Rules of Engagement

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Coleman got to his feet. “Nancy, please explain yourself.”

  Nancy recovered her composure. She gripped her hands together. “The truth is Marcus Williams, the father of Seth Williams, stole Mary Devlin from Killian when he was eighteen years old. Mary wouldn’t even speak to Killian once Marcus came into her life. She ran away with Marcus and married him, shocking all of Ireland with her peremptory behavior.”

  Eleanore’s heart hurt as she stared at her mother. “This is the reason my father hates the Williams family?”

  “Mary Devlin was my best friend,” Nancy said. “She was promised to Killian, and I watched her fall in love with Marcus Williams and could do nothing to stop it. Nothing I said changed her mind. Then she ran away. I was left to give Killian what comfort I could.” Her mother’s chin lifted. She met Eleanore’s gaze. “You may call it nothing, although your father never forgave Marcus Williams.”

  “A broken promise…” Eleanore breathed. Now, all her father’s anger and fury over the Williams made sense. The reason why he had insisted upon abiding by the betrothal agreement became clear.

  “You mean this entire ancestral blood feud was really only over a woman?” Coleman said, his tone derisive.

  Eleanore felt sick. The actions of her entire adult life had been based upon a lie. How could she have been so foolish?

  She walked to the door, forcing her feet to move.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Coleman demanded.

  Eleanore opened the door. “I am going to my room to pack. Then I am going to London. I will spend Christmas in London.”

  “Alone?” her mother said, sounding horrified.

  “I would be just as alone here,” Eleanore replied.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eleanore was on the train to London before she had a time to draw a calm breath. While Coleman railed at her and her mother begged her, Eleanore went about the business of packing, arranging for a carriage to take her to the station and putting on her warmest clothes to combat the first chill of winter.

  Once she was upon the train, she withdrew her stationary box from her valise, and used the tiny table in the compartment to compose a letter to Cian.

  My dearest Cian,

  I am sure the Times newspaper has given you the news about James. In the meantime, I have learned even more disturbing facts about our families.

  I am aware of how close it is to Christmas, but is there any way we can meet and discuss it?

  She hesitated over the closing line, then wrote, Ellie.

  When the train pulled in Saint Pancras station, she dropped the letter in the penny post pillar box on the platform, before asking a footman to flag a cab for her at the front of the station.

  The Belgravia house was empty except for a handful of staff who lived in the house year-round, taking care of the conservatory and ensuring the house was kept warm and ready for visitors at any time.

  That practice served her now. The temporary house butler, Gregson, arranged an early supper for her and had one of the staff prepare her room for her.

  Eleanore ate alone at the big dining table and considered it a delightful feast. There was no anxiety or hostility to disturb her appetite.

  There were only three days until Christmas. Those days were filled with thought. For two days she did not move out of the house. She still wore mourning and it would not do to be seen upon the high street, even though no one was in London. Society was upon their estates, preparing for Christmas.

  On the third day, she had a cab drop her at Hyde Park and walked the lonely paths by herself, as leaves drifted to the ground and the iron gray sky threatened snow. A soft wind stung her face, which she found refreshing. She felt more alive after that walk than she had for days.

  She returned to the house in Belgravia, determined to find more occasions like this one. She would do it for James, if no one else. He had been robbed of a lifetime of such moments.

  Gregson took her things at the front door and cleared his throat. He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Lord Coleman is in the drawing room with a guest,” he murmured.

  “A guest?” Eleanore said. “Does the guest have a name?”

  “Not one which was given to me,” Gregson replied. “He looks foreign, my Lady.”

  Eleanore was mildly annoyed that her moment had been ruined. She moved into the drawing room, prepared to insult Coleman all over again if that was what it took to send him home once more. She wanted the house to herself.

  The man standing in the drawing room holding a small glass of Madeira did look foreign. He was swarthy, short and had a full beard. His black curly hair looked oily. He brought his heels together when he saw her and nodded deeply. It was a bow, she realized. Eleanore raised her brow at Coleman. “What is this about, uncle?”

  Coleman indicated the foreign gentleman. “This is Herr Keller. Keller is private secretary to Prince Ferdinand of Temeswar. He is here to discuss the terms of the engagement between you and the Prince.”

  Fury swept up from her belly making her throat burn and her head to throb. “I would have thought, uncle,” she said, “that you understood and abided by my brother’s wishes. He did not want me to marry the Prince.”

  Coleman shook his head. “Your brother was not himself at the end. Anything he said just before he died cannot be taken as the words of a man with his full faculties in place.”

  Eleanore clenched her fists. “He knew exactly what he was saying,” she said. “Why are you insisting upon this archaic arrangement?” She looked at the little secretary. “I am afraid you have made a rather long journey for no reason, Herr Keller. I have no intentions of marrying the Prince.”

  Keller looked upset. He fingered his mustache. “There has been a long-standing promise between your family and the Prince’s family.”

  Eleanore shook her head. “That was a promise between members of our family who are no longer alive and cannot insist upon them. The late Duke of Gainford did not wish this marriage to go ahead. I do not wish this marriage to go ahead.”

  Coleman snorted. “It doesn’t matter what you think.”

  “Actually, it does,” Eleanore said. “An engagement is not legally binding unless both parties willingly commit to it.” She paused. “I do not commit to it. I refuse to.”

  Keller spluttered and Coleman’s face grew red again.

  “Even if I was of a mind to agree to the engagement,” Eleanore added, “the Prince’s inability to arrive in person to request the engagement would change my mind. Sending his secretary does not endear him at all.” She spun and picked up her train up and glanced over her shoulder. “Good day, gentleman.”

  She hurried to her bedroom and shut and locked the door behind her. She sat on her bed, her heart racing. Coleman was the oldest male member of the family still living. He was the head of the family. It gave him control of the staff and the family assets, which he could use to force the engagement.

  Eleanore spent the rest of the day in her room, where not even Coleman could intrude. Gregson would ensure that. Gregson supplied her a tray of sandwiches for lunch and pots of tea, while she sat at her secretary and considered her next steps.

  It was late in the afternoon when the thought struck her with blinding obviousness. Why could she not go to Cian?

  It was not conventional for a woman to approach a man. Although, little in her life lately had been conventional. In fact, her greatest moments of happiness in the last few years had come about when she was at her least conventional. When she had reached out and taken for herself what she wanted.

  Marry him, James had told her.

  Cian would be in Marblethorpe, staying there over the Christmas period, where most of the family lived. She could catch the ten o’clock train tomorrow and be in Marblethorpe in the early afternoon.

  Tomorrow was Christmas Day. Would the trains even be running?

  She asked Gregson to send a messenger to the train station to check on the morrow’s timetable. Word
came back quickly. There was not a ten o’clock train, although there was a two o’clock train, which would get her to Marblethorpe in time for a late afternoon tea.

  Eleanore wrote a letter to Cian.

  Cian,

  Stay where you are. I will come to you in Marblethorpe.

  Ellie.

  Eleanore had Gregson arrange for it to be posted immediately, although she held little hope the letter would reach Marblethorpe before she did. She had no intention of waiting any longer than she had to, though. Coleman’s actions made her feel uneasy, as if time was running out.

  Eleanore packed her valise once more and went to bed looking forward to tomorrow.

  Gregson had her sit and eat a solid luncheon before she left. While Eleanore sipped her tea, she asked him about Coleman.

  “His Lordship was up rather late, drinking,” Gregson said. “I suspect he will sleep for several hours yet.”

  “Good,” Eleanore murmured. She caught Gregson’s grin as he turned away.

  With a light heart she picked up the valise after donning her warmest gloves and a wool hat instead of her bonnet. Gregson held the door for her and she thanked him, then hurried down the steps to the cab which waited for her. As she did so, another cab drew up behind the first. It appeared to be a private carriage or an expensive hired hack.

  The door of the carriage flung open even before the carriage had come to a complete halt. A large man in shirt sleeves bounced out of the carriage, lunged across the pavement and grabbed her.

  Eleanore opened her mouth to scream. He clapped a hand over her mouth, holding it inside.

  He lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the other carriage. She struggled and tried to kick his shins. He was strong and nothing she did slowed him.

  He pushed her in the carriage, picked up the valise she had dropped and shoved it in after her, then climbed into the carriage himself and shut the door.

  The carriage lurched into motion.

  Another man waited in the carriage. The one who had manhandled her picked her up and put her on the seat. Then he sat beside her and swiveled to consider her.

  Eleanore lurched for the door again. He pulled her back and dumped her on the seat once more.

  Eleanore swore. She used the words Coleman had used, which she had learned at the card table.

  The man on the other side of the carriage smiled in appreciation. He gripped his cane with both hands and raised his brow. “Inventive,” he said, with a mild accent.

  Eleanore blew out her breath. “I demand you let me go.”

  “Do you know who I am?” the man with the cane said.

  Eleanore ran her gaze over the length of him, taking in the elegant attire, the golden blonde hair and the pointed beard, which was very European. “Under the circumstances,” she said, “I presume you are Prince Ferdinand. I thought you were in Austria.”

  “It is sheer coincidence I am in London at this time. Financial matters bring me here. It is just as well I am nearby, as apparently you feel it more appropriate I press my affections upon you in person.”

  “Affections!” She considered him. He looked to be in his late forties. The cuffs of his shirt which peeped below his jacket sleeve were threadbare. Someone had mended the cuffs with fine stitches.

  Once she had noticed that, Eleanore spotted other signs of making-do. The band about his hat was faded. The elbow of his coat was worn. “That is why you want this marriage to go ahead. You need the money.”

  Ferdinand’s smile was easy. “I am a Prince without land. Marriage to you would give me both. I might have had them years ago, except for your interfering brother and that friend of his.”

  Eleanore’s heart leapt. “What do you mean? What friend?”

  “Your uncle understands these things far better,” Ferdinand said. “He is as anxious as I am to finalize this. As you demanded I attend the matter in person, here I am.”

  “And what do you intend to do with me?” Eleanore said. “You cannot force me to marry you if I do not want to.”

  “You were raised in Europe,” he said. “Do you not understand that things are different there? The farther east you go, the more different they become. In Austria, there are ways to ensure an unwilling bride cooperates.”

  “You would marry me whether I wish it or not?”

  “You have been promised to me for decades. I am only claiming what is already mine.”

  Eleanore shivered. “I will fight you every step of the way,” she promised him.

  Ferdinand smiled again. He nodded at the large man sitting on her left. “Ivan will ensure you arrive at the altar. Please do fight me every step of the way. It will be entertaining.”

  Eleanore tried to encompass that he would force her to this. Her anger grew. All her life she had been told what to do, where to go and how to live her life. It was only in the last few years, since meeting Cian, she had learned just how little choice she really had.

  Now even her smallest choice was being taken from her again.

  Eleanore had no intention of letting it happen. She didn’t know how to halt this but she would find a way. It would mean overcoming Ivan. Neither of them seemed to appreciate that a cricket player knew how to use a bat. She just had to find one. In this case, she would not be picky. A piece of lumber, or a piece of pipe would do just fine.

  Eleanore did not relax on the seat. She kept her weight forward and her gaze upon the windows as the carriage rolled through Belgravia and into Mayfair, then over the bridge to Euston Station.

  She realized when she saw the station appear in the windows that Ferdinand was taking her away right now. The trains to Dover and Southampton left from Euston Station and either of those ports would have boats leaving for Europe.

  The station was extraordinarily busy for Christmas Day. Although she had never been in a train station on Christmas day, so she had no basis from which to compare. There were more people than she expected.

  Ivan kept a grip on her elbow and walked her into the station, carrying her valise in his other hand. Ferdinand walked ahead of them, his cane tapping out his steps. He looked elegant, although it was superficial. Had Eleanore met him at a party, or a society affair, she would have already dismissed him as a crude man. There was something about his smile she did not like.

  She glanced around the station, trying to catch people’s eyes. The lower-class male’s practice of keeping their eyes averted from a lady for fear they would be misinterpreted did not help her now. Not even the stationmaster would look at her, although he tipped his cap toward her and Ferdinand as they passed through the tunnel to the platform.

  Nor were there any handy pieces of lumber or piping lying about which she could snatch up. The station was as neat as a pin. The platform was clear of obstacles. A train had arrived a few moments ago, and people streamed toward the exit, wrapping their coats and scarves more firmly around them.

  Ferdinand was heading for the walkway which would lead them to the platform on the other side, where another train sat. Footmen worked on trolleys piled high with trunks, transferring them into the train.

  She must act now. Time was running out. It was not just a vague sense of doom driving her. If she did not escape Ferdinand before the train left, opportunities after that would be severely limited. The farther she was from London and all she knew, the greater his control would be over her.

  As they walked toward the steps, Eleanore spun about, careless of Ivan’s grip on her arm. Let him twist it. She glanced about helplessly, her heart climbing in her chest, beating in her temples and stealing her thoughts. The urgent need to do something, anything, rushed in her blood.

  Her twisting and turning slowed Ivan down. He gave her a tug to keep them moving forward. She dug in her heels and leaned backward, throwing all her weight on his grip. Perhaps if she struggled enough, his fingers would loosen and she could tear her arm away and be free.

  Ferdinand turned, frowning, when he realized they were not behind him. “Ivan, co
ntrol the damn woman, if you please.”

  Ivan yanked her forward with such strength, she staggered and almost tripped. She barely stayed on her feet. It put her far too close to Ferdinand, which gave her an idea.

  Eleanore curled her fist, made sure she tucked her thumb out of the way, drew back her elbow and punched. She aimed for Ferdinand’s elegant cheekbone, knowing a good punch against his eye socket would leave him blind for a little while.

  It was the best punch of her life. Her entire body weight drove her fist against his face with a satisfying impact. It jolted her arm and made her elbow creak. She did not care. Ferdinand gave out a sharp, high cry which was nearly a scream.

  Ivan blinked, as if she had done something so extraordinary he could not encompass it.

  Eleanore try to tear her arm from his loosened grip while his attention was diverted. As soon as she drew away, his fingers tightened. They gripped, digging in. She cried out as Ivan squeezed and shook her. He raised his finger and waggled it at her disapprovingly.

  People were turning to watch them, now. It was unfortunate, for as Ferdinand recovered from the blow, his gaze darted about the station. To a man like him, having anyone witness him take a blow from a woman was humiliating.

  Eleanore caught her breath, realizing she had made things worse. Ferdinand had been mildly amused by her until now.

  Ferdinand’s face worked with anger. He put his hand over the injured eye and glared at her with the other. He raised his arm high and slapped her face. Eleanore sagged in Ivan’s grip, gasping.

  “You must be the Prince of Temeswar I’ve heard so much about,” came a deep voice.

  Cian.

  Ferdinand looked up, over Eleanore’s shoulder. His mouth dropped open. Cian surged past Eleanore in one long stride. His punch landed heavily. The second punch to Ferdinand’s belly bent him double. His cane clattered to the platform. He groaned sickly and clutched his belly.

  Cian gripped the back of his jacket, lifting Ferdinand’s head. He bent down to speak to him. “If you ever wish to speak to Lady Eleanore again, you speak to me first.”