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Prologue
London, 1812
He’s back!
Sorin Latham, her family’s closest neighbor—and her dearest friend—had returned at last.
Eleanor raced down the stairs, keeping tight hold of her skirts and a sharp eye out for Rowena. The last thing she wanted was another scolding about running in the house. The carriage must have made it down the drive by now. He should be getting out by the time she reached the front hall.
A grin split her face as she contemplated sliding down the banister, but good sense overruled the rash impulse. She’d be sixteen in two days. Sliding down banisters was out of the question now—at least whenever there was a chance one might be seen.
Will he have exciting news to share? Will he be happy to see me? Did he bring me a present from Paris, like he promised?
He’d been gone three whole months this time. It had seemed an eternity. Not for the first time, she wished Cousin Charles had a sister he could marry so they could truly become family. But, like her, Charles was an only child. At least Sorin’s bride would one day come to live with him here in Somerset.
Now all she had to do was find a way to remain here, herself. Eleanor gritted her teeth. If only Charles would see reason! But both he and Rowena were bent on the idea of her marrying. It was to be her debut Season, and no expense had been spared to see that she made a good impression. Daughter of a duke, she was expected to make a fine marriage. Her cousin had even gone so far as to show her a list of possible matches he deemed “acceptable”.
A grimace tugged at the corners of her mouth. I’ll never wed. Her family would be annoyed at first, but they’d get over it. They don’t really want me to leave Holbrook. Why, this very morning Charles had told her that, in his opinion, no man was good enough for her, but that he’d be pleased, as long as she was happy.
For some reason, he simply refused to accept that her idea of “happy” was for things to remain exactly as they were. I don’t need a husband. I already have a home.
The front door opened as she reached the bottom step, and joy surged at the sound of Sorin’s voice. Quick as a fox, she ducked beneath the stairs and waited. After the servant had welcomed him and taken his hat and coat, their guest was told Lord Cramley awaited him in the blue salon.
Eleanor emerged just as he rounded the corner. “Surprise!”
Stopping short, he greeted her with a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his hazel eyes. “Ellie!” His gaze travelled downward, doubtless noting the absence of her customary pinafore, and his brows rose. “Gracious, I think you’ve grown another inch.”
Too happy to take affront at his reference to her height, which had indeed increased during his absence, she dashed forward to embrace her friend. “I’ve missed you so! It’s been dreadfully lonely here without your visits.”
Her joy turned to bewilderment as he stiffened in her arms and then, bracing his hands against her shoulders, thrust her away. The ungentle manner of his rejection caught her off guard and she stumbled backward, only just managing to catch herself on the newel post and avoid an ungraceful fall.
When she looked up, a thunderous, disapproving frown was fixed upon his face, which was turning scarlet. A dull, throbbing pain erupted in her chest, and a queer, numbing sensation settled over her. Sudden tears stung her eyes as he backed away another step. She wanted to ask why he looked at her as one might a leper, but words would not form on her lips.
It was he who broke the silence. “Ellie, I’m—” He stopped and took a deep, unsteady breath. “Forgive me.” Without another word, he turned and strode away.
Shaking as if a palsy had taken her, Eleanor sank to the floor in a state of utter shock and confusion.
What did I do wrong?
Chapter One
1817—Five Years Later
“Go and find out whether Sor—I mean Lord Wincanton—has arrived,” Eleanor ordered her maid Fran for the third time in the space of an hour. She turned to her friend Caroline. “I keep forgetting he is the earl now.”
Caroline frowned and patted a fiery red curl back into place. “Earl or not, why you should bother waiting for him is beyond comprehension.”
“He’s my cousin’s closest friend and our neighbor, and he has just returned home after a long absence.” Going to the mirror, Eleanor gave her tiny, puffed sleeves a final tweak. She had to admit the new gown was very becoming. The deep, square neckline was most flattering, and the long swath of celadon-striped muslin that fell from just beneath her breasts to the tips of her matching beaded slippers was simply divine. “It would be the height of ill manners to begin the festivities without one of our honored guests.”
Her words had no effect other than to elicit another exasperated sigh. “Some friend,” complained Caroline. “He’s been away for five years.” In the reflection, Eleanor watched as her friend pinched her cheeks to make them pink. “It seems to me his importance might have diminished after so long an interval. Besides, it’s your birthday. Why should you have to share the celebration with anyone, much less a man who means nothing to you?”
Because the thought of sharing this evening with him made Eleanor want to burst with both joy and trepidation, but she chose not to correct Caroline’s assumption. She glanced at the locked box by the window seat, which contained his letters to her. They had exchanged correspondence throughout his absence, and she’d never shared them with anyone but Charles and Rowena. Caro
line was a good friend but she could be insensitive at times, and those letters were personal and precious.
“He’s the one being discourteous,” said her obstinate companion. “Holly Hall is but a short distance from here. I cannot think what has delayed him.” She began to pace the room.
Eleanor smiled. “What’s really bothering you is that Lord Penwaithe’s son is downstairs.”
As usual, Caroline didn’t bother prevaricating. “He is indeed. At this very moment. And Elizabeth Ann, if I know her, has probably already sunk her claws into him!”
“Well, you needn’t wait for me,” Eleanor said, chuckling. “Why don’t you go on down? I’ll be along soon enough.”
An indelicate snort answered the suggestion. “And have you run off? I should think not.”
“I would never do such a thing to my cousin.” Especially not tonight.
Another snort. “You would. You hate these things.”
“I do hate being paraded about like a slightly overripe fruit in danger of spoiling,” Eleanor confessed. “But tonight is not about my cousin trying to marry me off. This is simply the celebration of another year—and the return of a friend.”
“I still don’t know why they bother to celebrate his return,” grumbled the other girl. “As I recall, he was never much fun. Always so proper. Never a smile or laugh. A sober sack if ever I’ve seen one.”
“You disparage him, yet you knew him less than a month.”
A raised auburn brow queried her accusation.
“It is only because you never understood him,” Eleanor insisted. “He’s reserved, as a gentleman ought to be—a quality one might consider a benefit, as opposed to a fault.” She hadn’t meant that last bit to come out with such sarcasm, but Caroline’s taste in men ran rather unfortunately to the rakish. “I just feel you ought to look to men like him as a proper example.”
“Proper indeed,” said Caroline with open disdain as she touched perfume to her wrist. Her bright blue eyes narrowed. “Manners are all good and well, but I like a man who laughs every once in a while. Not to mention one who understands this modern age. Remember when Lorraine Montagu was ill and missed a Season? One Season, and she was completely hopeless the following year! Wincanton has been away for five years. It might as well have been fifty.”
Eleanor bit her tongue. Sorin probably knew more about this “modern age” than many a London dandy. And while it was true he rarely laughed, it didn’t mean he never did. The first time she’d had the occasion to witness it would live in her memory forever. Out of rebellion over being scolded by Rowena for ruining yet another dress, she’d defiantly climbed a tree down by the pond—and had gotten stuck. Naturally, Sorin had been the one to find her. He’d climbed up as far as possible and then had carefully talked her down to meet him. Just before they’d reached the lowest limb, however, she’d lost her grip and had fallen on him, knocking them both into the murky water below. The very cold murky water.
