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ke one. Yes, at twenty-one she was no giddy greenling ready to fall for the first handsome face or dulcet word. She was worldly-wise, unencumbered and independently wealthy—a prize not easily, if ever, to be won. Curiosity pricked her. “Caroline, if you had the means to avoid marriage, would you do so?”
Caroline’s brows rose. “Well, as I have not the luxury of any other alternative, I’ve not really thought about it. But I must suppose I would. Unless I found someone I could truly love, of course.”
“Do you hope to marry for love?”
A soft snort answered that question. “Every woman hopes for a love match, Ellie. But I’m too practical to allow fancy to get in the way of a successful match and security.”
“You would choose money rather than love, then?”
“Love won’t keep one from suffering privation, will it?” said Caroline, her manner cool. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. If possible, I should very much like to have both money and love. But not all of us have the means to pass up a good opportunity in order to wait for our ideal.” Coming over, she grasped Eleanor’s hands. “I promise I won’t marry a brute. Nor shall I wed a fool—unless he’s ridiculously rich and happy to allow me to guide him in matters concerning his purse.” She giggled. “No. I shall marry the first tolerably wealthy man to make an offer. Better to have done than have none, as my grandmother once said. As for Lord Wincanton, he seems a fine match indeed.” Another giggle. “And the best part is that I’ve the advantage of being in his acquaintance before the cats in London can get a claw in.”
A cold, hard lump settled in Eleanor’s stomach at the thought of Caroline marrying Sorin. She would make him utterly miserable! In that moment, she knew what had to be done. Sorin might think of her as a naive child who needed his benevolent guidance to avoid making a terrible mistake, but in truth he was the one in danger. Whatever happened, even if it ruined both friendships, she could not allow him to fall into Caroline’s nets.
Sorin managed to stay away from Holbrook—and Eleanor—for an entire week. The days were easy enough as long as he remained busy, which was not at all difficult considering how long he’d been away and how much work there was to be done. The nights, however, were a different story altogether.
No matter how exhausted he was, he lay awake in the dark for hours, his mind overrun with thoughts of Eleanor. Every word she’d spoken to him since his return. Every detail of her face. The scent she wore that drove him mad.
There was no peace to be found in slumber, either. Most times, the Eleanor of his dreams answered the longings of his heart and the cravings of his body with a passion that awakened him in a state of need bordering on torment. There were other dreams in which she featured as well, dreams that were far less pleasant. From these he awakened drenched in cold sweat, and nothing—not reading, not walking, nor even copious amounts of brandy—could dispel the sense of utter hopelessness they left behind.
By the time Sunday arrived, his nerves were taut and his temper short.
“Stop your grumbling,” admonished his mother as he climbed into the carriage ahead of her. “You may have lived like a heathen while abroad, but you have no excuse for it now.”
“I’m not grumbling—and I did not live like a heathen,” he snapped, helping her up and then taking the seat opposite. He would have avoided attending church but for her insistence on having him along.
One steely gray brow lifted.
Damn. “My apologies, Mother. I did not intend to be harsh.”
“Whatever is the matter with you of late?” she said a few minutes later as they trundled down the road toward the village. “You’ve been cross ever since your visit to Holbrook. Did you and Ashford have a disagreement?”
“No, Mother,” he answered, wishing now that he’d insisted on staying at home.
“Well, something has certainly been weighing on your mind.”
Indeed it had. “There is much to be done now that I’m home,” he said with a weary sigh. “The finances are in decent shape but the estate itself is going to need a great deal of work. The east wing badly needs a new roof. The workers that repaired it after that storm did a shoddy job. It will have to be redone before the winter or we’ll have snow in the staff quarters—and quite possibly fewer staff.”
“I’m still wroth over having been so easily rooked.” Her bony knuckles turned white as she gripped the handle of her cane.
“And then there is the matter of the ruined harvest and the nonexistent rents,” he went on, glad to have found an adequate distraction for them both. “I doubt whether we’d have seen full payment from any of our tenants, given the impact that storm had on the crops, but there might have been partial payment at least. So there is that to consider as well. A minor loss in the grand scheme of things, but a setback, nonetheless.”
She settled back, her face filled with contrition. “Perhaps I went a bit too far in forgiving the rents entirely for the year,” she said with a sniff. “I managed things to the best of my ability in your absence. I knew there would be dire hardship if I held them to even half the expected amount, and hungry men with hungry families are apt to turn to criminal activities to meet their needs. In any case, I could not in good conscience hold them accountable for something over which they had no control and from which they had no recourse.”
“Of course not,” he agreed, now feeling churlish. “I did not mean to insinuate that you’d done poorly, Mother. Had I been informed of the situation, I might have made the same decision. I’m simply taken aback at learning of it almost a year after the fact.”
“I did it on your behalf, you know,” she said, examining her gloves. “You should have heard the blessings heaped on you the Sunday following. Two of the children recently born in the village were named for you—a boy called Latham and a girl named Sorel.”
“How…lovely.” Having the village children named after him out of gratitude over a charitable act he hadn’t even committed felt wrong in so many ways. “Father must be railing at Saint Peter to let him come back and sort us out.”
“Your father was a good man, but you are likely right,” she admitted with a grimace. “He never would have been so generous. He would have taken what he could when it was due and expected the rest after the following harvest.”
“That, I will never do,” he vowed. “I’ve never thought that a fair practice. What God has ordained for a season is a burden of responsibility beyond any man’s right to place upon another human being.”
His mother’s eyes warmed. “Your father was from another age, Sorin. A much harsher one. He would have wanted to be merciful, but he would have feared being taken advantage of and thought a fool more.”
“More the fool for allowing those in his care to suffer needlessly,” he muttered. “You acted rightly. I would much rather have the loyalty and gratitude of those living on our lands than their resentment. Thanks to my success abroad, we can absorb the financial loss.”
She peered at him with open curiosity. “You were very enigmatic in your communications regarding said success.”
