Bride for the Sake of Duty, page 14
“No, of course not. But perhaps …” He trailed off for a moment and then turned to observe Eleanor’s profile, turned towards the two lovers, ignorant of his eyes on her face. “Ajit seems to be rather enchanted with this Miss Swire. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Eleanor blinked and turned, seeming to sense his eyes on hers.
“Miles.”
“Yes?”
“You haven’t forgotten our goal, have you?”
“Of course not.” He paused; smiled. “But just in case, you ought to remind me of it.”
“Our goal is reunite Kitty with the man who put her in this position in the first place.”
Miles sighed. “Right. The foppish rake. Absolutely the sort of man you want married to your friend.”
Eleanor pursed her lips together, drawing herself up in the very image of a proper lady. “I know what you think of him, and if you must know, I think the same—but these things are not as simple and romantic as you would make them seem. Kitty is not just a girl that Ajit can fall for. She is … in a difficult situation, and you know that. We must focus our efforts on locating Mr Garvey now that Kitty is comfortable and safe, making every effort to convince him of the error of his ways and the weight of his responsibilities.”
Miles nodded. He knew it was true, even if he didn’t particularly like the arrangement of things.
“I was simply making an observation.”
Eleanor set aside her bow. Apparently, this turn in the conversation had stolen, for the moment, her appetite for medieval warfare. She looped her arm into Miles’ absent-mindedly, drawing him away from the people gathered nearby. He knew in his heart that she only drew him thusly to preserve the anonymity of their conversation, but still he felt her touch like a hot brand.
“I think we need to speak about that,” she was saying, carrying on the conversation in a hushed tone. “We have spoken abstractly about locating this Mr Garvey, but I think it best that we turn our hand to the task in earnest, starting tomorrow. Perhaps you and Ajit can go about looking for his location by tracing where Kitty last knew him to be.”
“Her family might know.”
“Perhaps, but you must keep the search secret. Her family does not know as of yet that she is here at our house.” Eleanor frowned, and a shadow danced across her face. “I worry about that, you know.”
“Her family?”
“Yes. I know they must be concerned for her, and I wish I could help in some way. If it were my mother, she would worry desperately about my sister or me in the same situation.”
Miles smiled. “You mean your sisters.”
She blinked, and the colour went out of her cheeks. “Pardon?”
“My father told me when I was a boy that you had two sisters. I know neither was at our wedding—”
“I have one sister,” she said quickly; a little harshly. Then, softening her tone. “Could we speak about something else?”
Confused, Miles nodded. It seemed that the more he knew about this strange woman, the more was left to discover. “Alright. I will keep the search as low profile as possible, for Miss Swire’s sake.”
He felt a pang of regret, for all the light and teasing nature that Eleanor had exhibited earlier with the archery seemed to have drained from her person. She looked very strained and tense.
“Thank you,” she said simply, busying herself with the fringe on her shawl and keeping her eyes averted.
“No,” he said, turning and taking her hands in his so that he could turn her face in his direction. “I don’t think that is sufficient. I want you to know that I will take care of this matter in the most subtle way possible, so that you will worry no further about it. Please, Elsie—” he stammered, remembering her preference, but she relented with a sigh, her grey eyes searching his face.
“I don’t mind Elsie so terribly much. It’s just that it’s not very proper, you know. I feel like a young girl. My father used to call me that.”
His heart went out to her. She sighed and looked down again. “I am struck by your openness and your willingness to help.” She looked back up at him, examining his face as though she saw something there that was mysterious; something that she hadn’t expected to see.
“It will all resolve itself,” he said, hating how lame the words sounded on his lips.
But she seemed strangely reassured by this and answered his platitudes with a weak smile. “Of course it will.”
Chapter 16
Eleanor walked upstairs that night after all the guests had gone home and the people had gone away to bed and slipped into her own chambers with a weariness she hadn’t felt in some time. All her great plans, orchestrated in whispered moments with Miles, weighed on her. She told herself that it was only concern for Kitty, but when she had at once opened the windows to let what little breeze there was fill the room; when she had changed into a pale nightgown and blown out the candle and tried to turn to sleep, the truth of the matter came back to her in vivid colour.
It was not Kitty’s predicament that played through her mind. It was the way Miles had looked when he was standing across from her at the archery stand; the way his eyes had shifted when he’d realized the depth of concern on her face. That comment about her sister … Eleanor shut her eyes tightly, although the darkness was already nearly complete in her mind, trying to shut out the memories that came to torment her.
She’d kept them at bay for years, hardly ever talking about Annie, and then here he was bringing it up so casually. Had his father really never told him the truth? It was difficult to imagine, but it was even more difficult to imagine Miles saying anything to hurt her. Only a month of time with him, and she already knew that he wouldn’t stoop so low. So he’d stumbled into it after all, and instead of telling him the truth she’d just done what she’d built up a habit of doing over the years—she’d pretended the whole matter of Annie had never existed; she’d pretended that it was just her and her mother and her father and Lily for the whole of their lives.
She hated herself for it and tried to think of something else, turning her mind instead to the image of Miles’ expression when he’d taken her hands in his and turned her towards him. No, that was difficult to bear too—the heat of his eyes, the way that he pulled her into him with his gaze just as if he could rescue her there; take her out of herself at last and into … into what? Into him? What a foolish thought, Eleanor. You sound like one of Ajit’s poems. But so it lingered in her mind in all its embarrassing romance, the image of Miles looking down at her with that open, earnest face.
She was always struck by his handsome features, but that had been part of her personal embarrassment since his arrival—this was something different, the clarity and honesty in his eyes and the honesty in his tone and manner moved her. He had been kind to her, she realized, since he’d arrived. The small things she’d held against him—Lady Adelaide’s dinner, that abrupt arrival, the way his beard had looked as rough as his manner—seemed paltry compared to the gallant way he’d taken Kitty’s problems as his own, been respectful even in difficulty, and demonstrated a loyalty and fealty to her even in the most scandalous of cases.
They were so different, that much she had known from the beginning, but perhaps despite all that, Miles did contain the qualities necessary for a gentleman. Perhaps she’d judged too quickly. Despite his rather adventurous occupation and unconventional views, she admired him—really she did—admired him and … and you love him, Elsie.
The voice in her head, quite unexpected, was the last straw. She sat up suddenly in bed and threw the coverlet off herself. It was thin but had been too much anyway in the heavy and oppressive heat. She walked over to the window, padding along the cold floor in the pitch darkness, and stood with her hands on the sill looking out into the blackness beyond. There wasn’t a moon in sight to see by, only the dim light of the stars and a lantern hanging from the back portico glowing tiny and golden at the far end of the house. She thought that a breath of fresh air would clear her head, but no, it was as though Miles was standing beside her just as much as he’d been in her mind as she tried to sleep. Frustrated, she whirled around, and drawing a shawl around her nightgown more out of habit than necessity, crept out of her bedroom into the hall. It was dark and silent, the deep kind of silent that only those denied sleep know. It had been longer than she’d thought—hours even—that she’d been trying to go to sleep.
She walked downstairs, her slippers making not a whisper against the fine carpeting. It was dark and shadowy in the hallway, and she felt as though the walls were following her down the stairs, closing in behind her and whispering … and you love … Nonsense. It was all nonsense.
She didn’t know why it was that it so rankled her to think of Miles and think of love. Perhaps it was that she had given up on that childish ambition long ago; resigned herself honourably to a life without what other women seemed to have in abundance, and she was frightened of having the hope again—the beautiful, childish, silly hope—and then have it all dashed.
In the parlour, the curtains were drawn. It wouldn’t make much difference, with the stars as the only light outside, but out of habit she slipped across the room and opened the blinds, looking out at the tiny pinpricks of light, faraway and barely shining on her. She stood looking at them for a moment and then heard a voice just a little below and to the side of her.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
She jumped back with a stifled scream, stumbling into an ottoman and then tripping rather ungracefully to the ground. She stayed frozen for a moment, prepared to give a more rousing cry, when she managed to make out the general features of the man on the window seat.
“Miles?” she asked, a little breathlessly. “Is that you?”
“I should say so.” He sat up from his lounging position and leaned forward. She couldn’t make out his expression, but there was a teasing in his voice. “Are you quite alright? It’s difficult to see in here, but you appear to be lying on the floor in the middle of the parlour with nary a pillow for your wee head.”
He was teasing her, almost certainly. She scrambled up, indignant, confused. “What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.
“I beg your pardon.” His voice was even more amused. “You’re the one who crept in here like a thief under the cover of darkness and hovered over me like a spectre.”
She scrambled to her feet and felt her way fumblingly to the nearby table where a lamp and lighter were laid at the ready. One attempt, and then a second, and she found herself lighting the lamp with a gust of sudden light. It flamed up and showed the neat little room; the place where Miles was lounging, still in his evening clothes, against the wall with a book on his lap, and, horrifyingly, her own state in a nightgown with only a thin shawl as protection and her hair all about her shoulders. She blushed furiously, hating that she blushed and then blushing further at that embarrassment.
“What are you doing, reading in the dark?” she said, lashing out as she tried to gather her thoughts.
“My goodness, you have quite a few accusations today, don’t you?” he said with a wink. He seemed even more relaxed than usual tonight, completely nonplussed by their accidental meeting. “’Why are you lounging in the window seat, Miles,’ ‘why are you reading in the dark, Miles.’” He grinned widely.
Eleanor found herself more than a little put off her game and envious of his calm. “I just mean that you ought not to have been lurking around in the dark.”
“If it puts you at ease, I wasn’t reading. I was thinking. I can think better in the dark.”
That piqued her interest. She came over and stood near him, examining him in the golden light of the lantern. “You couldn’t sleep?”
“No, but I see I am in good company.” He shifted over on the window seat and patted the cushion beside him with a smile.
She looked down at the seat with hesitancy.
“Don’t fear,” he said with another rakish smile. “I won’t do anything untoward. You just look like you’d feel a bit more comfortable if that shawl was hiding more of your form.”
There came the blush again, rushing up into her cheeks. Eleanor sat promptly, drawing the protective shawl around her and forcing herself to meet Miles’ eyes. As shy as she was, she didn’t want him to know it. They had not had such an intimate situation since that night in front of the fireplace when he’d reached out and touched her hair so tenderly. She faltered at the memory, happy to be near him but intensely conscious of her own confusion just the same. Her heart was beating faster, and she looked outside to clear her mind.
“So, why did you not open the shades?”
“There was no moon.”
She could see in her peripheral vision that he had still not taken his eyes away from her. It was disorienting, but she felt dizzy and strangely happy all the same.
“I was disappointed by that too,” she admitted softly.
He reached forward then, not touching her shoulder or skin, but just catching the edge of her hair and pushing it back off her shoulder so that it tumbled freely down her back.
“I think you got a little out of place when you fell back,” he said as if that were explanation enough for such an intimate gesture. “I couldn’t help feeling that you needed a bit of putting back together.”
She felt strange, as though she ought to move his hand away, or she ought to want to move his hand away, but she did neither and just looked at him with her heart in her throat. “I fell back because you frightened me.”
“My mistake.” His hand was still lingering there on the edge of her vision. “I love your hair,” he said suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. I love—” his green eyes were overshadowed, “—your hair,” he finished. She had a feeling he had meant to say something else, and the beauty of his words warmed her to the core.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t remember it, while I was away,” he said, and Eleanor couldn’t help smiling at his tone.
“You say that as though you are confessing something to me.”
“I feel I ought to have remembered it. It’s very memorable.” His hand fell back to his side at last.
Eleanor smiled for real then and laughed a little as well. “Miles, I was wearing a veil when last you saw me, and before that at our brief encounters you hardly looked up from your book or away from your adventures to meet my eyes. I should hardly expect you to be pining away for the colour of my hair under such circumstances.”
“Exactly,” he said, and the intensity of his voice caught at her heart. “I was a fool not to notice; I was a fool not to pine. Men have written poems about fools like me, who walked through fields of roses without stopping to bend down and smell them.”
She looked at him in silence for a moment, overwhelmed by the gentility in his tone. She had never been treated with such kindness or attentiveness—never in her life. “I’m not a field of roses,” she said at last, hoping this breathless attempt would set him more at ease. “You are forgiven for not stopping to breathe deeply of my charms.” She meant it archly and realized she was flirting with him before she even made a conscious decision to do so.
He smiled, recognizing her teasing for what it was. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I have neglected my husbandly duties.”
Eleanor blinked. “Oh …”
“Heavens,” he said, throwing back his head and laughing loudly. “This is the third time now that you have mistaken my meaning to be a good deal more forward than I intended. I do not speak of the production of an heir, Elsie, I speak about the other duties a husband has.”
“And those are?” she asked. She had only ever known her father and mother’s marriage, and though they appeared to care for each other, her father had been gone often. She had not known him to consider himself bound to any duty whatsoever, through all of her childhood, certainly not any sort of duty to her mother aside from the respected office of husband.
