shared with a friend.”
He watched as she reached out to refill her cup from the pot. Though her neckline was perfectly modest and her bosom entirely covered with a fichu, the material pulled tightly across the swells beneath it. The temperature in the room went up a bit. He had to get out of here, and soon. Before Charles invited him to stay another bloody night. Before his traitorous desires and emotions could give themselves away through some stray word or misdeed.
Eleanor was speaking again to her friend, “I dread to think of some handsome swain wooing you away and depriving me of your company. But though I lose you to your groom, I wish you good fortune in the hunt.”
“As do I,” said Rowena.
“Indeed, I wish you the best of luck,” added Charles with a chuckle. “After all, the whole purpose of the thing is for the unwed to find a ring.” Though the rhyme was spoken with humor, the look he directed at Eleanor was pointed.
“Not all unwed ladies go to London with that singular purpose, Charles,” she replied calmly, taking a sip of her tea. “I certainly shan’t.”
“Why not?” Sorin blurted before thinking it through.
“Why should I?” Her tone was light. “Thanks to Papa, I have wealth enough of my own to live comfortably for the rest of my life, provided I manage it well.”
In for a penny… “You mean not to marry?”
Her shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “Well, I suppose if I should happen to meet someone who makes me completely happy, I might feel inclined toward matrimony.” She sighed. “But I think it highly unlikely that I shall ever find such a person. I may be young, but I’m woefully set in my ways, as my dear cousin will be quick to tell you. Besides which, the company I most enjoy is already right here.”
“But what of children?” asked Caroline, seemingly as shocked as he was to hear her announcement.
“Oh, well. I suppose I should like to have children someday,” she replied. “But not at the expense of being bound to someone with whom I cannot truly be happy. No. I would rather remain unencumbered than compromise my joy.” A beatific smile curved her lips. “Besides, what need have I that cannot be fulfilled through such friendships as I already possess?”
An awkward silence fell, and Sorin barely refrained from snorting aloud into it. What need, indeed? Wicked thoughts on that subject ran amok, and it was all he could do to keep the chief—and highly inappropriate—answer behind his teeth.
“Surely your heart longs for something deeper and more meaningful?” asked Caroline, oblivious to the barely audible sigh of relief from the men in the room.
The girl had taken the words right out of his mouth, for which he was grateful—until he noticed she was looking at him rather than at Eleanor, and with far too keen an interest.
“Not at all,” said Eleanor, smiling. “I’m quite content with my life just as it is, I assure you. All the longings of my heart are met.”
Such blithe words from one so clearly inexperienced! A hair’s breadth away from bursting into laughter, he sought to cover his amusement by taking a sip of tea. Above the rim of the cup, he watched Rowena level a quelling stare at Charles, who looked near to asphyxiation.
“And what of you, Lord Wincanton?” asked Caroline, drawing his gaze. “What are your views on the institution of marriage?”
A mouthful of tea went down the wrong pipe. Fighting the urge to cough, he took another sip and carefully cleared his throat. “Me? Ah, well. I suppose I shall be obliged to marry, naturally. Eventually,” he amended as the girl’s eyes took on a distressingly hungry gleam. He looked at Eleanor and saw her lips quirk just as she ducked her head over her teacup. The little imp was laughing! Well, it took two to waltz. “Unlike some, I have not the option of remaining unencumbered. I have a duty to my family—one with demands that, unfortunately, cannot be fulfilled by mere friendship.”
Charles’s brows collided, and Sorin realized he’d alluded to a bit more than was appropriate for present company. The conversation needed to move forward and quickly. He glanced at Eleanor, but then immediately swung his gaze toward Caroline, feeling as though he were navigating a battlefield. “I was engaged once. But she was taken from me only weeks before we were to marry.”
Jane. She’d been killed in a riding accident during a hunt almost ten years ago. The horse, a borrowed mount, had thrown her and then stepped on her, crushing her. As long as he lived, he would never be able to expunge the sight of the life ebbing from her blue eyes. It was his fault she’d died. He’d put her on the accursed beast, dismissing her reluctance and encouraging her to put aside her timidity and be more adventurous, to live more fully.
Never again.
“I’ve yet to find her equal,” he continued, shoving his guilt into a dark corner. It amazed him how such an old wound could still feel so raw. “And now, like Ellie, I’m woefully set in my ways. Yes. I’m afraid the lady I marry will have to be eligible for sainthood.”
Caroline’s hand flew to her bosom, and she leaned a little closer. “How can you say such a thing about yourself when you are the very soul of accommodation and kindness? Any lady would be honored to call you her own.”
Sorin felt the carved arm of the couch, an immovable barrier, dig into his ribs on the opposite side. She would be in his bloody lap in a moment. “So says a kind-hearted young lady of little experience with ill-tempered old men like myself.”
“Old?” The redhead’s smile turned coy. “You are not yet forty years of age, sir. My own dear papa was forty and five when he married, and Mama but seventeen.”
He opened his mouth, but then shut it again. There was no possible response that wouldn’t cause him endless trouble. Opposite, he saw that Eleanor’s shoulders were shaking so now that she was barely able to keep her tea from spilling.
Charles came to his rescue. “If I remember correctly, Miss Caroline, your parents met for the first time on their wedding day. An arranged marriage, was it not?”
Caroline looked at him with barely concealed irritation. “Indeed.”
“Well, there you are then,” said Charles, slapping his knee as he turned to regard him with a smirk. “Perhaps there is the solution to your problem, eh? I’m certain your lady mother would be delighted to handpick her own daughter-in-law, would she not?”
Sorin breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the fickle tide again turned in his favor. “Indeed she would,” he agreed with a chuckle. His traitorous eyes again found Eleanor and lingered on her for a moment. “However, I prefer to choose my bride-to-be myself.”
“And who can blame you?” said Charles, his face breaking into a smile as he looked to Rowena. “After all, I chose my own lovely bride and look how happy it has made me.”
“Oh, was it you who made the choice, then?” Rowena’s smile was soft in spite of her teasing tone.
Sorin looked on with a touch of envy. Indeed, his friend’s joy was complete. He was the lord of a fine estate—several, in fact—while still young enough to enjoy it, his wife was both beautiful and affectionate, and his line assured.
It was the sort of life he’d have had with Jane, had she lived. But Fate, in her caprice, had dealt him a different set of cards. He looked at Eleanor, sitting there serving them tea, so composed and elegant, completely unaware of the ardent feelings she evoked in him. Truly, she had grown up to be every inch the lady he’d always told her she must be. He refused to believe she wouldn’t marry. The call to matrimony was not something many young women denied for very long.
All it would take was a little pressure. Her friends, like the eager Miss Caroline, would marry and their lives would become vastly different. Then those friends would begin having children and motherhood would add yet another layer of separation. Left behind, she’d begin to feel lonely and want to rejoin their ranks. Then a handsome young man would come along with all the right words to unlock her heart, and she’d traipse down the aisle with a smile on her lips to slide that man’s ring on her finger.
And then she’d be gone.
The thought lashed at him like a whip. He pushed it aside. She would marry. It was only right that she should have a life filled with all of the happiness she deserved. And he’d ensure that it happened, even if it meant tearing out his own heart. “Rowena, I meant to ask how the children were this morning.” A safe enough subject. Better than talk of marriage, certainly.
“As good as may be,” she said with a wry laugh. “Michael is giving Nanny fits, insisting on keeping a pet toad in the nursery. Emily is still coughing, which has us a bit worried, but she seems to be steadily improving.”
“And young George?”
“Is doing very well with his lessons,” she said, her expression one of immense pride. “His tutor has told us that he’s quite a promising little scholar. Naturally, he’ll go to Oxford—”
“Ahem. Rowena my gem,” interrupted Charles gently. “I thought we agreed he would attend King’s College in Cambridge.”
Her smile broadened just a little and she patted his arm. “Did we? I can never remember, darling. But there are many years yet to come before we must make a final decision. None of us knows what things will be like by the time George is of an age to attend.” She rubbed his arm soothingly. “I’m sure there will be many fine institutions from which to choose by then, and we don’t yet know his natural bent.”
This seemed to mollify Charles, somewhat. “Well, being a King’s man, I am naturally biased toward Cambridge. But…I suppose we should wait and see the direction he takes before carving anything in stone.”
“You are ever reasonable and fair-minded, my love,” said his wife, giving him a final pat.
Sorin hid a smile. He had no doubt whatsoever that little George would be an Oxford man, if she wanted it that way. She had the benefit of time to exert her gentle influence. Again, he looked at Eleanor. Her sharp eyes and ears never missed much, and he wondered if she was taking notes on how to properly handle a husband of her own.
All at once he pictured himself with that coveted title, a blissful image of them discussing plans for their own children. He allowed this fantasy to live for no more than an instant before snuffing it out. It was an impossible dream.
How could he violate Charles’s and Rowena’s trust by admitting amorous feelings for their cousin, whom he’d practically helped them raise? Especially when she looked on him without the slightest romantic interest whatsoever. If that wasn’t enough, then there was the fact that they were all wrong for each other.
Unlike his shy, quiet Jane, Ellie was a force of nature. Despite what she’d said, he knew from her many letters that she craved adventure and excitement. And though she’d apparently taken his admonishments to govern her impulsive nature to heart, he could still see its mutinous spark in her eyes. He wouldn’t be the one to put it out.
He’d tried to shape Jane into something she wasn’t and the outcome had been disastrous. His brushstrokes could be plainly seen in Ellie’s demeanor now, and he longed to undo them, to take back his censure. He’d wanted to protect her, to teach her caution, to make her more like Jane—for her own good.
It had been a mistake.
Even if by some miracle he could convince her to accept his suit, the act would only result in her misery and eventual resentment of him. She could never be content as his wife. Ellie needed a husband who was like-minded, a kindred spirit. Someone young and idealistic, someone ready for an adventure. He was not that man. Not anymore.
No. The only way out of this was to see Ellie married—to someone else. Someone better suited to her. Someone worthy of her.
“I believe I shall go to London this Season,” he announced, watching as eyes widened around the room. One pair in particular—the wrong pair—shone with undisguised delight. Miss Caroline looked like a child who’d just been promised a pony of her very own. Eleanor’s gaze, however, was fixed on the teapot. “I’ve been away for far too long and must get reacquainted with everyone,” he continued, hiding his disappointment. After all, why should she care whether or not he went to London?
“How wonderful!” said Rowena. “You’ll come with us to all of the balls and parties, of course?”
“Naturally,” he answered. It would be torture, but he’d do it if only to see Eleanor safely married by the end of it. At least then he would have a measure of peace. Above all, her marriage would force him to get on with his own life. “It’ll be like old times,” he said, trying not to sound pained.
“By George, I think it a marvelous plan!” said Charles. “You’ll come with us, have a jolly time of it, and we’ll find you the perfect wife!”
Sorin repressed a groan. That Charles had the same strategy for him as he did for Eleanor was irony at its finest. “Why not?” he said, forcing a laugh. “It’s better than allowing my mother to choose my bride, certainly.” He fought the impulse for a moment, and lost. “What think you, Eleanor?”
She looked at him and smiled serenely. “I think it a fine plan. I should like nothing better than to see you as happy as my cousin.”
Again disappointment stung hard, and with it the certainty that seeing her happily married was the right thing to do—for her sake, as well as his own.