Page 26 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
He ran a weary hand down his face. It was this matter of the curse.
Every time someone raised it, his stomach twisted, and his heart thudded. He hated it. He hated the idea of it, the thought of it. The last thing he needed was for her to have some idea about it. One more person believing in it, talking about it all the time, was more than he could bear.
“Good morning, my lord?” Mr. Hensley called through the door.
“Come in, Hensley,” Sebastian called back, and the fellow entered. Sebastian had already dressed in the basic items he would wear—a pair of long, dark riding-trousers and a high-collared linen shirt. The only part he needed help with was the elaborate cravat and the velvet jacket, which was a little narrow in the shoulder to shrug into without some help.
“Morning, my lord. The usual knot?” the fellow asked.
Sebastian shrugged. “Something a little fancier, I think,” hedecided, tilting his head thoughtfully. He didn’t fully understand it, but it seemed a fancier cravat felt somehow appropriate. It might be a good idea to look a bit formal when he explained to Eleanor that he hadn’t meant to shout at her.
Hensley worked on the silk cravat, tying it for what felt like an age while Sebastian stared out of the window. The morning was sunny, but he suspected it was chilly outdoors—the autumnal mornings were often cold. He found himself wondering where Eleanor was and if she had slept well.
His heart twisted with guilt. He’d tried to find her, waiting a minute or two and then going up the hallway, but, of the three rooms, he didn’t know which one she had chosen, and he didn’t want to go knocking on every door. He felt foolish enough about having no idea.
He had gone back to his room and tried to sleep.
“There, my lord,” Mr. Hensley said, his voice seeming loud in the quiet of the room.
“Thank you,” Sebastian replied swiftly, and stalked to the door, his riding-boots loud on the floor of the hallway. He couldn’t shake the bad temper that had settled on him—it was because he felt guilty, and he knew it.
He went upstairs to the breakfast room, stomach knotting with the thought that Eleanor might be there. He had no idea what to say, how to explain why he’d reacted so strangely. The truth was, he had no idea himself. The rage had suddenly been there, explosive and angry, something that happened only rarely and he had no idea how to manage.
The room was empty, a plate and cup on the table suggesting that Papa and Eleanor had already had breakfast, since there was only one place still set. He hastily poured some tea for himself and buttered some toast, wondering what he should say to Eleanor. He had to address what he had done, what he had said.
“Dash it. I don’t know what to do,” he said aloud. He had come to terms, long ago, with the fact that it was just Papa and him, that he had no mother. But lately, he had found himself wishing he had someone to give him counsel—someone besides Papa, who might understand Eleanor a little better than either he or Papa were enabled to.
He stood and walked to the door.
“My lord?” the butler inquired, climbing up the steps from the entrance-way.
“Yes?”
“Lord Edmore is downstairs. Should I show him to the drawing room?”
“No. I will speak with him at once,” Sebastian replied, and hurried downstairs. Lord Edmore was Matthew, and the sooner he could talk with his friend, the sooner he could relieve himself of this horrid anxiety he felt.
“Glenfield!” Matthew greeted him, shaking his hand and then punching him affectionately. “How do you fare?”
“Well enough,” Sebastian replied, his cheeks heating a little. He felt a bit silly, if he was honest. He’d barely spoken to Eleanor since they arrived at Ramsgate—business seemed always to preoccupy him. And the moment he had the opportunity to speak to her, he made an absolute mess of it.
“Good. Grand! A fine morning, eh? Almost tempted to organize a hunt,” Matthew commented. “Saw some good fields on the way. But I’m too lazy, eh.” He chuckled. Sebastian smiled.
“A ride is good enough.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Matthew answered.
They headed out to the stables together. Matthew mounted up—his horse, Lance, was already saddled. Sebastian went around the back of the stables to fetch Starburst.
“Will you meet me at the gate?” he called to Matthew.
“Of course, old fellow,” Matthew called back, leaningforward in the saddle and cantering off. Sebastian saddled Starburst, still feeling a little grumpy. As he mounted up, he frowned to himself. He could hear digging and something told him it wasn’t the gardener—the energetic but shallow strikes of the spade sounded like a smaller, less well-built person. It was probably Eleanor again.
“She’s a strange sort,” he muttered to himself, cheeks reddening. She was strange, but that strangeness was entirely fascinating, and as he rode to catch up with Matthew, he realized what it was that bothered him.
She had come to his chamber, and he had hoped it was for another reason. He had hoped that, finally, they might become better acquainted—very well, acquainted, in fact. But she had only wanted to hound him.
“Dash it,” he said aloud, turning his horse down a path that took him out of the garden.
