“I do believe she is doing just fine,” Aunt Cecilia said.
“She is wasting her life by running a horse farm,” her uncle countered sharply. “She should be running a large household as a duchess.”
Aunt Cecilia sighed, a deep and weary sound. “She doesn’t want to be a duchess. Why can’t you seem to get that through your thick head?”
Her uncle tsked. “Name calling now? I would expect better from you.”
Elinor glanced at Alden, who was watching her intently. When their eyes met, he winked, providing her with much needed reassurance. She felt a small surge of courage from his silent support.
Reaching for his glass, her uncle continued. “I should have known that Lady Edith would have helped you. She is an eccentric old bat.”
“Do not talk that way about Lady Edith,” Elinor asserted. “I turned to her when no one else would help me.”
“That is because everyone knew what a great opportunity it was for you to marry a duke,” her uncle responded. “Well, everyone but you, apparently.”
Elinor frowned. “I wanted to marry for love.”
“Love?” Her uncle slammed his glass down onto the table, causing water to spill over his hand. “Love is for poor people. Simpletons. Not ladies of genteel birth.”
“My parents loved each other very much,” Elinor responded.
Her uncle wiped his hand with a napkin. “Give it time. They would have eventually grown to hate one another.”
Elinor’s frown deepened. “You know not what you speak of.”
“Neither do you,” her uncle stated. “You are young, foolish, naive?—”
Alden interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “You are wrong,” he said. “Lady Elinor is none of those things.”
Her uncle turned his heated glare to Alden. “And how exactly would you know that?” he demanded.
“I have become acquainted with Lady Elinor over these past few days?—”
“How acquainted?” her uncle asked, his tone insinuating.
Alden grew indignant. “Not in the way that you are implying,” he declared.
Her uncle leaned back in his seat. “What am I supposed to think?” he asked. “I show up…”
“Uninvited, might I add,” her aunt muttered under her breath
“… and you are cavorting with my niece,” her uncle said, ignoring Cecilia’s comment.
Alden’s jaw clenched tightly. “We were not cavorting,” he responded. “And I resent the implication.”
“Were you not holding hands with my niece earlier, or did I just imagine that?” her uncle asked.
“I was offering comfort to Lady Elinor,” Alden responded, his tone unwavering.
Her uncle arched an eyebrow. “Comfort?” he repeated. “Is that what you call it when you are too familiar with a young woman?”
Elinor had just about enough of her uncle. How dare he imply that anything inappropriate went on between them. “Uncle Matthew,” she began, “you are wrong. Mr. Dandridge and I are just friends.”
“Friends? No. I daresay that you two have been spending far too much time alone,” her uncle said, shifting his gaze towards Aunt Cecilia. “It does not appear that Mrs. Hardy is a very good chaperone.”
Her aunt smiled. “As usual, you are wrong in your assumptions.”
“I don’t think I am,” her uncle said. “Does Lady Edith know what is going on under her roof?”
