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Chapter Twelve
With great anticipation, Eleanor watched London’s busy streets pass by her window. The leaden sky and drizzle bothered her not at all, though she wished the inclement weather had come a bit sooner so that Sorin might have ridden with her. It had begun just as they’d crossed into the outskirts of Town, and he’d elected to remain mounted rather than bring the damp into the carriage with him.
Despite having enjoyed the comforts of Lady Wincanton’s carriage and companionship, both of which were far superior to the alternative, it had been a long and wearying road. Every night Caroline had bemoaned at length her having to endure Lady Yarborough’s constant poking and prying into her personal business, and every night Eleanor had felt terrible for not being able to share her own good fortune. It wasn’t her carriage to offer, and it would have been inappropriate to ask her hostess to further alter arrangements.
Still, she was here. The Season had never before held much charm or significance for her, but now it was everything. It was an opportunity. If Sorin, who was now officially on the market, could somehow be made to see her as the best possible match…
This time, the prospect of marrying Sorin inspired neither pa
nic nor guilt, but rather excitement.
If I must wed, then why not marry someone I already know? Someone I’m quite fond of and who lives close to Holbrook? It made perfect sense, really. Holly Hall was but a stone’s throw from home. And Charles would doubtless be more than pleased to have his dearest friend become part of the family.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that it was the wisest course of action. Who better to marry my friend than me? True, he’d been stern and disapproving in the past, but things might be different now that he saw her as a woman grown and not a schoolgirl needing constant correction. In the course of one conversation, a whole new world of possibility had opened up. Now to see if it is indeed possible…
“I can see you’re just as pleased as I to have arrived,” said Lady Wincanton with a smile that transformed at once into a frown as one of their wheels hit a bump, jostling them. “Merciful God. My posterior will certainly be glad of a change in attitude.”
“Mine, too,” Eleanor agreed with a rueful laugh. She felt completely at ease with Sorin’s mother now. Rather than being cool or aloof as she’d once thought her, Lady Wincanton was warm and kind. The lady had also proven to possess not only a sharp wit, but a far more playful sense of humor than she’d thought possible. Sorin was very much like her. “I confess I will be delighted to see the outside of this carriage,” she admitted. “I long for a proper hot bath.”
“That shall be my first order of business as well,” agreed Lady Wincanton. “Along with a glass of mulled wine.”
They fell into amiable silence as the coach wended its slow way through London’s sodden streets to St. James Square, where they both made their London homes. Eleanor felt like cheering when they at last came to a full stop. She smiled at Lady Wincanton. “Thank you again, madam, for so generously sharing your carriage with me.”
“The pleasure was all mine, my dear. I shall look forward to seeing you again on Tuesday.”
The door opened then and Eleanor disembarked, glad for the large umbrella the footman held over her head. The other carriage had already stopped ahead of them. Issuing from within its confines were the shrill complaints of Lady Yarborough concerning the weather. She grinned as Caroline all but leaped from the conveyance in her hurry to get away. Even Rowena, who was normally so calm and patient, looked harried as she quickly followed suit.
Her view was blocked then as Sorin rode up between them, the water dripping from the brim of his hat as he looked down at her with a warm smile. “I shall make an appointment at Rundell & Bridge’s and send a message to let you know when it has been set.”
“I look forward to it,” she replied, marking the avid gleam in the eye of the footman awaiting her leisure. That juicy bit would no doubt be halfway across London within the hour. So much the better!
With a polite tip of his sodden hat, Sorin hailed the driver of the carriage bearing his mother and moved to ride ahead of it.
Eleanor watched him for a moment. Now that she was really looking at him, she noticed what a truly fine figure he cut even in the rain.
Sorin. The only one who had understood her grief and had treated it with respect because he’d suffered a similar loss himself. The only person who’d let her cry and never told her not to be sad or to keep a stiff upper lip. Sorin, her friend and guide, ever sensible, always wise. The more she thought about it, the more the idea of a union appealed.
He’s not so stern and uncompromising, really. I think I could be happy as his wife.
Only when he’d faded into the gray curtain of rain did she turn away. She shivered, marking the chill that had crept in to grip her fingers and toes. The warmth of a fire would be most welcome indeed.
Before she could set foot on the first step, however, someone else called out her name. Cringing, she stopped. Damn. Of course Yarborough would want to say a parting word. Likely several. Assuredly too many. Pasting a cool smile on her lips, she turned.
What a sorry sight he was with the water dripping off his new—and no doubt ruined—hat. He’d wanted to dismount and ride in the carriage when the rain had started, she remembered, but when Sorin and Charles had themselves declined the option, he’d changed his mind. Unlike the other men, who’d seemed almost to enjoy the rain, he looked utterly miserable.
“Sir Yarborough, I do hope you won’t think me rude for my haste, but…” She gestured at the increasingly heavy downpour.
“Not at all, Eleanor,” said he, his smile strained. “I don’t wish to detain you long, only a moment to bid you a warm welcome home and to say that your delightful company has been the highlight of my journey. I hope to see you again very soon.”
She only just managed to keep her mouth from dropping open. Not only was his familiarity of address impertinent, but he’d hardly spoken two words to her since her confrontation with his mother! Then she marked that his gaze rested not on her, but rather on the footman standing beside her. So, he planned to use the servants’ grapevine as well, did he? Indignation heated her blood, driving off the cold.
“Why thank you, Sir Yarborough,” she said, deliberately using formal address. Damned if she’d be quoted as having used his Christian name! “And know that you also have my thanks for your kindness to Caroline. I fear she would have been desolate when Lady Wincanton stole me back in Hindon were it not for your constant attentiveness and gallantry toward her. And do also please relay my heartfelt thanks to your dear mama for inviting her to tea. I’m sure it also lightened her spirits considerably.”
His smile slipped a little. “Yes, of course.”
At that moment, it began to rain in earnest. Blessing the weather, she dipped the tiniest curtsy, so as not to soak her hem. “You’d best go before you catch your death,” she said loudly over the splatting of raindrops. “Caroline will scold me most fiercely for keeping you out in this. I’m sure we’ll meet again in passing sometime soon! Good-bye, Sir Yarborough!”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned and hurried up the steps, forcing the footman to follow with the umbrella. She chuckled to herself as they left the despicable Donald Yarborough behind in the deluge. Up, up she went, not once glancing back. The footman sheltering her could take that conversation to the other side of London, too!
