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“Her best interests…or yours?” she asked lightly.
Again, the blood rushed to his face. “I wish only for her happiness.”
“Of course you do.”
For a moment he thought he’d succeeded in closing the conversation. No such luck.
“I must assume that you have not informed her concerning the true nature of your regard?” she persisted.
Oh, bloody hell. “There is nothing of which she need be informed. This is not the first time we have disagreed,” he said, steering the subject back on course. “You know, as well as I, how intractable she can be at times. But I’m confident her irrational ire toward me will dissipate once she comes to acknowledge that I am correct.”
When she finally spoke, his mother’s voice trembled with barely repressed laughter. “I don’t wonder that she is vexed with you if your attitude was such. My dear boy, you may have traveled the world but you have a great deal to learn about women. Men are not the only ones with pride, you know, and you have sorely wounded hers. You must make amends if you wish to enter back into her good graces.”
“By make amends, you mean apologize.”
“Precisely.”
“I won’t apologize for speaking the truth. She will eventually come to see reason.”
“Not if that young man has anything to do with it,” she said, nodding at a point beyond his right shoulder.
Unable to help himself, he looked, and across the green saw Yarborough bend to say something at Eleanor’s ear. A throbbing began at his temples as Yarborough bent closer—without any resulting protest, he noted—and she laughed in response to whatever it was he’d said.
Pain shot through him. The same suffocating, gut-wrenching pain he’d felt all those years ago when he had watched her effortlessly win the adoration of every man she’d encountered. The same pain he’d hoped never to experience again. Her inheritance might be the lure that first drew them and her beauty the second, but it was her own unique charm, her warm spirit that thereafter held them helplessly prisoner.
Behind him, he heard a delicate cough. Turning, he found his mother staring at his hands—which were curled into fists at his sides. “You should tell her how you feel.”
“I cannot,” he blurted, knowing it was useless to try and hide from her anymore.
“Why ever not?” she asked, frowning. “Surely you don’t believe Ashford would object?”
“Ashford views me as a brother and trusts me with his family—with Eleanor, whom he has worked tirelessly to shelter from the world’s licentiousness. I’ve worked alongside him in this, such that he asked me to stand in his stead as guardian during her debut. How will he feel when I, whom he has so entrusted all these years, reveal unchaste sentiments toward her? I fear our friendship would not withstand such a betrayal.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “Once you assure him of your honorable intent, I’m certain he’ll be both understanding and amenable. Doubtless he’d prefer that she marry you over certain others I could name. Friendship is always a desirable state within one’s family.”
“Even if Ashford were to be agreeable, there is Eleanor herself to consider,” he persisted. “I’m too old to be of interest to her.”
“Rubbish. Young ladies marry gentlemen twice, sometimes even thrice their age every day and are quite happy. At a mere twelve years her senior—”
“Nearly thirteen,” he corrected her.
“You are far short of either mark,” she continued without acknowledging him. “You’ll need a better excuse than that, I’m afraid. Why should she not welcome your suit? She’s known you more than half her life and cares for you greatly.”
“Yes, she cares—but not
in the way a wife should for a husband. She grew up with me lecturing her on comportment, correcting her every lapse, always urging her to better herself. She once told me I was worse than any governess. I’m not exactly a romantic figure in her mind.”
“Then you must change how she sees you. But first you must apologize—be sincere and contrite, and pray she accepts it,” she said over his irritated rumble of objection. “And in the future, I would advise you not to criticize a woman’s logic—no matter how flawed you think it is.”
“Yes, I believe I’ve learned that lesson,” he said with chagrin. “Very well, I’ll apologize. The revelation of my changed sentiments, however, remains a dilemma. I cannot simply propose a different sort of relationship between us.”
“No indeed. I do not myself entirely understand how you arrived at such feelings considering your long separation from each other, but if I’m surprised by it, it is likely everyone else will be doubly so. If at all possible, it would be better for you to ease slowly into an understanding with her. Achieving your purpose will require great care and discretion.”
“I will, of course, employ the utmost discretion,” he promised, shocked to hear himself say it. So much for his decision to selflessly refrain from pursuing his heart’s desire. “As for my altered attitude, I believe it can be explained by the letters we’ve been exchanging.” It wasn’t wholly untrue, and he needed some legitimate excuse.
“Letters?” She frowned again. “What letters?”
“We exchanged letters while I was abroad—she enclosed her correspondence along with Charles’s. I told her of my travels and she wrote back concerning the happenings here. When I returned, it was as though we’d never been apart.”
