The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (3 page)

“Unhand my sister, Worthing,” Fowler demanded from somewhere behind them.

Although warned, instead of jumping back as propriety might expect, Kerrington leaned in close once more and whispered, “It seems I must endeavor to breathe on my own, my Lady.” Then he stepped back slowly and put distance between them.

Fowler came forward and placed his sister's hand on his arm. James noted how Eleanor Fowler's ears pinked with being caught in so compromising a situation. “I would introduce you, Eleanor,” Fowler began, “except I am not sure I wish you to meet the Honorable Viscount Worthing as
honor
is lacking at the moment.”

“I awkwardly stumbled,” she hissed under her breath, pure embarrassment obviously racing through her. “Lord Worthing caught me before my misstep sent me tumbling to the floor. It was nothing more, Bran.” The lady had no reason to defend him, but she did.
She surely realized James could have released her at once instead of pressing her to him. She impressed him immediately: He preferred a woman who did not faint away at embarrassing situations.

James faced them fully, having consumed several deep breaths to fight the bulging evidence between his legs. “
Shoma kheyli mehrban hastid.
You are very kind, Lady Fowler,” he bowed deeply, meeting only the lady's eyes. “I am
honored
to be in your presence at last. Your roguish brother has spoken often of you; however, his Cambridge education shows its weaknesses. If he had attended Oxford, His Grace might know just the right words to truly describe a woman of such incomparable beauty.”

“I agree with your estimation of Eleanor's worth.” His friend gritted his teeth with annoyance. “But perhaps I do not look on my sister as other men might. I assume, Worthing, you will refrain from your usual perfunctory teasing and leave my sister to her status as a duke's daughter.” An admonition played through the words, although neither Fowler's face nor tone betrayed his command.

Sophisticated superiority now rested on James's countenance. “I shall treat Lady Fowler with the respect she deserves. Forgive me if I in any way offered an offense; it was never my intention.”

“No forgiveness is necessary, Lord Worthing, and please call me Lady Eleanor. I realize it is not standard usage, but my mother was Lady Fowler, and I could not assume her name.” She gave James a quick smile, and his heart lurched in his chest.

“Thank you, Lady Eleanor, for accepting my apology. It will be my honor to address you as you have indicated—to be accepted as part of your brother's circle of friends.” Her name made James immediately think of Eleanor of Aquitaine, mother of both Richard the Lionheart and King John—a woman who participated in the Second Crusade as Queen of the Franks—a woman who acted as regent while Richard was away in the Third Crusade—the wife of two different kings and the mother of two others. She was unique and unwavering in her own way. James wondered if Fowler's sister held such a powerful personality. His friend's earlier tales of Lady
Eleanor's manipulations to bring Fowler home spoke of her tenaciousness and her intelligence. Her name, literally, meant “sun's ray” or “shining light,” and, predictably, her golden red hair gave off a sunny glow, radiating an inner light. He could not remember being so quickly enamored of a woman.

She gave him a quick curtsy before turning to her brother. “I came to ask you to join Velvet and me in the front parlor for some tea. It is Velvet's first day downstairs since her accident. She wished to thank you again.”

“Certainly, my Dear. You go ahead and pour; Lord Worthing and I will join you in a moment.” He patted the hand he still held in his. Without another word, she made a quick curtsy, but as she exited the room, she glanced over her shoulder to meet James's trailing stare. For a few elongated seconds, she paused, a shy smile gracing her lips. Primal male instincts shot through him again, and James made himself look away.

 

Ella stepped into the hallway, but she did not close the door completely. Instead, she listened to her brother reprimand his closest friend for Lord Worthing's actions. She knew her brother was correct, but for the life of her, she did not regret that brief encounter with the viscount. Although she thoroughly believed that living as an independent woman was her life path, she still wondered how it would feel to be held intimately in a man's embrace—a man who found her attractive for herself and not as an imitation of her mother. She did not approve of the way her body reacted to Lord Worthing—Ella recognized lust and would not succumb to such thoughts, but that did not mean she could not enjoy the effects of the viscount's flirtation. At age twenty, she had had no real experience with the opposite sex, except as her father's regent during the duke's illness. However, even an independent woman could store memories for her old age, and she would claim this one as her own.

 

“Lord Worthing,” Ella pointedly began as she passed a generoussized slice of seed cake to him, “what brings you to Kent?”

James shot a quick glance at Fowler; they had not discussed what story they would tell the others. “When I heard that your brother had returned to his ancestral home, I had to see it for myself.” He offered up one of his best smiles to seal the lie.

“Yet, my cousin took up residence less than three weeks ago,” Velvet Aldridge, the object of Fowler's attention, protested. James could see the similarity between Velvet Aldridge and Ashmita, although he preferred Fowler's sister, a woman of whose face his eyes could not seem to get enough. “How could anyone know so soon?”

“His Grace placed an order for new equipment and made inquiries into the Mayfair house's soundness. It does not take the gossipmongers long to latch onto the least clues, especially in light of the recent news of the former Duke's passing.”

Ella appreciated the way the viscount twisted the words; she did not fully understand why Bran had brought his friend to Thorn Hall, but she knew her brother held a specific purpose. If nothing else, she knew her brother to be thorough in his dealings and to be a protector. If Lord Worthing had served with Brantley, he would be the perfect choice to help her brother tie up loose ends with the estate and with the recent accident. “May I translate for you, my Lord?” Worthing inclined his head in affirmation. “I believe His Lordship means Cousin Horton bemoans his loss of the title publicly.” Ella's eyes sparkled in mischief.

“A lady of beauty and intelligence,” Worthing declared; though he knew little of their Cousin Horton, he enjoyed the way Lady Eleanor's eyes lit up.

James watched with some amusement as Miss Aldridge screwed up her face in disbelief. She waited but a handful of heartbeats before she inquired, “Will you travel to London, Bran? Lord Worthing mentioned the town house.”

Kerrington quickly realized he was also to be a part of his friend's plot to win Velvet Aldridge. Fowler took a sip of his tea, stalling before answering. “I wrote to Aunt Agatha and asked her to sponsor your and Ella's Come Outs.”

James saw Fowler's sister react. Her brother's words shook her composure. Lady Eleanor's hand began to tremble, and, before she dropped it, Worthing reached for her cup. He enjoyed the brief touch of her fingers, but Eleanor Fowler's obvious distress bothered him. He would have liked to take her into his embrace and to tell her he would right her wrongs.

“Oh, Bran, we cannot; it is too soon.” Her voice quaked with apparent anxiety. “The gossip will fly about our not maintaining a proper mourning period, and besides, I thought I made myself clear about what I would choose for my future.”Worthing watched her closely; her unusual reaction piqued his curiosity, as well as his masculine need to protect her. Most young women would jump at a Season, but this woman evidently wanted nothing to do with one.

Fowler tried to assuage his sister's fears. “I beg to differ, Eleanor. As far as father's mourning period is concerned, blame me. I will simply say with father's extended illness, I deemed it improper to deny you and Velvet a Season; if not for this house's madness, you should have had one already. I can make such proclamations because I am a man and a duke. However, I have not forgotten our previous conversation. Instead, it is my conviction that before you are accepted in the manner we discussed earlier, you need Society's approval. After father's shunning of prescribed propriety, your refusing to accept normal conventions for a woman will never be tolerated. Before you choose your own manner of living, you must demonstrate you did not find theirs pointless by conforming to the
ton's
precepts. It is simply time you took your place in Society.”

“I cannot bear a purposeful cut,” she protested. “Father's reputation will follow us to London.” James observed how she bit her bottom lip, choking back the emotions, and he found her anxiety stirred something inside of him. He wanted desperately to ease her growing agitation.

Realizing belatedly that he intruded on a family matter, James made to depart, but Fowler motioned him to remain. They had served together for four years; they knew each other's deepest
secrets, especially regarding the former duke. “Father will always have his critics, but the
ton
chases one scandal after another. No one from this family has been to London for more than two years; the Fowlers will be old news. Besides, by the time we arrive in London, I will have introduced a different Thornhill to Society. I returned to Thorn Hall to obliterate William Fowler's memory from the books. No one would dare to offer either of you a direct cut. Eleanor, you are a duke's daughter and now the sister of one; in Society that means everything.”

James observed how Miss Aldridge also took offense. “You want us—Ella and me—to join the ‘marriage mart'?”

His friend tried not to betray his own anxiety at their entering the time of courtship known as the Season; yet, James ignored the tension between Fowler and Miss Aldridge. Instead, he turned his attention to Fowler's sister. In his short acquaintance with her, James had decided that Eleanor Fowler needed the confidence to claim her place in Society, and he firmly believed Fowler would need to lead her through the process. Despite her ladylike presence, a personal relationship might be her most difficult battle. If even half of what Fowler said about the late duke held true, Lady Eleanor possessed no models of what a marriage might actually entail. Unlike James, whose parents displayed a loving relationship, Lady Eleanor saw only devastation in marriage. Somehow that thought gnawed away at him.

 

Eleanor had feared this moment—the moment when her brother would force her to be William Fowler's daughter. She had hoped that when she told him she would prefer to travel the world, Bran would agree, and she could forget all Thorn Hall's ugliness. Being a man, her brother saw things differently from her; he thought he helped her by allowing her to become part of Society. However, all Eleanor wanted was to be left alone—alone with her thoughts, but not her memories. The memories were too raw. She wanted new memories—such as the one from today—to replace the abyss in
which she had lived under her father's reign. She could be a bluestocking and simply live the life of an eccentric—a woman who had no desire to know marriage. She thought the only thing worse than her brother's proclamation that he would give her a Season would be if Bran arranged a marriage for her. If he did, she would refuse her household's alignment to another's.

Aware of Fowler's wavering position, James jumped into the conversation. “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to the new Season. Two such lovely ladies will make it most interesting. I am thankful to have an
in
and intend to claim my share of your dance cards.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a jest.

James watched as Eleanor Fowler swallowed hard, trying to release her disquiet. “It will be reassuring to recognize a friend's name on my card.”

“It would be my pleasure to be of service to both you and Miss Aldridge,” he rushed to say, trying to bring her peace. “Especially in the Season's early weeks. When your brother is unavailable, please call on me, Lady Eleanor, when you are in need of an escort.” Kerrington meant the words; he wanted to know more of this woman, although he suspected Fowler would not welcome that interest.

James sat in the library late in the evening. Accustomed to town, he whiled away the hours, reading an account of some of Wellington's greatest battlefield accomplishments. Under his breath, he cursed the book's many inaccuracies. It tempted him to find pen and ink and make corrections in the margin. Despite his somewhat “dangerous” reputation, even in London, one might easily find him at home at this hour. His reputation said one thing, but the reality of his life remained the reverse. He missed Elizabeth more than he would ever admit, even to friends such as Brantley Fowler. He had fallen in love with her from across a crowded ballroom—he a few months short of his majority and Elizabeth barely seventeen. He
had elbowed his way through the crowd of young bucks lined up to claim her hand and surreptitiously maneuvered the last position on her dance card. From the moment he first touched her hand, James had never left Elizabeth's side. They married the day after he turned one and twenty, and for two years, he knew paradise.