by Naomi Boom
“They will not approve, nonetheless. Logan has his estate, which I am sure affords a tidy income, but that will not impress them.”
“Does that bother you?” Lady Gammon asked, her eyes fixed on Eleanor’s.
Eleanor shook her head. When she first met Logan, his station had disqualified him from consideration, but she had realized she would prefer a simple life with him to a grander life with someone else. Again she shook her head. “No. I want him and no one else.”
Lady Gammon nodded. “Do you remember when I told you Logan was rich?”
“Yes, but I am sure you exaggerated to help his suit. He is landed gentry. I know what that entails.”
“Yes, well, it was not a lie.” The door to the library swung open, and the ladies turned to see who entered. A nondescript gentleman hurried in, and Eleanor turned her attention once more to Lady Gammon who said, “Logan may not be the richest man in England, but he certainly is rich.” She waved her hand around her and smirked. “In fact, I would say he is just as rich as the duke.”
Eleanor gasped, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. She had not expected Logan to hold so much wealth. No wonder he seemed so unconcerned about her dowry. She turned to look at Logan, who was deep in conversation with the unknown gentleman. His visage was austere, dark even, and a shudder passed over her. Something serious must have happened.
****
“Your Grace.”
Logan whirled around with a thunderous scowl on his face. His steward approached with a smile, but when he saw Logan’s expression, paled and clamped his mouth shut. “Be quiet,” Logan hissed when his steward reached his side. He glanced sideways to Ellie only to find her staring at him with a look of shock on her face. She averted her eyes, and he knew the ruse was up. All the lengths he had gone to in order to keep his identity secret were ruined by two fatal words.
He would not be able to form a plausible excuse, and why should he when she would know the truth anyway? This was certainly not how he had wanted to tell her, but his ruse was finished.
“What is this about?”
The steward shifted uncomfortably at Logan’s terse words and dark scowl. “There has been a fire, Your Grace.”
A fire was one of the most disastrous things that could happen to an estate. “How bad?”
His steward began to sweat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He mopped his brow and whispered, “Bad. I think it wise if you return with me.”
His steward had always been the nervous sort but not to this extreme. Logan attempted to lighten his furious countenance. Ellie would not be pleased with this turn of events, but if a fire had ravaged one of his estates, he needed to go. His people needed him. “Fine. I will leave in short order. Until then, I am sure you could use some lunch. Please, go to the kitchens and avail yourself of whatever they have.”
He turned to observe Ellie as she chatted with Lady Gammon. They shared a laugh at some comment while looking lovely seated together. Their coloring was a striking contrast of English beauty and a darker, exotic allure.
When he first met Ellie, she had struck him as beautiful, but her looks had failed to sway him. There were plenty of beautiful women in the world. Now that he had grown to know her, he could no longer say that. To him, she was the most beautiful woman, both inside and out.
“Have you forgotten I am here?”
Logan started. He turned to find Reuben at his arm with a sly grin on his face. With a look of chagrin, Logan said, “I am afraid I did.”
Reuben chuckled. “I can hardly fault you. Go to her already.”
The problem was, Logan was content to just observe her from afar. The more he thought of the upcoming conversation, the more his body behaved in a recalcitrant fashion. He would hope for an easy conversation where she would behave in a most understanding manner, but something told him she would be livid with him.
“Go on now,” Reuben said, pushing Logan from his chair.
The gentle push was enough to force his limbs into action, and he went to her. He bowed before the ladies and extended his hand to Ellie. “My lady, would you care to stroll with me?”
She smiled and excused herself from Lady Gammon. She appeared quite docile as he led her from the room, which baffled him. He assumed she would be angry with him. Once he led her from the house and into the welcoming sunlight, he smiled a regretful smile and said, “I suppose you know the truth.”
“Yes.” She nodded. She continued speaking, as humor filled her clear blue eyes. “I don’t understand all the secrecy, though.”
He smiled as warmth filled him. She was so understanding, and here he had worried she would hate him. He led her to the gardens, back to the place where they had confessed their love for one another. “I wanted you to love me for me, not for some superficial reason.”
She stooped down by the newly opened bright pink azaleas and looked up at him. “I can’t say I blame you.” She returned her attention to the flowers and bent over to enjoy their fragrance. Standing, she returned her arm to his and said, “I know how I treated you when we first met. I probably would have toned down details of myself if I were you, just out of spite.”
He chuckled. That sounded like her. The air had warmed considerably, so he stopped their stroll at the bench beside the garden. He sat her down and inhaled a fortifying breath. He was not ready to impart his change in plans for their wedding, but there was no avoiding it.
****
His hand caressed her skin, and she had to stop herself from turning into his embrace. He would likely appreciate her boldness, but judging by the grim look on his face, now was not the appropriate time.
“I must leave.”
Eleanor froze as his words hit her. She could not have heard him correctly. “You mean we leave tonight, right?”
He shook his head, and sorrow filled his eyes. “No. There has been a fire, and I must tend to the matter at once.”
The hum of the birds disappeared as the world around her became muted. Fire could prove disastrous, depending on the extent of its damage, but they had plans. They were to depart for Gretna Green tonight. They were to marry, and she was ruined. Her pulse quickened at the thought and she inhaled a ragged breath. How could she have let this happen? He had used her, and this was his pathetic excuse to leave without facing the repercussions of his actions.
She shook her head and looked at the pond in the distance. “No. I will not allow you to throw me aside.” Her voice was strong, but inwardly, she teetered on the very precipice of falling.
“I am not throwing you aside. I love you.”
His voice was gravelly and deep. She should have been comforted by his words, but how many other women had heard the same thing and never seen their lover again? She was so very stupid. “If you love me, then you will take me to Gretna Green. Tonight.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I am sorry, but this is for the best. There is no need to elope when we can marry by special license and avoid scandal.”
She pulled her hand from his and placed it in her lap. Staring straight ahead, she tried to focus her thoughts, but the only ones to surface were from the scared girl within that knew she had made a grievous error. Now, she would return to her parents as damaged goods, and the only comfort they would offer was, once again, she had not measured up to Laura’s standard. She had failed.
Years of training and emulation of her mother kicked in, and she remained stoic despite her inner turmoil. She wished to believe him and give him the benefit of the doubt, but optimism would not allow her to survive. Not if he abandoned her.
“When will you come for me?” Her voice was strong. At least she would make her mother proud for that reason.
“I should think two weeks.”
She contemplated her well-manicured nails as she considered his words. “Very well. You shall have your two weeks, but after that, don’t expect me to wait around for you.”
He tensed beside her and scowled. “What do you
mean?”
Finally, she turned to him. His dark green eyes held anger and the briefest flash of pain. That pain gave her hope. If her words could affect him so, maybe he did wish to come back for her. Yes, she could hope, but she must have her backup plan.
“If, in two weeks, you do not come for me, I will be forced to concede you no longer want me. In that event, I will move on.”
Slowly, he smirked, but the smirk did not reach his eyes. His eyes were dangerous, and he appeared quite menacing as he said, “In case you forgot, you are ruined. No one will have you.”
She had not been caught in a compromising position, and as long as her night with Logan remained secret, she would succeed. The tenseness of their conversation had taken its toll on her, and instead of the neutral tones she hoped for, her voice was shaky as she said, “Virginities can be faked.”
He inhaled sharply and turned her to him, gripping her shoulders in a tight hold. She thought he looked menacing before, but now there was real anger in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare. Even now you could carry my heir.” He laughed when her eyebrow rose in surprise. “Yes, our one night together is enough. You might just be enceinte.”
His words hit her like a blow. Was conceiving a child so easy? Well, it was his choice not to marry and not hers. If he worried she carried his heir, he would come back for her. She sent a frigid look to the hands that held her, and he slowly removed them. “I suggest we elope then, or if I truly am less important than your estate, you come to me within the next two weeks.”
“You are being ridiculous. I love you, and I will return for you.” He stood and looked down on her without a shred of remorse. “I must depart, but remember you are mine.”
Her insides tensed as anxiety seized her. She remained calm, wanting to appear unruffled and indifferent. “We shall see.”
He turned then and strode back to the manor. When he was out of sight, she slowly drew her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. It was a terribly unladylike position and just what she needed. Because inwardly, she crumbled.
The Logan she knew and loved would come for her. He would marry her, and they would live happily ever after, but would he? He claimed she might carry his child, but was that a possibility? Lady Gammon had tried for years to conceive, so based on her example, Eleanor was without child.
She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes. He had spoken of marriage by special license, and now she wished she had paid more attention. It was hard to focus sometimes when one experienced hysterics. The bench called to her, and she almost lay down right there but resisted the urge. Rather, she rose and returned to the manor.
The scenery no longer held any appeal to her, and she focused on her breath while holding in the tears that threatened. She stopped by Mrs. Westfield’s chambers and informed her chaperone of her desire to leave. Mrs. Westfield agreed, and Eleanor went to her room. She would nap and rein in her emotions. Otherwise she would lose all control and weep. She scowled as her head hit the pillow. These next two weeks would be long indeed.
Chapter 11
The Gammons waved them off, and the carriage pulled away from the ducal manor with Eleanor, Mrs. Westfield, and Olivia ensconced in its warmth. Eleanor sat facing the window, trying to keep a serene expression on her face. She did not see any of the scenery that passed because her thoughts were filled with Logan. After all they had been through, Logan deserved her trust. She resolved to believe he would come for her, despite the nagging doubt at the back of her mind that told her she was naïve.
She loved him, and if her cousin Laura was correct, love was something that could defy all odds. There was no harm in allowing herself to believe that, at least for the next two weeks. After that time had passed, she would have no choice but to move on. No matter how hard that would be, or how much she did not want to.
Soothed by her decision, Eleanor closed her eyes and dozed off despite the bumpy ride. She napped off and on for the rest of the uneventful trip and was grateful when they arrived at the Ashford estate. Servants swarmed the carriage, unloading the luggage in a buzz of activity. She had missed having a full staff of servants at her disposal and had never valued servants as much until her visit to Waking Hall.
She entered the house to the sound of familiar silence. She couldn’t remember a time when her home had been loud. Even when Laura and Eleanor were in attendance, the place had been devoid of sound.
She rang for a bath and refreshments before sinking into the velvet cushions of her favorite armchair and surveying her room which had been decorated in various shades of pink. Before visiting Waking Hall, she thought her room suited her. Now, however, she felt it lacked in depth, maybe needing some gray to transform it.
The servants accomplished their tasks, and Eleanor found herself submerged in a steaming hot bath. Before meeting Logan, she had considered herself a socialite who somehow lacked certain basic emotions. Naturally, she had attributed her lack of caring to her mother, who displayed the same dearth of emotions as Eleanor. Now that she had come to love Logan, however, she knew she had erred in her estimation of herself. She was capable of a great deal more emotion than she had ever thought possible, and strangely, she liked it.
Her mother had taught her at a young age to trust no one and that emotions were unnecessary. At the very beginning of Eleanor’s first season, she had yearned for some spark between herself and a gentleman, but nothing had ever happened. She never found a spark, and furthermore, she learned to distrust women.
Not that she trusted any besides Laura, but there was one certain lady who had reinforced the notion to Eleanor. This debutante had been upset that Eleanor was more popular than she and sent Eleanor a black vase filled with azaleas. In the language of flowers, a black vase with azaleas signified a death threat. The girl was not stupid enough to admit to the flowers, but Eleanor knew, and from that moment on, Eleanor gave up on her gender. She would have no friends, aside from Laura, and she would do her duty by marrying well.
She sighed from the memory and wrung the moisture from her hair. She stepped out of the tub and toweled dry. A servant helped her into a gown and braided her hair down her back.
Eleanor stopped in front of her mirror and looked at herself with a critical eye. While her outward appearance remained unchanged, internally she felt different. Logan had given her the freedom to change. The idea that she would not have to deal with the confines of the ton when she married Logan was so very freeing. How ironic that his lack of a higher title was the very thing that would liberate her most.
Picking up her skirts, she hurried downstairs for supper. Of course, she was the last to enter the dining room, and her entrance was not met with the welcoming greeting she had expected. Instead, she was met by a cold, disapproving stare from her mother and complete disregard from her father.
Eleanor slipped into her typical chair as her mother said, “Your aunt has apprised me of your situation.” Eleanor’s stomach lurched as her mother continued, “I do not know what you are thinking, turning down a duke. You should have accepted.” She shook her perfectly coiffed head and said, “You will not marry this baronet. He is beneath you.”
Eleanor’s appetite disappeared and failed to return even as the servants placed plates of hot food in front of the assembled family members. Instead of reaching for her fork, she decided on a sip of wine for fortitude. “He is hardly a commoner, Mother.” She took another sip and said, “He is quite rich, and I will marry no other.”
Lady Ashford exhaled as her face remained a frozen mask. “That may be, but a baronet will not earn your father any votes in parliament.” She laughed, which sent a shiver down Eleanor’s spine. “Why even bother having a daughter if she gains nothing from her marriage?”
Frozen in place, Eleanor could not believe her ears. Her mother had always been on the frigid side but never heartless. Eleanor stood, her chair scraping against the floor with a loud screech. “You will regret those words, Mother.”
She began to stride f
rom the room when her mother said, “We depart for London in the morning. You may have failed to secure a duke, but we can find you a better match than a baronet.”
Without uttering a response, Eleanor hurried out. She had told Logan they should elope, but his estate was more important. Her mother could be ruthless, and Eleanor was sure she had been serious about finding Eleanor a husband. Eleanor could stall for a little while, but if Logan did not act fast, she could be forced into an unwanted marriage to only God knew who.
Entering her room, she strode to her desk and pulled out some paper. Logan would need to know she had gone to London, assuming he would come for her. She thought he had said Briarthorn was located in Corningwall, so hopefully he would receive the missive without any interference. Her pride kept her from saying too much, other than to inform him of her change in location, and she signed it with a flourish.
She tucked the letter away in her desk. Hopefully, her mother would not find it. She did not need to alert her mother to just how rebelliously she planned on behaving. Olivia helped her into a nightgown, and she slipped into bed. She fell into a restless sleep filled with wary uncertainty of what would soon happen.
Chapter 12
Two weeks crept by as Eleanor settled into her townhouse in London. With each passing day, her nerves grew more and more agitated. Not only did the void of loneliness caused by Logan’s absence increase daily, but her trust in him wavered. She immersed herself in her painting in order to keep away the gnawing worry, but even her paintings tended toward a darker theme.
He should have been here by now. Of course, she tried to come up with excuses for his absence, but she failed to convince herself of their credibility. Maybe her letter had been lost and he did not know where to find her, or perchance another emergency arose requiring his attention. She could almost believe the last excuse she created for him, which was that Logan had caught the duke’s illness, but neither she nor Mrs. Westfield had become ill, and common sense dictated he had not as well.