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“Then consider it fortunate that I maintained my reserve, because to have displayed my true feelings for those so-called suitors would have been insulting to their dignity and very likely ruinous for me.” Her eyes flashed, belying her cool tone. “I’ve given every gentleman before which Charles has paraded me an opportunity to prove himself worthy of my regard. It’s not my fault that all have failed to meet my standards. If I’ve been reserved, it is because I have yet to find a gentleman possessing the qualities necessary to engender my trust and affection.”
Prudence warred with curiosity—and promptly lost. “Might I inquire as to these…standards you’ve set forth? Because it seems to me you’ve set some lofty requirements, if indeed no less than four—six if you count the good reverend’s repeated attempts—proposals of marriage have been turned down due to lack of their fulfillment. Are you certain the fault lies with the gentlemen?”
In an instant, he knew he’d gone too far. Her eyes widened, and the flags in her cheeks brightened to a cherry red that spread to the tips of her ears.
“Perhaps I am too harsh a critic,” she said a bit unsteadily. “My only excuse is that my expectations have been set by the examples with which I was provided in my youth. My father, Charles, and…” A suspicious brightness rimmed her lower lashes for a bare instant before she averted her gaze.
Comprehension dawned. “If you mean to say that I am at fault for—”
“Who else was there?” she snapped, glaring at him through leaf-green eyes that glittered with unshed tears. “Had I been exposed to lesser men, I should perhaps be more willing to accept such a one. However, as I was not, I shall continue to hope for better. Had you been here to see what has presented itself thus far, I would like to think that you would agree with my decision.”
The words had been spoken softly, and yet they cut like the sharpest steel. He took a step toward her, intending only to offer comfort and reassurance, but she quickly edged away.
“Regardless, my standards are my own and I will not compromise them,” she said, her tone once again brisk. “Now if you will excuse me, I believe you know your way out.”
Brushing past him she stalked away, leaving him to stare after her in shock—and to wrestle down the fierce joy that had begun to kindle in the ash pit of his heart. Just because she’d made him part of her standard for comparison did not mean she desired him. When evaluating suitors, young ladies often looked for the qualities exemplified by the older gentlemen in their acquaintance. That he should even dare to dream that she might have meant more was a measure of his idiocy.
Still…her blush had been quite spectacular. Had she fooled herself into thinking him her husbandly ideal? If so, he must disabuse her of the notion at once, no matter how much the selfish part of him would rather do otherwise.
He walked the rest of the way to the stables, torn between guilty elation and fear for both her and himself. He’d ruined one young woman’s life by trying to change her—he wouldn’t ruin Ellie’s.
The truth must be learned, and the damage—if any—must be un
done. The question was how to do it without her suspecting anything.
Chapter Four
It was all Eleanor could do not to bolt. Her back stung like a thousand angry bees had alighted on it, but she kept her spine straight and her pace steady and stately, refusing to give in to the childish urge to run. If she did, he’d only come after her, which would result in even more humiliation. No. This was the way a mature, dignified woman would handle the situation.
Inside, however, she longed to tear out of the house and hide in the wood until the heat left her face, until her blood settled down and her head cleared. She could retreat to her room, but there was always a chance that Fran might be there or that someone else might see her state and inquire. So instead of doing either, she ducked into the deep shadows beneath the grand staircase to compose herself.
Lightheaded and trembling all over, she leaned against the wall. The tears she’d tried so hard to hold back now streamed down her face unchecked. Digging into her pocket, she found a kerchief and carefully blotted them away, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps. If anyone saw her like this…
In his eyes she was still a child. The pathetic, tearful child he’d found hiding in the garden the day they’d met. The disobedient brat who’d fallen out of a bloody tree and broken his nose. The impetuous hoyden he’d had to chasten for being too demonstrative. Would he never see her as anything but that child? She wanted to think they’d become friends—real friends—now that she was grown. Friendship between adults should be comprised of mutual fondness and respect between equals. But while his respect for her was a given and his fondness assured, he most certainly did not consider her his equal.
Hot tears again pricked her eyelids. Furious, she swiped them away, taking care not to rub too hard lest she further redden her eyes. Down the hall a clock struck half past twelve. The others would be waiting for her, wondering. She couldn’t stay here, and she couldn’t appear to have been crying or there would be questions.
Breathing deeply, she counted to one hundred and then peeked to make sure no one was about before tiptoeing across the hall to have a look in a mirror. Her cheeks were still a bit pink and her lids a little swollen, but she looked well enough to escape undue notice provided she was careful. Squaring her shoulders, she made her slow way back to the salon, making sure to pause and listen at each corner for a moment before emerging—in case he was still lurking about. Fortunately, she encountered no one. By the time she neared the salon, she felt reasonably composed.
Caroline’s voice issued out into the hall. “Might I inquire as to whether we can expect Lord Wincanton to share our coach for the journey to London?”
The inquisition had already begun.
“Of course not,” answered Rowena at once. “He and his mother have their own conveyance.”
“Oh. I did not think of that.” Disappointment colored Caroline’s voice.
“I dare say you did not,” replied Rowena.
Eleanor smiled grimly. It was as much a relief to know she wouldn’t have to sit across from him for the journey as it was to know he’d be beyond the reach of Caroline’s claws. She was just about to make her entrance when Rowena again spoke, sending her back to her place of concealment.
“Though I hesitate to do so for fear of offending you, Caroline, I have been asked by your parents to chaperone you this Season and therefore feel I must speak.”
Holding her breath, Eleanor strained to hear.
“Your demeanor toward Lord Wincanton this morning came very close to being unacceptable. Not only do I disapprove of such bold flirtation, but you ought to know that Lord Wincanton deplores forward behavior in females.”
“I apologize for any perceived impropriety, Lady Ashford,” she heard Caroline say after a moment. “I was merely attempting to put Lord Wincanton at his ease.”
