Things were going well, or so Jacob thought, right up until the dessert course.
"Ahh, I do love Cook's boiled pudding but I canna manage another bite." The earl pushed away his plate with a regretful sigh. He took a swallow of wine, then focused on Jacob with the sharp gaze of a fox with prey in his sights. "I appreciate what you've done for my granddaughter, Mr. Farrish."
"I didn't see any other option." Jacob placed his fork down with care. He glanced across the table at Elle, who smiled at him over her wine glass. "I could hardly leave Lady Eleanore to make her way here, knowing she was alone."
"You made her your responsibility."
The way the earl put it sounded so... possessive. Jacob shifted in his seat.
"I suppose I did."
"He did the gentlemanly thing, Grandfather. One can hardly fault him for that," Elle interjected, leaning forward in her seat. The candlelight burnished her curls to a dark gold; everything about her looked soft and touchable in the wavering light.
Jacob fisted his hand on his thigh under the table and resolved not to drink anything more than water for the rest of the evening. Her nearness made it hard enough to concentrate without adding alcohol to the mix, and he sensed he would need all his wits about him for wherever the earl was taking this conversation.
"I donna fault the man. I merely stated that he has a great sense of responsibility and much pride in his honor." The earl turned back to him, one bushy eyebrow raised. "Am I wrong to say so?"
"I hope not, my lord. I think it would be quite difficult to manage my profession were I dishonest."
"Ha!" Lord Muir's bark of laughter was amused. "I've known many a shifty barrister, though it's reassuring you're not such a one. An' just what are your plans regardin' the future?"
"I was in the process of establishing a firm place among my peers, with hopes of an endorsement from the Regent one day. I wanted a chance to shape the law of the land in the only way I could as a man without a title."
The earl studied him. "Do you enjoy it, then? The practicing of the law?"
"Yes. I do. I cannot imagine doing anything else." Jacob warmed to his subject. "The law is a fascinating and complex organism, always changing, never staid. I could stand before the court every day for a hundred years, and there would always be something new."
"I think that's the first time you've ever spoken of your passion for the law in my presence," Elle said.
Jacob looked at her in surprise. "Is it?"
"Yes." She nodded, her smile widening. Her gaze sparkled at him with good humor as she cut her food. "Don't look now, Mr. Farrish, but there appears to be more to you than witticisms and jest. I believe you just had a brush with gravity.”
“I hope it isn't fatal."
"I doubt it." Elle arched a brow at him "You seem to be making a rapid recovery."
Her grandfather cleared his throat, and they stopped grinning at each other. He speared Elle with a scowl, then directed that steely gaze Jacob's way again. "You have ambition. This is a good thing. Men must have something to drive them—though it should be an inspiration, not an obsession."
At this, the earl locked eyes with Elle's brother, whose mouth tightened as he sat stiffly in his chair. Jacob didn't have more than a moment to ponder the silent exchange before the older man's gaze swung back to him.
Jacob lifted one shoulder. "Well, my ambition stretches to the moon and beyond. However, I may find things have changed when I return home."
The light of realization that dawned on the earl's face told him the other man understood what Jacob had given up by coming to Sleeping Giant Keep.
"Changed? What do you mean, Mr. Farrish?" Elle set her glass down, her fine brows drawn together as she studied him. "You would be the perfect addition to the King's Court. From everything Langley has ever said, you are passionate about justice and quite brilliant. Why would you give up on that dream?"
Because he could not bear the idea of choosing his profession over her happiness. It didn't make him a martyr. Just a man in love.
"Not all dreams are worth the price that must be paid."
She shook her head, her gaze troubled. "I still don't understand."
"Leave th' man alone, Ellie. He did what he had to. As will I." Lord Muir spoke up, breaking the connection between them. He straightened in his seat at the head of the table, his gaze fierce under heavy brows. "I've heard all I need ta about Mr. Farrish here."
Jacob's stomach flipped at the earl's words. Was he about to be ejected from the house, now that the lord knew he was a ruined man? He had wanted to leave, but not in shame. Not like that.
"My lord—"
"Grandfather—"
The earl stood, scraping back his heavy wooden chair, and reached for his cane to push to his feet. "Tomorrow we travel down the valley to the village, where Tomas the blacksmith will take care of matters. You will be married by noon, come hell or high water."
Shock held Jacob immobile as he stared at the earl.
"What?" Elle attempted to leap to her feet but her skirt caught on something, throwing her back into her seat with a thump. Jacob couldn't gather his thoughts, stunned into silence by the abrupt turn the conversation had taken. "No, Grandfather. I just escaped marriage to a man who could never love me!"
Jacob looked at her sharply.
Did she think him incapable of love? Or incapable of loving her?
If she even understood half of the amount of need he had bottled up inside for her, she would be shocked. If he had a chance, he'd gladly forswear all other women until the end of time, just to be hers.
But he looked across the table at her stricken face and knew he'd say nothing. She wouldn’t believe him even if he corrected her mistake. All the years of bedeviling her to keep her away had worked too well.
Her grandfather shook his head. "I've made up my mind, Eleanore."
"This is madness."
"No, what is madness is running out on your betrothal, travelling to another country without an escort, and thinkin' you could escape the consequences." The earl drew himself up, one gnarled hand gripping his cane. "I could have devised a different solution had you written to me, Eleanore. But you did not. An' now the scandal of your impulsiveness will ruin the family. I canna allow that."
His gaze was tinged with sadness as her face crumpled and she drew in a shaky breath, but his voice remained resolved. "I'm sorry, darling girl, but you've left me with little choice."
Jacob couldn't stand watching her cry. He rose, drawing the earl's attention. "My lord, if we could speak on this in private..."
"Do you have another solution, young Farrish?" The older man's eyebrows drew together, and he thumped his cane on the stone floor. "Is there anything but marriage for the girl? Remember th' honor you so value before you answer."
Jacob was torn. He could not see another way to save both Elle and her family from scandal. He couldn't have even saved them had he taken her back to Langley. Only the duke could have done that by marrying her.
As Jacob could do now.
He glanced over to find Elle watching him with large eyes, her pale lips pressed together. "I don't have another solution at the moment, but if you could give me a day to think on it, I'm sure there must be some way to avoid this."
Elle sucked in a breath, and he realized how badly he had mangled his speech. Hurt flashed over her face but before Jacob could rephrase, the earl gave a short nod.
"Fine. You have one day, then we visit the anvil." Lord Muir shot him a suspicious look. "And donna think to leave. You'll not be finding a horse in my stables to carry you far."
Jacob refrained from rolling his eyes. "Of course not, my lord."
The earl left, the thump of his cane fading in the suddenly awkward silence. Jacob turned back to his unexpected betrothed and opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was very aware of her brother sitting next to him and wished the other man to the devil. There were things that needed to be said, and none of it in front of audience.<
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With a loud rip of material, Elle stood up from her seat, tearing her skirt from where it had tangled in the chair leg.
"Eleanore—"
"I'm tired. I... Good night, Peter." Without sparing Jacob a glance, she fled the room, her ragged hem trailing behind her with a whisper of silk.
Her anger and disappointment in him was a palpable thing, leaving him a bit breathless. He had wanted her for years, had secretly wished she was his and not his cousin's, but never like this.
The urge to pound the walls and howl his fury at the unfairness of it all was startling in its strength. He had never been one for excess shows of strong emotion, but around Elle, he was hardly anything but emotional.
Having forgotten he was even there, Jacob was startled when Elle's brother shoved his own chair back abruptly, throwing his napkin down on the table. Peter looked over at him with a small, humorless smile.
"That went well, don't you think? Welcome to the family, brother."
He left swiftly as Jacob stood alone in the dining room surrounded by the remains of their supper. Flopping back into his seat, he looked around the now silent room and reached for his glass of wine, throwing back what was left in it in one, long swallow.
This was no time for half measures.
Elle muffled her sobs as she threw the few dresses she had brought to Scotland into her valise. She had come here to escape a loveless marriage. Perhaps to her family it seemed silly, but it was important to her. Instead of helping, Grandfather had given her away to the next fellow to come along.
Jacob Farrish, barrister extraordinaire.
Jacob, with the lovely eyes and beautiful mouth. Jacob, whose honor had pushed him to reluctantly agree to marry her, as if she was a burden.
‘If you could give me a day to think on it, I'm sure there must be some way to avoid this.’
Pain slashed through her at the memory of his words, and Elle sank down onto the down-filled coverlet, pressing one fist into her stomach. It was laughable that she had started to pack her bags, as if she had somewhere to go. There was nowhere else to run.
A knock at the door had her hastily drying her eyes. She cleared her throat and picked up the gowns she had thrown in her valise, walking to the wardrobe to hang them back up as the door cracked open.
"Do you have a moment?" Her brother's sympathetic voice had Elle's eyes welling again, but she forced the tears away. There was no point in crying over something she couldn't change.
She turned back with a smile that felt stiff on her lips. "Of course."
At her gesture, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Dropping into one of the chairs positioned by the fireplace, he leaned over and patted the seat across from him.
"I know you've always been closer to Alex, but he's not here and I am. So tell big brother your sorrows, darling."
The smile felt a little more natural on her face after Peter's dramatic drawl. She settled onto the chair next to him, tucking her feet up under her skirts.
"I cannot believe Grandfather's making Jacob marry me."
"Truly?" Her brother raised an eyebrow, but his face was not unkind. "How did you imagine this would play out, Ellie? Farrish seems honorable, and though he swears he didn't touch you, we both know the ton will never accept his word for it, or yours."
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Grandfather always told me to make my own choices, not to allow others to direct my life. And yet, when it comes down to it, he is just like Father."
They sat for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. Their father's implacable rule had always weighed most heavily on the shoulders of his younger children.
"Why does the idea of marrying Farrish make you so unhappy?"
Elle looked at him. "He doesn't love me. In fact, I don't believe he even likes me very much."
"Do you love him?"
Did she? She was rather afraid she might. Elle shook her head helplessly, rubbing her palms on the material stretched over her knees. “He doesn’t love me,” she repeated, trying to make her brother understand.
One side of Peter's mouth lifted in a half smile. "I've seen the way he looks at you, little sister. If Grandfather wasn't already insisting you marry the man, I'd feel honor bound to thrash him."
"No." Elle shook her head, losing her breath at the idea. "You're only saying that to make me feel better."
Her brother could not possibly be right.
The possibility of Jacob's lasting affection jumbled her thoughts into incoherency.
When she said nothing more, Peter shrugged and stood. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"You have a day's reprieve from a forced anvil wedding." He headed for the door. "Talk to him. Use the time to get to know your future husband. Because there is no way around the marriage, I can tell you that. Grandfather won't allow it, no matter what he said at supper."
He stopped at the door, his face serious. "Making Farrish fall in love with you should be the easiest thing in the world, Ellie. You are eminently lovable, no matter what Alex says behind your back."
Her laughter was a bit watery.
"Thank you for your confidence. I'm not so sure."
"I am." His pronouncement was firm. Peter opened the door, then paused with one hand on the wooden frame. "Oh, and Ellie? If he touches you before the wedding, I'll be forced to break his fingers. So don't make him fall too hard, all right?"
Chapter Ten
"What are you doing?"
Jacob turned from his narrow-eyed contemplation of the earl's study door to find Elle watching him a few yards away. What was he doing? Attempting not to shove the door open again and shout and rail and pound his fist on her grandfather's desk like a child denied.
He drew in a breath and released it. "Nothing at all. I was speaking with the earl, but I'm finished now. Would you like to walk outside with me?"
"It's raining."
Right. The rumble of thunder overhead reminded him of the deluge that had started at dawn. Jacob felt like an idiot. "Yes. I had forgotten."
They lingered in the corridor awkwardly for a moment.
What to do? He wasn't one for cards or parlor games in general. Chess, perhaps, though he didn't have the patience for it today. Or the concentration. Difficult to focus when one had less than twenty-four hours until he was irrevocably married to an unwilling woman.
"Perhaps we could just sit in the library and... talk?" Elle asked.
She must mean talk to him, but after the way she left the dining room the previous evening, Jacob wouldn't have thought she'd want to spend any time with him at all, much less have a cozy chat.
"Talk?"
Plump lips the color of wild strawberries curved upward with a hint of laughter. "Yes. That thing people do with their mouths, and then sounds come out?"
He could think of something he'd rather they be doing with their mouths than talk. But that would only hasten the wedding he was starting to think was unavoidable.
"Yes. Fine. Perhaps the library." Jacob inwardly winced at his brusque acceptance when her smile faded. He hadn't meant to be so terse, but it was difficult to resist the urge to run a finger down the soft skin of her cheek.
Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I would enjoy spending time with you. I'll let the housekeeper know we'd like tea, if that sounds agreeable."
"Yes. That would be fine, thank you."
Watching her walk toward the library, Jacob clenched a fist against his thigh, hating the tension between them. With a muttered curse, he left to hunt down a footman.
A few moments later, he stepped into the library to find Elle curled up on the large sofa in front of the fireplace, leafing through a thin booklet. A steady fire was crackling in the hearth, slowly drawing the chill out of the rainy Scottish morning air, but even as he watched, she shivered and drew her feet higher under her skirts. Spying a knitted blanket hanging over the back of one of the nearby chairs, Jaco
b grabbed it, wishing she'd let him warm her instead.
The material was soft, but not as soft as the skin on the back of Elle's neck his fingers brushed as he settled the blanket around her shoulders.
"Why don't you want to marry me, Elle?" He spoke in a low voice, attempting to control the emotion that surged within him at her nearness.
She looked up, her eyes wide. "I thought I was clear on the subject."
"Humor me, please."
"You don't love me. I don't want a husband who doesn't love me."
Jacob turned away, frustration filling him. "You keep saying that. What if I do love you?"
Stunned silence made him turn around. Elle's lips parted, her face pale. "Please don't do this."
"Do what? Profess my love?"
"Profess false love!" She shot out of her seat, her movements jerky. "Is this what Grandfather and you were speaking about earlier? How to ensure my compliance?"
"No. God, no. I think we're both smarter than that, love." Jacob started to laugh, the ridiculousness of his situation too much for him.
The old adage, be careful what you wish for, certainly was holding true for him. He was going to marry the woman of his dreams in the next day, but it was all a bloody disaster.
The hell with it.
"I love you, Eleanore Barnaby." He looked straight at her, caught her gaze, and held it. "I think I've loved you since we were in swaddling clothes together, and I'll still love you when you get fat and wrinkled, and your teeth fall out."
Elle laughed against the palm she had pressed to her mouth, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.
"I can't stop myself from loving you; I never could. You were never mine to love, but that didn't stop me either." He gave a rueful shrug to cover the thundering of his heart. "All I could do is endeavor to hide it from the world the best I could."
Elle moved into the circle of his arms, a look of wonder on her face.
"Every time I turned around for years, I tripped over you. Giving me your toy soldier set when you were ten, I thought you were trying to keep me from playing with you and Langley by distracting me." Elle slid her hands up his arms to link behind his neck. His breath caught and tangled as she smiled up at him. "When you stayed behind when Langley deserted me at a ball, when you took his place at musicals, every time you stayed when he left, I thought you were shielding him from me."
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