Page 56 of Her Duke in Shining Armor
Was the man she loved only using her?
Chapter 16
“The Duke of Brisdane is not at home, Your Grace.”
Those were not the words Aaron had hoped to hear that morning. He had perfected his proposition to the older man but now it was bound to be delayed.
“And Lady Eleanor?”
“The lady is not at home, Your Grace,” was his reply.
Aaron’s eyebrow twitched up. As it had not been acceptable that he appear that early, he had sent his footman to drop his card over at the Stanley house, hoping that by that afternoon, he could drop by.
Was Eleanor inhuman to have gotten the strength to go out at this hour, nine-o’clock in the morning? It had taken an ice-cold bath and three cups of black coffee to wake Aaron up that morning after following Eleanor halfway through London. There was no way Eleanor could have gone out.
She’s dodging me…but why?
The footman cleared his throat, “Is that all you need of me, Your Grace?”
“Yes, Hiddleston, that’s all,” Aaron replied and went back to his paper.
A cruel caricature of the repulsively-portly Regent lavishing gold and jewels on another blushing mistress while behind him the skeleton figures of gaunt men, women, and children, representing the public, held out their hands for help, caught his eyes. It was a dire situation but Aaron could barely hold in his chuckle while seeing the name sketched under it—B. Edlam.
Bedlam indeed.
“That’s a note for our society,” Aaron dropped the paper.
Leaning back and massaging his eyes, Aaron wondered why Eleanor was dodging him. For God sake, they had not only mended their fences but had leaped over them barely three days ago. What had gone wrong in such a short time?
Aaron’s mind briefly ran over the girl Eleanor had hidden in the church. Why? What was so imperative that Eleanor was risking her life to see her off? Was the child holding state secrets?
“Ludicrous,” Aaron sighed.
He could not shake the worry off and though he briefly considered going over his books again, he felt it a dreary way to be spending such a fine Friday morning. He needed a distraction, a good one. Strolls in the park would not do it, nor would a book do it either.
Playing chess against himself was a bad idea as, somehow, he always seemed to lose and even if he had a horse, there was no place to ride it. These were the times he missed his dogs and their antics.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Hiddleston politely interrupted. “There is an invitation for you.”
“Oh?” Reaching out to take it, Aaron popped theseal. It was an invitation for a musical at—Devil take it—Wyndrake’s townhome. Aaron felt his nostrils flare. What the deuce was this? Was Wyndrake purposefully daring him, to show his face knowing that there was no peace between them? That was the only conclusion Aaron could come to. The man hated the very air he breathed, so was this a trap?
Sitting back, Aaron knew there was only one option—he had to go. Failing to present himself would make him look intimidated by the man and he did not need that. He might be young, but he’d be damned if any could make him cower.
Cursing under his breath, Aaron made to tell a footman to make his clothes ready when the memory that Eleanor would have another night trip stopped him cold. These musicals sometimes went on to the wee hours of dawn. Eleanor was going to be out there in those same hours and as she delved deeper into the heart of London, Aaron felt a crippling fear overcome him. He could not leave her alone!
But then—this! The invitation to Wyndrake’s house had come at the worst bloody time! Could he not attend and by doing do give way to subsequent mockery or attend to save his name and leave Eleanor at the mercy of fate? Was it one or the other?
Then the answer struck and he laughed to himself—he could easily do both. “Hiddleston, make sure to prepare that carriage, I have a musical to attend.”
* * *
Eleanor had not wanted to turn Aaron away that morning but she had feared that seeing him would cause her to blurt out that she knew about him and the Duke of Wyndrake. In retrospect, Eleanor realized that the decision had to be her most foolish one. It would have been easier to bare her pain to him and cauterize the wound of uncertainty instead of letting it fester.
But she knew why she had done it—fear. The fear of hearing him tell her that what she had heard was true had stopped her entirely. After receiving the card, she had—foolishly—thought it better to send him the polite refusal until she could come up with the proper words to tell him.
She had to focus on Maria. So down from Piccadilly, then to Long Acre and then to the tiny apartment on Shelton Street in the Seven Dials area. Eleanor realized that there was no way out of it—by the time they hit the Long Acre, she had to get a hackney cab to carry them there. Going on foot was not wise especially in that poor, squalid cutthroat place.
Tugging out a drawer she opened a box and picked out a few pound notes and some gold guineas. This should be enough to take her and Maria to her mother’s place in Seven Dials with some left over to give the woman money for food.
