by Anne O'Brien
‘And quite right, too. It is a disgrace that such a man should have a care of souls. I can find no Christian charity for him in my heart.’ Mrs Stamford cast a sharp look at her companions, daring anyone to disagree with her.
No one did.
‘I wonder what Octavia is thinking?’ Eleanor picked up a forgotten piece of embroidery and instantly put it down again with nervous fingers. ‘Nothing seemed to move or disturb her very much. Perhaps she does not care very deeply about the outcome. I doubt that she will miss John.’
‘Her brother Julius suggested that she simply did whatever Edward told her to do, and was not unhappy with the situation,’ Nicholas remembered with a twist of distaste to his mouth.
‘I think they will not return to London any time in the near future,’ Mrs Stamford gave her opinion. She was the only one of the little group with any energy about her. It burned in her face, in her eyes, a vindictive sense of triumph that flushed her narrow features with bright colour. ‘Octavia will be able to return to her beloved rose arbours and trellises. I think that polite society would not make them welcome again if they knew the full story.’
‘Perhaps. I think I do feel a little sorry for Octavia. Her life seemed to be so empty.’
‘You should not, Eleanor.’ Mrs Stamford’s voice was sharp, her fixed gaze condemning. ‘You were the victim. The Baxendales deserve no sympathy, no compassion whatsoever. How can you even think it? What thought did they give for your comfort? None! They would have stripped you of your name, your title and your home.’ She drew in a breath as she sought to control her damning words. ‘But you are now vindicated, my love. And the dear child. What a terrible few weeks we have had, to be sure. I am quite worn to the bone.’
‘I valued your support, Mama. It was not inconsiderable.’
‘Of course. When would any mother not do all in her power to safeguard the future of her daughter?’ Then, on a thought, ‘Should we inform Lady Beatrice of the outcome? And the Countess of Painscastle? And perhaps some of our closest friends? Such as the Carstairses. We should not risk you being snubbed again, Eleanor, by those who are still motivated by ignorance or cruel inaccuracies.’
‘No,’ three voices answered in unison.
‘I will not gossip about such private, family matters, Mama. It is not good ton.’ Eleanor shuddered at the prospect, but her tone was decisive, all dignity. ‘Let us simply leave it and forget it ever happened. I forbid you to be the source of any further scandal.’
Mrs Stamford flushed. ‘Very well. If that is your wish. But I—’ She caught her daughter’s eye. ‘Very well. But you should give thanks for your release from Sir Edward’s clutches.’
Nicholas yawned again. ‘We do—we do indeed.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I feel as tired as if I have experienced a week of bad hunting, all hard runs, heavy going, a poor scent and nothing to show for it in the end.’ He stretched his shoulders. ‘But at least I need never darken the doors of a gaming hell again.’
‘You have all my thanks, Nick.’ Henry stood to grasp his brother’s shoulder in gratitude.
‘My pleasure.’ He yawned once more and shook his head. ‘I am going down to the stables—I need a ride, fresh air, easy conversation. Care to accompany me?’
‘Later, perhaps.’
‘I shall go and check on dear Tom.’ Mrs Stamford, still a little put out, followed Nicholas to the door. ‘At least he is too young to realise the dangers and be affected by them.’
Eleanor and Henry were left alone. She wanted more than anything to thank him, to express her gratitude for his strength and active support over the past days, but he seemed edgy and distant, fraught with an energy that made no sense to Eleanor. It was not her imagination. She did not know what to do or what to say.
‘I would thank you—’
‘I do not want your gratitude. We have had this conversation before.’
Eleanor flushed, remembering the occasion far too well, yet persisted. ‘You have it anyway.’
Impatience lent his tongue an edge that startled her. ‘Forget the whole episode, Eleanor. You have what you wanted. The title for your son. The estate is secure with the entail. The income from it will allow you to live in luxury. One day you may feel able to marry again. There is no more to be said—let that be an end to it.’
‘Hal…’
She could think of no suitable reply, her mind a blank. This was not what she had expected or wanted. Why was he so brusque? What had she done? Silence lengthened between them as, with an intolerant shrug, Lord Henry put distance between them to stare unseeingly down into the remains of a fire. He tried to block out Edward’s words. What the hell should he say to her? If Baxendale had intended to cause dissension between them, he was succeeding beyond his wildest dreams! Henry cursed himself silently. What a fool he was. Turning his head, he looked across at her, acutely aware of her troubled expression and confusion. And he grimaced at his own lack of finesse in handling her. He stood upright, his back to the marble fire surround and tried to put matters right between them.
‘Forgive my ill temper. You are the last person who should be called on to suffer it. I have no excuse other than a surfeit of legal complications and Baxendale’s sly smile!’
‘Of course.’ The taut muscles in Eleanor’s neck and shoulders began to relax just a little. ‘Don’t apologise—there is no need’ The weight on her heart began to lift just a little. ‘Now you will go back.’ A statement, not a query.
‘Yes.’
‘How long before you leave us?’
‘I shall try for a passage next week from Liverpool.’
‘Mr Bridges will be relieved to see you at last. He must have quite given you up, believing you lost to the dens of iniquity in London.’ She tried to keep the tone light. A brief smile illuminated her face, forcing him to look away as he replied. Otherwise he might be driven against his better judgement to take her into his arms and kiss her until she sighed and melted against him. And then where would they be? He swore silently again, but his response was mild.
‘Yes. I think he is beleaguered by business. He prefers action to figures.’
‘Will Rosalind welcome you home?’
‘She might.’
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then,
‘Tell me when you know of your departure. Otherwise I think I will take Tom back to Burford Hall. I have had my fill of London for the present, and I have no wish to live at Faringdon House yet. I will take Mrs Russell with me and see to her comfort—I expect she and the boy will enjoy life in the country.’
‘Of course. Nick will see to any financial matters and your comfort.’
‘He is very capable.’
‘He enjoys it. If you will excuse me, my lady, I have some letters to write.’
Eleanor sighed inwardly. So coldly formal. Whatever the problem, it still troubled him. And the rift between them was as wide and as bottomless as it had ever been.
‘To be sure.’
He looked at her, a searching glance that revealed nothing of his thoughts. Then, with a curt bow of the head, he turned and walked away from her, as she knew he would.
She had no right to call him back.
Edward Baxendale’s bitter accusations against Eleanor refused to be banished from Henry’s mind. Had she indeed trapped Thomas into an unwanted marriage with a child conceived out of wedlock? Without doubt, it would not be the first time that such a ploy had been used by an unscrupulous woman to gain a foothold into a noble family. But Eleanor? Never! And yet, how could he possibly discover the truth of it, if only to put his mind at ease. He could hardly ask Eleanor herself. Had she after all rejected him with the sole purpose of luring his brother into a far more advantageous union? Henry had decided that it no longer mattered, his love for her was absolute, no matter what had driven her to turn her back on him. But if she had used the child to spring the trap on his brother? He shook his head in disbelief. It simply did not fit with his image of her.
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br /> But sharp-edged doubts assailed him and refused to let up, and a far sharper edge that he should even contemplate questioning her honesty. He cursed himself for harbouring such doubts—but they remained. And there was no doubt, he knew in his heart, that Eleanor’s doting mama would be prepared to take any step that would ensure the well-being of her daughter. He had heard such words from her own lips. How could he forget her almost unseemly delight over Edward Baxendale’s fall from grace and Eleanor’s social reinstatement?
He paced the morning room, self-disgust riding him with sharp spurs, his unfinished letter to Nathaniel Bridges lying forgotten on the desk as he wrestled on the one hand with his conscience, which insisted that Eleanor’s honesty should not be questioned, and on the other the distrust created by Baxendale’s vicious and well-aimed words. He loved Eleanor. By God, he did, beyond all thought and reason. But it might be that he had at last learned the truth behind her failure to join him on his voyage, committing her future irrevocably to his. Who could he possibly ask to gain further enlightenment? Whatever happened, he must do nothing to create more scandal, to spread any further shadow over Eleanor’s name.
His head came up as he heard Nicholas’s riding boots echo on the tiled floor of the entrance hall. Here was the only member of the family with whom he could share his thoughts. And even then, not totally. He opened the door and stepped out.
‘Hal.’ Nicholas swung round. ‘Are you coming after all?’
‘No.’ He grimaced. ‘Much as I would like to. Too much neglected business. Nat Bridges will write me off as dead!’
‘Well, if you will sully your hands with buying and selling and the acquisition of something as common as money! By the by, I would not say it in front of the ladies, but…congratulations!’
Henry’s brow arched in silent query.
‘On burying the Baxendale plot so effectively…and without any fuss.’
‘I would have dearly enjoyed burying Baxendale himself!’ Henry smiled wryly at the prospect. ‘You will never know how difficult it was to keep my hands from his throat when he tried to throw the blame in any direction but on himself, his own greed and ambition.’
‘I expect it tapped the depths of self-control. Not something you used to be famous for!’
‘It did. It was still hard. A sharp right to the jaw would have been much more in my line. Or even the use of a riding whip across his shoulders. He deserves far worse for what he did.’
Nicholas continued to head to the door, picking up whip and gloves from a side table.
‘Nick…’
‘Hmm?’
‘Tell me…tell me about Eleanor and Thomas. Were they happy?’
‘Now there’s a strange question.’ It stopped Nicholas in his tracks and he swung round to face his brother. ‘Yes. To my knowledge. They seemed so.’
‘Why did Thomas marry her?’
‘An even stranger question!’ He slanted a quizzical glance at Henry’s face, but was unable to read the shuttered expression. ‘I don’t know. Speak with Eleanor if it matters. I don’t advise it, though. Nell is a very…a very private person.’
‘No. I wouldn’t, of course.’ He followed Nick to the door, unable to let the matter drop. ‘It’s just…’
‘Something Baxendale said?’
‘Yes. You are amazingly astute, little brother.’
‘I am always astute, if you did but notice. But it’s simply a matter of logic. Was it simply mischief-making?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Want to tell me about it?’
‘No. I am not proud of my doubts! It will be best if I keep his poisonous words to myself, I think.’
‘To share them could draw the poison. I can be a willing listener.’ Nick angled his head, waiting for the reply. He had not often seen his brother so troubled.
‘But not if it causes pain and even more hurt.’ Henry frowned at the problem.
‘True.’ Nick shrugged slightly. ‘Then you must perforce bear the burden alone. Do you want my advice?’
‘I think I can guess.’
‘Then forget it, Hal.’ Nicholas for once was deadly serious. ‘His intentions will have been malicious, for sure. How could you expect him to tell the truth about anything? You should not waste one moment’s thought on any accusations he made. And certainly not anything concerning Thomas and Eleanor. Baxendale would be overjoyed if he knew that he had been successful in destroying your peace of mind. Don’t let him!’
‘Sage advice.’ Henry turned as if to retrace his steps to the morning room, then with second thoughts, looked back. ‘Was it a love match?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Well, if we are returning to Nell and Thomas…’ Nick huffed out a breath and thought for a moment. ‘Yes. They were attracted. The marriage was certainly arranged quickly. Perhaps not a grand passion, I would have thought. But they were happy enough together. They talked to each other, laughed together. You know…’
‘And the child?’
‘That’s easy.’ Nick smiled, a little sadly, as the memories crowded in, of happier times before his brother’s death. ‘Thomas doted on him. Very proud. As he should be. He was already planning when to teach him to ride and to shoot duck on the lake at Burford Levels, even though he was barely a year old. I never thought of Thomas in a paternal role, but it suited him. Why?’
‘Nothing. I simply wanted to know.’ Henry decide there was nothing more that he could ask.
‘Problems?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘Good.’ On a decision, Nicholas stalked across the hall and took his brother by the arm. ‘Come to the stables. Leave your letters for the afternoon—they will still be there tonight! Time you had some light relief.’
‘Very well.’ Henry smiled a little wearily, gave in and allowed himself to be led, grateful to have his mind taken from the suspicions that beset him. Perhaps Nicholas’s remedy would push everything back into perspective for him and then he could be at ease again. At ease with Eleanor. ‘Forgive me, Nick. I seem to have got into the habit of questioning everybody and everything—looking for shadows when they do not exist.’
‘And very uncomfortable for us all it is, too. You need a drink and some convivial company.’
‘True.’
‘Easily done. Come with me.’
So much for business. Henry shut the door on the morning room and the affairs of Faringdon and Bridges and accompanied his brother to the door, more than a little reassured by what could only be described as a most inconclusive conversation.
Eleanor spent another sleepless night, thoughts in turmoil. Would she ever sleep well again? she wondered as she pushed her fingers through her hair, tangling the already disordered curls. Within a week Hal could have packed his belongings, terminated the rent on the London house and taken the mail coach to Liverpool. It was very possible that she would never see him again. Never hear his voice or feel the touch of his hands, in simple care or in passion. She stiffened her muscles to hold off the desperate sense of loss that swamped her mind and her heart and once again threatened to drown her in a deluge of helpless tears. She must not think of that. She breathed deeply and fought against the fear that stalked her through the dark hours. She must not allow it to colour her judgement. Her own loss was not the issue here.
For a little time she sat in her bed against the soft pillows with a book open on her lap, but to no avail. She could not read. The words on the page meant nothing to her when all she could see was Hal’s stormy eyes, the groove between his brows when he was caught up in some matter, the utmost tenderness in his smile when he had kissed and held her against him, inflaming the needs in her body to match his own. Or the possessive fire when he had turned the key to imprison them together in his bedchamber. So she cast the book aside to pace her own room. Taking out Thomas’s letter from her dressing-table drawer, she turned it over and over in nervous fingers—and then replaced it beneath the cases of jewellery. That, she decided, was not the way forward. He w
ould either believe her on her own merits or he would not. It was a risk she would have to face. With that thought in her mind, she took herself to her son’s room, to stand by the crib, silently watching him as he slept, fine lashes casting shadows onto his cheeks. How beautiful he was, what a splendid child she had been given. What a fine young man he would grow up to be.
The thought did not make her mind any easier. She had kept her secret for two long years, explaining it would be no easy matter.
By dawn, she had made her decision, for better or worse. Really, it was very simple. She did not know why it had caused her so much heartache, but her toilette took considerable time as she dressed with care, determined that she would look her best if she was to be on trial for her past sins. The exquisite silver-grey-and-cream-striped gown, demure and understated in its colouring, gave exactly the impression of sophistication and sobriety that she needed, the delicate ruffles at hem and neckline flattering but restrained. Her hair, charmingly arranged in ringlets, fell from a high knot to brush her white shoulders. She knew that she looked well enough, although nothing, other than the use of cosmetics that she determined to eschew on this occasion, could put colour into her cheeks or disguise the evidence of her sleepless night. No matter. It was important that she appear composed and assured, that her courage should not desert her in the face of Hal’s amazed disbelief. Or his total rejection.
In spite of her clear intentions and her determination to be courageous at all costs, Eleanor could not face breakfast. She waited in her room until it was late enough in the morning for Henry to be engaged in business in the morning room.