by Ruth Regan
"I can see why he likes you!"
"Why?" Cara asked, genuinely intrigued.
"You have a certain seriousness. A wisdom in those young eyes. Strong-willed, you are. Sarah was the same."
Cara looked down at her broth. She didn't want to speak of Eliot's first wife anymore. And, she was certainly not eager to hear comparisons. There was something sad in that. When she raised her eyes again, Mrs. Cooper was still staring at her, a wide smile on her pleasant face.
"What is Lord Eliot doing now?" Cara asked to change the subject. "I should like to know how he spends his days when he's not throwing a party."
"Well, usually he's out riding or hunting. Or reading. But at this very moment, I believe he's fast asleep."
"In the middle of the day?"
"Yes, my Lady," Mrs. Cooper said, nodding earnestly. "He's been rather deprived of sleep of late."
"Why?" Cara murmured suspiciously. "More parties?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well, what then?"
"Don't you know?" Mrs. Cooper asked incredulously. Cara shook her head. Mrs. Cooper sighed.
", my dear, he's been sitting vigil at your side for the past two days!"
Chapter Three
For the next five days, Cara languished in her room with no one for company but Mrs. Cooper. Lord Eliot made not a single appearance in all that time, and when Cara asked the housekeeper where he was spending his days, she only raised her eyebrows in an innocent expression.
"But surely, you must be able to guess where he's going, if he's going out!" she pressed.
"I haven't the foggiest, my Lady," Mrs. Cooper replied as she fluffed Cara's pillows. "All I know is that since you awoke, Lord Eliot takes his breakfast in the morning and leaves on his mare for the rest of the day. He comes home well past dinnertime, looking tired. He takes a quick brandy near the hearth in the kitchen and then he marches himself upstairs to his room to read, he says."
"What does he read?"
"Oh, I don't know, Lady Boyle. Thick volumes with dark bindings. Plays. Poetry. I've never looked between the covers of his books before. He treats them carefully, and I always assumed that it was his own business, and none of mine."
Cara was irked that Mrs. Cooper could not shed more light on the literary tastes of her intended. But at the same time, she was gratified to hear that the housekeeper respected the privacy of her Lord. It was a quality sorely lacking in most servants, she'd found. And as to his afternoons, it was anyone's guess.
The mystery of it kept her mind spinning and prevented the onslaught of truly unbearable tedium during her confinement. Mrs. Cooper had stocked the room with quite a few books, but Cara couldn't seem to concentrate on reading. Her mind was spinning. On the sixth day after she awoke, she was visited by the doctor. He examined her thoroughly, poking and prodding at the still-swollen flesh around her knee before proclaiming happily that it looked as though nothing was broken at all.
"Perhaps it was only a dislocation that has righted itself," he said, pushing his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose.
"Is such a thing possible?" Cara asked.
"Anything is possible when it comes to the young!" the old doctor said with a wink. "Green young bodies are capable of incredible feats of healing."
"I'm not so terribly young anymore, sir," she said, feeling frustrated at patronizing tone she detected in the doctor's voice.
"Is that so?" he asked incredulously.
Cara nodded. "I'm nineteen. And a widow."
"Well," he chuckled, "that's young in my book."
After he'd gone, Cara felt a twinge of shame at the grumpy attitude she'd had on display. The doctor had only been trying to make her feel better (especially since he'd also delivered the news that she must stay in bed for another two days at the very least). In the silence after his departure, she thought long and hard about what it was in her that could sometimes be so bitter. She supposed it was due to several key factors: her mother's death and her miserable marriage to Lord Boyle, just to name two.
Then she considered Lord Eliot. He was so merry, but he hadn't always been. He'd been through terrible times as well, the loss of his Sarah, primarily. And instead of walking the road of bitterness and frustration, he chose to be pleasant. Of course, his behavior was not one would call proper at all times. But still, it was generally accepted that his company was enjoyable and that he was a good and entertaining host. And despite the verbal sparring they'd engaged in out in the hedge maze, he'd remained by her bedside for two whole days – without respite.
Cara had ample time to reminisce about her intended's physical features, as well. That imposing, tall frame and those muscled arms that had held her as though she weighed no more than a bird. The angular nose and strong jaw. The honey-streaked hair that shone with health. And, of course, those penetrating blue eyes that had seemed to pierce her very soul the last time she'd seen him...just before he'd left the room after his long vigil. When she thought on him, she felt a strange tugging sensation in her chest. He was complex and intelligent. There was goodness and strength in him. And, of course, she knew he could be a damned fool, as well. She'd told him as much to his face.
On the seventh day, the day after the doctor's visit, Mrs. Cooper knocked lightly on her door and asked Cara if she was willing to receive visitors.
"Yes!" Cara fairly shrieked with relief. She was usually quite content with her own company, but the strict confinement to the bed had made her unduly restless. At this point, she felt that even a visit from the town fishmonger would be a welcome diversion. So when her father and Colonel Simms stepped cautiously through the door, she was quite glad – and piqued. Instantly, her old temper rose and she seized the opportunity to chide her father for the long delay in his visit.
"Well! Papa! It's been so long, I hardly recognize you!" she said, screwing her face into an expression of reproof.
"Now, Cara..." her father began as he settled himself in an armchair near her bed. But she cut him off.
"Do come in, Colonel Simms! How good of you to visit."
The Colonel trundled in and took a chair near the fireplace.
"Of course, I came, my girl! I mean, Lady Boyle. Or should I say the soon-to-be-lady Eliot?" The foppish old man chortled with laughter, as though he'd made some terribly witty joke. Cara humored him with as much smile as she could muster.
"Lady Boyle will do just fine for now, Colonel. My marriage is still three weeks off, and I intend to enjoy every second of unwed life that remains to me. In fact, an awful lot can happen in three weeks. Engagements can even dissolve in that amount of time!"
She expected the jibe to land somewhat differently than it did. Instead of her father scolding her or the Colonel trying to brush off the comment politely, the men just looked at her with stricken faces.
"But – Cara, my dear! Surely you're joking!" her father managed after a moment.
"Joking? What do you mean?"
"About the date of your nuptials."
"No."
"But my dear," said the Colonel leaning forward on his cane and regarding her seriously, "Lord Eliot announced in town this morning that you're to be married at the end of the week!"
Cara could hardly breathe, let alone speak. She could feel the blood draining from her face and leaving her cold with shock.
"He…what?"
Her father leaned in now, too, and placed his old warm hand atop one of her suddenly-clammy ones. "Lord Eliot was overheard plainly by several people in one of the shops this morning. He said the doctor had seen you and pronounced you nearly well – said it was no more than a pull or strain to the knee, not a break at all. And your wedding is this Friday."
Cara swallowed slowly.
"But I haven't walked in a week, now," was all she could manage weakly. "Lord Eliot was joking, surely. Papa? Papa? He must have been joking!"
Cara could hear her own voice rising in hysteria. It was all happening too quickly. There was some part of her that had sincerely
believed that in the next three weeks she would find the means to worm her way out of the match. Yes, she found Eliot more intriguing that she had imagined. She was even drawn to him. But she still couldn't truly fathom the idea of being his bride.
Lord Calloway saw his daughter's features contort into a look of abject desperation.
"Frederick," he said quietly to his friend, "would you mind giving me a moment alone with my daughter?"
"Certainly!" the old Colonel replied. He stood and bowed hastily to Cara, who hardly noticed his departure.
When he was gone, Lord Calloway faced his daughter. He was on the point of launching into some reassurance, but Cara began to speak.
"Papa," she started. And although the color had drained from her face, her voice was calm now that the two of them were alone. "I know I have been difficult. I know that things didn't...turn out as you had hoped between myself and Lord Boyle. I also know that you orchestrated my first marriage entirely with my benefit in mind. You wanted me to be secure at any cost. But Papa – you see where that ended. Don't make me do it again – not so quickly at any rate."
Lord Calloway squeezed his daughter's hand.
"Cara, my dear. It is the only way," was all the comfort that he could offer.
She looked into his face, and she could read everything beneath the surface. Her papa was not going to wave a magic wand like some wizard of old and make reality shift to conform to her will. He was just an old, tired man trying to do right by his daughter. And he continued to speak.
"Lord Eliot promised today in that shop that you would be dancing gaily at your wedding come Friday. He's invited the whole town, as well as his relatives and friends from the city. The invitations went out today by rider."
There really was no going back. Cara was falling helplessly. In her desperation to stop the sudden plunge, she grabbed onto the first sensible argument that came to mind. She sat straight up in bed and slammed her fists down on the coverlet like an angry child.
"But I haven't a dress!" she fairly screamed. She could hear herself, and the pathetic, pleading tone of her cry made her feel even more miserable. But she could do nothing to stop the swelling emotions. Suddenly, tears were spilling down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed, giving vent to the wild feelings that the news inspired.
"Yes you do."
The voice was low and deep, and Cara could hear the smile in it, even with her eyes closed. Her head whipped up and there he was in the doorway. He was smiling calmly. And over his outstretched arms, he was holding the most beautiful gown Cara had ever seen.
"Lord Calloway. How nice to see you," Quentin Eliot continued. He stepped further into the room, still holding the dress. Lord Calloway hurried to get to his feet.
"Sir! How good to see you!" her father said, bowing just a bit too low for Cara's taste.
"I'm dreadfully sorry to cut your visit with your dear daughter short," Eliot went on, "but I'd like a word with my fiancée."
"Of course, Lord Eliot!" He turned to Cara and bent to give her a kiss on the check. "Goodbye, my darling."
"Goodbye, Papa," Cara said stiltedly, never taking her eyes from Eliot.
As soon as her father stepped out, Eliot closed the door behind the other man and turned to face Cara once more. He was dressed splendidly, and his cheeks were smooth and free of stubble now. He looked as pleased as punch – and perhaps a bit tipsy. In the few days since Cara had seen him, he appeared to have grown even more handsome.
"Why?" was all she could breathe. She wanted badly to ask about the gown, but she knew that if she did so she would lose a chance to question him.
"Why what?" he asked innocently.
"Why the haste?"
He looked at her levelly now and his voice dropped. "I am eager for you to be my wife."
A strange thrill worked its way through Cara as he said the words. The look in those deep blue of his could only be categorized as hungry. She bit her lip, willing herself not to redden in the cheeks.
"And besides," Lord Eliot continued after a moment, "it will be good motivation for you to get up and start walking around. I daresay it will hurt a bit at first. But the doctor thinks that starting tomorrow, you should be on your feet."
"I've had no wish to remain in bed, Lord Eliot. It's against my nature to be still for very long. I like to be up doing something."
"That's what I thought. And, it's why you'll be accompanying me on a thorough tour of Hedgeton Manor tomorrow. If you're to be the lady of the house, it's only fitting that you know the ins and outs of the estate."
"Alright," she agreed.
For the entirety of the discussion so far, Lord Eliot had remained standing formally near the entranceway. Now, he ventured into the room a step. He was still holding the lovely gown before him.
"But for now, I want you to examine your wedding gown. I had to guess at the proportions."
He made his way to the side of the bed and leaned forward to drape the frock delicately across her lap. As the fine fabric brushed her up-turned palms, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Delicate panels of lace adorned the skirt, and the bodice was hand-embroidered with obvious care. Whoever had done the work was obviously a master, and the gown itself was a work of art. But the best part was its color – a deep sky blue with ivory trim that Cara knew would set off her dark hair and eyes to the best advantage. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes from the fine work.
"I felt it would be a shame to force you to wearing anything as boring as white on our wedding day," Eliot said. "You've already been married once – I assume you wore white then?"
"I did," Cara whispered. "And I hated it."
She'd spoken without thinking. When she realized what she'd said, she looked up at Eliot, surprised by her own candor. Just a few days ago, she'd been determined never to reveal a single personal fact about herself to the playboy Lord. And here she was now, in a bed in his estate, allowing intimate revelations to spill from her lips without a second thought. When Eliot only nodded at the admission and said nothing, her eyes drifted back down to the gown on her lap. She ran her fingers over the tiny stitches and the freshwater pearls that adorned the neckline. It was not of the current fashion. It was something entirely unique and it appealed to her tastes completely. Quentin Eliot had somehow known exactly the kind of gown she would want to wear – if she was truly to be pressed into marriage a second time.
"Well, I hope you don't hate this one," he said finally.
"No," she whispered.
"Good." And then he pulled the garment off Cara's lap quite suddenly and laid it over the back of the chair her father had recently vacated. Turning back to her, he began to roll up his shirtsleeves. "Now, let me see your leg."
Cara drew back suddenly, pulling the bedclothes almost up to her chin. The thought of Quentin Eliot's large hands touching her, on her legs, no less... It sent a wild, unwelcome thrill through her.
"I'm not going to do anything but look. And maybe poke at your knee a bit," he said blithely, seeing her hesitation.
"But I'm wearing nothing but a shift!"
At this, he broke into laughter. "You expect me to believe that you're the least bit modest? You? The girl who showed up to my afternoon party in a low-necked gown? The girl who ran through the mud in the hedge maze, flashing her ankles at me?"
"This is...different," she retorted lamely.
"You're right. My interest today is purely clinical. The day you fell, however, I will admit I was looking at your pretty legs and entertaining other thoughts."
Cara felt another hot blush rise up the column of her neck. She already knew that Lord Eliot was just as stubborn as she, if not more so. He likely wouldn't leave this room until he'd had his look. In one quick motion, she yanked the bedclothes aside, revealing her injured right knee. But she turned her head and closed her eyes as Lord Eliot stooped down and bent over to examine her.
"I'm going to touch you now," he said softly. "Fair warning."
&nbs
p; And then his warm fingers were on her, pushing gingerly at the tender flesh of her still slightly-swollen knee. She expected pain to shoot through her limb at any moment, but it didn't. His hands were careful and slow. In fact, a warm, tingling sensation began to travel up from her knee, through her thigh...
Cara fought the shudder of pleasure that threatened to ripple through her body. She fought it with every ounce of strength she possessed. She was not ready to let Lord Eliot see her enjoyment of his caress.
After another minute or two of silent examination, he straightened and pulled the bedclothes back over her leg.
"Well," he said matter-of-factly, "the doctor is absolutely right. I shall send Mrs. Cooper in with some ice to take down the rest of that swelling. And, in the morning, I shall retrieve you for our tour. I'll be sure to have Mrs. Cooper place a chair in each room so that you may sit whenever you become tired."
He bowed formally and made to leave.
His manners are so strange, Cara reflected. Hot and cold. Jovial one instant and solemn the next.
"Lord Eliot!" she called after him. He stopped and turned. "There are many women in England more beautiful and more willing than I."
"Yes," he said simply. "I suppose that's true."
He didn't seem prepared to offer anything else, so she plunged ahead.
"The other day when you left my room, you seemed on the point of saying or doing something. What was it?"
Eliot raised an eyebrow, hesitating again. But Cara waited with as much patience as she could conjure. She sensed that if she let the moment settle, it would bear fruit. Finally, he spoke.
"I was going to tell you how very glad I was that you'd fallen in my hedge maze. It made this whole process go by much more...swiftly."
"This whole process?" Cara bit out. She felt as though she'd been slapped in the face by the insensitive pronouncement. "So, you just assumed it was a foregone conclusion that I would want to marry you?"
"No, Lady Boyle," Eliot said slowly and sternly. "The second I saw you, I knew it was a foregone conclusion that I wanted to marry you."
And then, he was gone.