Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  As her touch crept lower Matthew reluctantly resurfaced. A stolen kiss was one thing. Any more...

  ‘Eleanor...’ A harsh whisper from fevered lips as the enormity of his actions hit him. ‘You are...irresistible.’

  He could hardly bear to meet her eyes. Instead, he peeked through the slight gap between the curtains. The room was still empty. The pianist beyond was still absorbed in his music.

  ‘Quickly,’ he said, leading her back into the room. He stepped back. Examined her. No signs of ravishment, her hair still in place.

  It wasn’t her hair you were manhandling. Guilt shrouded his thoughts, penetrated deep into his heart. What had he done?

  ‘Matthew...?’

  ‘I am sorry. I had no intention...’ He paused. It was not possible. The future. Could he...? Every ounce of his pride rose up to smother his guilt. No. He could not. ‘You are so very lovely. But...’

  She released him from the hook upon which he squirmed. ‘But it can never be?’

  He shook his head.

  A frown creased her forehead. ‘You will make up your differences with your father and the rest of your family, you will see. You only need the time and the opportunity.’

  ‘And then what?’

  He had not meant to sound so harsh, hated the hurt that surfaced in her tawny eyes before she dropped her gaze.

  ‘I will not be a kept man.’

  ‘You have your business interests—’

  ‘They are nothing in comparison.’

  ‘In comparison to what?’ she snapped. ‘You have worked for what you have, Matthew. How does that make you a lesser being?’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I would never view a gentleman who earns his way in the world as inferior to a gentleman who has inherited his wealth.’

  ‘Then you are the exception to the rule,’ Matthew said, ‘for that is exactly how society views a man who has to work for a living.’

  ‘Who cares what—?’

  ‘You care. You came to London to erase the memory of your mother’s scandal, to be accepted for Almack’s. You care what society thinks of you. You want a position in society, and you have one. And I care what society would think of me if...’

  His voice had risen. He stepped back and Eleanor’s hand slipped from his arm.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, quieter now. ‘I had no intention of raising false expectations. I will not be labelled a fortune hunter on the catch for a rich wife. My honour...’

  ‘Your honour?’ Her eyes flashed scorn. ‘You speak of honour, yet you think nothing of stealing kisses from a maiden who, by your own admission, you would never wed.’

  The bitter words hung in the air between them. Why could she not see how hard this was for him, too? Did she think it gave him pleasure to picture her with another man?

  ‘You should go and find your gloves before your guests arrive.’

  Eleanor left the room without another word, back straight, head high.

  He had expected nothing less.

  * * *

  Although he had stated his case, Eleanor’s words nevertheless came back to him at times during the evening. I would never view a gentleman who earns his way in the world as inferior to a gentleman who has inherited his wealth. He believed her. The problem was not with her views on the chasm between them, but with his. And with his pride. He might start with just a tiny feeling of inferiority, but what if it were to grow? What of Eleanor’s penchant for having her own way? How long before their disparate circumstances reared up to cause trouble? He would never be approved to buy vouchers for Almack’s—not that he would want them, but that was hardly the point. Would she grow to resent him and to regret shackling herself to a gentleman who would not be fully accepted everywhere?

  She deserved better than him and, in time, she would see it.

  On the other hand...love. He could think about her, and them, and all the reasons—very good reasons—why they should stay apart. It was the only outcome that made sense. But then, in his heart... Eleanor. She was so deeply entrenched he could not imagine a day without loving her. He had no interest in any other woman.

  Confused, Matthew chatted, and danced, and played cards by rote as Eleanor acted the gracious hostess. He clenched his jaw against the pain of seeing Eleanor with other gentlemen, all more worthy of a wealthy peeress than he.

  * * *

  When will they get here? How will he react? Will he hate me for interfering?

  Eleanor’s nerves skittered as she chewed at her lower lip, hoping she had done the right thing. She looked around, seeking Matthew, and her stomach clenched in irritation at the sight of him dancing with yet another pretty miss. He had not danced with her and she could not blame him.

  That kiss...she had been swept away by it...swept away by him...until anger had allowed her to gather her wits. She had returned to reality with a painful bump. Matthew was right. It was for the best. She could see it now. It could never work. She was better off without him.

  There was a flurry of movement by the door, and Pacey appeared. He caught her eye and beckoned. Oh, heavens. Eleanor’s heart raced as she walked to the door. Too late for doubts or regrets: the die was cast.

  In the hall downstairs, William was divesting a scowling Lord Rushock of his hat and gloves. Eleanor’s heart sank at his expression. Stephen had assured her their plan would work. She must trust him to know his own father. But Matthew...that stubborn pride of his...would it allow him to unbend enough to meet his father halfway in this attempt at reconciliation?

  Stephen Damerel stood waiting for his father, with an anxious frown that cleared as he caught sight of Eleanor.

  ‘Good evening, Lady Ashby,’ he said, with an elegant bow. ‘I apologise for our tardy arrival.’

  ‘I am delighted you could both attend.’ They exchanged a conspirators’ smile. ‘Good evening, Lord Rushock. I trust you are well?’

  ‘Harumph!’ Rushock’s chest expanded. ‘Yes, well enough, I suppose, although—’

  ‘Father, you do wish to mend your fences with Matthew, do you not? Think of Mama.’

  The older man subsided. ‘Yes.’

  His brevity surprised Eleanor. He had appeared an inveterate blusterer, but mayhap it was all show.

  ‘Would you like to come through to the parlour?’ she said. ‘Mr Damerel, if you would be so kind as to—?’

  ‘I’ll go and get him.’

  ‘Thank you. Pacey will show you which room.’ And Aunt Lucy and Hugo had been primed to forestall any guests who might notice that both Eleanor and Matthew had disappeared.

  They waited in silence in the parlour. Eleanor, full of trepidation now the moment was close, was unable to make small talk. Lord Rushock paced the room, hands clasped behind his back.

  The door opened to admit first Matthew, then Stephen, who closed it and leaned back against it in a nonchalant manner; only the tight line of his mouth revealed his tension.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Matthew’s ice-blue gaze speared Eleanor. He turned to leave. ‘Let me pass.’

  ‘Not yet, little brother. Not until you and Father have a proper conversation. It is time you thrashed over the past and set it behind you.’

  ‘We’ve talked. There is nothing left—’

  ‘For your mother’s sake, if not mine.’ Rushock gripped Matthew’s shoulder. ‘Please, son.’

  Matthew’s indrawn breath was audible. ‘Very well. Just family.’

  It was as though he stabbed her in the heart. It could not be clearer that she did not belong. Eleanor walked to the door, trying not to show her hurt.

  ‘I will see you later,’ she said in a low voice to Stephen as he opened the door to let her pass.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Matthew searched the room for his hostess. Ah...there! She could not help but stand out, with her burnished curls piled high, topping every other woman in the room by half a head. He strode across the room to where Eleanor stood with Lord Vernon Beauchamp and his sister, Lady Cecily. Her a
wareness of his approach was exposed by the sudden flush of her cheeks, despite her determined attempt to keep her attention on her companions.

  Beauchamp...rake and darling of the ton. Resentment scraped at Matthew’s insides. It mattered not that Stephen had assured him none of the gentlemen watching over Eleanor was hanging out for a wife...and why Stephen had even thought it necessary to tell him such an irrelevant fact, he did not know...! Grrr! He’d lost his train of thought. All he knew was the sight of Eleanor anywhere near any of these so-called gentlemen burned in his gut.

  And the memory of her interference scoured his insides even more. How dare she? What business of hers was it if he and his father were estranged? If he had any doubts over not courting her, her interference had consolidated his decision. She always thought she knew best. She was a stubborn, managing tyrant.

  And an utter peach.

  His anger subsided—a little—as she shot him a wary glance through her thick lashes. A tremulous smile hovered for an instant on those full lips before she settled her focus back on Beauchamp.

  As the conversation ebbed and flowed he thought back to the interview with his father. It had been awkward. Both men—he recognised from a distance—had been wary of offering too much, in case the other rejected that degree of conciliation. Thank God for Stephen and his patience and diplomacy in brokering their deal. For that is what it had reminded Matthew of. A business deal. With sky-high personal stakes. They had left the parlour with a new understanding and, in Matthew, the joy of knowing he would shortly be reconciled with the rest of the family. Claverley would be furious. That made the reward even sweeter.

  Gradually, Eleanor’s conversation with the Beauchamps drowned out his introspection.

  ‘I am arranging a day out to Richmond next week,’ Lady Cecily was saying. ‘I do hope you will join us, Eleanor, with your aunt. I will send you an invitation.’

  ‘Thank you, Cecily. I should be delighted.’

  ‘And you, Mr Damerel? Might I persuade you to join our number?’

  ‘If I am still in town, I should be delighted, my lady.’

  ‘Are you planning to leave London?’ Was that a hint of panic in Eleanor’s question?

  He summoned up every last vestige of his resolve. ‘I am. As soon as you are in no further danger, my lady, I plan to visit my family.’

  ‘Then you and your father—’

  ‘Have reached an understanding.’ He should thank her for her help, but his anger at her unasked-for interference was too raw. It was an uncomfortable clash of feelings and it was simpler not to give vent to either. Maybe when he had calmed down a bit... ‘I am very much looking forward to seeing my mother and sisters again.’

  Her eyes glittered. ‘There is no need to remain in London on my behalf,’ she said. ‘Hugo is here and I am sure the other gentlemen who have been so kind in watching over me will continue to do so for as long as necessary. Is that not so, my lord?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Vernon said, in his rich, cultured voice. ‘We are at your service for as long as you need us.’

  ‘So, there is nothing to prevent you going home tomorrow, if you so wish,’ Eleanor said, her tone indifferent although the faint crease between her brows told its own tale.

  He could not blame her...he was not the only one with pride.

  ‘I will finish what I started,’ he said. ‘I shall call upon you tomorrow, at two o’clock, if that is convenient, to discuss your protection over the next few days. Alastair, as I understand it, has a long-standing commitment tomorrow so, if you need to go out, I shall be available to escort you in the afternoon.’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Very well. I shall see you at two tomorrow. Now, if you will please excuse me, I have guests to attend to.’

  * * *

  A short time later, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

  ‘Well, my boy—’ his father’s voice boomed in his ear ‘—I am pleased we have buried our differences.’ He chuckled. ‘We are too alike, that is the truth. Proud. Your mother would say stubborn, too, but I will not admit to that.’

  ‘I am pleased to put the past behind us too, Father,’ Matthew said. ‘Although I must tell you again that I shall not give up my business interests. Quite apart from that pride you mentioned, I actually enjoy what I do. I could never live an idle life.’

  ‘You won’t be idle, my son, not with that estate your grandfather left you.’

  His father had earlier told Matthew that his mother’s father had bequeathed an estate in Leicestershire to Matthew, subject to his return to England of his own free will.

  ‘It may not enjoy a vast acreage, but your grandfather was able to live very comfortably off the rents,’ Lord Rushock continued. ‘It’s prime hunting country, you know.’

  ‘Despite that, I will continue in trade with my business partner. That was our plan in returning to England.’

  ‘Plans can change.’ His father nudged him and nodded in Eleanor’s direction, where she was bidding farewell to some of her guests. ‘It looks like you’re in a fair way to fixing your interest already, you sly young pup—way ahead of the other bucks hanging out for a rich wife. She’d be a good match for you, worth a tidy fortune. She’d not be to everyone’s taste, mind, too tall and robust for most, but a pretty enough face, I’ll grant you. And that fortune will be more than enough to compensate. It’s good to see the years away have given you some good sound common sense.’

  Fuming, Matthew clenched his fists. Even his own father thought he would court Eleanor purely for her wealth. No longer thought a cheat, but now labelled as a fortune hunter.

  * * *

  The next day a frustrated Eleanor gazed at the clock in the drawing room, watching the minute hand creep past the six and tick its way up towards the hour again. It was already past half past two.

  Where is he?

  Hugo was out and Eleanor had declined to accompany Aunt Lucy and Sir Horace on their visit to friends because Matthew was due to call.

  The clock struck three; she paced the floor.

  Where is he? It would serve him right if I wasn’t here when he arrives.

  But still she waited, increasingly annoyed—not only at Matthew for his tardiness, but also at herself for staying meekly at home, awaiting his arrival.

  She looked at the clock for the umpteenth time. Five past three. She wandered to the window and craned her neck to peer up and down the street below. A discreet cough drew her attention and she turned to see Pacey at the door.

  ‘A message has been delivered for you, my lady.’ He held out a folded and sealed sheet of paper.

  ‘Thank you, Pacey.’

  She did not recognise the writing so it was not from Matthew. She broke the wax seal and smoothed the single page, which was covered in a cramped and hurried script.

  My dearest Cousin Eleanor

  Our recent conversation about my Troubles gave me such comfort and I would beseech you to come to my Aid. I am in such turmoil about your Cousin James. You are the only person I can turn to in my Distress and I must plead with you to come to me without Delay whilst he is from home.

  I shall be at Home all afternoon and I hope and pray that you will attend me here without Delay, for I shall be unable to answer to the Consequences if you do not come.

  Please do not Fail me. It must be Today, before your Cousin returns.

  Your Desperate Cousin

  Ruth

  Eleanor frowned as she finished the letter, then re-read it carefully, wondering what had caused Ruth to write such a hasty and muddled missive. The ‘troubles’ she wrote of suggested her agitation at her lack of a family. But her insistence that Eleanor attend her before James came home... Could Ruth have discovered something about the attacks?

  Eleanor considered her options, eager to hear what Ruth had to tell her. If she waited for Aunt Lucy—out shopping, with Sir Horace as her escort—to return, she would surely insist upon accompanying Eleanor to visit Ruth. Whilst that might be the sensible thing to do, would
her aunt’s presence prevent Ruth from being completely honest?

  Also, the longer she delayed her visit, the more likely it was that James would return whilst she was there. Therefore, the sooner she went to Ruth, the better.

  She could send word to one of her ‘guardians’, but the same objections to Aunt Lucy’s presence applied equally to them. Ruth would be unlikely to speak openly in the presence of anyone else, particularly a man.

  Which left Eleanor to rely upon her own resources, much as she had done for the past three years.

  She would go in the carriage, right to the front door. She had her footmen. She would take her pistol. With James away from home, what possible danger could there be? Her mind conjured up the image of the stranger she had seen watching her. She had not seen him since that time outside the house. And Ruth would be there, after all.

  She made up her mind. She would go and, if she sensed the slightest threat when the door was opened to her, she would simply refuse to go inside. She rang the bell.

  ‘Pacey, I am going out in fifteen minutes. Can you send for the carriage and ask Lizzie to attend me upstairs, please? And tell three of the footmen—whoever you can spare most easily—they are to accompany me.’

  ‘May I know where to, my lady?’

  ‘To call upon Mrs Weare,’ she replied. ‘When Lady Rothley returns, please tell her where I have gone and what time. And tell her not to worry, for I have protection with me.’

  Pacey hesitated. ‘My lady, should you not wait until—?’

  ‘Now, Pacey.’ The butler bowed and withdrew.

  Eleanor went to her bedchamber to change into her sprigged-muslin walking dress and to load her pistol. If James was the culprit, and he returned home unexpectedly, she would be ready for him. Lizzie helped her into her pomona-green spencer and bonnet, and she carefully placed the pistol into her matching reticule, ignoring Lizzie’s gasp of horror.

  ‘Come, Lizzie, fetch your coat, please. I wish you to attend me on my visit to my cousin’s house.’

  ‘Very well, milady.’ Lizzie was stiff with disapproval.

  As they trod down the stairs to join William, Timothy and Peter, who were awaiting them in the hallway, Eleanor pushed her qualms aside.