Page 10 of Foolish Bride
In return, Dolan wrote, “I shall make the arrangements.”
* * * *
Elinor lay across her bed, reading the same paragraph of her novel for the tenth time. Her attention would not focus on the words on the page. The lace coverlet distracted her, and she stared at the intricate pattern.
“Elinor, your father and I are leaving now.” Virginia stood in the doorway.
Elinor looked at her mother. “Enjoy your evening, Mother.”
“Are you sure you would not like to change your mind and join us, dear?” Draped in royal blue, Mother was stunning. Virginia was perhaps a few inches taller than her daughter, but they both had warm golden hair and sky blue eyes. She rubbed the sapphires around her neck. Of course, Mother was uncomfortable; everyone in the house had tiptoed around her throughout the cursed day.
“No, thank you, Mother. I will likely retire early this evening. You and Father enjoy your night. I will see you at breakfast.” Elinor fought back tears. She had to be brave. Now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve.
Mother’s voice caught. “All right, dear. Good night.”
Elinor waited for the carriage to pull away, then jumped up from her bed and dressed. She had sworn her maid to secrecy, as well as the footman who would put her into a hack.
Nervously, she watched in the mirror while Josephine arranged her hair. Once dressed, she donned a heavy dark-blue mantle with a large hood that would conceal her identity. If she hadn’t been so anxious, she might have enjoyed the mystery of the clandestine behavior. As it was, she was so anxious it was only anger keeping her from running back to her bedroom as the footman handed her up into the hired carriage. Luckily, the servants liked her better than her father. Of course, if he found out they could lose their posts.
Her father wouldn’t find out. And if he did, she would find a way to protect them.
She twisted her gloved hands in her lap and repeated a list of things she had to speak to Michael about. Before she knew it, the driver yelled down that they had arrived.
At the door to Stonehouse, she tapped lightly. It was just after eight, but light shone from within. Perhaps he was in bed and still unable to take callers. Her legs shook, and when the door opened with Dolan looking serene, she chided herself for being a ninny. There would be no ghost swooping out to claim her. She pushed her shoulders back and took a deep breath.
Dolan raised his brows. “Are you all right, my lady?”
“Yes. Fine, Dolan. Just a bit on edge.”
He was perhaps thirty years old and had been with the Rollins family since he was a teenager. His long nose and sharp eyes could assess a person’s character in an instant. “Sir Michael is in the library, Lady Elinor.” With a bow, he disappeared behind the servant’s door.
Everything she was doing went against her upbringing. She would be ruined if word got out that she had gone unaccompanied to Sir Michael’s home in a hired hack in the middle of the night. Well, it wasn’t so late, but that wasn’t the point. She was risking everything, and she didn’t even know if Michael wanted to see her. She suspected he did not. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him for once. He had broken her heart without so much as a note of explanation.
It wouldn’t do.
Inching down the corridor toward the library, she secured her mantle in case any servants were watching. She stepped past the round table she’d ordered for the alcove beneath the stairs. It would look better several feet to the left, but she checked herself and left the table as it was.
“This is not your home now,” she whispered as she continued down the hallway to the right.
The library lay behind a pair of doors. Elinor raised her hand to knock, then took hold of the handle and opened the door without announcing herself.
“Go away, Dolan. I left word not to be disturbed.”
Her breath caught, and she had to clutch the wall. He was beautiful. Wrapped in a black robe with his back to her, he did not look sick. He stood tall, though perhaps thinner than the last time she’d seen him. His shoulders squared, he stared out into the dark garden.
“It is not your butler, Michael.” Her voice shook, and she could have kicked herself for the weakness.
His back stiffened before he turned around. His eyes were as blue as she remembered, but there were deep shadows beneath them. His dark brown hair was tussled as though he had been nervously raking his hands through it as he did when he had a lot on his mind.
“What are you doing here?” His shout shook the walls. “Where is your father? He let you enter here without him? If it is money he wants for your dowry, well, I will see what I can do. I am not made of money as you well know, but I suppose it is expected.”
Money? Had he lost his mind?
He stared at the book case, then studied the intricacies of the Persian rug she had picked out three months earlier.
“You think that I have come for money?”
“Where is your father?” His voice was rough and cold. When he looked in her direction, his gaze did not meet hers.
