Lady Eleanor's Seventh Suitor

by Anna Bradley

  She’d ignored their agreement and stolen away from the townhouse before he could call on her.

  Again.

  “Do you like this color?” Charlotte held a bright blue ribbon up to her face and studied herself in the glass. “To trim my new hat, perhaps? I think the blue is f lattering.”

  “All colors flatter you, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte dropped the ribbon back onto the counter. “You didn’t even look!”

  Eleanor didn’t hear her. She’d abandoned the hat display for the large window overlooking Bond Street, so she could peek at a tall gentleman in a bottle green coat who’d just passed by.

  Not him, thankfully.

  Him. Dear God, whatever was she going to do?

  Eleanor straightened her spine and turned her back on the window. Find a way out, that’s what. After her disturbing conversation with Mr. West yesterday, she was more determined than ever to escape him, no matter what it took.

  Playacting hadn’t worked, and neither had logic or reason. The time had come to go on the offensive—to storm the stage, as it were. Last night, as she’d lain awake staring at the canopy above her head, she’d begun to assemble her arsenal.

  Camden West hadn’t told her much yesterday, but she’d listened to what he hadn’t said as well as to what he had, and after a sleepless night, she’d come to two conclusions. One, he wanted this marriage far more than she’d first realized, for reasons he didn’t intend to share. Two, that he did want the marriage so badly would be his undoing.

  Eleanor clicked her tongue in mock sympathy. Poor Mr. West. He’d forgotten the first rule of gaming. One shouldn’t play when one was desperate to win, for their opponent might choose to call their bluff when they least expected it.

  This morning, she’d called his.

  Risky, perhaps, to disappear again today after yesterday’s warning. He wasn’t the kind of man one angered on a whim. Then again, it was a calculated risk, and those who were too meek to risk their necks rarely tasted victory.

  Wasn’t that the second rule of gaming?

  Mr. West wouldn’t risk his scheme before he’d done his utmost to bring it to the desired conclusion. The ton would assume Charlotte was already ruined if she was seen too often in Julian West’s company, and Camden West knew that as well as anyone. He was not, to Ellie’s great disappointment, a fool. If Charlotte were ruined before he could drag Eleanor to the altar, there was an end to his game. Despite his threats yesterday, she was willing to wager he’d keep his cousin far away from her sister.

  “You’re not listening to me even now.” Charlotte stood with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Eleanor.

  “I’m not in the mood for ribbons today, I suppose. Shall we go to Mr. Paterson’s shop? I ordered a set of the sweetest spinning tops for baby Alec. Perhaps they’re ready. It’s just down the way. We can walk, and George can follow us with the carriage.”

  Charlotte brightened at the mention of their nephew. “Yes, all right.”

  They left the frowning assistant to her ribbons and stepped out onto Bond Street. Eleanor signaled to George to return to the carriage and have the driver follow along behind them.

  “Charlotte, I must speak to you about something,” Eleanor began as they wound their way through the crowded streets.

  “About Camden West, you mean?”

  Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “Camden West? Why would you ask that?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “He seems to be hanging about an awful lot lately, and he looks at you like a starving man looks at a Christmas pudding.”

  Heat rushed to Eleanor’s face. He does?

  No. Of course he doesn’t. How foolish. He looked at her, yes, but not with hunger—more the way a swordsman looks at his opponent right before he thrusts at a gap in their armor. “Oh, what nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense. I saw it myself.”

  Eleanor shivered. He’d come up behind her yesterday, his large, warm body so close to hers, and whispered something, something about his cousin and Charlotte, but it wasn’t his words she remembered. It was his lips, so near her ear she could feel the heat of his breath. His whisper stirred the hair near her temple, and the brush of his fingers against her neck, then his mouth, so sweet—

  Damn him, and damn her for being fool enough to fall into shivering awareness when he touched her. No doubt it was all part of his grand plan to drag her down the aisle. He’d have a far easier time of it if her legs turned to a jelly.

  Even if he did truly desire her, what of it? She’d see him sent to the devil before she ever agreed to marry him, and she’d do well to remember that the next time he tried to whisper in her ear or kiss her neck.

  “He’s courting you, isn’t he?” Charlotte asked.

  “Not exactly.” Eleanor paused. Good God, how to put this? She was hard pressed to make it sound anything but awful. “He’s not courting me so much as he’s . . .”

  Blackmailing me into marriage. The truth hovered on the tip of her tongue. Eleanor tried to push it over the edge, but it hung there, refusing to make the leap into words.

  She tried again. “That is, he’s—”

  “He must intend to court you. If not, his attentions are inappropriate, and he deserves to be thrashed.”

  Inappropriate? Goodness. Charlotte didn’t often lay claim to that word. Eleanor glanced uneasily at her, and saw her sister’s lips had set into a familiar, stubborn line.

  Oh, no.

  Eleanor might not like it, but Charlotte was already a player in this little drama. She had to tell her sister something, yes, but not so much Charlotte got into a temper. Eleanor could handle Camden West herself, in her own way, from behind the curtain. “Well, he does want to marry me, but his manner of courtship is a trifle . . . unusual.”

  “Unusual? What does that mean? For goodness sake, Eleanor, will you just say it?”

  Eleanor bit her lip. “Well, he might have mentioned—it’s a small thing, really—but he might have said something about ruining you if I don’t marry him.”

  Charlotte jerked to a halt in the middle of the street, her mouth falling open. “He what?”

  Eleanor winced. “Either I marry him, or he’ll expose your lapse in propriety on the night of the Foster’s ball to the entire ton.”

  The people behind them on the walkway made irritated noises as they tried to push past. Eleanor grasped Charlotte’s arm and tugged her back into motion. “I’d hoped to dissuade him by now, but it seems he’s more determined than I first suspected.”

  “Dissuade him? A man with no honor, no conscience?” Charlotte’s voice rose. “How could you possibly dissuade such a man?”

  Eleanor squeezed Charlotte’s arm to try and calm her. “Not in the usual way, but I thought he’d reconsider if I pretended to be witless. No man wants to marry a fool.”

  “A clever idea, but it must not have worked, or else you wouldn’t ever have told me the truth.”

  Eleanor heard the accusation in her sister’s voice, but she didn’t have time for that argument at the moment. “It didn’t work, no. It seems . . .”

  I don’t matter. Is that what you mean, Mr. West?

  She cleared the sudden lump of panic from her throat. “It seems he cares nothing at all about me. I can be as dim-witted as I wish, and it won’t make any difference. I don’t matter at all to him.”

  Eleanor drew in a deep breath to calm the sudden crash of her heart against her ribs.

  All those suitors, all rejected, several of them decent, kind men she’d refused for no other reason than she simply didn’t love them. All those suitors, and even the worst among them hadn’t erased her as if she didn’t exist.

  She’d only ever known one man who did. Her father. Hart Sutherland, the handsome aristocrat, the perfect nobleman, every inch the hero, until one looked closely and discovered the villain underneath.

  Her father had behaved as if his wife were invisible until, after decades of such treatment, she was. As the year
s passed, her mother became more and more transparent. Her slippers ceased to make any sound on the marble floors. Her silk skirts didn’t rustle, and her voice never rose above a whisper. Her movements were so silent it was as if she weren’t there at all.

  She became a ghost. Haunting. Haunted.

  Her father hadn’t been any more interested in his children than he was in his wife, except for Alec, the heir, with whom he’d been brutal. But Eleanor and Charlotte? His daughters hadn’t mattered. They didn’t exist. They were ghosts.

  “But, but . . .” Charlotte was so aghast she could hardly speak. “But if he cares nothing for you, then why does he want to marry you at all?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “That’s what I don’t understand. He won’t say, and I can’t deter him from this mad scheme unless I know his reasons.”

  “Not your fortune, then?” Charlotte pressed. “Not social gain?”

  “Not money. He’s wealthy. He doesn’t need my fortune, and he claims it’s not my social connections, either, but I do think it has something to do with the Sutherlands. Indeed, he admitted as much.”

  Charlotte fell silent, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “Julian West. He must know what his cousin is up to, mustn’t he?”

  Eleanor glanced at her sister from the corner of her eye, opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it again without speaking a word.

  Julian West knows. He must.

  Camden West knew everything about her. He knew she’d rejected numerous suitors. He knew about Lord Tidmarsh, who’d never even made an offer, and he knew better than to bring his proposals to Alec. He’d watched her for weeks before he made his approach. It was beyond comprehension the incident at the Foster’s ball could be a coincidence.

  Of course Julian West knew. How could he not?

  Yet she looked her sister in the eye, gritted her teeth, and lied. “No, I don’t think he does. Camden West as much as admitted to me he simply saw an opportunity and seized it. His cousin doesn’t know what he’s up to.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  Eleanor’s heart lurched in her chest at her sister’s hopeful expression, but she pasted a bright smile on her face. It was better this way—better if Charlotte didn’t know. She wouldn’t take it quietly if she found out Julian West had intentionally compromised her.

  No, it wouldn’t do. She couldn’t have Charlotte interfering in this. She needed all her wits to deal with Camden West, and she couldn’t protect her sister at the same time. It was far better to let Charlotte’s little flirtation burn itself out. Julian West was a rake, after all—an innocent like Charlotte wouldn’t hold his attention for long. He’d grow bored, and Charlotte would soon forget him. Perhaps she’d come out of the scrape a bit wiser, and ready to look with more favor on a proper gentleman—someone like the Marquess of Hadley, for instance.

  Eleanor cleared her throat. “He doesn’t behave as if he knows, does he? He’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman since the Foster’s ball.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. He doesn’t act as if he knows.”

  Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief.

  They walked on in silence until they reached Mr. Paterson’s shop. Eleanor put her hand on the door to go in, but Charlotte stopped her. “Does mother know about this?”

  Eleanor let the door close. “No, and you mustn’t tell her.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t like to keep secrets from mother. If she knew, she might be able to—”

  “If she knew,” Ellie interrupted, “She’d feel obligated to tell Alec, and how do you suppose he’ll react? He’ll challenge one of the Wests, and then Robyn will find out, and he’ll challenge the other.”

  “Dear God.” Charlotte paled. “You’re right. That’s just what would happen.”

  The bell above the door of the shop rang merrily as Eleanor pushed it open and stepped across the threshold. “Mother mustn’t find out.”

  Charlotte didn’t follow. “But I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

  The shop bell tinkled a pitiful protest as Eleanor let the door slam closed and stepped back onto the walkway. “Of course we have a choice.”

  Charlotte considered this. “We’ll let Camden West ruin me. He’s got you at his mercy, Eleanor, and since this entire disaster is my fault, I will be the one to suffer for it.”

  Eleanor grabbed Charlotte’s hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s Camden West’s fault, and don’t you forget it. I won’t have you suffer for his despicable behavior.”

  “I went out into the garden alone with Julian West. I let him kiss me—”

  “So you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life for one foolish decision? No, Charlotte. I won’t hear of it.”

  She might not understand Charlotte’s recklessness. She might not approve of Charlotte’s behavior at the Foster’s ball, but there’d never been any question she’d defend her, with teeth bared and fingernails curled into claws, if necessary.

  Charlotte was her sister, and one didn’t turn their back on their sister.

  “But you’ll agree to be punished yourself? Dear God, I’d rather be ruined than see you married to such a man, Eleanor. I couldn’t bear to watch it.”

  “Oh, don’t worry.” Eleanor dismissed this with a carelessness she didn’t quite feel. “I have no intention of marrying Camden West.”

  Charlotte stared at her. “I don’t see how you’ll get around it, unless he ruins me.”

  “I’ll find a way. Have you ever known me to do anything I don’t wish to do?”

  To Eleanor’s surprise, a sudden smile lit Charlotte’s face. “I don’t think Camden West has any idea what he’s gotten himself into. If anyone can find a way out of such a tangle, it’s you, Eleanor.”

  Too right. She’d leave Camden West hanging by his neck from his own rope.

  She squeezed her sister’s hand. “Thank you. Now, shall we go inside and put Mr. Paterson out of his misery? He’s been staring out the window at us since his bell rang, no doubt salivating at the thought of two doting aunts entering his toy shop.”

  She pulled open the door and entered, much to Mr. Paterson’s delight.

  “Ah, Lady Eleanor, and Lady Charlotte. Such a pleasure to see you both. Have you come about the spinning tops for the young lord? They’re ready. I’ll just fetch them for you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Paterson.”

  The beaming shopkeeper scurried off to the back room, leaving Eleanor and Charlotte to wander the shop.

  “Oh, look, Eleanor. Aren’t these sweet?”

  Eleanor walked over to a far corner and found Charlotte standing over a shelf with a display of brightly painted wooden horses. “They are, yes. Our nephew would love this one.”

  She reached out to stroke a pale blue rocking horse with a long, curling black mane and tail. The horse was fitted with a tiny golden bridle and saddle. The slight pressure of her hand on the horse’s nose sent it swaying back and forth.

  They watched it rock for a while. Neither of them spoke as the horse slowed and then stopped moving altogether.

  “Do you ever think about having children, Eleanor?”

  Eleanor froze for a moment, then tapped the horse’s nose again to set the toy back in motion.

  Their nephew had a special smile for his parents. Every time Delia or Alec came into a room, even if they’d only been gone for a moment, that smile would light up his face. Oh, the child had a similar worshipful smile for her, and for each of the adoring adults who orbited around him, but the smile he gave his parents was different, somehow.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t say anything more, but that one word held a world of longing, and Charlotte heard it. “Forgive me, Eleanor, but all those suitors . . . why didn’t you accept one of them? You might have a child of your own by now if you had.”

  “Yes, I suppose I could.” But then she’d have a husband, too—a husband she didn’t love, who didn’t love her. Wasn’t it better, if she could have onl
y a pale imitation of the thing she longed for, to have nothing at all?

  She hesitated, but she hated having secrets from Charlotte. “I don’t know that I’ll ever marry. I may have to content myself with spoiling your children, so see that you have a great many of them, won’t you? There’s a dear.”

  Charlotte wasn’t fooled by Eleanor’s light tone. “Not marry? But how can you say so, when you see how happy our brothers are with Delia and Lily? Marriage has changed them both, and for the better. Why, in Robyn’s case I’d even go so far as to say Lily saved him—”

  Eleanor laid a hand on Charlotte’s arm to quiet her. “They have the best of marriages, yes, but their unions are the exception. Do you think I’d find similar happiness with Mr. Fitzsimmons? Or Lord Tidmarsh?”

  “Perhaps not either of them, no, but there are other gentlemen equal to our brothers. London is a big city, after all. You give up too soon, Eleanor.”

  Was that what she had done? Had she given up?

  “If a gentleman happens along and I find myself hopelessly in love with him, I don’t say I won’t listen to his proposals, but sometimes I think. . .” Eleanor’s breath caught painfully in her chest. “I wonder if such a gentleman will ever appear.”

  “He will, Eleanor.” Charlotte squeezed her arm. “He’ll be the last gentlemen you’d ever expect, and he’ll appear when you least expect it. You just need to be patient.”

  Eleanor reached out to touch the horse’s nose again, but her hand was shaking, and she stuffed it hastily into her pocket before Charlotte could notice. “I suppose, but you can’t go on forever, can you? At some point, no matter how much you might wish otherwise . . .” She nodded at the rocking horse, “you come to a stop.”

  “Ah, but if you do stop,” Charlotte said, with a mischievous smile, “All it takes is the right hand to set you in motion again.”

  Eleanor forced a laugh. “And if the only hand on offer is Lord Ponsonby’s, or—”

  “Someone like Camden West? I don’t wonder you’re skeptical of marriage if you believe he’s the best London has to offer.”

  No. Someone like our father.