Chapter Nine
A pounding headache greeted Eleanor the following morning. She’d hardly slept for fretting about Caroline. And then there was Sorin. He’d left so abruptly, and his good-bye had been so formal and cool. She hadn’t expected it.
“Lady Eleanor?”
She turned to answer the servant’s inquiry. “Yes?”
“Her Grace has requested your presence in her sitting room.”
No doubt to give me a good tongue-lashing for my conduct last night. “Thank you. Tell her I shall come as soon as I’m dressed.” Sighing, she rose and rang for Fran. Going to the wardrobe, she grabbed the first serviceable gown she saw and prepared to don it. There was certainly no point in fussing over her appearance today.
When she arrived, Rowena wasted no time getting to the point of her summons. “I think taking Caroline with us to London would be a mistake. I plan to write to her parents today and tell them that we find ourselves unfortunately short of space.”
Eleanor blinked in surprise and took a moment to steady herself. “You deserve an explanation for last night. In all honesty you need to know the truth in order to prevent any further incidents, but please wait until you hear what I have to say before you write to her family.”
“I am already aware,” interrupted Rowena, cutting her off. She rose, her long skirts hissing angrily as she paced the room. “She knew he had been invited,” she said, her voice low and hard with suppressed fury. “Why did she not tell us? It would have saved everyone a great deal of discomfort!”
“She was too embarrassed,” Eleanor said in her most soothing tone. “She truly thought she could be civil to him.”
“Civil? She all but gave him the cut direct!”
“She was unprepared to learn that he was such close friends with Sor—with Lord Wincanton,” Eleanor continued, desperate to calm her down. “When she saw them talking, she assumed the worst and thought Lord Marston was speaking ill of her to him. It upset her terribly.”
Rowena sat on the edge of a settle and passed a hand over her pale, pinched face. A moment later, she withdrew a folded piece of paper from her pocket and held it out.
Taking it, Eleanor unfolded the missive, instantly recognizing Sorin’s neat hand. Her heart sank as she quickly scanned the lines.
When she was done, Rowena took it back and began to refold it. “You realize this means I cannot invite Lord Marston to any of our at-home events in London. We cannot have that kind of tension in the atmosphere without it causing talk and endangering your chances.”
“My chances? What of Caroline’s?”
“She is not my primary concern.”
“Neither am I,” Eleanor retorted. “I don’t intend to marry—and I wish you would stop trying to force it on me! Besides, the matter is irrelevant, anyway.”
“Irrelevant?” said Rowena, her voice rising. “The whole purpose of taking you to London is to—”
“That’s not what I meant.” She sighed. “I made a promise to Caroline and I won’t break it.” She then relayed the conversation she’d had with her friend the evening prior. “She vowed to behave herself, and I vowed I would help her find a suitable husband.”
Rowena fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Do you honestly believe her to be sincere?”
“I do. She knows this is her last chance.” Eleanor looked to her pleadingly. “I realize it will make things a bit difficult—”
“A bit?” Rowena’s eyes were wide with incredulity.
“But there are ways around it,” Eleanor hurried on, determined. “There is no rule demanding that we all must be in the same place at the same time. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe Lord Marston will be offended by an occasional exclusion. When you do wish him to attend an event, Sorin can escort Caroline and me to another function somewhere else.” Please. Please. Please!
Rowena took an agonizingly long time to answer. “Very well,” she said at last. “I won’t write to her parents unless things begin to degrade—and they had better not,” she warned with a glare. “We will do our best to see her married quickly and without any scandal. God help us.”
Elated, Eleanor opened her mouth to thank her.
But Rowena was not finished. “Understand that this in no way alters our plans for finding you a husband. Caroline’s must not be the only wedding this autumn. As such, you will put forth the expected effort to that end once we reach London.” Her face softened. “You cannot stay here forever, my dear,” she said, reaching out to touch her cheek. “It would not be right. You need to build a life for yourself, have a family of your own. Your parents would want you to live fully and you cannot do so if you remain with us.”
Eleanor’s already heavy heart plummeted straight to her toes. So, he had been telling the truth. It wasn’t that she’d doubted him—he’d never lied to her—but she’d rather hoped he’d been exaggerating things. “I understand,” she murmured, numb.
The last vestiges of hardness melted from Rowena’s face. “It’s for your own good, my dear. I wish you would trust Charles and me. We just want you to be happy.”
Eleanor wanted to scream that she was already happy, but the truth was that her sense of contentment had inexplicably begun to diminish. A strange sort of restlessness had overtaken her. Change was coming. It was inevitable.
She shook herself. Now was definitely not the time for melancholy rumination. Right now she had to appease the powers that be. “I know. Thank you for caring about me so much.” She meant it. Her guardians’ intentions were good, if misguided. “I cannot promise you that I will find an acceptable gentleman, but I’ll try to be more open-minded.”
It was enough. Satisfied, Rowena dismissed her.
The following days were filled with the business of preparing for their journey to London. Caroline remained unusually quiet throughout the controlled chaos, but Eleanor didn’t worry overmuch. London would soon cure her of her brooding. Besides, she had enough to think about concerning her own dilemma. Each restless night brought her closer to Thursday and leaving Holbrook.
“It’s been over a quarter of an hour since you last turned a page in that book,” commented Rowena quietly as she ticked off items on the long list in her hand. It was the morning before their departure.
Eleanor looked up and blinked. “I guess I was woolgathering.”
Rowena shot her a piercing glance. “You’re not the only one to be acting queerly of late. Caroline has been far too quiet for my peace of mind. Is all well between you?”
“Quite. I was just thinking how much I shall miss this place,” she said, looking around the room.
“You can always come and visit, my dear,” said Rowena, frowning down at her list and crossing out a line. “In fact, I shall be quite upset if you don’t make it a point to do so frequently, for I will greatly miss your company.”
It took every bit of self-control for Eleanor to keep from showing her upset. She’d meant that she’d miss Holbrook while they were away in London, not forever! She hadn’t yet given up all hope of remaining here. “Thank you,” she replied past the sudden tightness in her throat. “Holbrook has been my home for so many years that I have great difficulty imagining myself anywhere else.”
“I missed my home when I married Charles. But I soon grew to like it here, and I’m sure you’ll come to love your new home as well.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile. “Especially once you and your husband begin filling it with children.”
My husband? As if there was any man on earth I’d be willing to marry!
Unbidden, an image of Sorin flashed in Eleanor’s mind. Shock suffused her, followed closely by utter confusion. Why in heaven’s name did I think of him? Sorin was the stiffest, sternest, most proper gentleman in all of England—possibly the entire world. He’d scold and correct her at every turn, just as he’d always done, and though she was quite fond of him, she would eventually resent him for it. They’d make a terrible couple!
The ridiculousness of the whole idea almost made her laugh aloud. It was ludicrous! Even if she were to consider him for a husband, he would never agree to it. In his mind, I’m still a child.
But that thought harkened back to Rowena’s last comment concerning children. Longing seized her heart in an iron grip. She couldn’t deny that she wanted children. But freedom and children were mutually exclusive. If she wanted the latter, she would have to give up the former.
The thought of filling Holly Hall with Sorin’s children, particularly of the act that precipitated such events, brought instant, scorching heat to her face and an uncomfortable tension throughout her whole body. She looked up to see Rowena staring at her. “Yes, I—I suppose I shall.” She ducked her head over her book once more, ignoring Rowena’s soft chuckle. But throughout the rest of the day, her thoughts kept wandering back to the idea. It was a source of both frustration and bewilderment that she could not put it out of her mind. That night as she lay abed, unable to find peace or slumber, she determined to settle the futile argument with herself once and for all. Sorin would never consider her for a wife—and despite her high regard for him, she’d never be happy with so overbearing a husband.
There! Satisfied, Eleanor closed her eyes and kept them shut, until at last sleep took her.
Thursday morning arrived, and with it complete turmoil. Maids and footmen rushed to and fro making final preparations for their employers’ departure. Traveling trunks were trundled off to the carriages and the servants’ wagons for loading. An early breakfast was bolted down. Finally, Sorin and his mother arrived followed closely by the Yarboroughs, and then it was time.
“Do you not think him completely handsome?” whispered Caroline as they walked to the carriage.
Eleanor followed her gaze to find that it rested on Yarborough. She ought to be thankful that the comment had referred to someone other than Sorin, but all she could muster was a faint sense of unease. “I suppose,” she answered with a shrug.
“His jacket is simply splendid,” Caroline went on, her voice eager.
She looked again. Indeed it was—and far more suitable for a promenade down Rotten Row than for the start of a six-day journey on horseback. He looked every inch the dandy from the top of his jaunty felt hat down to his gleaming and obviously new Hessians. The ensemble had no doubt cost a fortune, but Eleanor knew the difference between a surface gloss and deep shine. No amount of expensive trappings would ever make a true gentleman of Donald Yarborough.
Her gaze lit then upon Sorin beside him. By contrast, the Earl of Wincanton wore the modest, practical clothes appropriate for a long journey. The morning sun kissed his hair and face with gentle golden light as he soothed his overeager horse and jested with Charles. He’d never been unpleasant to look at, but it struck her now that he was actually quite handsome.
“Eleanor?”
The insistent inquiry forced her to return her attention to Caroline. “Remember what we discussed,” she said quietly. “Be polite during our journey, but do not encourage him overmuch. You don’t wish to give the impression that he has your favor before we reach London, lest he boast of it to others upon our arrival and lead them to think you already spoken for.”
“But what if—”
“You have only just met him,” Eleanor cut in, giving her a stern look. “Neither of you knows anything about the other, much less whether or not you will suit. Let his actions speak for his character along the way without your prompting. If you still find him of interest after we arrive, I’ll be glad to help further the connection.” She lightened a little. “Be patient, and keep in mind that you may soon have many more appealing options to consider. You don’t want to limit yourself before you’ve even seen what is available.”
The pout didn’t entirely disappear from Caroline’s face, but she nonetheless nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well, I shall be careful not to let him think he has any advantage.”
Satisfied, Eleanor led the way to the coach where Rowena waited for them with Lady Yarborough.
“There you are, my dear,” the woman crowed as she approached. “I was beginning to think we might have to send a search party for you. London awaits—come, let us be off!”
A twinge of dislike ran through Eleanor as the lady gave her cheek a maternal pat before turning to board the coach. The woman was barely acquainted with her and ought not to be so familiar. She waited until Lady Yarborough’s ample backside disappeared inside the vehicle’s confines. Like her offspring, she was ridiculously overdressed for the occasion. With her feathered bonnet, heavily be-ringed hands, and the ceaseless prattle issuing from her mouth, Lady Yarborough reminded her of nothing so much as a stout magpie.
The ladies settled themselves while last-minute adjustments were made to the luggage to accommodate their traveling companions’ trunks, and then they were off.
As Holbrook slipped past her window, Eleanor filled her eyes with its emerald lawns and sun-dappled woods. Already she felt a pang of homesickness. If she didn’t return to Somerset, she would have to make a new home. Was there a way to marry and remain in Somerset? Yarborough was out of the question, of course. She’d sooner wed a pig! Again, her thoughts turned to Sorin.
Could I be happy as his wife? Another question arose, one that presented a whole new set of problems. Could he be happy as my husband?
Just as she held every man up to the standard he’d helped her set, so did he hold every woman up to his. A sense of hopelessness flooded her at the thought of Miss Jane Perfection Stafford. Over the years, he’d painted a vivid picture of the woman as meek and mild, patient and kind, never uttering a wrong word or acting in any way other than modest and proper.
How in heaven’s name am I ever to measure up to that?
The answer was she couldn’t. She wasn’t meek, she was rarely mild, and while kindhearted, she often lacked patience. Speaking her mind was one of her biggest faults. How many times had she argued with Sorin? Between him and Rowena, she’d learned modesty and propriety, but the urge to rebel against starchiness was still strong. No matter how much she aspired to be like Jane, she always fell short of the mark.
And I always will. I cannot become something I’m not.
He’d said he had yet to find Jane’s equal, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one out there. She could see it now: he’d find a quiet little ingénue tucked away in a corner at some ball, her shy and retiring demeanor the perfect antidote to the brazen behavior he so deplored, and Saint Jane would be replaced by Saint Someone Else.
A sudden wave of nausea threatened. The swaying of the coach was causing her difficulty. Strange, I’ve never suffered carriage sickness before… Taking a deep breath, she tried looking through the window to settle her stomach. But the feeling only receded a little, leaving behind an uncomfortable tightness.
What really rankled was knowing he’d see some girl straight out of the schoolroom as more of an adult than her. Age wasn’t her problem. The problem was his perception of her. Hers was a war with two fronts; on one side hovered the inviolable specter of Jane, on the other stood Sorin’s view of her as an eternal child.
What if she did manage to succeed in making him see her in a romantic way? What if they did marry? What would it be like? Would their friendship hold, or would they find life with each other intolerable? She didn’t like to consider the latter. The thought of losing his friendship pained her more than she’d thought possible.
“I suppose you must be very excited to see London again, Lady Eleanor,” chirped Lady Yarborough. “I have not been in years, myself. Not since Sir Yarborough died.”
In a way, Eleanor was grateful to the woman for breaking her melancholy woolgathering. At least if she was busy being talked to death she wouldn’t have time for pessimistic what-iffing about impossible things. “I’m quite happy in the countryside, but I’ll admit to missing the variety of musical entertainments offered in Town.”
“I am so looking forward to seeing several of my old friends,” continued Lady Yarborough with a dramatic sigh. “We’ve written countless letters, of course, but it’s not the same as seeing one another.”
No, it was certainly not. “I’m sure you will be received with great joy,” Eleanor answered politely.
The woman’s face pinked at the compliment. “My son jested this very morning that he fears I might not wish to return at the end of the Season and that he’ll have to send me home tied in a sack,” she said with a giggle that sounded absurd coming from a woman her age.
Eleanor bit back a groan. “I’m certain we will all be glad to return home once the heat arrives. London is simply not to be borne in summer.”
“Mmm, I suppose you’re right,” said Lady Yarborough. Another lengthy sigh burst from her. “And yet I shall miss the thrill of it all. There is nothing like London during the Season. Tell me, Lady Eleanor, have you already made a great many plans for while you are there?”
And thus began the anticipated fishing. A mischievous urge came over Eleanor to bait the hook with misinformation, but she squelched it. “Indeed. Several,” she replied lightly.
Lady Yarborough deflated a little, plainly disappointed. Having been left with no openings to further the thread she’d attempted to begin, she turned to Rowena. “I also greatly anticipate seeing our new London residence for the first time. It is in a very fashionable part of town—Golden Square.” She paused, clearly expecting a reaction to the announcement that she and her progeny had risen in the world.
Immediately, questions arose in Eleanor’s mind as to how they could afford such an address. It was no secret that the late Sir Yarborough had been suffering financial difficulties. Everyone in the county knew he’d been depending on his son to secure the family fortunes by means of an advantageous marriage.
“How lovely for you,” said Rowena, sounding only mildly awkward. “I’m sure you will enjoy it immensely.”
Lady Yarborough’s plump cheeks lifted in a smug smile. “I’m sure I shall. My Donald surprised me with the news of our relocation upon his arrival. At first, I was quite wroth with him for his tardiness, but I forgave him at once—his delay was owed to the need for the house to be refurbished, you see. According to him, the previous owners lacked taste entirely. Donald described the place as being utterly ghastly.” She drew the word out, emphasizing it with a disdainful wave of her pudgy, glittering hand. “He said the house looked like a fusty Tudor relic, and that there was no alternative but to gut and redecorate—in the Greek style, naturally.” She sniffed. “He tells me the gardens are in need of a complete redesign, but that will have to wait until next year so as not to interfere with several events we plan to host over the Season.”
Eleanor ignored the blatant hint, privately mourning for the house in Golden Square. To think of it being gutted and “modernized” made her sick at heart. She sincerely hoped the previous owners never saw what had become of their former residence.
After a moment, Lady Yarborough shook her head and again sighed. “If only my husband had lived to see our son’s triumph.”
Eleanor braced herself. Here it comes…
“The fine education he insisted upon for our Donald has greatly benefitted him, you know. Within the space of just one year he’s improved the estate in ways his father never imagined.”
As determined as she was to refrain from encouraging the woman, Eleanor couldn’t help herself. “How so, if you don’t mind my inquiring?”
The gleam that entered Lady Yarborough’s eyes confirmed it was just the sort of question for which she’d hoped. “Not at all, my dear,” she said, reaching across to pat her hand as if it were the most natural and appropriate thing in the world.
Eleanor barely stopped herself from jerking away. Fixing a placid smile on her face, she prompted her to continue. “Do go on, Lady Yarborough.”
The smug smile broadened. “Well you see, ten years ago my husband inherited land in Ireland, a great lot of land that was unfortunately populated by slothful tenants who rarely paid their rents and produced nothing save grief and more mouths to feed. I tried to convince him to do as some of his friends had and raise the rents, which would have enabled him to rid us of the squatters and thus free the property for more profitable uses, but he refused. My late husband always was far too softhearted, bless him.”
The woman’s tight lipped, scornful demeanor told Eleanor that the statement was anything but a fond eulogy.
In an instant, however, Lady Yarborough’s scowl disappeared, replaced by a sickly sweet smile. “My Donald, however, saw at once the merit of such a plan and began to implement it immediately upon inheriting, thank heaven,” she said with aplomb.
Eleanor’s stomach turned. The woman’s tone was so pompous—as if rack-renting and the forced eviction of the humblest of the working poor were acts worthy of pride! It was painfully clear now that the bully of her childhood had not changed one bit. He was still a brute. And now she knew where he’d learned to be so callous. The old Sir Yarborough might have been softhearted, but at least he’d had a heart.
Lady Yarborough nattered on, apparently unaware that there was anything in her boasts to inspire bile. “Fortunately, a much more pleasant alternative was found before he’d invested too much effort. While seeking an agent to oversee the management of our Irish interests, Donald learned that several of his friends’ families had sold similar Irish millstones to private investors—investors willing to pay a good deal more than the pittance the crown had offered,” she said with a hard nod that jiggled her chins. “He made arrangements to meet with one such man. The negotiations went very well.” A toothy smile spread across her face as she reached up to finger the ostentatious necklace of gold and pearls nestled against her décolletage. “A most pleasing end to a terrible bother.”
“And what of the tenants?” Eleanor asked, ignoring Rowena’s warning glare.
An indifferent shrug lifted Lady Yarborough’s round shoulders. “No longer our concern, thank goodness. Donald told me the new owner has already begun a purge.”
Eleanor struggled to keep from showing her anger and disgust…and failed miserably. “I cannot begin to imagine committing such a contemptible act against another human being.” Across the way, she saw Rowena close her eyes in defeat. But it was too late now. “You speak not of vermin, madam, but of men who have very likely worked that land all their lives, men whose fathers probably worked it for several generations. Men with families—innocent children who will now be condemned to suffer the most inhumane privation, possibly even death. Are they not deserving of some compassion?”
The subject of her censure flushed an ugly brick red. Holding her spine stiff, Eleanor steeled herself. But though the woman was clearly displeased, the anticipated explosion didn’t occur.
Instead, Lady Yarborough fixed her with a cold stare and smiled unpleasantly. “Your concern for your fellow man is quite admirable, my dear. Such altruistic idealism is fine for one so young and unburdened with responsibility. But we who are so burdened must be more practical. Those…” She paused for a beat and then began afresh, her tone growing even more patronizing. “Those people were not paying their rents. The land was supporting them while doing nothing for its rightful owners. You cannot expect us to have supported them without compensation indefinitely.” In an obvious dismissal, she then directed her full attention to Rowena. “With the proceeds from the sale, we will improve and modernize our properties here in England. Golden Square is but the first step of many.”
And the next will no doubt be to secure a rich, gullible wife for your hateful son. Eleanor fumed silently as the woman continued to boast about their plans. Plans that were, for all their surface polish, full of holes.
Over the years, the Yarborough estate in Somerset had slowly dwindled as outlying portions of it had been sold off to neighboring landowners in order to cover its owners’ mounting debts. It was unlikely the little that remained would be sufficient to support the family without the Irish rents to provide a steady, if modest, income. Old Sir Yarborough had been right to hold on to his Irish inheritance. By selling it, his foolhardy son and greedy widow had effectually condemned themselves to a slow decline. The money from the sale was a temporary sop for an incurable financial hemorrhage and wouldn’t support them forever. It would have been wiser to sell off the remainder of their English estate and relocate to Ireland. Looking at her, Eleanor knew Lady Yarborough would probably sooner die than give up the pleasures of London.
It struck her then that the house in Golden Square, the new baubles and finery, all of it was an expensive ruse. A carefully baited hook to lure some unsuspecting heiress into marriage so that they could use her wealth and connections to save themselves from ruin. The insult was that the woman thought her too stupid to see it.
She started as an elbow connected with her ribcage. Turning, she saw Caroline staring at her with a worried expression.
But before she could respond, Lady Yarborough again spoke. “Do any of you know anyone else in Golden Square?” she demanded, her nasal voice grating on Eleanor’s nerves like the screech of an un-oiled carriage wheel.
“We do not,” answered Rowena.
A smile tugged at Eleanor’s mouth, and she ducked her head to hide it. Rowena’s response had been decidedly chilly. At least she was not the only one to find their traveling companion vulgar and irritating!
“I believe Lady Wincanton may have a friend there,” offered Caroline, speaking up for the first time. “I heard her tell Lord Wincanton this morning that they must visit her the week after their arrival. She specifically mentioned that she lived in Golden Square.”
“Oh, indeed?” said Lady Yarborough, visibly delighted. “Thank you, Miss Caroline. You are a most helpful young lady,” she added, flicking a cold glance at Eleanor to let her know she was not. “I shall have to inquire of Lady Wincanton and ask to be introduced.”
Eleanor didn’t know whether to cringe in horror or laugh. It was one thing for a friend to ask you to introduce them to someone else in your circle, but Lady Yarborough had never been among Lady Wincanton’s set.
According to Rowena, upon marrying Sir Yarborough, the woman had spent just one summer in the country before claiming an adverse reaction to the air and insisting on remaining in London year-round for the sake of her delicate constitution. Looking at her now, Eleanor found it hard to imagine anyone less delicate. It was rumored that she’d returned to Somerset only because her lord husband had finally put his foot down after their son had been born, refusing to let the child be raised in Town.
Lady Yarborough had mourned her exile bitterly and publicly, effectively alienating everyone in the county that might have been willing to offer friendship. Now that her son was on the market, however, she was trying to be sociable—an endeavor which was fast proving disastrous. Lady Wincanton would undoubtedly deem any request for an introduction highly improper, to say nothing of the insult of being perceived as naught more than a rung on the social ladder. To Eleanor’s knowledge, the only time the two women saw each other was at church.
Rowena must have been thinking along the same lines. “Oh, yes. I do remember something about her having a friend there now—but I don’t think she would be anyone of interest to you,” she said carefully. “If my memory serves, the lady in question is quite elderly.”
But Lady Yarborough wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Nonsense! I shall be most obliged to meet her and extend the hand of friendship. After all, we’ll practically be neighbors.” A calculating look entered her eyes, and she laughed a little. “I shall at the very least invite her to tea. Perhaps you might join us, Miss Caroline?”
Eleanor looked at once to Rowena, but her face remained impassive save for a slight tightening around the eyes. For Lady Yarborough to so obviously exclude them was a deliberate and shocking affront, especially when one considered that she was being allowed to share their transport to London. Now Eleanor knew just how angry the woman really was over her chastisement—enough to toss all good sense straight to hell.
By contrast, Caroline’s face was full of worry—a good sign in Eleanor’s opinion. Perhaps now she had a better understanding of what she’d be getting into if she encouraged the woman’s spawn. “Caroline? I’m sure you’d find that lovely, would you not?” she prompted, giving her friend the tiniest of nods to let her know all was well and to accept the invitation. To decline would only set the ill-mannered cat against her, too, and Caroline could ill afford an enemy.
“I—I should be delighted,” answered Caroline, looking anything but.
Lady Yarborough’s haughty gaze rested squarely on Eleanor as she replied, “Excellent. I shall be sure to send an invitation as soon as we are settled. Now, how far did you say it was to our first stopping point, Lady Ashford?”
Too far, thought Eleanor, turning to look out of the window so as not to further provoke the contemptible woman. There were 116 miles between Holbrook and London. It was going to be a very long journey. She wondered how the gentlemen were faring.
They’d not yet traveled five miles before the pressure building at the back of his head made Sorin want to turn his horse around and gallop straight back to Holly Hall. Yarborough had not ceased bragging about his so-called “accomplishments” since they’d passed the main gate at Holbrook. The lad was more of a fool than he’d thought possible. Worse, he was a fool with a cruel streak as broad as the Thames.
The blackguard seemed to delight in the misery of those he viewed as less clever than himself—which, Sorin suspected, was everyone. His caustic witticisms spared none, not even those he named friends.
A rich, but rather dim cousin duped into marrying a pauper by means of borrowed gowns and paste jewelry was the source of amused warnings and much unsolicited advice on how to avoid being similarly deceived. Then there was the chum from university unfortunate enough to marry the toast of the Season only to find himself a cuckold a few months later, a story that elicited Yarborough’s crude laughter and bawdy jests about how to be certain one’s wife truly bore her lord’s fruit and not the offspring of a lover. “Not that I shall ever have to worry about that,” he’d added with a nasty leer. “I shall keep my field well planted and leave no room for another to till it.”
Several times Sorin experienced an almost overpowering urge to draw his horse alongside and knock Yarborough senseless. Had Eleanor not been a member of their party, he would have done it. He could tell Charles was growing annoyed, as well, and wondered how the ladies were faring.
“Mother and I plan to host a ball this Season,” said Yarborough for the third time. “The ballroom in our new house in Golden Square is simply splendid. I thought at first to have the frescos redone but in the end I decided I rather liked the existing ones, even if they are a bit out of fashion. I’ve furnished the place with the best London has to offer, though I expect my bride will want to redecorate according to her own taste.” He glanced back at the coach and smirked. “I shall, of course, defer to m’lady’s wishes.”
Sorin ground his teeth. If this lack-wit thought Eleanor would succumb to his smooth words and dubious charms, he had a rude awakening ahead of him. “One hopes that your bride and your lady mother will be in accord regarding such matters,” he said, striving for detachment.
Ahead of them, Charles began to chuckle. “He’s right, you know,” he cast back over his shoulder. “Many a marriage has been soured by contention between warring females. When I first married, I was more worried about how my wife and my mother would get on than anything else. I count myself blessed that they liked each other so well.” Another chuckle. “Though I will admit it could be quite uncomfortable when all of the females in my house were united against me.”
An impertinent grin split Yarborough’s face. “My mother will be so happy to see me married that I doubt she’ll object to anything my wife wishes. Her sole desire is to witness the birth of my heir—which will of course be my first priority once married.”
Again, Sorin’s jaw tightened as Yarborough once more glanced back at the coach bearing Eleanor. The thought of this wheckering muck-spout ever spawning was bad enough, but to imagine Eleanor as the vessel turned his stomach. “I’m going to fall back and check on my mother,” he announced, reining in.
The look Charles shot him was a piercing one, and again he wondered if his old friend suspected something. It didn’t matter. Another minute of listening to Yarborough and he would open his mouth and give himself away for certain. As he fell back, the coach containing Eleanor passed him by. Someone—Eleanor—was delivering what was unmistakably a scathing recrimination. Before he could catch any more than the briefest snatch of the conversation, however, the carriage passed out of earshot.
He smiled grimly. It appeared things were going as well for the ladies as they were for the gentlemen. Drawing alongside his own carriage, he tapped on the window. The curtain twitched aside, revealing his mother’s annoyed countenance. A moment later, one of the smaller side windows opened.
“What is it? Have we encountered a problem?”
“All is well, Mother,” he assured. “I simply wanted to be sure of your comfort.”
A frosted brow lifted. “Comfort is not something one associates with travel.” Her gaze flicked over his face and narrowed. “I sense there is another reason why you abandoned Ashford. Is the Yarborough fellow really so intolerable?”
There was no point in hiding it. “He shall count himself fortunate if I don’t throttle him before our journey’s end.”
“How glad I am that I did not offer to share my conveyance.” Amusement lit her eyes.
A laugh forced its way out before he could stop it. “I’d vow the ladies of Holbrook are wishing they’d kept to themselves, too.”
“Oh?”
“I chanced to overhear a rather heated conversation as I passed their coach,” he confessed, unable to help smiling. “Eleanor was delivering a rather impassioned denunciation. I believe I heard her use the term ‘vermin’.”
“If things have begun to deteriorate at this early juncture, it is doubtful they will make it to London with any civility intact.” Her lips pursed. “Perhaps I ought to have Eleanor join me. What think you?”
“I think such an invitation would be received with much gratitude,” he said at once.
“So be it. Ask her—ah, just Eleanor, if you please—to join me when we stop. Until then, I shall rest.” Without further comment, she withdrew and the window snapped shut.
Smiling, Sorin made his way back up front. As he passed the other carriage, he heard Rowena’s voice, though it remained low enough that her words were indistinguishable. Hopefully, she’d be able to smooth things over. He restrained a sigh as he approached the head of the line. Yarborough was still blathering on.
Charles glanced at him as he drew up, scowling. “Great galloping galligaskins, will he never cease?” he muttered. “We have six days of this to endure.”
“Cheer up,” Sorin said with a grin. “Eventually, he’ll run out of things to say about himself.”
A soft snort erupted from Charles. “I’d be slow to lay any wagers on it. I fear our only hope lies in the sudden onset of a malady of the throat. One severe enough to keep him hoarse until London,” he added, his scowl deepening.
Sorin didn’t bother smothering his laughter even when Yarborough turned to peer at them curiously. He didn’t offer any explanation for his outburst either. Let the oaf think what he would and continue acting like an ass. Sir Yarborough’s conduct would only serve to drive Eleanor away—hopefully straight into his waiting arms. If I can manage to make her see me as more than a friend, that is. And then there was the matter of convincing Charles not to run him through.
He wouldn’t be the only one to ask for Eleanor’s hand, of that much he was certain. Yarborough was quite obviously seeking to impress her family. No doubt he would approach Charles with hat in hand soon after they reached London. But Sorin knew all the boasting in the world would not avail him. If the look on Charles’s face was any indication, he was already developing a passionate dislike for their new traveling companion.
“Did I tell you that Lord Winthrop invited me to dine with him and his family next week?” Yarborough called back, eliciting a low groan from Charles. “He was an old friend of my father’s. It is my hope that he’ll support my ambition to take a seat in the Commons.”
Now that was a surprise.
“Did he just say that he plans to become a Member of Parliament?” whispered Charles, clearly just as taken aback as he was.
“I believe he did.”
“God help us all.”
“I do hope you’ll both support me as well,” continued Yarborough loudly, flashing a winning grin at them over his shoulder.
“In a pig’s eye,” said Charles through his teeth as he smiled back and nodded.
Sorin kept his mouth shut and pondered this news in silence. Unless he’d by some unknown means increased his family’s worth, Yarborough couldn’t run for a seat. His father had sold off too much of their property in recent years for him to be eligible. Something wasn’t right. The fellow was throwing around money like he had no end of it, and now he was boasting about his plans to enter into politics. Something had certainly changed his income and prospects, but what?
“I’ve been meaning to ask a favor of you,” said Charles quietly.
Sorin looked to his friend, marking his serious manner. “You know you have only to name it.”
“Yes, well, it may prove a bit awkward for you, this particular favor,” said Charles, eyeing him. “I need someone to help me keep an eye on Ellie this Season.”
Sorin did his best to maintain a placid demeanor. “Are you anticipating some sort of trouble?”
“A bit, yes. Not from Ellie, of course,” amended Charles hastily. “Rather from her friend, Miss Caroline. Rowena confided in me that the girl has been…well, let us just say she’s been restless of late. She also has an unfortunate tendency toward reckless behavior. Scandal has haunted her footsteps almost since she came out. If she trips the edge and becomes embroiled in anything serious, I want to ensure none of it touches Ellie.”
“I can hardly prevent Miss Caroline from behaving inappropriately,” Sorin began, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard.
“No, but you can ensure that Ellie is with someone who will watch out for her and behave properly in her company while Rowena and I have our hands full. Your presence at her side will discourage any adventurers from thinking her unattended.” His friend looked at him sidelong. “I would have asked you to help look after Miss Caroline, but I suspect she’d only try to entrap you. An idea that—unless I’m woefully lacking in intuition—likely holds no appeal for you.”
“Indeed it does not,” Sorin said drily. “I am most grateful for your mercy and will gladly act as Ellie’s chaperone, if that is your desire.” Though the windfall elated him, he felt rather like a fox that had just been asked to guard a henhouse.
“Wonderful!” said Charles, his smile returning. “Ah, but perhaps it might be best not to tell her what you’re on about, if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink. “I know you’re fast friends and all that, but she might not take too kindly to your playing the watchdog.”
Watchdog indeed. “I shall be discreet.” He had to ask it. “Are you not concerned that my hovering might cause people to think us a pair?”
Charles’s indignant snort would have wounded him had he not been anticipating it. “Not bloody likely,” said his friend, chuckling. “All of London knows you’re an old friend of the family’s, a sort of older brother to Ellie. I’ve no worries over the rumor mill saying anything to the contrary. She’s safe with you, and that is my chief concern.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might be willing to help with a bit of matchmaking while you’re ‘hovering’?”
Sorin forced a negligent shrug. “If you think she’d be receptive to such guidance, I’ll certainly do my best to steer her aright.”
“Excellent! You’ll be my eyes and ears on the front, then,” said Charles, his eyes twinkling. “If you see any likely prospects and are able to make any progress with getting her to consider them, you’ll let me know, eh?”
It really was quite difficult to smile when one truly wanted to scowl, but Sorin made the effort and brought one to his lips. “Naturally.”
Deeper and deeper seemed the hole into which he’d dug himself. Still, there might be a way to turn this around to his benefit. The letters they’d exchanged were all well and good, but what they really needed was time spent together in meaningful conversation. Now that Eleanor was an adult, she needed to get to know him as an equal. As a man. If she could but see him in a different light, it might engender romantic sentiments toward him. He needed to open her eyes.
It must be done gradually, so as not to shock her. Changing her view of him from “brotherly friend” to “potential lover” would take time.
It would have to be done subtly, as well. Ideally, if all worked out as he hoped, she would be the one to tip her hand first. If he could make her fall in love with him, then, as his mother had suggested, Charles would gladly give his blessing.
It must be done with utmost care for her reputation. The last thing he wanted was for her to accept his offer of marriage only to avoid a scandal. He wanted her to choose him of her own accord.
Chaperoning Ellie would provide him the opportunity to be close to her without raising suspicion. Now he just needed a means by which to gently remove the veil from her sight and make her see him as a potential husband.