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“Are you trying to kill us, woman?” he demanded.
She ignored the statement, and he didn’t much blame her. He only wanted to distract himself from the way her fingers sat so perfectly in his.
“The house is up here.” She nodded toward a narrow street of red brick houses.
“Excellent. Let us confront this woman and put an end to this whole matter.”
“Indeed.” Eleanor kept a hold of his hand as they headed up toward the house.
Whether consciously done or not, he could not say, but idiot that he was, he savored the few moments of closeness until they reached the front doorstep of this woman’s house. When she released his fingers, his heart sank. He’d be damned if he did not want her holding his hand for the rest of his days.
Chapter Nineteen
Hands clasped tightly at her side to prevent them from shaking, Eleanor concentrated on breathing deeply whilst Oliver rapped his knuckles upon the door of the house. Modest in size and lined up at the end of a row of red brick buildings all the same, Ruth’s lodgings were not quite what Eleanor expected.
From what she remembered of the woman, she’d always been one to enjoy the finest fashions and her expenses were so high, her father all but cut her off. The man she’d tried to trick into marriage was wealthy and easily manipulated thanks to a head injury many years ago. Since fleeing to the country, Ruth hadn’t set foot in London as far as Eleanor knew.
A housekeeper answered the door, took their calling cards and vanished into the shadowy interior of a long hallway.
Eleanor tapped her foot. “We should just go in. She’s hardly going to invite us in now, is she?”
Oliver put a hand to Eleanor’s arm. “Let us be patient, Ellie.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she said between clenched teeth. “This is not your sister’s reputation we are speaking of.”
He fixed her with a firm look. “I care for Demeter very much, if you recall.”
“I know.” She sighed. “Forgive me.”
The housekeeper returned. “If you’ll follow me.”
Eleanor shared a look with Oliver, and he gave a slight shrug. Of all things, neither of them expected to be welcomed in.
The second floor housed the drawing room—a pretty room facing the street. Lit by the lunchtime sun, it offered a cozy appearance with flowers in vases and lace upon the tables. The furnishings were not stylish but were soft and inviting in appearance.
Eleanor stared around for a few moments before her gaze landed upon Ruth. Freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, and her red hair was tugged into a simple chignon not dissimilar to Eleanor’s own, and though her muslin gown was simple, it did not look tired or ill-fitting.
When she met Ruth’s gaze, she swore she was looking at a different woman. She straightened her shoulders and met her warm gaze coldly. It could all be a trick and with Demeter’s fate at stake, she would not allow herself to be fooled.
“Lady Eleanor,” Ruth greeted. “This is quite a surprise.” She gestured to the seats, motioning for them to sit. “And Lord Ashford. It has been some time.” She waited for them to be seated then grasped a bell from the side table. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“We are not here to take tea,” Eleanor said firmly.
“I was not expecting visitors, to be honest.” She lifted some knitting from the arm of her chair and set it down in the basket near her feet.
Eleanor frowned. Knitting, freckles, simple clothes? This did not seem like Ruth at all. It had to be trickery.
“I imagine you wanted your presence to remain quiet, did you not?” Eleanor demanded.
Ruth’s cheeks pinkened and she glanced at her lap. “Well, I did leave here under rather shameful circumstances so I am sure you can understand why.”
Eleanor leaned forward. “Perhaps you thought it would allow your activities to go undiscovered.”
“My activities?”
“You are here to ruin my sister’s wedding!” Eleanor snapped.
“Your sister’s wedding—” Ruth swung her gaze between Eleanor and Oliver. “Oh, Lady Demeter is to be wed. I read the announcement not long ago.”
