Chapter Four
It was all Eleanor could do not to bolt. Her back stung like a thousand angry bees had alighted on it, but she kept her spine straight and her pace steady and stately, refusing to give in to the childish urge to run. If she did, he’d only come after her, which would result in even more humiliation. No. This was the way a mature, dignified woman would handle the situation.
Inside, however, she longed to tear out of the house and hide in the wood until the heat left her face, until her blood settled down and her head cleared. She could retreat to her room, but there was always a chance that Fran might be there or that someone else might see her state and inquire. So instead of doing either, she ducked into the deep shadows beneath the grand staircase to compose herself.
Lightheaded and trembling all over, she leaned against the wall. The tears she’d tried so hard to hold back now streamed down her face unchecked. Digging into her pocket, she found a kerchief and carefully blotted them away, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps. If anyone saw her like this…
In his eyes she was still a child. The pathetic, tearful child he’d found hiding in the garden the day they’d met. The disobedient brat who’d fallen out of a bloody tree and broken his nose. The impetuous hoyden he’d had to chasten for being too demonstrative. Would he never see her as anything but that child? She wanted to think they’d become friends—real friends—now that she was grown. Friendship between adults should be comprised of mutual fondness and respect between equals. But while his respect for her was a given and his fondness assured, he most certainly did not consider her his equal.
Hot tears again pricked her eyelids. Furious, she swiped them away, taking care not to rub too hard lest she further redden her eyes. Down the hall a clock struck half past twelve. The others would be waiting for her, wondering. She couldn’t stay here, and she couldn’t appear to have been crying or there would be questions.
Breathing deeply, she counted to one hundred and then peeked to make sure no one was about before tiptoeing across the hall to have a look in a mirror. Her cheeks were still a bit pink and her lids a little swollen, but she looked well enough to escape undue notice provided she was careful. Squaring her shoulders, she made her slow way back to the salon, making sure to pause and listen at each corner for a moment before emerging—in case he was still lurking about. Fortunately, she encountered no one. By the time she neared the salon, she felt reasonably composed.
Caroline’s voice issued out into the hall. “Might I inquire as to whether we can expect Lord Wincanton to share our coach for the journey to London?”
The inquisition had already begun.
“Of course not,” answered Rowena at once. “He and his mother have their own conveyance.”
“Oh. I did not think of that.” Disappointment colored Caroline’s voice.
“I dare say you did not,” replied Rowena.
Eleanor smiled grimly. It was as much a relief to know she wouldn’t have to sit across from him for the journey as it was to know he’d be beyond the reach of Caroline’s claws. She was just about to make her entrance when Rowena again spoke, sending her back to her place of concealment.
“Though I hesitate to do so for fear of offending you, Caroline, I have been asked by your parents to chaperone you this Season and therefore feel I must speak.”
Holding her breath, Eleanor strained to hear.
“Your demeanor toward Lord Wincanton this morning came very close to being unacceptable. Not only do I disapprove of such bold flirtation, but you ought to know that Lord Wincanton deplores forward behavior in females.”
“I apologize for any perceived impropriety, Lady Ashford,” she heard Caroline say after a moment. “I was merely attempting to put Lord Wincanton at his ease.”
Eleanor almost laughed aloud at the bald-faced lie. She would have been in his lap had there been no one else present!
“Lord Wincanton has been our friend for many years and has always been perfectly at ease here at Holbrook,” said Rowena. “In the future, I expect you to behave with proper decorum, especially when we have guests.”
“Yes, Lady Ashford.”
The meek answer seemed to close the conversation. Quietly backing up a few paces, Eleanor schooled her features, shook her skirts, and rounded the corner.
“Well, that was quick,” said Rowena, her brows rising. “I would have thought you’d spend at least a few minutes talking, though I suppose all the letters between you made it unnecessary.”
Eleanor suppressed a curse that would have in previous years earned her a mouthful of strong soap. “I would have enjoyed further conversation but he was in rather a rush to return home.” Quite deliberately, she sat down beside Caroline so that she wouldn’t have to face her. “But truth be told, you are right. Neither of us can have much to say that hasn’t already been said.” Let Caroline ponder that and wonder what she meant by it. It was a childish thing to do and she knew it, but that didn’t make it any less gratifying.
Rowena’s brow furrowed, causing the knot in Eleanor’s stomach to tighten. “I suppose it is the mark of a good friendship that you understand each other so well,” she said at last, dismissing the subject.
But I don’t understand him at all! Slowly, Eleanor released the breath she’d been holding. Still refusing to look at Caroline, she reached out to pour herself another cup of tea. “Oh, pity. The pot has gone cold. Shall I ring for a fresh one?”
Rowena shook her head. “There is no time for it, I’m afraid. You must both go and change. Eleanor, see that Fran takes care of the stain on Caroline’s skirt.”
She made it to the top of the steps before Caroline stopped her.
“You never mentioned to me that you and Lord Wincanton corresponded during his absence.”
Affecting the same too-sweet tone, Eleanor answered, “I did not think you would find our discussions of any particular interest. You’ve always—at least until today—made it quite plain that you thought him stuffy and boring. Had I known you were interested, I would have been glad to share them,” she lied.
“Oh really, Eleanor!” said her friend, dropping all pretense. “You’ve been exchanging letters with a man traveling abroad and you thought I would fail to find them interesting?”
Shrugging, she resumed progress up the stairs. “Not unless you find observations regarding the price of goods and sketches of scenery fascinating,” she said over her shoulder. Opening her door, she went in fully expecting to be followed. She was not disappointed.
“Still, you could have told me,” grumped Caroline, making herself comfortable on the edge of the bed. She heaved a sigh. “Don’t you think he looked handsome in his hunting coat this morning?”
“If you think a man in muddy boots tromping behind a gaggle of dead birds swinging from a pole is a handsome sight, then I suppose so,” she said sullenly, determined to be disagreeable. Flinging her shawl aside, she gave the bell pull a yank.
Caroline sat up straight and stared hard at her. “My, but something has curdled your cream this morning.”
Thankfully Fran chose that moment to enter, and for a few minutes the women busied themselves disrobing. The instant the maid stepped out to fetch a forgotten item, however, the inquisition continued.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Eleanor replied, dismayed that her friend was still interested enough to persist. “Which do you think I ought to wear, the blue or the green?”
“Don’t try that trick on me, Ellie,” said Caroline, her hands on her hips. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” she asked blankly. That I think you a ninnywit for even contemplating a man like Sorin for a husband? She bit her tongue. “I’m just a bit out of sorts,” she said at last, walking over to snatch the blue gown from the wardrobe and lay it across the bed. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine as soon as I have something to eat.”
Caroline followed and forced her to face her. “You’ve been out of sorts ever since he arrived. Don’t think I failed to notice it. And the way he acts around you…” Her blue eyes narrowed. “Is there something between the two of you?”
A strangled laugh burbled up from Eleanor’s chest. “Good heavens, no! At least not in the way you mean. He’s known me since I was a child. We are merely friends. Old friends.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it, because I’ve decided that I want him.”
Though she knew it already, hearing it said aloud almost made Eleanor drop the ribbon she was holding. She tried to sound nonchalant. “You cannot be serious, Caroline. He is not your sort and you know it. Why waste your time?”
Her friend was having none of that, however. “Was it not you who said I should look to him as a shining example of what a gentleman ought to be? Well, why not take the original rather than settle for an imperfect copy?”
If she’d been irritated before, Eleanor was now quite thoroughly vexed. But she dare not show it. She had no desire to ruin their friendship or incite the redhead’s wrath. Reason told her that once they were in London, Caroline would forget all about dull, older, sober Sorin. “I suppose I did tell you that,” she said, turning with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry—I don’t mean to be ill-tempered. I’m just hungry and rather tired, if you want to know. I hardly slept after the excitement of last night.”
This excuse seemed to mollify Caroline, for the sparkle returned to her blue eyes. “And who can blame you? After all, you’ll be your own woman this Season, won’t you? How wonderful it must be to know such freedom!”
Eleanor knew she hadn’t meant it as a dig, but it certainly felt like one. Yes, at twenty-one she was no giddy greenling ready to fall for the first handsome face or dulcet word. She was worldly-wise, unencumbered and independently wealthy—a prize not easily, if ever, to be won. Curiosity pricked her. “Caroline, if you had the means to avoid marriage, would you do so?”
Caroline’s brows rose. “Well, as I have not the luxury of any other alternative, I’ve not really thought about it. But I must suppose I would. Unless I found someone I could truly love, of course.”
“Do you hope to marry for love?”
A soft snort answered that question. “Every woman hopes for a love match, Ellie. But I’m too practical to allow fancy to get in the way of a successful match and security.”
“You would choose money rather than love, then?”
“Love won’t keep one from suffering privation, will it?” said Caroline, her manner cool. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. If possible, I should very much like to have both money and love. But not all of us have the means to pass up a good opportunity in order to wait for our ideal.” Coming over, she grasped Eleanor’s hands. “I promise I won’t marry a brute. Nor shall I wed a fool—unless he’s ridiculously rich and happy to allow me to guide him in matters concerning his purse.” She giggled. “No. I shall marry the first tolerably wealthy man to make an offer. Better to have done than have none, as my grandmother once said. As for Lord Wincanton, he seems a fine match indeed.” Another giggle. “And the best part is that I’ve the advantage of being in his acquaintance before the cats in London can get a claw in.”
A cold, hard lump settled in Eleanor’s stomach at the thought of Caroline marrying Sorin. She would make him utterly miserable! In that moment, she knew what had to be done. Sorin might think of her as a naive child who needed his benevolent guidance to avoid making a terrible mistake, but in truth he was the one in danger. Whatever happened, even if it ruined both friendships, she could not allow him to fall into Caroline’s nets.
Sorin managed to stay away from Holbrook—and Eleanor—for an entire week. The days were easy enough as long as he remained busy, which was not at all difficult considering how long he’d been away and how much work there was to be done. The nights, however, were a different story altogether.
No matter how exhausted he was, he lay awake in the dark for hours, his mind overrun with thoughts of Eleanor. Every word she’d spoken to him since his return. Every detail of her face. The scent she wore that drove him mad.
There was no peace to be found in slumber, either. Most times, the Eleanor of his dreams answered the longings of his heart and the cravings of his body with a passion that awakened him in a state of need bordering on torment. There were other dreams in which she featured as well, dreams that were far less pleasant. From these he awakened drenched in cold sweat, and nothing—not reading, not walking, nor even copious amounts of brandy—could dispel the sense of utter hopelessness they left behind.
By the time Sunday arrived, his nerves were taut and his temper short.
“Stop your grumbling,” admonished his mother as he climbed into the carriage ahead of her. “You may have lived like a heathen while abroad, but you have no excuse for it now.”
“I’m not grumbling—and I did not live like a heathen,” he snapped, helping her up and then taking the seat opposite. He would have avoided attending church but for her insistence on having him along.
One steely gray brow lifted.
Damn. “My apologies, Mother. I did not intend to be harsh.”
“Whatever is the matter with you of late?” she said a few minutes later as they trundled down the road toward the village. “You’ve been cross ever since your visit to Holbrook. Did you and Ashford have a disagreement?”
“No, Mother,” he answered, wishing now that he’d insisted on staying at home.
“Well, something has certainly been weighing on your mind.”
Indeed it had. “There is much to be done now that I’m home,” he said with a weary sigh. “The finances are in decent shape but the estate itself is going to need a great deal of work. The east wing badly needs a new roof. The workers that repaired it after that storm did a shoddy job. It will have to be redone before the winter or we’ll have snow in the staff quarters—and quite possibly fewer staff.”
“I’m still wroth over having been so easily rooked.” Her bony knuckles turned white as she gripped the handle of her cane.
“And then there is the matter of the ruined harvest and the nonexistent rents,” he went on, glad to have found an adequate distraction for them both. “I doubt whether we’d have seen full payment from any of our tenants, given the impact that storm had on the crops, but there might have been partial payment at least. So there is that to consider as well. A minor loss in the grand scheme of things, but a setback, nonetheless.”
She settled back, her face filled with contrition. “Perhaps I went a bit too far in forgiving the rents entirely for the year,” she said with a sniff. “I managed things to the best of my ability in your absence. I knew there would be dire hardship if I held them to even half the expected amount, and hungry men with hungry families are apt to turn to criminal activities to meet their needs. In any case, I could not in good conscience hold them accountable for something over which they had no control and from which they had no recourse.”
“Of course not,” he agreed, now feeling churlish. “I did not mean to insinuate that you’d done poorly, Mother. Had I been informed of the situation, I might have made the same decision. I’m simply taken aback at learning of it almost a year after the fact.”
“I did it on your behalf, you know,” she said, examining her gloves. “You should have heard the blessings heaped on you the Sunday following. Two of the children recently born in the village were named for you—a boy called Latham and a girl named Sorel.”
“How…lovely.” Having the village children named after him out of gratitude over a charitable act he hadn’t even committed felt wrong in so many ways. “Father must be railing at Saint Peter to let him come back and sort us out.”
“Your father was a good man, but you are likely right,” she admitted with a grimace. “He never would have been so generous. He would have taken what he could when it was due and expected the rest after the following harvest.”
“That, I will never do,” he vowed. “I’ve never thought that a fair practice. What God has ordained for a season is a burden of responsibility beyond any man’s right to place upon another human being.”
His mother’s eyes warmed. “Your father was from another age, Sorin. A much harsher one. He would have wanted to be merciful, but he would have feared being taken advantage of and thought a fool more.”
“More the fool for allowing those in his care to suffer needlessly,” he muttered. “You acted rightly. I would much rather have the loyalty and gratitude of those living on our lands than their resentment. Thanks to my success abroad, we can absorb the financial loss.”
She peered at him with open curiosity. “You were very enigmatic in your communications regarding said success.”
“I did not want to risk such information falling into the wrong hands and you being subsequently targeted by dishonest men,” he said grimly. “Not to overestimate the success of the plans I’ve laid, but if all goes as it should, our income will more than triple each year for at least the next decade.”
Her eyes went wide. “Triple?”
“Yes. However,” he held up a hand to forestall any further exclamation, “we should be careful until the company is well established.”
“You said you were absolutely certain of this investment. Are you not?”
The worry in her face tugged at his heart. “I’m quite certain; however, it would be imprudent to count the pounds before they are in the bank. I prefer to remain cautiously optimistic until at least three years have passed with solid gains.” He’d saved the best for last. “But lest you worry yourself, know that I’ve taken the liberty of diversifying our interests.” He grinned. “America has such potential.”
Again, her eyes widened. “Sorin, the risk! The hostilities have only recently ended and there is the—”
“Relax,” he laughed. “It was only a small investment, but already it has resulted in some handsome profits. And it is growing exponentially. Whereas many of our countrymen shun the idea of doing business with them, the Americans are not so prideful as to turn down any relationship that promises them profit, and neither am I. Should our eastern investments take a bad turn, we’ll have western ties to fall back on. In fact, they may even perform better.”
She fixed him with a gimlet stare. “I know you would not do anything to displease the Crown, of course.”
It was exactly the reaction he’d expected. “I had His Majesty’s approval before ever putting pen to contract. My little side endeavor will feed the royal coffers as well as ours. After all, England somehow must replace what was lost during the war. His majesty is quite delighted at the prospect of having some of it back from the Americans.”
She sagged back with a sigh. “Thank heaven!” Her eyes narrowed. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, frightening an old woman like that. Have you no respect for my nerves?”
“Nerves? You?” he teased, ignoring her glare. “Truly, it was not my intention to frighten you, but rather to offer you comfort. I’m attempting to secure our family’s future before things decline beyond the point of redemption.”
“What do you mean, decline?” she said, suddenly sharp again.
“What I’ve seen abroad does not bode well for those choosing to remain stagnant,” he explained. “Refusal to accept and embrace progress now will only result in impoverishment.”
To his surprise, she nodded. “Well do I know it. Many of our friends have recently been forced to retrench. They’ve done it as quietly as possible, of course, and many of them under some plausible pretext, but it’s not something easily kept hush. A few weeks ago, Lady Demby let slip that they almost had to forgo London this year. She and Lady Afton, who has also been showing the telltale signs of declining economy, managed to convince their husbands to ‘make a party of it’ and share a London residence between their families. They’ve told everyone that their girls, who are the very best of friends, begged them to do so that they might stay together for their first—and what their families hope to be their last—Season. All of their hopes are pinned on them making good matches and quickly, for it is likely that neither will be able to afford another Season. And they are not the only ones. It’s happening all over.”
He nodded. “Those against dirtying their hands with the business of making money are finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with industrious commoners eager to better their lot in life.”
“You mean eager to emulate us, and poorly at that,” she retorted, her tone sour. “The gentry have been thoroughly infiltrated, and now the peerage is being invaded. ‘Merchant-barons’ are springing up everywhere, marrying into quality families, quite literally buying their way in with the promise of solvency.” She shook her head. “It’s shameful. And yet that is exactly what the Dembys and the Aftons seek. Not only does Lady Afton look to marry her daughter off to such a one, but she admitted that she hopes to find an heiress for her son from among them. I can hardly imagine the lad being attracted to any woman of common origin, but I’ve no doubt Lord Afton will insist upon the most lucrative match.”
“Don’t be such a snob, Mother. After all, am I not equally guilty of lowering myself by engaging in business?”
“What you are doing is quite another thing altogether,” she snipped. “You are of noble descent—and you are being far more discreet about your entrepreneurial activities than some I can name. I doubt anyone knows of your dabbling.”
“I see. By allowing marriages below their rank, these families are essentially tainting themselves, is that it?”
She shifted in her seat, and he knew he’d gotten to her. “I did not say that. But at the same time I feel Society is losing its refinement, and I blame this new invasion. I just think it a shame to see our culture diluted by the coarseness of the newly affluent,” she said, pursing her lips as though the words tasted bad.
“Not all of them are coarse,” he rebutted. “Over the last few years I’ve met a number of the ‘newly affluent’ and have made several friends among them. If anything, most are keen to refine their manners and rise above their humble origins.” Though he knew it would rile her, he said it anyway. “And who knows? Perhaps some new blood will serve to revitalize our lofty ranks.”
“New blood? I do hope you are not considering such a union,” she said with undisguised alarm. “In fact, I expressly forbid it. My delicate sensibilities would not tolerate such a daughter-in-law.”
“How fortunate for you then that I have no need to marry money.” He grinned as she glared. “As for the Aftons and the Dembys, I’ve found that fear of poverty always overcomes the delicate sensibilities of those in the midst of financial strain. The uncouth can always be trained or ignored, a far more palatable solution than being demoted to a lower social echelon over a lack of means. If our friends can find suitable matches for their children from among the nouveau riche, they will be saving themselves from the indignity of a slow decline.”
“I cannot decide which fate is the worse,” his mother muttered, shaking her head. “Speaking of making a suitable match, you ought to consider doing so yourself—to a woman of appropriate family, of course.”
He hesitated for only a heartbeat. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually, and I’ve decided to go with you to London this year. It is high time I married.”
“Oh, Sorin! I’m so very pleased to hear you say it,” she exclaimed softly. However, her joyful smile transformed almost at once into a frown of worry. “Heavens! You’ve only just arrived, and the Season is right around the corner. There won’t be enough time to have a new set of clothes made for you or to—”
“There is no need. I have several trunks filled with the very latest from Paris,” he said, enjoying her surprise. “I took the liberty of having them made while I negotiated the final contracts for the King’s fleet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This is no spontaneous decision, is it?”
“I confess it is not. Nor is it solely for the purpose you deem it. All of the clothes are made from our imported fabrics,” he said, careful to conceal his enthusiasm. He couldn’t let her know just how much he really liked “dirtying his hands” with entrepreneurial pursuits. “When everyone sees the beauty and quality of the materials, they’ll wish to know where they can find them. Naturally, I’ll direct them to those shops offering our goods.”
A single silvery brow arched. “I assume the bolts and patterns you sent to me were to the same end?”
“Those I sent because they were beautiful and I thought it would cheer you.”
“And it certainly won’t hurt our pockets if my friends wish to imitate me, either,” she added with a knowing smirk.
“My first desire was to lift your spirits.”
“Of course it was,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You’re a good son and a shrewd businessman. I’ll wear the gowns and gladly tell everyone where they can find the material as long as you can promise they’ll never find out we’re profiting from their covetousness.”
“No one will ever know,” he assured her. “The shops purchase the material from a distributor. He gets it from ships whose captains know only that they work for the Triple Crown fleet, which is managed by a man I pay handsomely to keep the identity of its true owner a secret.” A man he trusted because he knew his life was forfeit if he ever revealed that information to anyone other than the king himself.
“You must pay him a pretty sum indeed,” she said, eyeing him.
“He is well content with his lot. I’ve made him a rich man.”
“I thought you said we needed to be cautious,” she said, frowning. “How rich?”
“Rich enough to marry into quality,” he said just to poke at her “delicate sensibilities.”
“Heaven forefend,” she said with open contempt.
He shot her a quelling look. “Earning an honest living should bring shame to no man. Many of our peers will fall because of their overweening pride.”
“And yet pride has its place,” she replied, her chin rising. “Your father would have sooner suffered gentle poverty than abandon his.”
“A fool’s pride!” he snapped, his patience drawing swiftly to an end. “Woe to the man who holds to his pride while doing naught to prevent his ship from sinking, for hunger and regret will be his chief companions in the days to follow—if he does not immediately drown. Anyone who romanticizes poverty shows a privileged ignorance of its brutality.” Now that they were safe, it was time she knew. “Five years ago, poverty knocked at our gate, Mother. Father’s stubborn refusal to modernize, or to at least employ better economy, very nearly ruined him, and us along with him.”
Her expression grew stricken, and he softened a little. “I did not share that knowledge with you because I did not wish to tarnish your memory of him while your grief was yet fresh. Much as he had done, I continued to shield you from the dire reality of our circumstances.”
“Dire?” The word was small and filled with disbelief.
“Our debt was monumental,” he said quietly. “I sold off some of the smaller unentailed assets in order to fund my recent endeavors as well as pay at least some of the amount owed to the worst of the creditors lest our situation become public knowledge. And I have since worked tirelessly to drive poverty off our doorstep. If my efforts are discovered, then so be it. I will bow my head in shame to no man.”
She had no chance to respond, for they had reached the church.
Sorin disembarked in haste, still fuming. Had Father lived, they would be in the same, if not worse, situation as the Aftons and Dembys. He ground his teeth. It had taken five years of careful planning, stealthy negotiations, and some bloody hard work, but he’d turned their fortunes around.
He hadn’t told Mother, but the estate now had more income than ever before in its history, so much in fact, that it would have been an easy matter to pay off all their debts at once. He would have done so, save that such an act would be equivalent to announcing his activities in The London Gazette. Instead, for the past two years he’d been paying creditors off in small enough increments to keep them satisfied without tipping his hand. They now owed no more than anyone else and certainly far less than most, and no one knew it wasn’t “old” money being used to pay it down—which was exactly how he wanted it.
Well, almost no one. There was one other person privy to his secret. Two, actually. Charles, who’d invested along with him in order to save his own family’s fortunes, and Eleanor. Eleanor, who’d been quiet witness to their early discussions. Eleanor, who’d told them it made more sense to risk Society’s censure than to accept hardship and pretend it was anything else. Eleanor, who was practical and wise beyond her years. If he could find a woman even half as sensible…
He let out a loud snort of self-derision, and a passerby shot him a startled glance. Such thinking was useless. Not only did he not want any other woman—much less one with only half her sense—but it was likely that any female from the loftier circles of Society would be mortified to learn that her noble husband’s income was newly minted.
Any woman but Eleanor.
Even as he thought it, his eyes found her. Her cheek curved as she turned to say something to Rowena, and he knew she was smiling. He yearned to see it, to feel its warmth directed at him. But there was little hope of that, given their most recent interaction.
“Well? Are we to stand here all day or are we going in?” asked his mother, who’d come up beside him.
In answer to her testy inquiry, he offered his arm.