Читать книгу The Complete Regency Surrender Collection - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 136

Chapter Twenty-Three

The musicians, clustered on the balcony, struck a chord. The chatter died and the crowd began the ebb and flow that would result in the dancers remaining in the centre of the floor and the onlookers arranged around the perimeter, some standing, some sitting. Gowns and jewels shimmered as they caught the light from the many chandeliers and Eleanor thought she had never seen so many sumptuous dresses and beautifully coiffured heads before.

‘Is it not a magnificent sight?’ she said to Aunt Lucy, who had finally escaped the clutches of Lady Ely. ‘How I wish I’d had the confidence to enjoy my come-out instead of hiding amongst the chaperons.’

‘Do not waste time regretting the past, my pet,’ Aunt Lucy replied, squeezing Eleanor’s hand. ‘You made the right choices, for you, at the time. You are here now. Enjoy the moment. There is not a lady in this ballroom to outshine you, so make the most of it.’

‘And I second that,’ a deep voice murmured in her ear. ‘I believe this first dance is mine?’

Her skin seemed to tighten until it felt too small to contain her flesh and her insides quivered.

Matthew. She glanced at him through her lashes as they took their place in one of the sets. His broad shoulders and square jaw allowed no doubt as to his strength and his masculinity. A glance at the other men in their set failed to flame her senses in the same way. His fingers closed around hers and fire flickered along her veins.

Who would choose smooth urbanity and polished address over Matthew’s rugged capability and down-to-earth manner? Probably, she mused, many ladies of the ton would value those qualities higher. But not her. She did not want pretty words with no heart behind them. She wanted... Matthew. She might as well admit it. She had wanted him since that first kiss. It had just seemed so impossible.

Now...

She looked up and caught his eye. He looked...

‘What is wrong? You look preoccupied.’

‘As do you,’ he said.

‘But I was preoccupied in a happy way,’ Eleanor retorted. ‘You look precisely the opposite. Why?’

He did not reply.

‘If you did not wish to dance, why did you ask me?’

His startled blue gaze bored into her. ‘Please do not imagine you know what is going on inside my head.’ He fell silent until they were near enough to converse again. ‘If you must know,’ he continued, ‘I had a visit from my eldest brother earlier. I was wondering what reception I might expect from my father when he arrives.’

Eleanor pondered his words. Matthew was adamant he had no wish to accept his rightful place in society but...could reconciliation with his father change his mind? Ideas of how she might help ricocheted around her brain but, if she were to help, it stood to reason she must discover the cause of their estrangement: the reason his father had banished Matthew to India.

They joined hands for the next movement of the dance. She barely noticed, dancing by rote. A swift tug caught her attention.

‘What are you plotting? I can see it in your eyes. You are up to something.’

Eleanor tilted her chin. ‘I am not. I was thinking about supper.’

She avoided his narrow-eyed study of her face. At the end of the dance, she said, ‘May we sit this one out, Mr Damerel? I find I am rather tired.’ Matthew had marked her card for the first two.

‘After one dance?’

‘It is the worry. The thought of meeting James and Ruth has quite overset me.’ She ignored Matthew’s quiet huff of disbelief. ‘I would appreciate finding a quiet corner to rest. To prepare myself.’

‘Very well.’ Matthew offered his arm and led Eleanor across the floor to where a set of French windows stood ajar. ‘Would you care for a breath of fresh air? There are others out there, so we cannot be accused of being unchaperoned. You cannot afford to take any chances; the patronesses of Almack’s are present. I saw Lady Cowper and Lady Jersey earlier.’

Eleanor glimpsed several guests outside on a well-lit, flagged terrace, where they were taking advantage of a cooling breeze. Perfect...enough in number to provide respectability, but few enough to enable them to converse without being overheard.

‘Indeed.’ Now to wheedle the truth out of Matthew.

They walked slowly to one end of the terrace, which ran the full width of Beauchamp House. Matthew held his tongue—Eleanor would speak her mind soon enough. Until then, he was content to enjoy the peace. As they turned to retrace their steps, Eleanor drew breath.

‘Your father,’ she said.

‘Ah, now we get to it. I knew you were up to something.’

‘I am not up to something. I am...interested. Your brother Stephen has accepted you back. Why do you imagine your father will not? What did your other brother say?’

And if she thought he was going to tell her about that interview, she was mistaken. ‘He was hardly overjoyed to see me.’

‘And yet he visited you. Why?’

Matthew shrugged free of her hand on his arm and strode over to the balustrade. He gazed blindly into the dark garden beyond the terrace.

Tenacious.

It described her perfectly.

She’s only trying to help.

As if she had heard his thoughts, she said, ‘I only wish to understand.’

‘I know.’

He turned to look at her. Gorgeous. His blood heated instantly. Her glorious dark tresses, piled on to her head, artful ringlets framing her beautiful face. That gown...the colour of a summer sky, over a white satin underdress...the low neckline revealing an enticing glimpse of full breasts and emphasising her fragile collarbones and swan-like neck, adorned by an elegant string of pearls. His hands curled into fists against the urge to reach for her.

She touched one of those fists...a fleeting contact, but enough to trigger that vibrant spark that arced between them whenever they touched. His resolve hardened. He must stay strong. Eleanor might believe her feelings lay hidden, but they shone from her eyes. He must disillusion her—she must understand there was no future for them, for her sake and her standing in society as much as for his pride.

‘I was caught cheating at cards,’ he said. ‘My accuser was then attacked and robbed. That is why my father sent me to India. My accuser was badly injured and Father feared he might die.’

‘But you didn’t do it.’ Her declaration rang with conviction.

‘I was long ago cleared of the attack,’ he said.

‘Why did you not come home, then?’

‘I am not wanted here.’ Claverley’s scornful words had pierced deeper than he realised. Damn him. And damn everything. And, in particular, damn his youthful indiscretions...his thoughtless, careless certainty that nothing could touch him. ‘Not then. Not now. I have a debt to repay to my father. Once that is discharged, I shall return to my previous existence.’

‘You are still bitter about his rejection of you. Is it not time to put that bitterness behind you and think of the future?’

‘Am I not justified if I do feel bitter? Would you not feel the same had you been rejected by your...?’ Too late, he bit his tongue. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot. I should not have said that.’

He saw her swallow. ‘It is true my mother left me. I don’t think I have ever been bitter about it, though.’ She took his arm. ‘Come, let us walk and talk. It is easier to speak with honesty when you cannot see the other’s face.’

They continued to stroll.

‘Mayhap I was never bitter because I still had my father,’ she said.

‘But it must have affected you.’

‘Of course it did. It devastated me. But...but...’ From the corner of his eye he saw her shrug in a helpless fashion. ‘I thought it was my fault.’

He had to strain to hear her. His heart swelled. He had been eighteen—old enough to rationalise his father’s behaviour. Eleanor had been eleven years old. Still a child. No wonder, at times, she doubted herself. No wonder she concealed that inner doubt behind a shell of determined independence. He covered her hand with his and squeezed gently.

‘You know now it was not your fault, I hope?’

She inhaled sharply. ‘Of course. But we were talking of you and your father.’

Her voice was bright and positive. He bit back a smile. She was the most courageous woman he had ever met.

‘May I tell you what I think, without annoying you?’

And here was a first—asking if he wanted her opinion before voicing it. ‘Go on.’

‘I think you should meet your father with an open heart. Listen to what he says and, more importantly, how he says it. Do not barricade your heart behind a wall of pride.’

That’s easy for her to say. ‘I will try,’ he said.

‘Did you prove you did not cheat at cards?’

‘Who says I didn’t cheat?’

‘I say. I know you, Matthew Damerel. You are too honourable to do such a thing.’

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes smarted at her absolute conviction. She believed in him, unquestioningly, when his own father had not.

‘Come.’ His voice was gruff. ‘We must go back inside. I do not want you to catch a chill.’

* * *

‘Cousin Eleanor, how are you?’

It was some time later when the familiar voice roused Eleanor from her reverie and she turned to see James standing over her, Ruth clinging to his arm. Eleanor’s heart faltered. She studied James’s face. Could he really be responsible for those attacks? But, if not him, who? And why?

‘I am delighted to see you without that guard dog of yours in tow,’ he continued.

At least he hadn’t noticed her new guardians. Despite her earlier annoyance, the sight of Lord Derham and Lord Vernon Beauchamp, hovering watchfully, eased her apprehension. They had appeared shortly after Matthew—with a wink at Eleanor and a whisper of ‘Think of Almack’s’—led Lady Cowper on to the dance floor. Eleanor, grateful for a respite from dancing, and for some time to ponder Matthew’s earlier revelations, had sunk into a vacant seat next to Aunt Lucy and several of her friends.

Conscious that Aunt Lucy had stopped talking and was looking over in a none-too-friendly fashion, Eleanor rose to her feet, keen to avoid a repeat of the unpleasantness when James had called into Upper Brook Street.

‘I am very well, thank you, James, and Mr Damerel—for I must presume that is to whom you refer—is merely a friend concerned with my well-being.’

‘Damerel?’ James’s brow wrinkled. ‘I thought he was called Thomas. You don’t mean to tell me there are two of them?’

Eleanor inhaled deeply, determined to remain calm. ‘He is the son of Lord Rushock,’ she said. ‘He uses another name for his business.’

She ignored the disdainful curl of James’s lip. ‘It is delightful to see you both,’ she said, including Ruth—who looked pale and anxious—in her smile. ‘I was about to take a turn around the room. Would you care to join me?’

They fell into step, with James in the centre, and made their way slowly around the edge of the dance floor.

‘Have there been any further incidents?’ James asked quietly.

‘Yes.’ Eleanor told him of the man she had seen outside the house, and the man who had accosted and threatened Agnes, and described him to James.

Rather than further the conversation, James turned monosyllabic, his arm under Eleanor’s hand rigid. What had caused him to clam up? A guilty conscience? Matthew would surely say so if he were here. Eleanor gave up trying to make conversation and spoke across James to Ruth, who clung to her husband’s other arm.

‘I trust you are fully recovered now, Cousin Ruth.’

Ruth shot a nervous glance at James before replying, ‘I am quite well, thank you, Eleanor.’

James nodded approvingly at Ruth, who smiled tremulously. What did that look mean? The tension that simmered between husband and wife was palpable, but Ruth appeared to gain in confidence and proceeded to chat to Eleanor in an unusually friendly manner. She quizzed Eleanor about the forthcoming parties and events to which Eleanor had received invitations and offered advice as to which were likely to be the most enjoyable and which might prove a bore. Eleanor began to wonder if she had misjudged Ruth at their previous meeting. Perhaps Ruth had simply been on edge due to her imminent visit to the doctor, as James had claimed?

‘James,’ Ruth said, fanning herself, ‘it is exceedingly hot in here and I do not see any footmen nearby. Would you be so good as to fetch us some wine?’

James hesitated. ‘I don’t...are you sure you will be all right?’

Eleanor stared in puzzlement. As James met her gaze, his jaw clenched. ‘Eleanor?’

‘A drink would be most welcome. Thank you.’

‘Very well.’ He found them two vacant chairs in an alcove. ‘Do not move from here,’ he said in a warning voice.

Eleanor raised a brow. James caught her look and reddened. ‘It is very crowded. I am afraid I will not find you easily,’ he said before hurrying away.

As soon as they were alone, Ruth turned to Eleanor and, taking her hand, regarded her earnestly.

‘I am pleased to have this opportunity to apologise to you, Cousin Eleanor, for I fear I might have appeared unfriendly when last we met.’

‘Think nothing of it, Ruth, for it is quite forgotten.’

Ruth’s intensity unnerved Eleanor. She leant so close as she spoke that Eleanor had to force herself not to recoil. She could not help but look around for reassurance that her guardians were in view. They were. She relaxed.

‘I was anxious about the appointment with my doctor.’

‘Yes. James did explain.’

‘Oh, James.’ Ruth chewed at her lip, momentarily silent. ‘He has changed, Eleanor. I do not know... Oh, it is nothing really.’ She swayed closer and Eleanor, despite her best efforts, drew back. Ruth tightened her grip on Eleanor’s hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I know I can unburden my heart to you, dearest Eleanor. If only things had been different, we would be sisters now and I know my beloved Donald would urge me to trust you. I know that you love James and will not allow my worries to alter your regard for him, but I have no one else I can talk to.’

Eleanor swallowed hard. Where was James with their wine? What was Ruth implying? She had never liked Eleanor and had blamed her for her brother’s death, yet here she was, introducing Donald into the conversation without a blink of emotion or blame.

‘It is a sensitive subject—’ Ruth continued.

‘Then I implore you to say nothing,’ Eleanor said, pulling her hands free. ‘To be honest, Ruth, if you and James have problems, they should be resolved between the two of you. Do not forget I have loved James from childhood— I am unlikely to take your side in any marital squabble.’

‘No, no! You misunderstand me.’ Ruth grabbed Eleanor’s hands again. ‘I do not seek to drive a wedge between you, but I need to talk of this, in case...in case...the worst comes to pass.’ She gave a low sob and held a handkerchief to her lips. ‘I am sorry. I am a little overwrought.’

‘Very well.’ Eleanor saw that she was unlikely to escape Ruth’s confidences. ‘What is the matter?’

‘James is desperate for a son. But...but...I have been unable to get with child. Oh, Eleanor, he blames me, I know he does. Our appointment the other day was to determine whether anything can be done to help, but the doctor offered no hope. And now...I am so afraid... What if he should...what if he decides he wants a new wife? Mayhap you can understand the strain I have been under and forgive my unwelcoming attitude?’

‘I am so sorry to hear that, Ruth, and of course I forgive you.’ Eleanor buried her instinctive dislike for the other woman under her very real sympathy and patted Ruth’s hand. The woman was so brittle it felt as though she might shatter into a thousand pieces and there was still a fervent glitter in her eye that made Eleanor uneasy. ‘I am always available, if you should feel the need to confide in someone, but I am convinced your worries are without foundation. James is an honourable man. He would never cast you aside.’

‘It is not being cast aside that I fear,’ Ruth said.

‘Then—?’

Ruth turned her head away and Eleanor strained to hear her words. What she said made Eleanor’s blood run cold.

‘It is James.’