Page 28 of A Secret Consequence for the Viscount
‘The while we keep a man waiting he reflects on his shortcomings.’
She frowned at his words.
‘It’s an old French proverb, though I have changed the pronoun.’
His explanation made her frown. ‘What are your shortcomings then, my lord?’
‘I have so many I cannot remember half of them.’
When he smiled she saw a dark bruise on his left cheek, newly gathered.
‘I hope no one else has decided to try to do away with you since yesterday, Lord Bromley.’
All humour evaporated and when he didn’t answer Eleanor felt a growing bud of alarm.
He was dressed in his own clothes this morning. A black jacket over lighter trousers, his white shirt and cravat enhancing the tan of his skin. His hair was back in a looser queue today, allowing wisps of dark brown to frame his face in a fashion that was unusual nowadays, but one that suited him completely.
Beautiful. She had always thought him that even in the very worst of times.
But this afternoon, as he helped her into the carriage, he felt less safe than he had yesterday. She could almost imagine he might scrap the plans for the tea-shop visit and head instead to find some frightening shadow-filled tavern in which to imbibe uncut liquor in great quantities.
For years she had lived so carefully, with circumspection and quietness. She had blended into Millbrook House without incident, making sojourns to London only occasionally and always being on her very best behaviour.
She had dressed appropriately, trying not to draw any attention to herself, she had spoken solely on topics that caused no debate and in any group she had always stood back rather than pushing herself forward. She had stayed well away from the masculine gender.
Camouflage. Penance. Lucy did not need a mother of any more notoriety or shame and Eleanor had done her level best to make certain that she was exactly the type of woman others expected.
She had grown old.
That thought had all her attention.
And staid.
Another shocking truth.
She had become a woman she would not have recognised at eighteen when she had thrown away all restraint and jumped head first into the thrall of Nicholas Bartlett.
‘You seem preoccupied?’ His voice came through all introspection and shattered her resolve with ease.
‘Did you like yourself when you were younger, Lord Bromley?’
‘Not much, I think, but responsibility and experience have weathered the rough edges.’
Given that she was thinking just the opposite, she smiled.
‘I have always been careful.’ She gave him this in reply. ‘So careful that perhaps...’ It was hard to finish.
‘Offering to help me with my memory and coming with me to the places where I could find some recall is not so careful? There are many here in society who would say I am a risky man to know and stay well away because of it.’
‘And are you? Risky, I mean?’
‘My uncle would swear that I am and so would those who hold debts from me which have remained unpaid. Society always labelled me a wild cannon and my friends might say it, too, because in the loss of self-knowledge there is the propensity for chaos. Sometimes in the late of night when I cannot sleep I may even admit it to myself. I am damaged, Eleanor, and have been for a very long time.’
‘Even before you disappeared?’
He nodded, but she could not let the subject go so easily.
‘A viscount who founded the most depraved gentlemen’s club ever to grace the hallowed halls of Oxford University and then moved it to Mayfair where it became even more dissolute and scandalous? That sort of damage?’
