Page 7 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
“I’ll fetch your shoes, miss,” Betty commented, excusing herself to the wardrobe room next door. Eleanor nodded.
“Thank you,” she called after her maid, trying for a warm tone. “Jonathan?” she addressed her brother, who stood nervously by the corner by the door. “What is it?”
He drew a deep breath. “Sorry, sister,” he said softly. She could see his big eyes, like Papa’s, were close to tears. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault that this has happened to you and I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”
Eleanor took a breath. “It’s all right, Jonathan,” she said gently. She felt pleased he’d thought to apologize. After all, even though she would gladly face all manner of foul things to protect his family, she still appreciated that he acknowledged that. “Fear not, all is well.”
“It isn’t,” Jonathan said softly. “He’s a wicked man. I’m so sorry, sister.” His voice ached. Eleanor frowned at him.
“You know him?” she asked, heart thumping in her chest. If he knew the man, why had he not come to her earlier? Knowing something—anything—was like gold to her. She needed to decide what to do, whether she should remain here on the outskirts of London or whether she should escape. If Jonathan knew aught about the man, he should have told her yesterday.
“I have not made the acquaintance of the fellow; no. I regret we move in different circles. Or perhaps regret is the wrong word. He has a terrible reputation, sister.” His voice was tight.
“And what manner of reputation is it?” she asked in a small, tight voice. Her throat tightened.
“A dark one,” her brother confided softly. “A gambler, a drinker, and a womanizer. And not just that. He was almost responsible for the Regent’s cousin’s death. People whisper that he conducts illegal duels, and he is thought to be involved in smuggling too, and boxing, and...”
“Brother,” Eleanor said shrilly. “Please. Stop it.”
“Stop what?” Jonathan blinked. He seemed genuinely surprised at her hard tone.
“Stop it. I’m frightened enough as it is. I do not need you to come here and tell me such things. I cannot escape as it is...at least give me some good news.”
Jonathan swallowed. “But, sister, I speak nothing but the truth. Lord Glenfield has a terrible notoriety in theTon. He...”
“Lord Glenfield?” Eleanor whispered. She gaped at him in surprise.
“Yes. Sebastian Thornton, Lord Glenfield. He is the Earl of Glenfield, or at least by courtesy, as his father, who holds all the family titles, is still living...” he trailed off, uncertain.
Eleanor turned away, staring at the curtained window. She had imagined that this friend of her father’s was a fellow factory-owner, or even an accountant, and that his son would be in the same trade. Nobody had ever suggested, not even once, that he was nobly born.
“I’m not sure that makes it better,” Eleanor told her brother in a small, clipped voice. “His being an earl, is what I mean.”
“If he was not nobly born, I doubt his father could have helped,” her brother admitted softly.
“Quite so,” Eleanor sighed. She looked away. She should, perhaps, have thought of that. She stood up and went to the mirror, turning away from her brother where he stood uncertainly by the door. Her thoughts were busy and confused.In many ways, the fact of Lord Glenfield’s noble birth made things more complicated—that would likely mean he was entitled, spoiled and difficult to convince. She had hoped for someone who would identify with her, who would feel some sorrow for her plight. A nobleman would not do that. He would see herself and her family as playthings, people he had no need to respect and with whom he felt no connection. She had met noblemen and women at Almack’s Assembly in London, but she’d never talked closely with them, and her assumptions remained negative and unchallenged so far. She felt no need to trust them.
“I wish I could do something about this,” her brother whispered.
Eleanor sighed. “Brother, it would be a grand help to me if you were to go downstairs,” Eleanor said swiftly. “Mayhap you can delay our guests a little while I complete my preparations for the tea.”
“I could do that,” Jonathan agreed, face brightening at once. Eleanor felt her heart twist. Jonathan always wanted to be helpful and well-thought-of. He loved their father and desperately wanted him to be impressed by what he did. Whatever he had done in the London business, he’d done it to win Papa’s approval. She knew it.
“Thank you, brother,” she murmured. She watched as he went to the door and shut it behind him, and she felt sudden relief as she heard him walk down the hallway.
She drew in a deep breath. His revelations had confused her utterly. All of her preparations seemed unable to prepare her for whatever it was that was about to occur. She took another deep breath, trying to feel calm. She glanced at herself. The white muslin dress she had chosen was simple but stylish, falling from the fashionable high waistband to just on her ankles. The neckline was square and not as low as it would be for an evening-gown, and the sleeves were delicate puffs of soft muslin. Her hair framed her face and the white silk ribbon that held it back as a hairband suited her. She went to the door when she heard Betty knock on it.
“Your shoes, Miss Montague.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor said politely. She pulled on the silk indoor shoes, her mind wandering. She frowned as a noise drifted up from the open window. Her bedchamber was on the easterly side of the house, catching the early sunshine, but sounds from the front garden and the drive still floated through the windows to her. She tensed, knowing instantly what the sound was. It was coach wheels drawing up outside the door. Her heart fluttered wildly, hands shaking as she pulled at the shoes. All the images from the morning spent imagining him flooded back to her. He was tall and shambling and with a leering stare and cruel eyes or maybe he was short and built like a wrestler and angry with everyone. He was...
“Hurry, miss. He’s here,” Betty murmured, as Eleanor paused to straighten her gown, fussing suddenly about her appearance in ways she never usually would.
What are you doing?she asked herself, annoyed.You want his bad opinion. Why are you trying to make a good impression on him?
She felt suddenly relieved as an idea hit her. It was simple. All she had to do was make the man think badly of her. She would be rude, impertinent, and generally do her best to make herself as disagreeable as possible. Then he would refuse the match, and his father could not very well punish the family for what his son had decided. She swallowed hard and walked out of the room.
In the hallway, she tensed. She could hear Mama and Papa downstairs in the small entrance-way, greeting a guest. She looked around, but Jonathan must have done as she requestedbecause he was not upstairs either. Rachel had taken the children to town for the day, giving them all some peace and quiet in which to meet Lord Glenfield.
