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“How wonderful!” said Rowena. “You’ll come with us to all of the balls and parties, of course?”
“Naturally,” he answered. It would be torture, but he’d do it if only to see Eleanor safely married by the end of it. At least then he would have a measure of peace. Above all, her marriage would force him to get on with his own life. “It’ll be like old times,” he said, trying not to sound pained.
“By George, I think it a marvelous plan!” said Charles. “You’ll come with us, have a jolly time of it, and we’ll find you the perfect wife!”
Sorin repressed a groan. That Charles had the same strategy for him as he did for Eleanor was irony at its finest. “Why not?” he said, forcing a laugh. “It’s better than allowing my mother to choose my bride, certainly.” He fought the impulse for a moment, and lost. “What think you, Eleanor?”
She looked at him and smiled serenely. “I think it a fine plan. I should like nothing better than to see you as happy as my cousin.”
Again disappointment stung hard, and with it the certainty that seeing her happily married was the right thing to do—for her sake, as well as his own.
Chapter Three
Eleanor fought for inner calm as she watched Caroline shamelessly flirt with Sorin. Such behavior was to be expected whenever Caroline encountered any reasonably decent-looking male of the species—but his favorable reaction to it was most certainly not.
“Eleanor?”
She jumped and saw that Charles was staring at her expectantly. “I’m so sorry. What were you saying?” If the heat in her cheeks was any indication, she was turning as red as a beet.
“I said that with any luck some young buck will persuade you to marry, as well,” he reiterated. “Oh, I know you mean to stay ‘unen
cumbered’ and all that rot, but you never know.” He turned to Sorin. “This may be the year our Jericho finally falls.”
“Charles,” admonished Rowena, giving him a sharp look.
“Jericho?” said Sorin at the same time.
Her heart sank.
“Yes, well, Lady Jericho, to be precise,” corrected Charles, ignoring the elbow his wife nudged against his side. “One of the fellows dogging Eleanor’s heels last Season, a young reverend, in fact,”—he broke off and chuckled for a moment—“declared he would bring down her walls even if it meant marching ’round her house seven times while blowing the matrimonial trumpet.” He dissolved into laughter.
Eleanor cringed. It wasn’t all that funny, really.
“A most persistent young man, as I recall,” added Rowena, shooting Eleanor an apologetic glance. “He proposed to her three times.”
Caroline turned to face her with a wounded expression. “Did he? You never told me.”
“Well, to be honest, I did not think it noteworthy.”
“Not noteworthy?” said Charles with another incredulous laugh. “The man proclaimed before the entire assembly at the Darlington ball that God Himself had promised him in a dream that our Eleanor would be his wife. Not noteworthy!” he scoffed. “You should have seen the bloody book at White’s. Entire pages were devoted to wagers on whether or not she would succumb to his siege. Every man in London with a shilling to spare likely bet on the outcome.”
Sorin’s face was deadpan. “How disappointed they must have been when she made good her escape.”
“Ah, indeed.” Charles wagged a playful finger. “But he did not make it easy, oho no. Our Eleanor ran, and wherever she went, the good reverend followed.”
Indeed he had. Like a biblical plague.
“He tried everything to catch her,” continued Charles. “I understand he even shammed an injury at one point.”
“An injury?” exclaimed Caroline, her hand rising to her bosom.
If Sorin’s gaze hadn’t been fixed on the region over which that hand rested, Eleanor would have found her dramatic display hilarious. As it was, she was not at all amused. “Yes,” she bit out. “He ‘hit’ his head on a low branch during a garden party—quite intentionally, I assure you—and then in front of everyone requested that I accompany him back to the house so that he might recover. I could not decline without seeming rude, so I agreed. As soon as we were out of sight, however, the horrid little toad miraculously recovered his ailing faculties and then proceeded to behave in a manner most untoward.” He was still staring at Caroline. Her temper flared. “He kissed me.”
That got his attention—along with everyone else’s. Her palms grew moist as Sorin’s hazel eyes pierced her.
“And?”
The single, gruffly uttered word affected her like a finger plucking a harp string. From the top of her head all the way down to her toes, which began to curl in her slippers, everything inside her began to resonate in the strangest manner. “He—I—”
