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Their eyes met, and he smiled. It was a charming smile, with a dash of roguish humor and plenty of confidence, to say nothing of the interest she saw sparking in those dark brown orbs.
A subtle tilt of his head, a shrug of one shoulder, and an eyebrow raised in a question, and he slid the door to the terrace open with a languid, graceful movement. He held her eyes a moment longer, then slid through the door.
An invitation—and he was indeed a handsome man. He was clearly asking her to join him. And what could it hurt?
She took a step forward…
“Eleanora Beaumont! Are you listening to me?” Her father’s sharp voice dragged her attention back to the present.
“Yes, Father.” She dipped her head meekly, hands folded over her stomach.
Her father, Lord Beaumont, took a deep breath. Behind him, her mother looked pale and ready to burst into tears. Her two sisters were thankfully not in attendance. One was with her husband, the other was out with friends.
“You are certain on the matter?”
Eleanora sighed. They’d discussed this already, but apparently, it needed repeating. She swallowed back the hot flush of shame and the ache in her throat. The stiff chair—commonly used for receiving unwelcome guests in the front parlor—was no comfort to either that or the growing ache in her back.
“I am with child. A man I met in Bath. I have informed the father, and he will not—cannot—accept responsibility.”
“Rubbish. Any man brought up with proper manners would do his duty by a girl of your station. If he’s not honorable enough to do so on his own, I’ll call him out and have him either do right by you or meet him on the dueling field.” Her father scowled, his complexion flushed red with a combination of outrage at her, outrage at her erstwhile lover, and scandalized outrage at the world in general.
“It cannot be done, Father. He is gone. It would not be possible to challenge him.” To say nothing of the fact that she had no idea where his proper residence was. He’d hinted, during their liaisons, that he was visiting Bath, just as she was. She had known enough of his lodging situation to tell him of her condition, but he decamped soon after and she discovered that he had given her a false name so she could not track him.
“God’s breath girl! You didn’t even get the rascal’s name? He could be anyone. A stable boy or a servant, for all you know.” Over his shoulder, she saw her mother gasp and put a hand to her chest, either fainting or feeling faint. Tears sparkled in her eyes, tragic and forlorn in a way that made Eleanora’s stomach churn in a manner that had nothing to do with her... condition.
“I am sorry, Father.”
“Sorry does nothing for this situation, nor for the shame you’ve brought to this family!” her father scowled and began to pace. Eleanora watched him warily. He was not a man to strike his children or a lady in a fit of anger, but she’d never upset him quite so badly before.
Finally, he stopped. “If we cannot get your suitor…” he spat the word like it was a much stronger epithet. “...to behave honorably, then the best we can do is to have you married before your condition becomes common knowledge. Once you are wed, your husband can keep you in seclusion until the babe arrives, and long enough to make it seem the babe is legitimate.”
Eleanora’s mother sat up. “But who…?”
“Lord Graven is a widower. He is much taken with Eleanora. At least, he is fond of her and has no other prospects nor any heirs who might complain. The dowry might need to be higher than usual, but he’s the most likely to be willing to take her in, and provide for her. And he’ll keep an honorable silence, if only for his own reputation.”
It felt as though her father’s words were frozen rocks, tumbling into her stomach, turning her numb and leaden with their weight. “Father... Lord Graven is near fifteen years your senior. He is... I could never have more affection for him than a child might feel for an uncle. A well-liked or even well-loved uncle, perhaps. But surely…”
“But nothing.” Her father spun to face her. “Do you not understand yet, you foolish child? After this, no man of younger years or better reputation would take you. You’d bring him naught but shame, bringing a bastard babe into the marriage. If you were an honorable widow, it might be less a problem, but as it stands... no, Lord Graven will give you shelter and some pretense of honor, and that is the best we can hope for.” He sighed. “I will write him directly.”
There was truth and sense in her father’s words, yet it stung like a slap to the face. Even more, the thought was unbearable. To be wed to a man older than her father, dispatched and hidden away like an inconvenient painting or a horse put out to pasture. To be held in a loveless relationship…
She rose to her feet, arms crossed in front of her stomach, trembling with the pressure of her emotions. And terrified of what she was about to do. “Father... even if Lord Graven consents, I will not.”
“You will,” his expression turning thunderous.
She shook her head. “I will not.”
“You will do as you are told, child! You will behave with as much dignity as you have left in this shameful situation, and you will obey my directives. Or else you shall no longer be part of this family.” He loomed over her and never had he looked more like he might strike or shake her. Not even when she had embarrassed him at a family dinner when she was a child.
And still, she could not find it in herself to back down, not even with her mother’s tearful eyes pleading with her. “It seems I will not be a part of this family, whether I obey you or not. And if that is to be my situation, then I would do just as well to follow my own thoughts on the matter.”
Her father’s face turned an alarming shade of red. His hands clenched at his sides. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and marched over to the fireplace. Wrath was evident in the set of his shoulders. The cords of his neck, prominent with his effort to reign in his temper.
When he spoke again, his voice was deadly calm, like a winter wind slicing down from the sea and driving a ruinous storm before it. “Get out of my house.”
It was like a punch to the gut. “Father…”
“You have an hour to pack your things and leave this home. It is no longer yours. Neither is the Beaumont name. From this day and this hour, you are no longer a member of this family. You are hereby disowned until you come to your senses or prove that you can act with the decorum and propriety which you seem to sorely lack.”
