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“Old?” The redhead’s smile turned coy. “You are not yet forty years of age, sir. My own dear papa was forty and five when he married, and Mama but seventeen.”
He opened his mouth, but then shut it again. There was no possible response that wouldn’t cause him endless trouble. Opposite, he saw that Eleanor’s shoulders were shaking so now that she was barely able to keep her tea from spilling.
Charles
came to his rescue. “If I remember correctly, Miss Caroline, your parents met for the first time on their wedding day. An arranged marriage, was it not?”
Caroline looked at him with barely concealed irritation. “Indeed.”
“Well, there you are then,” said Charles, slapping his knee as he turned to regard him with a smirk. “Perhaps there is the solution to your problem, eh? I’m certain your lady mother would be delighted to handpick her own daughter-in-law, would she not?”
Sorin breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the fickle tide again turned in his favor. “Indeed she would,” he agreed with a chuckle. His traitorous eyes again found Eleanor and lingered on her for a moment. “However, I prefer to choose my bride-to-be myself.”
“And who can blame you?” said Charles, his face breaking into a smile as he looked to Rowena. “After all, I chose my own lovely bride and look how happy it has made me.”
“Oh, was it you who made the choice, then?” Rowena’s smile was soft in spite of her teasing tone.
Sorin looked on with a touch of envy. Indeed, his friend’s joy was complete. He was the lord of a fine estate—several, in fact—while still young enough to enjoy it, his wife was both beautiful and affectionate, and his line assured.
It was the sort of life he’d have had with Jane, had she lived. But Fate, in her caprice, had dealt him a different set of cards. He looked at Eleanor, sitting there serving them tea, so composed and elegant, completely unaware of the ardent feelings she evoked in him. Truly, she had grown up to be every inch the lady he’d always told her she must be. He refused to believe she wouldn’t marry. The call to matrimony was not something many young women denied for very long.
All it would take was a little pressure. Her friends, like the eager Miss Caroline, would marry and their lives would become vastly different. Then those friends would begin having children and motherhood would add yet another layer of separation. Left behind, she’d begin to feel lonely and want to rejoin their ranks. Then a handsome young man would come along with all the right words to unlock her heart, and she’d traipse down the aisle with a smile on her lips to slide that man’s ring on her finger.
And then she’d be gone.
The thought lashed at him like a whip. He pushed it aside. She would marry. It was only right that she should have a life filled with all of the happiness she deserved. And he’d ensure that it happened, even if it meant tearing out his own heart. “Rowena, I meant to ask how the children were this morning.” A safe enough subject. Better than talk of marriage, certainly.
“As good as may be,” she said with a wry laugh. “Michael is giving Nanny fits, insisting on keeping a pet toad in the nursery. Emily is still coughing, which has us a bit worried, but she seems to be steadily improving.”
“And young George?”
“Is doing very well with his lessons,” she said, her expression one of immense pride. “His tutor has told us that he’s quite a promising little scholar. Naturally, he’ll go to Oxford—”
“Ahem. Rowena my gem,” interrupted Charles gently. “I thought we agreed he would attend King’s College in Cambridge.”
Her smile broadened just a little and she patted his arm. “Did we? I can never remember, darling. But there are many years yet to come before we must make a final decision. None of us knows what things will be like by the time George is of an age to attend.” She rubbed his arm soothingly. “I’m sure there will be many fine institutions from which to choose by then, and we don’t yet know his natural bent.”
This seemed to mollify Charles, somewhat. “Well, being a King’s man, I am naturally biased toward Cambridge. But…I suppose we should wait and see the direction he takes before carving anything in stone.”
“You are ever reasonable and fair-minded, my love,” said his wife, giving him a final pat.
Sorin hid a smile. He had no doubt whatsoever that little George would be an Oxford man, if she wanted it that way. She had the benefit of time to exert her gentle influence. Again, he looked at Eleanor. Her sharp eyes and ears never missed much, and he wondered if she was taking notes on how to properly handle a husband of her own.
All at once he pictured himself with that coveted title, a blissful image of them discussing plans for their own children. He allowed this fantasy to live for no more than an instant before snuffing it out. It was an impossible dream.
How could he violate Charles’s and Rowena’s trust by admitting amorous feelings for their cousin, whom he’d practically helped them raise? Especially when she looked on him without the slightest romantic interest whatsoever. If that wasn’t enough, then there was the fact that they were all wrong for each other.
Unlike his shy, quiet Jane, Ellie was a force of nature. Despite what she’d said, he knew from her many letters that she craved adventure and excitement. And though she’d apparently taken his admonishments to govern her impulsive nature to heart, he could still see its mutinous spark in her eyes. He wouldn’t be the one to put it out.
He’d tried to shape Jane into something she wasn’t and the outcome had been disastrous. His brushstrokes could be plainly seen in Ellie’s demeanor now, and he longed to undo them, to take back his censure. He’d wanted to protect her, to teach her caution, to make her more like Jane—for her own good.
It had been a mistake.
Even if by some miracle he could convince her to accept his suit, the act would only result in her misery and eventual resentment of him. She could never be content as his wife. Ellie needed a husband who was like-minded, a kindred spirit. Someone young and idealistic, someone ready for an adventure. He was not that man. Not anymore.
No. The only way out of this was to see Ellie married—to someone else. Someone better suited to her. Someone worthy of her.
“I believe I shall go to London this Season,” he announced, watching as eyes widened around the room. One pair in particular—the wrong pair—shone with undisguised delight. Miss Caroline looked like a child who’d just been promised a pony of her very own. Eleanor’s gaze, however, was fixed on the teapot. “I’ve been away for far too long and must get reacquainted with everyone,” he continued, hiding his disappointment. After all, why should she care whether or not he went to London?
