“Should we take the long way home through the park, Eleanor? We’ll have more chance to talk.”
“Yes, let’s.” She smiled in agreement.
“Tell me, is Rutledge developing any enticing prospects for this year’s Derby?”
At that question, Eleanor fell into an animated description of the upcoming three-year-olds that would carry the silks of the Rutledge Stud. As all things racing were near and dear to Miles’ heart, the next two hours passed without notice, and they rode into the carriage yard, laughing and conversing as if they were boon companions of many years. As he once again helped Eleanor down from her horse, her attractive face glowing with high spirits, a thought struck him, stunning in its clarity—he could develop a very comfortable marriage to this woman, a real marriage—if he received the barest hint from her that she desired such a thing.
The request to appear at Elsington & Elsington at 3:00 that afternoon came as a surprise to Miles. Upon arrival, he was shown into the senior partner’s office. Across his vast desk, Penwick Elsington held Miles in a steady, foreboding stare.
“I received an agent from the Prince of Wales in my office this morning. He advised me that the announcement of your nuptials drew the personal notice of the Prince Regent. It is not often that a racing stud of such note as Rutledge becomes potentially available to the Crown. The Prince Regent is loath to relinquish it. Apparently, our Regent is curious about the circumstances surrounding what he considers ‘precipitous actions’ that will result in the loss of a property of interest to His Royal Highness. The substance of the agent’s speech was clothed in innuendo and vagueries. However, the conclusion left no room for equivocation. I have been put on notice that the validity of your pending marriage will be held up to close scrutiny.
“Upon your marriage, I will, of course, submit a claim to the Crown asking that Lady Russell’s first-born male child be allowed to inherit. While that will be of no consequence to you, it will add to the appearance that your marriage is entered into for the begetting of an heir.”
Miles crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on the arm of the upholstered chair. “What can they do?”
“Until the Earl of Rutledge dies, nothing. After he dies, when his will is probated, as long as there is no hint of fraud, the marriage stands, and the Petition for Inheritance that I will file will be considered. A decision may take years. While there is no legal precedent for nullifying a marriage under these particular circumstances, we are dealing with His Royal Highness the Prince Regent. Parliament and the Church of England will give him a hearing no matter how outrageous his claims. Lady Russell will be ruined regardless of the outcome. Your union must be legally unassailable to forestall any action His Royal Highness may choose to take. It is possible agents will question Lady Russell’s staff. I’m certain her servants are loyal, but it would be best if they had nothing to lie about.” Elsington held Miles in a direct, unblinking stare. “To avoid any appearance of deceit, the marriage should be consummated.”
Miles drew himself even more upright in his chair. “What you are suggesting is medieval. The lady made it clear this is to be marriage in name only. I believe I signed something to that effect. Furthermore, after the ceremony, I am expected to absent myself immediately from her proximity and her affairs of business or risk revocation of the annuity.”
“I prefer to leave nothing to chance. An immense estate and Lady Russell’s future and reputation, are at stake. I will advise her of the present situation and suggest a remedy. Lady Russell is an eminently practical woman. She will do what is necessary.” Elsington tapped his fingers on his desk and examined Miles with a calculating expression. “Failing that, seduce her. Your reputation is that of a gentleman of certain…experience.”
The man’s cold, outrageous proposition gave rise to an immediate feeling of repugnance for both the suggestion and the barrister. Miles closed his eyes and ground his teeth at even the thought of introducing such a delicate issue into the nascent friendship between him and Lady Russell. Unless handled with the utmost tact, she was bound to bow her back, and he would hardly blame her. “I will broach the subject with Lady Russell.” He rose to his feet, ready to be quit of Penwick Elsington. “It is her decision.” He struggled to keep disgust from his voice. “Your other…proposal…I reject out of hand.”
Chapter Four
A
s Eleanor dressed for Lord and Lady Willingham’s ball she viewed with some alarm the rapid passage of time. The last ten days had advanced seamlessly, each day filled with pleasant diversions and public outings sponsored by Lord Miles Everleigh. There were drives and promenades in Hyde Park at more public hours, attendance at Astley’s to watch the famous equestrienne ballet and a convivial afternoon spent walking Somerset House’s exhibition of fine paintings. If she were in the habit of filling her mind with false hopes and illusions, she could easily convince herself that Lord Miles’s attentions sprang from a growing regard for her, but she drew rein short of that mark. It was much more likely he was simply a beautiful gentleman of equally beautiful manners who was making the best of an awkward situation. Still… however unfounded, a part of her longed for a different interpretation as she found herself becoming more and more enamored with the handsome lord who seemed to draw out the best in her. She liked the woman who emerged when in his company, and he had a congenial circle of friends who readily accepted her into their midst. Only one issue overset her peace of mind.
Dwelling like a burr under her saddle was the correspondence from her barrister—the terse description of the prince regent’s acute interest in their marriage and Elsington’s final notation that she should take care to provide every evidence of conjugal union. A sick feeling disturbed her attempt at calm composure every time she reviewed the words Mr. Elsington had written. She’d been over and over his correspondence, hoping with each reading to discover some alternative meaning to be taken from his message—with no success. She dithered as to whether to mention it to Miles, for what should she say? She could not bring herself to be so forward about such a delicate subject as copulation with a virile male she’d known less than a fortnight. Every time she considered doing so a hot blush suffused her features and her mouth went dry, so she said nothing at all.
As her hairdresser put the finishing touches on her coiffure, the door to her dressing room opened and Mr. Clay, her butler, announced, “M’lady, Lord Miles Everleigh is here. I’ve put him in the small parlor.”
Eleanor nodded in response. “Please tell Lord Miles I will be down immediately.”
She wore a high-waisted, gold-embroidered Mazurine blue satin underdress with cap sleeves and a low, scooped neckline topped by a blonde lace overdress with a scalloped hemline—floral figures picked out in metallic gold beads covered the entirety of the overdress. A single clasp of sapphires and diamonds held the overdress closed in the middle of her ribcage, allowing the beaded lace to fall open in the front and reveal the heavily embroidered and beaded design on the front of the Mazurine blue satin. Her matching slippers peeked from the richly beaded hemlines. Off-white over-the-elbow kid gloves covered her arms, and long dangle earrings of sapphires and diamonds fell from her ears to tickle the tops of her bare shoulders. The clasp on the front of her overdress matched the circular hair ornament that affixed an ostrich plume onto a narrow band of lace set around her simple coiffure of soft curls.
After a touch to rearrange a wandering strand, her hairdresser stepped back. With a muted smile in the mirror, Eleanor rose, draped a fringed silk wrap on her arm, and followed her butler down the stairs. For once, she could find no fault with her appearance.
When she entered the small parlor and Miles rose to greet her, the look on his face was everything she could have hoped for, and happiness soared within her.
Miles took her shawl and arranged it on her shoulders before offering his arm and escorting her out to the waiting carriage. “You are in exceptionally fine looks this evening, Eleanor.”
�
��Thank you, and I daresay with you as an escort, I will be the envy of every woman in attendance.” She spoke only the truth. Lord Miles was a handsome man under any circumstances. In black and white evening dress, she considered him without equal.
He climbed into the carriage after her and gave her a smile that would melt a heart more heavily armored than hers. “Yours is the only opinion that matters.”
That she believed him sincere only drew her further under his spell. Over the past week and a half, she’d observed that when Lord Miles escorted a woman, he was with that woman despite the flirtatious provocations offered by every female over the age of puberty. Miles bestowed 100% of his attention on Eleanor; heady stuff for a woman inured to being overlooked or addressed only because of the requirements of polite society. Most shocking of all, Eleanor held the strong suspicion that he enjoyed her company.
He frowned briefly. “I believe my half-brother, the Duke, will be attending this evening with his wife. As head of our family, it would be remarked upon if I do not make you known to him.”
Eleanor eyed him as the team of match bays moved forward. The interior carriage lamp gave the enclosed space a soft golden glow. “Why the frown?”
“He is a disagreeable man puffed up with his own consequence.”
“I see. Should I expect to be publicly cut?”
Miles replied in a manner devoid of emotion. “A gentleman would never cut a lady in public whatever the cause, but then, I have never considered Edgar a gentleman. Whatever his actions, they will be more directed at me than you.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “He cannot say or do anything more brutal than others before him.”
Miles eyed her with a softening of his expression and reached for one of her gloved hands. Before he could claim her hand, however, she forestalled any unwanted expression of sympathy he might have offered.
“Who else should I expect to see tonight? Will I know anyone there?” She listened with half an ear as Miles began to enumerate the number of his friends that she might expect to see that evening. The other half of her attention assembled the haughty, impersonal persona she assumed anytime she was forced to socialize with the ton.
She’d waltzed before—but never like this. The glittering ballroom faded into her periphery, overwhelmed by Miles’ strong arms holding her close, his confident lead sweeping her into the crowd of couples and maneuvering her in twirls and dips until she felt she was flying. Her awareness shrank until only the music and the virile male who bent her body effortlessly to his will remained. As the strains of the violins faded and they came to a stop, Miles still holding her in his arms, Eleanor raised a face glowing with elation to him—another precedent, as for the first time in her memory, she didn’t tower over her partner. “Oh… may we do that again?”
His grey eyes sparkled. “Absolutely.” And he swept her off into another heady whirl of steps.
She’d lost count of time when he drew her off the dance floor and led her by her hand toward a cluster of gentlemen and ladies grouped by an open French door. He paused and turned just before reaching them. “I’m going to introduce you to my brother and his wife. After this, you need never set eyes upon them again. I apologize in advance for his boorish behavior.”
Miles stopped in front of a gentleman of medium height and saturnine features, unremarkable other than for the heavy black eyebrow that crossed his forehead in a uniform, unbroken line. His lower jaw was somewhat undershot and resulted in prematurely forming folds under his chin, and his nose would have made a good bowsprit on any ship of the line.
“Your Grace, Madam, I would like to make known to you my bride-to-be, Lady Eleanor Constance Russell, only daughter of the Earl of Rutledge. Lady Russell, His Grace, the Duke of Chelsony and Her Grace, the Duchess of Chelsony.”
Eleanor curtseyed to the Duke and his Duchess as he made a stiff bow and then raised his quizzing glass, tipped back his head and examined her as if she were some entomological specimen pinned to a felt board. His actions failed to intimidate as his head reached only her shoulders, and from her vantage point, she could count the long black hairs that curled out of his prominent nostrils. It was a somewhat leveling observation. His wife, though not overtly welcoming, was far less stilted but even more plain and diminutive—to the point where when she dipped in a shallow curtsy, the extravagant, three-foot-long, peacock feathers of her headdress threatened to whack Eleanor in the face.
“Lady Russell, your servant,” the Duke drawled flatly. “I cannot imagine what idiocy possessed you to tie yourself to my brother. I can only pray you do not live the rest of your days in regret.” Having rendered Eleanor speechless, he announced with bombastic pomposity, “We will not be attending the ceremony. I see little need to bestow the distinction of my presence on such an ill-advised union.” He held his arm out to his wife. “I promised Lord Gardener I would listen to some investment scheme of his involving a railroad. Now would be a propitious time.” The Duke nodded at Eleanor. “Lady Russell…” His mouth tightened until his lips disappeared. “Lord Miles. Tell Lord Edmund I meant what I said. Not a farthing. Not a pence. Not a tanner. Good evening.”
As she and Miles watched the couple amble away, he snorted and muttered, “That went well, don’t you think?”
Eleanor dropped her gaze to the toes of her shoes, bit her lip ferociously and fought to keep a hysterical giggle contained. She couldn’t conceal her predicament from the ever-observant Miles who stuck a spoke in her wheel by chuckling.
“Go ahead and laugh. He’s ridiculous. By the way, the ‘Lord Edmund’ he referred to is my younger brother, Ned. Are you at all thirsty? Hungry? Should we partake of some refreshment?”
“You are a horrid man!” she gurgled and raised her face to his, her eyes sparkling with hilarity. “You know I cannot be seen laughing,” she hissed, still struggling against mirth. “How unseemly! Everyone will understand why and it would certainly reach his ears.” She closed her eyes and took several steadying breaths. “I would love some punch.”
Having collected their punch, a footman bearing several small plates that they had loaded with tasty comestibles followed Miles as he escorted her to one of several tall tables arranged around the room for those who didn’t wish to juggle their plates and cups as they ate and drank.
“You look nothing like His Grace, and he is significantly older than you.” A faint smile tipped her lips. She reached for a tiny finger sandwich and nibbled. “You are certain you are blood relations?”
“Fomenting a scandal, Lady Russell?” Miles replied in a voice of humorous reproach. “I believe I have been served enough of that dish already.”
When she made an incoherent noise of distress, he shook his head and smiled. “I took no offense. His Grace and I have different mothers. Edgar is the eldest from my father’s first wife—the marriage by all accounts beset with difficulties from the outset. She died in her early thirties of an inflammation of the lungs. My mother was father’s second wife. He adored her despite the fact she was French and thirty years his junior. Edgar never forgave my younger brother nor me for the blatant favoritism father displayed toward us.” Miles lifted a negligent shoulder. “And who should blame him? It must have been difficult to grow up discounted by one’s own mother and unloved by one’s sire.”
“Truly? I have always thought that to be loved, it helps to be loveable.”
Miles coughed into his closed hand in what Eleanor suspected was an aborted laugh.
“Whatever would your father have said about His Grace’s lack of familial care for his younger brothers?”
“Hmmm. It is an interesting question that shall forever remain unanswered. Father died intestate and very suddenly—a failure of his heart. Edgar seized possession of the title with a tight-fisted clutch that hasn’t loosened in the last four years. My sweet-tempered, vibrant mother had her jointure as Dowager Duchess, but Edgar has the administration of it and has bullied and browbeaten her into such a state she is almost a nonent
ity.” Miles offered her a tight smile. “Unfortunately, I lack the wherewithal to help her.”
Eleanor took a small sip of her punch. “Surely, that is about to change?”
His lips thinned. “As you say.” His words came out clipped, then he drew the curtain of his effortless charm over any true emotion and smiled. “They have announced another waltz. Will you do me the honor of this dance?”
She placed her cup on the table, pasted on a return smile and dropped a slight curtsy. “With pleasure, sir.” What she wished to say was he needn’t dissemble; he needn’t hide his feelings from her. However, with a sense of loss, she realized Lord Miles owed her no further insight into his intimate thoughts and emotions, and she had no right to ask. Though shortly to be his wife, she had no true standing in his life.
They danced until she pleaded exhaustion and begged to be taken home.
Miles settled Eleanor into the carriage and thumped on the roof with his cane to signal the coachman. He was struck by how attractive she looked when flushed with color and glowing with pleasure. In a mere two days, they would be wed, after which it was more than probable he would see her rarely, if at all. The thought produced a melancholy downturn of his spirits. He genuinely liked Eleanor and conjectured that, with additional time, he would more than merely like her. There remained an unpalatable issue that must be broached, however, and with only two days to the wedding, it must be done soon.
“Eleanor?”
“Ummm?”
“How legally unassailable do you want this marriage?”
She straightened and flashed him an apprehensive glance. “Completely.”
“Penwick Elsington contacted me to advise that Prinny’s lawyers are sniffing around. It seems the Prince Regent is not willing to see such a valuable property slip out of his hands at the last hour. Any suggestion of something havey-cavey and there will be an inquiry and possible invalidation of the marriage.”
A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Page 5