Chapter 18
Wednesday, May 18, 1814
Elenore slowly came to, fighting the desire to continue sleeping. She was so comfortable, she didn't want to move. It felt like it had been ages since she had slept so peacefully. She turned on her side and stretched, as content as a kitten. Reaching one hand up, she yawned into her palm before focusing her eyes. It took her a moment to realize where she was. She had fully expected to look up and see the sheer purple canopy over her bed and was surprised to see wood lined with green velvet material instead. She gasped and looked around only to realize that she was sleeping in Lord Bridgerton’s, Devon's bed.
She was mortified to realize that she must have crawled on top of the mattress in her delirious state of exhaustion. She couldn't remember doing it but wasn't sure how else she would have gotten there. Glancing over to the opposite side of the bed she saw Devon sleeping, his lithe body facing away from hers. Her face grew warm at the prospect of what he would think, what he would say, if he knew she was in bed with him. She turned to make her way out of the bed, but when she rolled over, the shift in her weight caused the mattress to dip, and she heard Devon groan. She braved a quick glance in his direction, only to see that he had turned and was staring directly at her.
Appalled, Elenore bolted from the bed. “I'm so sorry, my lord, I'm not sure exactly what I was doing in your bed. I must have crawled in during my sleep, unaware of my actions.”
Devon laughed. She looked so fetching when she was flustered, her cheeks rosy with color. “I'm afraid I am the one to blame. I awoke when my fever broke and saw you sleeping so uncomfortably in the chair. I couldn't stand the thought of you getting a sore neck, the way your head was cocked, so I placed you in the bed.”
“Oh,” Elenore said, both hands going up to cup her cheeks.
“I trust you slept better in my bed than you did in the chair. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” she replied sheepishly. “Though, it was a highly inappropriate thing to do.”
“Nobody has to know about it,” he pointed out.
She nodded in agreement, then suddenly remembered his earlier comment, and grasped onto it in an attempt to leave her embarrassment behind. “Your fever broke? That's excellent news.”
Trying to ignore the way he watched her with amusement, she walked over to his side of the bed and reached out to touch his forehead with her hand to see if it was true, if his temperature had really gone down. She smiled, relief washing over her, when his skin felt cool to the touch. Devon smiled in return, loving the way her eyes sparkled in delight.
“I'm so glad that you are well. I was so worried for a time and just kept praying that your body would be able to fight off its illness. I did not like seeing you unwell.”
Devon reached up and placed his hand over hers, pulling it down to his cheek and trapping it in place. Elenore clamped her mouth shut, her heart stilling in her chest. She didn't blink, as she looked into his eyes and waited for his response.
Finally he spoke. “I owe you my life.”
“A mere thank you will suffice,” she whispered breathlessly.
“That seems too trite for all you have done for me. Is there any way I can repay you?”
Elenore thought for a moment before saying, “You are already helping me tremendously by arranging my passage to America.”
Devon's eyes darkened, and he grimaced. “I need to talk to you about that.”
“Oh no, please tell me you are not trying to relieve yourself of our agreement.”
“No,” he quipped. Without elaborating further, he changed direction. “I want you to know that when I placed you in my bed I did not touch you, besides simply moving you from the chair to the bed.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, somewhat confused by his declaration.
Devon was hesitant for barely a moment before admitting, “But I wanted too.”
Elenore sucked in a breath and tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was firm and unyielding and kept her hand in place. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I find that I'm oddly attracted to you,”
“That's flattering,” she snorted.
He smiled at her defensiveness. “I'm not saying that you're odd. I'm saying that it's odd that I find myself attracted to a nun. It's quite strange really. Do you not feel the same attraction, the same pull between us?”
Elenore couldn't lie, for she too felt the intense attraction that burned between them, but she wasn't sure she was willing to admit it to him. Instead she opted to remain silent.
When it became clear that she wasn't going to respond, he asked, “Why did you choose to become a nun?”
He had asked her the same question before and she decided to give him the same vague answer. “I told you it wasn't something that I chose. Life circumstances dictated that it was the best course for my life.”
“Have you ever considered giving it up?”
Elenore laughed nervously, and this time, when she attempted to pull her hand from his, he allowed her to break the contact. “Of course not,” she lied. “I would have nowhere to go if I did. I have already told you that both my parents are dead.” That part was true, unless she wanted to consider going back to the Duke of Kerrington's care, which she didn't.
“Have you never dreamed of falling in love, of having a family?”
She was surprised by his boldness and didn't mind telling him so. “This conversation is the inside of enough. I don't find it proper to speak to you of such things.”
He smiled, amused at her discomfort. When she stood as if she was going to leave, he couldn't resist goading her further. “Maybe you just haven't had occasion to meet the right kind of man, the kind of man who could convince you that a celibate life is not desirable.”
Elenore froze, her back to him. She didn't know why he was tormenting her with this conversation. If he must know, she had met just such a man and it was him, but she would never dare admit it. Her life was too complicated. There was no way she could confess her feelings for him and simply give up her ruse as a nun. If she was forced back into society, he would find out her guise, she would be sent directly back to live with the duke. His Grace would be furious at her for leaving the way she had and, Devon would surely be upset to learn that she had lied to him. Her dreams of going to America would be dashed, and she'd once more be compelled to live a life that others dictated for her. As much as she desired to confess her feelings to him, she knew she couldn't.
“What if I told you that I'm starting to have feelings for you?” Elenore spun around and nearly bumped into him. He had silently come upon her and was now standing mere inches away. She began backing away. If she didn't put some distance between them, she wasn't sure what she would be tempted to do.
Devon reached out and grasped her upper arms. “I may not be able to promise you the riches of the world, but I can promise you that I would do everything within my power to make you happy.”
Elenore tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. She thought she must be dreaming. His words were weaving an enticing fantasy around her, and she felt herself being pulled right along until he continued, “I'm asking you to rethink your decision to go to America, to reconsider living your life as a nun and stay here in England with me. My father cannot sponsor your entrance into society right now, but I'm sure my brother-in-law would agree to help.”
Elenore felt as if the dream he was weaving had just had a collision with reality, and her heart sunk into her stomach. No matter how tempting his offer was, she knew she would never agree to go back and live the life she had so desperately fled from. Her heart longed to be with family, to be surrounded by people who would care for her out of love and not just out of obligation, as the Duke of Kerrington had done. And the logistics of what he was suggesting was too much to bear. There was no way she could be presented to society without her identity being revealed and without her whole charade crashing down around her. It was a disaster in the making.
> Elenore's eyes grew sad, as she looked into Devon's hopeful face. For even though she longed to tell him she returned his feelings, she knew it couldn't be done. In a soft voice she whispered, “I must go to your father now,” then turned and fled from the room before he could say anything more to unnerve her.
***
Devon watched Sister Genevieve leave and groaned in frustration. The conversation had not gone anything like he had planned. For one, he had not planned on confessing his attraction to her, and secondly, he had certainly not planned that she'd deny her attraction for him. He was certain that she felt something—the way she kissed him, the way she so tenderly administered to him in his illness, convinced him that she cared, at least a little, but maybe he had been wrong.
He wanted to go after her, to say something more to convince her to leave her life as a nun behind, but he wasn't sure he was willing to make a complete fool of himself just to be rejected again. He lay in bed thinking about his predicament, when his mind started wandering to other things—things like taking a bath and getting back to London. He got out of bed, wishing he could ring for the servants to bring the copper tub to his room for him to bathe but knowing he couldn't do that.
He flexed his arm, testing it for pain, and realized it wasn't as bad as it had been, though still tender. He walked to his closet and pulled on a fresh pair of tan riding breeches and a white shirt with loose sleeves that wouldn't bother his arm. He pulled on a pair of riding boots before sitting down at a small desk to pen a missive to Sister Genevieve. As soon as he had finished writing the letter and waited for the ink to dry, he folded the parchment in half and placed it on the nightstand next to the basin of water for her to find.
He walked over to the window and used his good arm to pry it open. He stood and looked down at the grassy knoll below and was grateful that he had much experience escaping out of windows, this one in particular. He knew from past experience that the landing was fairly soft. He swung one leg up and over the sill before following with his other leg. He took a deep breath as he sat on the sill, bending over so as not to hit his head on the opened window, before jumping to the ground below.
Devon pulled his injured arm close to his body and purposely rolled to his good side as he hit the ground with a thud. He stood and brushed himself off before jogging towards the stables. He had to retrieve Calvin and his Black Lightening clothes from the cottage so he could get back to London. He was sure his absence had already been noted by many, and he couldn't risk spending any more time away. He couldn't risk arousing any further suspicion.
Arriving at the stables, he snuck around to the back, hoping to get in and out without so much as a single stable hand noticing his presence. As he slipped into the stable, he looked around, and the first thing he noticed was that his father's carriage was missing. He cursed under his breath, and forgetting his need to go undetected, he marched up to the nearest stable boy who was busy grooming a horse and asked forcefully, “Where is the carriage?”
The young boy jumped at the sound of his voice, turning quickly to say, “Pardon, my lord, I didn't know that you were here.”
“Where's the carriage?” Devon repeated impatiently.
“The master left in it yesterday. Weren't you aware of his departure?”
Devon wanted to scream. Why hadn’t Sister Genevieve told him that his father had gone? Ignoring the boy’s question, he turned and made his way to Calvin's stall, even more anxious now to be on his way.
Chapter 19
Elenore huffed the entire way to Lord Brattondale's room. Why did Devon insist on provoking her by prying into personal matters, things she'd rather not speak about with him? Like if she was attracted to him. When he had asked her a second time why she had chosen to become a nun, she had honestly considered telling him the truth. She felt horrible lying to him, of keeping up her facade, but she knew the consequences of him finding out her true identity would be deplorable, but for the briefest moment, when he had asked her to stay, she had almost been ready to give in. If only it wouldn't complicate her life further, she might have said yes, but she was realistic enough to know it could never be done.
Elenore paused before the earl's room, taking a deep, calming breath before reaching up to rap on his door. When she didn't hear his usual bellowing voice beckoning her to enter, she turned the knob and quietly peeked inside. Though Charlotte had informed her of the earl's absence, she found she was still disappointed to realize that he was truly gone, and though she dreaded telling Devon that his father had run off again, she knew he needed to know.
Elenore begrudgingly walked the short distance back to Devon's room, harboring a sick dread at relaying the news of his father's disappearance to him. She knew that he would be angry that she hadn't warned him earlier, but in his condition, that had not been an option. Hopefully, he would understand.
Slipping into his room, her eyes went directly to the empty bed, and she automatically took a step back into the hall. Maybe she should have knocked first, just in case he was doing something that warranted privacy. She reached up and knocked and waited for him to call her inside. When no answer came, she entered the room once more and softly called out his name, but there was still no response. Frustrated, she walked towards the bed, and that's when she noticed the folded piece of parchment laying on the nightstand.
Elenore picked up the note and looked at it curiously before opening the folded paper and reading.
Sister Genevieve—
I'm sorry I didn't have time to bid you goodbye, but it was necessary that I return to London at once. As I have told you, I have many matters of business that need attending too, not the least of which is arranging your travel to America, since I know you are so eager to begin your journey.
Please do not worry about me, because of you I am sure I will heal just fine. I will be forever grateful to you for your ministrations—I owe you my life. I promise to send word, whether in person or by note, when I have managed to secure your passage.
Devon
Elenore read through the note once more, memorizing the dark, even strokes of his penmanship. His writing was precise and confident, much like he was. She re-folded the letter and stuck it into the pocket of her robe before turning to leave. Was he angry that she had refused to consider his proposition? Is that why he so suddenly left, she wondered. As she stood in the doorway, she turned and gave the room a cursory glance, realizing that it might be the last time she had cause to be in Lord Bridgerton's chambers. She felt oddly disappointed at the thought of him being absent from Westbrooke Hall, of not having the privilege of spending hours of uninterrupted time with him. She found that she rather enjoyed his company and already felt lonely at his absence. Maybe it was better this way, she rationalized. If she had spent much more time in his company, she knew it would become harder to resist him.
Heading towards her own bedchamber, she felt useless for the first time since coming to Westbrooke Hall. She had grown quite accustomed to the constant business of caring for the earl, and then Devon, for the last few days and now wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.
Picking up her valise, she sat on the bed and opened the bag. She retrieved Devon's letter from her pocket and tucked it into the inside pocket, unwilling to get rid of it. It might be the only thing she had to remember him by once she started her new life, and she was certain she didn't want to forget him. Slipping her hand into the pocket, she felt it brush up against her grandmother's diamond necklace. She pulled the jewels from the pocket and let it snake through her fingers as she took a moment to admire its beauty.
Compared to most of the aristocracy's family jewels, it was rather small and plain, but it was the most valuable piece of jewelry that had ever been in her possession. The necklace boasted ten and three simple diamonds that angled down to form a V in the center, with simple, yet elegant scrolls of gold, curling around dainty flowers, comprised of several smaller diamonds. Elenore clasped the necklace in place around her neck, knowin
g that someday soon it would no longer be in her possession and feeling melancholy at the thought. She wasn't sure how much it was worth, but she hoped it would be enough to cover simple lodging and food until she could locate her aunt. She had no idea how big Boston was or how hard it might be to find her, but she was determined to be successful.
***
Devon stormed into his family’s townhouse, still angry, even though he had hours during his ride from Surrey to attempt to calm down.
“Has my father been here?” he asked the butler immediately upon entering.
“No, my lord, he has not.”
“Blast it,” Devon muttered, before turning and leaving. The only other place he could think to look for his father during the middle of the day was at his sister’s, the Duchess of Kerrington's townhouse. He hoped they didn't mind an unexpected visit, and with any luck, Noelle would be there too and he could speak with Soren about the prospect of Sister Genevieve sailing with him on his return trip to America. If he could find a way to take care of his father's little problem and manage to get Sister Genevieve on her way, his life might be able to resume some sort of normalcy.
As he traveled to his sister's townhouse on Grosvenor Square, he had visions of the encounter he would have with his father. He wanted to ring his neck, thinking that may very well be the only way to get any common sense to pierce through his thick skull. When he arrived at the duke's townhouse, he was shown into the drawing room, while the butler informed the duke and duchess of his presence. He forced himself to wait patiently, though he refused to sit, when all he really wanted to do was dash through the house in hopes of finding his father.
“Devon, I'm so glad you came. To what do we owe this great honor? It seems it has been ages since we've seen you.” Devon turned at the sound of Hope's voice, smiling when he saw how large her belly had become since he had seen her last. The roundness of her abdomen, a sure sign of her confinement, looked out of place on her small frame. He had to be honest with himself, she looked rather uncomfortable, though he wasn't about to tell her that. Maybe he would have dared say something as uncouth to his other sister, Noelle, but never to Hope. Being as how he wasn't even aware she was his sister until almost a year ago, he wasn't as comfortable with her as he was with Noelle, whom he had known all of her life.
Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman Page 14