“I suppose there’s no surprise there. You always were such friends.” Harriet’s tone voiced an unspoken retort that seemed to say, I have no idea what Lydia finds in you to amuse her.
“Well,” Harriet continued, her glance flickering at Eleanor. “I will have invitations sent to your house for my coming-out ball. You may tell your brother his name will be on the card.”
“My brother is laid up with a broken leg,” Lydia said, shortly. “He will not be able to attend,”
“Pity,” Harriet exclaimed in a voice agog with curiosity. “Was this an injury of some date? How long will it take to mend?”
“The doctor said we won’t know for a couple of weeks.” Lydia reached out her hand for her own package and said, “Good day, Harriet.”
As Harriet opened her mouth to reply, the bell over the door rang, and Judith Broadmore walked in. “Are you ready?” Eleanor asked Lydia, turning toward the door. As the shop did not permit three people to walk abreast, there was no escaping Miss Broadmore, and they came face to face.
“How do you do?” Judith said with a nod that encompassed Lydia and Eleanor and a greeting that was mystifyingly cordial. Eleanor couldn’t imagine why Miss Broadmore would address her at all.
Judith continued, eyes on Lydia. “Is your brother on the mend? I imagine that’s why Stratford must escort you everywhere. Your families are on such dear terms.”
“Although my brother asked Stratford to perform this duty for him while he was laid up, and Stratford was gracious enough to comply, I believe he does it because he enjoys our company. I’ve known him since I was in leading strings.” Lydia tucked her package under her arm. “Stratford is like a brother to me.”
“Ah, yes.” Judith shot a look at Eleanor. “I suppose Stratford feels this request almost as an obligation. He was otherwise intending to leave London as soon as his sisters and aunt were comfortably settled. He told me when we met, right after his return from the Peninsula, before he had even left for Worthing. He felt at ease confiding in me, you see. We’ve been friends for so many years.” She gave a nod to the shopkeeper, who had appeared at the counter again.
Lydia arched an eyebrow. “Why yes, so I’ve heard. I’m sure you’ve had all the latest news about our prospective families directly from him, and your asking about my brother was a mere formality.” The jab afforded Eleanor some private amusement, but Miss Broadmore didn’t seem affected by it. She was a woman impervious to insult, it appeared.
“Well.” Judith shrugged and gave a light sigh. “As I’ve come on the same errand as you, I shan’t keep you. I’m certain we will meet at one of the upcoming assemblies.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Lydia. Eleanor caught the beginning of Miss Broadmore and Harriet’s greeting but could not judge from it how well they knew each other.
She and Lydia exited into the bright sunshine, made cheerful by balmy weather that was not overly hot. “Good lord, what a cat,” Lydia said. “I was more than tempted to tell her the real reason Stratford was escorting us everywhere.”
Eleanor, having a vague dread of where this was headed, said nothing until Lydia stopped and looked at her. “I finally figured out why Stratford kept looking at you in our salon, and why you could not bear to meet his gaze.”
Eleanor shot a sideways glance at Lydia, heat stealing into her cheeks. Lydia gasped. “I knew it. He has developed a tendre for you, confess it! It’s not Lord Carlton you care for, it’s Stratford. And he feels the same for you,” she finished in triumph.
Eleanor, trying to regain her ground, countered with, “You mustn’t say that, Lydia. He has never declared himself.” As soon as the words left her lips, she faltered, remembering he had declared himself, but not in a way that did either of them any credit. “Believe that he has no such thought in his head.”
“You may believe it, but I certainly don’t, and I know him best,” Lydia insisted smugly. She grabbed Eleanor’s elbow and forged a path through the throngs of afternoon shoppers clustering around the milliner’s. “Oh heavens. Who needs to go to Pantheon Bazaar? We’ve found the circus right here at McAllister’s.”
Eleanor sent up a whisper of thanks that the crowd had diverted the direction of Lydia’s thoughts, and she was granted a reprieve to think how she might deny it.
R
Lord Carlton had given Eleanor a week, and she knew the confrontation must come soon. Some of that time was devoted to his mother, which she knew about because he had sent a note informing her of it, tucked into a bouquet of flowers. Once they had met at the opera, but he was not improvident enough to attempt a second proposal under such circumstances. And the last time they met was at a dance to which he arrived late, only to find her dance card was full.
Eleanor was still no closer to understanding how she was going to refuse Lord Carlton, only that she must. This much was clear as soon as she’d laid eyes on Stratford after a week’s absence and felt her heart turn over. If only she could guarantee that by refusing Lord Carlton, she was not only freeing him to find a young woman who would cherish him in return, but was also ensuring her own life would not end in drudgery.
She could not guarantee it, however. The more she contemplated this, the more nervous she was to make the wrong choice. Her resolve was only strengthened by the knowledge that in her heart of hearts, she did not love him.
The opportunity came rather simply. Eleanor was in the drawing room during the hours for morning calls, and Lydia had not yet come down. A maid entered Lydia’s chambers the moment Eleanor came out of hers, and she knew her friend would not be ready straight away.
Lord Carlton was announced ten minutes later, and when he found her alone, his face lit with pleasure. “Miss Daventry!” And with words that made her heart leap into her throat, “Or—dare I call you Eleanor?” He came and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. “Please put me out of suspense and tell me you’ll become Lady Carlton. I want to send the announcement to the Morning Gazette. I want to tell the whole world of my fortune.” He lifted her hands and laid his lips to them.
“Shh. Please, Lord Carlton—”
“Matthew, I insist.”
“No, I dare not. Lord Carlton …” Pausing, Eleanor almost lost her resolve when his expression turned desperate, then hardened. He wrenched his hands from hers and faced front, but her pleading gaze remained on his face. “Please, believe me grateful of the honor you’ve given me by offering for me. I am sensible of it—”
“Don’t talk to me about gratitude,” he ground out. “Do you mean to refuse me?”
“Yet I must be grateful,” she replied. “I will never think of your proposal without recognizing the honor you’ve bestowed upon me. But I must refuse—”
“Eleanor, don’t! You simply need more time.” Lord Carlton leapt to his feet and began to pace in front of her.
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t. I know I won’t change my mind. It is nothing you’ve done. It’s simply that I don’t return your feelings. I’m grateful for your friendship—”
“Friendship,” he spat out. “I don’t desire friendship.” He walked to the chimney and laid his hand on the mantelpiece, his back to her.
“Nevertheless, it’s of great value to me, and I hope you will see it that way too. My lord, you deserve a woman who returns your feelings. You deserve …”
Through sheer will, she adopted an encouraging tone. “You deserve a woman who will enjoy hosting great political parties and who can debate on the topics that inspire you. I want a quiet life—in the country, and not in London, if at all possible. I’m convinced, my lord, that you will see the wisdom in my refusal with time, and that you will be thankful I was steadfast.”
Lord Carlton’s expression was wretched when he turned to face her. Dismayed, angry even. Eleanor’s mouth went dry at the prospect of remaining unmarried and without a living to fall back on. What if this were her only chance? But it’s the right thing to do. I know it is.
Lord Carlton’s arms dropped to his sid
e. “I will not force my attentions upon you any longer, ma’am.” He gave a short bow. “Your obedient servant.”
With those words, he stalked across the room and yanked open the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Eleanor calculated she had only ten minutes for which she might indulge in a good cry and allow the red blotches to fade before Lydia appeared. She released the flood.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Early in the morning, Stratford pored over the accounts in his library. His attention kept wandering to the column where the Munroe hamlet income was recorded. Now the money went directly into a trust for Miss Daventry’s future husband, and he refused to think more about whom that might be until he was in possession of the facts. He’d asked Ingram if she had accepted a proposal from Lord Carlton, but Ingram had just shrugged. Said it wasn’t his affair. In any case nothing had been announced.
When the figures started to blur together on the page, Stratford stood. Phoebe should be down to breakfast by now and could help him with the mission he had in mind. He wanted to see if he still had a chance with Eleanor Daventry, and for that, he needed enough time to have a proper conversation with her.
Stratford found Phoebe alone at the table and was relieved he would not have to ask under Anna’s piercing gaze. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he sat. “I was thinking we might get up a picnic in Mary-le-Bone. You said there was an old fortress there you wished to see.”
Smiling, Phoebe replied, “That was four years ago, Stratford, and I’ve since gone twice.” Perhaps there was something in his expression because she assessed him shrewdly for a minute before adding, “But why not again? It’s beautiful out, and it’s supposed to remain so for the whole of this week after a rather chilly spring. I’ll see if we can get something up with Anna. Who else would you like to invite?”
He scratched his head. “Well, why not get a bigger group organized? I’ve been wanting to talk more to Braxsen about his time in the Peninsula, and wherever he goes, Major Fitzwilliam goes too. So whatever ladies might be a good fit for our party besides you and Anna …”
Phoebe replied with perfect gravity. “I do believe Lydia might be keen on just such an outing. That would give us an even number.” She took a sip of her coffee and dotted her lip with the cloth napkin.
Stratford drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, I’ve noticed Mr. Richards quite a bit in Major Fitzwilliam’s company. I believe they will be going back to Spain at the same time this summer. We might have room for one more lady if he comes along.”
Phoebe did not disappoint. “I suppose it’s only natural we invite Eleanor Daventry. She’s staying with the Ingrams, and that will keep our numbers even.”
“Why, yes it will,” Stratford said, pleased to have organized the party so simply without having revealed his intentions. Phoebe would be the one to discuss it with Anna and the invitation would come from his sisters, with none the wiser. “Shall we say Saturday next?”
Stratford went out with a light step. It was only natural that he propose the outing to the ladies at the Ingrams’ straight away before they made other plans. As expected, he found them in the sitting room, as it was the peak hour for morning calls. He needed only find a moment to ask when no one else was around. When he was shown in, however, the drawing room was packed with people. I’m never going to have a chance to speak to her at this rate.
“Morning, Lydia.” He bowed over her hand. Without wasting words over someone who was crowded with suitors, he went to Miss Daventry and did the same. Her face was peaked, and he thought he detected a pleading look in her eyes when he touched her hand. Then he glanced at the gentleman with whom she was conversing. No wonder. It was Monty Smith, who had a reputation for being a dead bore.
“Worthing!” Monty cried out. “I was just explaining to Miss Daventry here the intricacies of the gas lighting. She has never heard it explained in quite such an in-depth manner, have you, Miss Daventry. Eh? Worthing, pull up a chair. I can back up to the part where I was describing the burners and valves and how they fit together. I don’t think Miss Daventry understood it the first time through—” He looked around for a chair. “There doesn’t seem to be a seat available at the moment, but if you’ll just stand right there—”
“Sorry, Monty.” Stratford gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m on my way to see Ingram, and he requested I bring Miss Daventry for some domestic service he did not trouble to explain.”
“Certainly, Lord Worthing.” Miss Daventry’s eyes were brimming with gratitude as she stood and nodded to Monty. “A pleasure, sir,” she said, and placed her hand on Stratford’s arm.
“Lydia,” Miss Daventry called out as they passed by. “Your brother needs me. I will not be long.” Surrounded by suitors, Lydia barely glanced at them.
He brought Miss Daventry into the hallway, where he accompanied her as far as the stairwell before turning to face her. “Miss Daventry,” he said, solemnly. “I have told a Canterbury tale. Lord Ingram did not ask for you.”
Miss Daventry’s laughter rang out, though she tried to stifle it, and Stratford was so delighted, he couldn’t help but laugh as well and lean his head toward hers. Though her amusement died down, the smile did not quit her eyes. “You have saved me, then,” she said, her dimples deepening.
“With no one to listen to him, Monty Smith will not stay above ten minutes, and you may safely return to your suitors.”
She rolled her eyes. “My suitors. Of course.” Miss Daventry grinned and pulled her arm away. “Thank you, my lord.”
“I am on my way up to see Ingram, but there is something I wish to discuss with you and Lydia when I return, so don’t leave,” he said.
She inclined her head and entered the library. “I will not leave.”
In direct contrast to Stratford’s sense of exhilaration was Ingram, who was sitting up in bed, crumpling one piece of parchment paper after another and aiming for the fire. “Stratford,” he said. “Come in. Would you do me a service and pick up the papers I missed and toss them into the fire? Confidential, you know.”
“Are you sure this is wise?” Stratford asked. “You need only one fiery ball to roll right back out of the grate and where will you be? You can’t move from here.”
“Oh, I suppose someone will come and drag me out in time,” Ingram replied in a listless voice. “Or not. It’s all the same.”
“Blue-deviled, are you?” Stratford picked up the few balls of paper that had missed the fire and tossed them in. “How many more weeks are you bed-ridden?”
“The doctor said another four weeks. I need something to occupy me. I cannot bear the inactivity.”
“Take up needlework,” Stratford recommended. When that didn’t elicit a smile, he continued, “I’m sure Fitz will tell you the whole when he comes, but he’s still having Delacroix followed. The fellow is all over the place. Fitz had his trail take it a step further and rummage through his room when he knew Delacroix to be out. He found nothing in his possession. Nothing to make him suspect.”
“He could already have sent it over …” Ingram stopped short. “No. I’m sure Delacroix would not entrust it to someone else. He must still have it in his possession. I’m almost certain he will take it to the French himself if he’s worth his salt. Which means it’s hidden somewhere else or he keeps it on his person.”
“Or it’s someone else entirely,” Stratford said.
“Or that,” conceded Ingram. “Listen. Have Fitz continue following Delacroix, but we’re going to have to extend our search to idealists. Those who don’t need the money, but who will sell the information on principle.” He added, “Which is almost worse.”
Stratford nodded. “We may have more information soon. Fitz is hearing rumblings—said one of his men might have a lead on when the next attempt will take place, as well as a description of the fellow. Don’t ask me how, for he did not entrust me with the intelligence. Said he’d come today or tomorrow to give you a full report. That’ll keep you occupied.”
&nbs
p; Ingram sighed loudly. “Yes, if we get a real lead. But I want to be doing it myself. Not passing it on to other people. Even competent ones like yourself.” He looked Stratford over. “You seem in good spirits. Unusual for you to be so jolly. What gives?”
Stratford shrugged. “Nothing. My sisters are planning a picnic for Saturday, and I’ve been charged to invite Lydia and Eleanor—Miss Daventry.”
“Eleanor, is it now?” Ingram replied with the ghost of a smile. “So you’re taking my sister out? Or you’re taking Eleanor?”
“Both,” Stratford replied. “Or rather, my sisters are. It will complete our party. We’ll have Fitzwilliam and Braxsen too.”
“Your sisters don’t even know Fitz.” Ingram tried to puzzle it out. “This doesn’t have to do with my project, does it?”
“Not in the least.” And before Ingram could ask another question, Stratford said, “Well that jaw-me-dead must be gone by now. Let me go tell them about the outing. I’ll stop by before Saturday.” He escaped and headed back to the drawing room.
Miss Daventry had returned, and the room was empty but for her and Lydia, who was tying her bonnet. “I was just telling Lydia you wished to speak with us, but I had trouble convincing her to wait.” Miss Daventry held her own bonnet in her hands.
“Yes, Stratford, what is it?” Lydia said. “I must spend some time outdoors or I shall go mad. This is the warmest day yet this spring.”
“I shan’t keep you,” Stratford assured her. “I wished only to invite both of you to go riding with my sisters and me Saturday next. We want to make a day of it and bring a picnic. I believe Major Fitzwilliam will join us, as well as Sir Braxsen and his friend Mr. Richards. His gaze sought out Miss Daventry’s. “We would be delighted if you’d come.”
Miss Daventry, eyes alight, looked to Lydia, who answered for them both. “That sounds delightful.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
On Saturday, the party set out for Mary-le-Bone at a bright hour. Not even Lydia had tarried over breakfast when faced with the prospect of a good gallop. Stratford, leading his sisters to the Ingram household, converged upon Sir Braxsen who was just arriving. They found Miss Daventry and Lydia with the horses saddled as they waited for John Richards, the new recruit Major Fitzwilliam had taken under his wing.
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