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Instead of being wroth, however, he’d taken one look at her and had started laughing. She’d been covered from head to toe in muck, and he’d laughed until he was nearly blue. After getting over her own wounded pride, she’d laughed, too—for the first time since her parents’ death. It would have been completely wonderful—had she not accidentally broken his nose a moment later while he was helping her up the slippery bank. But, even then, he hadn’t yelled at her.
Caroline wasn’t quite finished with her rant. “Waiting for his high-and-mightiness to arrive is a complete waste of time. We should already be down there.”
“Caroline, I will n—”
The door opened, cutting her off. “His lordship has arrived, my lady,” said Fran.
“At last,” muttered Caroline, sweeping away.
After stepping aside to let her pass, the servant leaned back in. “Shall I tell them you’re coming down, my lady?”
“No, but thank you,” Eleanor said quickly. Nothing, nothing was going to mar her entrance. Tonight was her twenty-first birthday, and by George, she would be a perfect lady for once. Or at least appear to be one.
“Come on!” said Caroline from the hallway.
Eleanor followed meekly, but stopped when they neared the stairs. “Will you just check first to make sure the way is clear?”
Caroline rolled her eyes, but did as asked. “It’s safe enough—no one is looking. I’m going down.” She did so without a backward glance.
Eleanor listened as the crowd below hushed. Damn. I ought to have gone first. She waited until the murmur of the guests returned. Stomach aflutter, she began her descent.
Hand grazes the rail rather than gripping it tightly. Head high. Shoulders back. Spine straight. Don’t look at your feet. Six steps down, silence again fell. She forced herself the rest of the way down and paused on the last step to seek out the faces of her guardians.
“Dearest Eleanor, happy birthday,” said Rowena, coming forward to kiss her cheek.
“How very generous of you to host this party in my honor,” Eleanor said to her. “I cannot thank you enough for your many kindnesses over the years.” To her surprise, her eyes began to sting. Rowena had indeed been kind. More than kind. Though they were near enough in age to be sisters, she’d been a mother in so many ways.
Charles beamed as he joined them. “The pleasure is all ours, Cousin Eleanor. Come, let us toast this special day with a glass of champagne.”
As he turned to seek out a glass for her, another figure came forward, his face as familiar and dear to Eleanor as any on earth, though it had been more than five years since she’d last looked upon it. Sorin. Unlike the other men in this room, his skin was golden—from days spent on the deck of a ship. Faint lines fanned out from the corners of his hazel eyes, and hair that had once been darkest walnut was now tinged with lights from exposure to the sun and the faintest sprinkling of gray at the temples.
Eleanor sank into a deep curtsy. A perfect curtsy. “Lord Wincanton. How delighted I am to share in celebrating your return home.” Flawless. Just the right tone. Cultured. Polite. No unseemly squeals or unladylike displays.
Not like last time.
What an awful day that had been. Though he’d later sought her out to make amends for his ungentle treatment of her, his words had cut her to the quick.
…I shall always count myself your friend, Ellie—Lady Eleanor, I should say from now on—and much as it pains me, I would be a poor friend indeed did I not speak plainly with you. You are a young lady now and must behave like one. You simply cannot go about hugging men, not even me, lest you risk your good name and that of your guardians. Certainly, I expected you to know better by now. As such, I shall at the first opportunity speak with Ashford regarding your edification on matters of propriety, for you certainly cannot enter London society otherwise…
To have earned such censure from him, of all people, had been devastating, and the effects had lasted much longer than a mere day.
Before he could make good on his promise to speak with her cousin, however, Rowena had discovered herself again with child. Unable to make the journey to London, Rowena had arranged for her to stay with her elderly aunt. She’d then prevailed upon Sorin and his mother to help bring her out, as Charles had refused to leave her side. Thus, it had been Sorin rather than Charles who’d presented her at court, Sorin who’d squired her about to various events, and Sorin who’d kept strict watch over her every word and action, correcting her at every turn.
Much as she adored her friend, Eleanor had found the whole experience most awkward. He—apparently—had found it mortifying. Less than a month into the Season, he’d returned to Somerset without explanation, leaving her with two elderly matrons for company. Upon arriving home, she’d found him cool and distant. Then he’d left again “to see to his family’s foreign investments.” Following that absence, he’d received orders to command a vessel in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. She’d expected his return after Napoleon’s defeat, but it was another two years before he came home
.
It had taken all her courage to write that first letter and send it enclosed with Charles’s correspondence. Thankfully, he’d written back, and their friendship had resumed. Numerous letters had been exchanged between them since, with “the incident” never mentioned, but she knew he’d not forgotten—any more than she had. And now here he was, and still, it felt awkward.
Gracefully, she extended her hand—and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. She’d forgotten her blasted gloves. Damn that Caroline for being in such a rush! Behaving as though nothing was amiss, she waited, her innards all hollow and wobbly as he bowed, as his hot, dry fingers slid beneath her own. He released her almost immediately and folded his hands behind his back.
Heat flared in her face, but she held her head high. So not everything was perfect, but no one could possibly remember to follow every one of a thousand rules all of the time! “Tell me, Lord Wincanton, are you planning to remain in England or do you intend to return to the East?”
Sorin tried hard to ignore the ominous tingling as it spread from his fingers throughout the rest of his body. God have mercy… Could this poised, elegant female possibly be Ellie?
The silence was becoming conspicuous. He cleared his throat to ease its tightness and spoke through suddenly parched lips. “It would of course please me greatly to never again leave England’s shores, but none of us knows what the future holds. Fate has a way of interfering in the best laid plans.” His plan to stay away until she was safely married had failed miserably.
“Indeed it does,” she agreed. “But if it is truly your desire to remain, then I should hope Fate will allow it.”
