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“I’m going to take that bath. It should be ready by now.”
“Don’t take too long.”
Nathan slowed and turned. “Because you want to talk to me about how good this will be for me and my place in society?”
“No, because your future bride is coming for tea this afternoon.” Vanity rose to her feet, looking more composed again. “I want you to make a good impression.”
Nathan stared. He really hadn’t been given any choice on it. The match would have happened with or without his consent. He gritted his teeth.
“You got lucky there, Mother. What if I had been delayed getting back?”
“I know you, Nathan. When you say you’ll be back on a certain date, you are.”
“You couldn’t let me have a rest before I became sociable again.”
“And have you made excuses about why you can’t be here to greet her?” Vanity arched an eyebrow. “Like I said, I know you.”
That she did. All too well.
* * *
“Eleanor?”
Eleanor looked around as a warm hand laid over hers. Marion sat beside her, watching her closely. They were in the carriage Lord Brixton had sent for them, on their way to have lunch at his home. It felt incredibly strange going to have lunch with a gentleman. Eleanor didn’t know what to make of it.
The only time she had been to lunch with a gentleman had been when she was eighteen. And that had ended badly because Leyton had come to the house and made a scene. He had somehow found out where Eleanor was and didn’t like the fact someone else was attempting to court her. The young man, the son of a viscount from what Eleanor recalled, had stopped any contact with her after that. Eleanor couldn’t really blame him. Who wanted to deal with the mess that was Matthew Leyton? She certainly didn’t.
It was hard to believe that he had been sent away by his family and committed in a remote part of the country. Then again, after being a victim to Leyton’s attitude and the way he treated her despite being told no, Eleanor could very well believe it.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Marion murmured.
Eleanor huffed. “Wouldn’t you be if you were meeting a man you’ve never met but were expected to marry to wipe out your father’s debts?”
Marion wrinkled her nose. “If my father was involved in a marriage for me, I would be incredibly surprised.”
Eleanor winced. She had forgotten that Marion’s father had simply walked out when Marion was three. Her mother had raised Marion alone while being a governess to Eleanor. Eleanor’s parents had treated her kindly, considered her one of the family. Marion and Eleanor had played together. They had been the ones who picked her up off the floor when Marion’s father had walked away from his marriage, his wife and his daughter. There had been no explanation to it, either. He had just simply disappeared. As far as Eleanor knew, Marion had never forgiven her father for doing that.
“Forgive me, Marion. I forgot.”
“It’s fine. There are times when I forget I have a father myself.” Marion scowled. “Wherever he is.”
“I know.” Eleanor squeezed her hand. “Let’s forget him. Let’s focus on this and get through it without making a fool of ourselves. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The carriage stopped with a gentle jolt. Then the door opened, and a footman was there, stepping aside with a slight bow and an offered his hand. Eleanor took the hand first and got out, Marion following close behind. Brixton was an attractive part of the city, situated near the river. The Earl of Brixton’s house was very stately, a simple white brick gleaming like marble in the sunshine.
Hopefully, he wasn’t arrogant and snobbish with his wealth like so many of Eleanor’s peers. They made her turn away in disgust. Not everything was about money. Money could be gone in an instant. Friendships lasted longer, especially if they were based on genuine respect.
Chapter Twelve
The two women headed into the house. A grey-haired, thin man approached them and took their cloaks and bonnets, giving them both a nod as he turned away. Then Eleanor saw a tall, statuesque woman approaching from across the hall. She was middle-aged, nearing sixty, but she was still a very handsome woman. Her black hair was starting to show strands of silver, appearing mostly at the temples. Her face was still devoid of wrinkles, and her eyes looked sharp and alive. She was dressed in a beautiful dove-blue colour dress.
This had to be the Dowager Countess. Eleanor thought she looked every bit as graceful as the rumours made her out to be. Poise and grace were what Lady Brixton had in droves. Eleanor felt like an awkward little girl in front of the older woman.
“Lady Eleanor?”
Eleanor nodded. Then she remembered her manners and curtsied. “Lady Brixton. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
