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‘Then sell it. Let me drive you into Lancaster, find you respectable lodgings.’ She opened her mouth to protest but he pushed on, overriding her words. ‘I will lend you the money. Then you can find a lawyer, sell this place, buy a little cottage in some small town.’
‘But—’
‘Eleanor, if you insist on getting out of this carriage and going in there I am going to stay here, on your doorstep, until you see reason. I cannot and will not leave a woman in a place like this. Damn it, Eleanor, I do not care what you want, or what your stubborn self-reliance is telling you. I am going to stop you turning into some drudge in a rural slum and that is final.’
‘I do not care what you want, Felicity. I do not care what nonsense you are spouting. This is a perfectly suitable marriage for both of us and it has been arranged since we were children. You knew I would marry you—I fail to see why I had to rush to do so the moment I inherited. If we do not go through with it, then what is to become of you, a woman who broke off a perfectly good betrothal?’
He had said all that to the girl who had been his betrothed since they were children—the pretty, sweet, gentle girl of impeccable breeding who had told him she did not want to marry him because he did not love her and had neglected her.
Not because she didn’t like him, but because she didn’t love him. Because he didn’t love her. Of course he had not allowed her to have her own way. And look how that had turned out. Because he had loved her, and he had told her so, and she had refused to believe him.
He had been wrong then and a woman had died. It seemed he was going to be wrong again, but he refused to leave this woman here.
Chapter Eight
‘Fine,’ Eleanor said. ‘You can stay on the doorstep until you rust and get rheumatism. See if I care.’
She got down from the coach, as angry as he was, and glared at him.
‘Mr Grimshaw!’
The man appeared again—suspiciously quickly, in Blake’s opinion. Presumably he was lurking, listening to their edifying discussion.
‘Thank you. I apologise for shouting like that. Do you have any farm hands who would be willing to help me take my luggage inside and fetch in the firewood and some water?’
‘Aye, I have that.’ He turned and bellowed, ‘Seth! Greg! Get out here!’
A big man and a skinny lad came round the edge of the barn, knuckling their foreheads and sending sideways glances at Blake, Eleanor and the carriage.
‘Help this lady in with her traps. This is Miss Lytton, the owner. You mind and call her ma’am, now.’
‘You will do no such thing. Miss Lytton is not staying.’
The lad who had lifted down the bags stood fumbling with them, then dropped one in the mud.
‘Clumsy lummock.’ The farmer cuffed him. ‘You this lady’s brother? Or her betrothed? Or what—?’
‘He is none of those things,’ Eleanor cut in. ‘He kindly gave me a ride here and has now been seized with an inappropriate desire to order my life, it seems.’
‘I am Lord Hainford and—’
‘I don’t care iffen you’re the Lord Chief Justice. Yon’s the lady’s house and she wants to go into it and that’s the end of the matter. Get on, now!’ he roared at the two hands, who broke into a shambling run towards the house with the first load of baggage.
Blake contemplated brute force. There were two large men and a lad against himself and his coachman and groom. Very good odds. Then he saw Eleanor’s face. That was what she expected—that he would brawl in the mud to get his own way.
‘Miss Lytton. You cannot expect me to leave you in this isolated place with only a slip of a maid and three men of whom we know nothing.’
‘Now, you look here, your lordship.’ Grimshaw clenched weatherbeaten fists. ‘I’m a sidesman of our chapel and I’ll have the minister here iffen I have any more from you about my good name.’
‘Thank you, Mr Grimshaw. I look forward to meeting the minister and I appreciate your help. Perhaps if I could just have a word with his lordship in private?’
The farmer nodded, gave Blake a look strongly reminiscent of the bull, and plodded off to supervise the unloading of the bags and boxes of supplies.
‘Eleanor, you are not going to be stupidly independent and insist—?’
‘Miss Lytton to you, my lord. And, yes, I am going to insist. This is my home, my property—and, grateful as I am for transport to this point, I think our association is now at an end. I fail to understand why you should wish to involve yourself in my affairs when you have made it clear from the beginning that you have found this an imposition. Unless you wish to add kidnapping to your roster of outrageous behaviour?’ she flung at him, as if trying to provoke a response, an answer. ‘Perhaps you could strip off here and now—that would certainly divert Mr Grimshaw while you toss me into the carriage and drove off.’
He could do it—snatch her, that was, not strip. The three of them could get Eleanor and the maid into the carriage and drive off. But where would that get him? He knew what it would get him—a furious female who was in the right. And he, who had no rights at all, would be entirely, and legally, in the wrong. A kidnapper.
