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Caroline’s gaze bored into her, and for a moment Eleanor feared her misdirection had been too obvious. “I agree,” her friend said at last. “I think it wise to deal with him quickly and in as direct a manner as possible.”
The tension in Eleanor’s stomach began to ease.
“But are you sure there’s not something…else bothering you?”
“Nothing,” Eleanor answered firmly, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve been so worried that this business with Yarborough would get out of hand and cause Rowena and Charles unnecessary concern. You’re right, of course. I cannot remain passive anymore and must take action. I’ll speak with Charles and let him know my plans. He will support me.”
“Good.” Caroline rose. “Well, as you’ve problems enough of your own, I won’t bother you with my well-trodden woes.”
“Nonsense, I’m always happy to listen to whatever you have to say.” Reaching out, Eleanor caught her hand. “Please, stay and talk.”
“No, really, I’m quite all right now,” said Caroline, giving her fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go. “I really just needed to hear a friendly voice, I think, and your good company has eased my heart enough that I feel able to sleep now. Good night, Eleanor.”
“Good night,” she replied, feeling helpless as she watched the door close. With Caroline gone, Eleanor’s thoughts returned to her true problem. Pointing out eligible prospects to Sorin had resulted in a most puzzling and enlightening experience. His flustered reaction had been such that she was sure now he hadn’t actually meant for her to take up the role of matchmaker. But if he didn’t really want her help finding a bride, what was his reason for asking her to assist him?
There was only one thing to do if she wanted to find out, and that was continue until either she figured out the truth or he told her to stop. By Jove, he’d asked her to help him find a suitable wife, and that was what she was going to do—to all appearances, at least.
Sorin watched from the corner of his eye as Eleanor walked beside him exploring the new tulip beds he’d had installed in the garden. Her behavior was growing stranger and stranger. Instead of easing into comfortable familiarity as he’d been trying so hard to get her to do, she’d gone the opposite direction, becoming more and more formal. She had also been driving him to Bedlam trying to suggest possible matches for him.
Already, he had endured no le
ss than nine introductions. He’d begun to feel like a fattened goose on Christmas Eve—every time he bowed before one of her “finds” he could almost hear the sound of an axe being sharpened. Though all the ladies in question had been lovely and were no doubt delightful under other circumstances, he’d not found a single one even remotely interesting. Of course, he’d known this would happen. Until Eleanor married and was once and for all unavailable, he would be unable to truly consider anyone else.
“Next year, I think I should like to replant these roses along the back wall, over there,” he said just to break the silence. “Several of them have stopped blooming.”
“Is your gardener fertilizing them properly?”
He marked that she maintained her distance, never coming closer than arm’s length. They used to walk with their arms linked. “I’ve asked him, and he swears he’s done everything correctly. He seems to think they suffer from a disease, but has been unable to determine which. There is no indication of mildew or spotting. He’s checking the roots tomorrow to be sure it’s not soil-related.”
“You should write to the king’s chief gardener and ask his opinion,” she suggested, keeping her hands folded primly behind her. The sun on her hair made it shine like burnished gold. “After all, as a peer, you have the privilege.”
“I had not thought of that, but you’re quite right. I shall do so later today.” He turned to her. “How goes it with Miss Caroline?”
A crease marred the perfection of her brow. “Not well, I fear. She’s far too quiet. Charles and Rowena are delighted by her apparent reformation, of course, but I dislike it. She is not herself.”
“Neither are you of late.”
She glanced up at him, startled. “I? How so?”
It was a risk, but he had to know if there was a problem. “You’ve not been as open with me as you once were. It has been many a day since you spoke to me of anything beyond that which may be covered in drawing room small talk.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down. “I meant nothing by it, I assure you. I’ve been…distracted.”
“By?”
“Yarborough, if you must know,” she replied, her voice taking on an edge. “He seems determined to remain a nuisance, and I’ve been trying to decide how best to deal with him.”
Calm. He must remain calm. “How has he been troubling you?”
“He writes daily, just a line or two, but it is enough to set the servants talking. And the invitations from his mother to come and call remain unceasing. People are calling me a heartless ice maiden while admiring his dedication and her forbearance.”
Sorin struggled to rein in a sudden flare of fury. Yarborough had not heeded his warning in the least! “You should have Ashford speak with him.”
She shook her head. “I was planning to do so, but my cousin has enough to worry about with Rowena. The doctor says all is well with both her and the babe, but nausea has rendered her unable to leave the house for nearly a week now.” Her mouth thinned. “I must deal with Yarborough myself. At the first opportunity, I’m going to speak with him, refuse his suit, and then point out that it is in his best interest to look elsewhere before it grows too late in the Season. He cannot, after all, concentrate on wooing another when he is openly set on conquering me.”
Sorin felt the blood leave his face. It seemed he and Yarborough had something in common, after all.
“It is my hope that he will see reason and desist,” she went on, oblivious. “I would ask Charles to intervene in the event Yarborough takes it badly, but…”
