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Finding a servant in the hallway, he paid the man half a crown to discreetly see to arranging transport. Briefly, he pondered the wisdom of seeking out Marston for a quick word, but quashed the notion. There was enough on his plate at the moment, and that would likely add another entire meal. He’d learn what happened soon enough anyway.
The servant returned and informed him that his carriage would be brought around to the back of the manor to avoid the congestion. Dropping another coin into his palm, Sorin told him to wait. Returning to the ladies, he brought them out and had the servant lead them through the halls, by request avoiding the ballroom.
The last thing he needed was for Yarborough to see him bundling Eleanor and her friend off into his carriage.
Only after they’d successfully boarded the conveyance did he finally relax. The atmosphere in the carriage was, at best, oppressive. Caroline stared, empty-eyed, at the floor, while Eleanor fussed over her and offered what comfort she could. He met her eyes several times, unable to help himself. But each time, she merely shook her head a little in warning and mouthed “later.”
The storm broke half a mile later when Caroline suddenly burst into hysterical sobs. “Oh, Eleanor!” she wailed. “I don’t want to love him, but I cannot help it! I’ve tried and tried, but no matter how I tell myself that I hate him, my heart gives me such pain when I see him!” Turning, she laid her head on Eleanor’s shoulder and wept such as only one with an utterly broken heart can.
“I know. I know, dear,” murmured Eleanor, stroking her friend’s hair.
He could do naught but feel both helpless and awkward when she met his gaze over her friend’s shoulder.
“The things I s—said to him,” the redhead continued, horror evident in her shaky whisper. “Such terrible things! And all he did was tell me that he still cared for me. But I was just so angry with him still!” Her ire quickly faded again into hopelessness. “I was hateful toward him when I ought to have been forgiving. We have both made egregious errors, but had I been a better person and able to overcome my temper we might be mending things even now instead of…this. And my heart might have what it truly wants.”
He watched as Eleanor held her tight, heedless of the water threat posed to her gown. “Love, it seems, never offers us an easy path,” she offered her friend softly.
Sorin stared at them, his own heart leaden. Would it not be better to just tell her the truth, have done, and see what happened? Part of him wanted to do so desperately, to be free of the terrible burden of secrecy. But fear still barred that path with sharp brambles. If she rejected him after such a confession, he would never recover from it. Their friendship would be over, and she would never again look upon him with trust or affection.
“I want to leave,” wept Caroline.
“We are leaving,” said Eleanor.
“No, I mean leave London. I can never face him again—I want to go home and I never want to speak of him again!”
For Sorin, her words were the validation of his greatest fear concerning Eleanor. He’d keep his mouth shut. At least for now. He started as Caroline unexpectedly addressed him.
“Lord Wincanton, you have graciously provided both your carriage and escort after bearing witness to my shame, and you’ve offered neither censure nor derision. I’m humbled by your generosity.” She dragged her watery gaze up to meet his. “My behavior toward you has been inexcusable, and I know that it has brought you great discomfort. I humbly ask your forgiveness and hope that in time we may become true friends.”
The misery in her eyes tugged at his heart. “I already consider us friends, Miss Caroline. And I will do everything I can to help you if you’ll permit me. I’m very good friends with Lord Marston.”
A faint smile shook the corners of her mouth for a split second. “Thank you for your kindness, but I’m afraid there is nothing that can be done now. I’ve just set fire to the last stick of bridge between us, you see. He will never forgive me for the things I said to him tonight.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as that,” soothed Eleanor.
“Allow me to at least try, Miss Caroline,” he insisted, something inside him desperate to see someone achieve the happiness that seemed destined to elude him. The look Eleanor cast him was one of hopeful adoration. That she should have such trust and confidence in him was almost unbearable when he couldn’t even admit to her the truth of his own heart.
Caroline shook her head sadly, more tears streaming from her eyes. “I doubt whether anyone can mend what I have broken. For either of us.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Yet another invitation from Yarborough.” Eleanor cast the page into the grate, her irritation mounting as its edges flared orange and began to shrivel amongst the coals. It was better to focus on her anger toward Yarborough than on how awful she felt every time she was reminded of Sorin. “Why can he not simply leave me alone? I’ve been polite, but no more than what good manners demand. I’ve certainly given him no encouragement to hound me so.”
“Well, he seems oblivious to your dislike,” said Caroline, looking up from her embroidery. “You’ll have to make your position clear.”
“If I made it any plainer, I’d be walking out with a sign hung ’round my neck.” With Caro
line, at least, she could vent her frustration openly. “The man is a menace! People are actually beginning to show him sympathy. Him! Thanks to his deceitful devil-woman of a mother, all of London ‘knows’ we were childhood friends and simply cannot understand why I slight him so. According to increasingly popular opinion, which everyone feels quite free to share with me at every opportunity, I ought to be delighted at the prospect of a suitor with whom I am so familiar. I’ll be a pariah by the end of the Season.” She plonked herself down on a chair and scowled.
“And yet thus far your only response to such comments has been, ‘We are not well suited.’ Eleanor, you cannot continue trying to deal with this passively. Being polite about it and then changing the subject won’t work anymore. People want to know why you choose to ignore him.”
“Of course they do,” Eleanor snapped. “As if they have a right to ask such intimate questions of me.” Yes, she’d heard the murmurs and whispers concerning her of late. And the more she heard, the more annoyed she became. The more annoyed she became, the less tolerant she grew to curious inquiry. “The next time someone asks me inappropriate questions regarding the matter, I’ll answer them with my back,” she vowed.
“And alienate those who might be counted among your allies, should it come to an open dispute like the one in which I currently find myself,” warned her friend.
“I don’t care what other people think!” Eleanor huffed. Which wasn’t entirely true, but those whose opinions counted already understood her plight. “It might be wrongheaded of me, but it seems far better to remain silent than to constantly dole out excuses in a vain attempt to placate those who should have more respect for another’s privacy.”
But Caroline shook her head. “They will never stop speculating. You really only have two options from which to choose. You must tell your inquisitors the truth—which we both know would lead straight to scandal—or confront him in private and give him the chance to walk away with his pride intact.”
