A Lady of Sense (Sweet Treat Novellas #19)

Chapter One

Marriages of convenience are seldom convenient. Engagements by force tend to be equally miserable. Eleanor Sherwood, though only twenty-three years old, understood these truths quite well. She simply could not convince her parents to be similarly enlightened.

Eleanor had met Mr. Broadstead. “Fortunate” was not the word she would choose.

“He is so pompous,” she countered. “He speaks of little other than himself and looks down on absolutely everyone. He is precisely the sort of gentleman with whom no lady of sense could ever truly be happy.”

“A lady of sense would not turn her nose up at such a beneficial connection.”

Her parents had married for the same benefits: financial improvement and securing their status in Society. Her desire for affection and tenderness in marriage truly mystified them. Perhaps one particularly potent argument would appeal to their more practical natures.

“Mr. Broadstead is forty years old,” she reminded her mother.

Mother, however, was unimpressed. “You, Eleanor, are twenty-three. He can still be particular about his choice. You cannot.”

Father entered the breakfast room. “Broadstead is coming this morning.”

“This morning?” Mother turned wide, anxious eyes toward him. “Before calling hours?”

“He means to make his assessment of Eleanor,” Father explained. “He prefers to do so without an audience.”

“He means to look me over like a horse at Tattersall’s?”

“Please dispense with the dramatics.” Mother took a sip of tea. “A gentleman has every right to make certain his potential bride meets with his approval.”

“Shouldn’t a lady be granted the right to determine the same thing about her potential husband?”

Mother folded her hands on her lap and assumed the posture she always struck before delivering a long and tedious lecture. Eleanor quickly turned her attention to her father who had, on occasion, shown Eleanor some degree of sympathy.

“How well do you know Mr. Broadstead,” she asked, “beyond his income and connections?”

Father’s brow pulled in contemplation. “Not overly much,” he admitted. “He is generally regarded as a gentleman, with few rumors of unsavory behaviors or tendencies.”

“Few rumors?” How terribly reassuring.

Father dismissed her concern with a wave. “One often hears talk of gambling and such things connected with any number of gentlemen. Indeed, I cannot imagine there is a single gentleman of the ton who has not placed a wager on a game of cards or a horse race at one time or another.”

“And do all of them have gambling rumors swirling about their names?”

“I did not say he was a paragon,” Father insisted. “But I do believe him to be acceptable.”

“Could we not make absolutely certain before moving forward?” Eleanor pled. “He need not be perfect, but we ought to at least know whether or not he would prove an embarrassment to our family honor.”

Her parents couldn’t always be convinced to make decisions with Eleanor’s welfare in mind. But preventing a mark on the family name had at times been impetus enough to cause them to inadvertently make their daughter happy.

“Broadstead doesn’t consider them officially betrothed,” Father said to Mother. “Perhaps a bit of caution would not go amiss.”

“Dearest” —Mother had a way of using the endearment that made it sound like an insult— “she cannot possibly hope for a better match. We would be inexcusably foolish to risk it.”

Risk it. Those were two very promising words.

Could Eleanor give Mr. Broadstead enough pause that he would delay this connection? With a bit of time, could she manage to convince her parents—her father, at least—to not force this engagement upon her?

She would be walking a fine line. Should her parents suspect her strategy, her hopes of receiving any consideration from them would disappear.

Further, should she take her efforts too far and convince Mr. Broadstead that she was utterly unfit to be a gentleman’s wife, he would no doubt spread that information far and wide.

At twenty-three years of age, having never made a splash in the social world, she could ill afford to undermine herself.

She didn’t want to marry Mr. Broadstead, but that didn’t mean she was decided against marriage itself.

I will simply give him enough pause to delay this a few days, time enough for me to think of a way out.

***

When Eleanor’s would-be suitor was announced late that morning, she found herself perfectly able to face him. Though her worries hadn’t entirely abated, she was no longer in a panic. Her confidence swelled under the influence of her quickly laid plans.

The expected pleasantries were exchanged between her parents and Mr. Broadstead. Eleanor pasted a somewhat vacuous smile on her face and prepared to commence with her battle strategy.

“Mr. Broadstead,” Father said, “I believe you know my daughter, Eleanor.”

“Miss Sherwood, what a plea—” He drew the first syllable of the word out as his silver-streaked brows arched up in surprise. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She settled a look of innocent confusion on her features. “As well as I ever feel, Mr. Broadstead.”

He eyed her ever closer. “Is that so?”

She nodded pleasantly.

He turned toward Father and lowered his voice, though she could still hear him. One of her earliest impressions of the gentleman had been his propensity for unnecessary volume. “Does the girl suffer from a liver complaint?”

Oh, the effort needed to keep a smile of triumph off her face!

Yellow was supposed to be all the rage this Season, thus Mother had insisted she have a dress made in the fashionable shade.

Unfortunately for Eleanor, wearing yellow rendered her countenance positively sickly.

The effect was not enough to make one think she was on the verge of death, only that she was, perhaps, not of a strong constitution.

“Eleanor is quite healthy, I assure you,” Mother said.

Mr. Broadstead did not appear entirely appeased.

“I, myself, am considered quite hale and hearty, though I would not go so far as to say I enjoy perfect health. I do enjoy a stronger constitution than most, owing to my insistence on taking expeditiously good care of myself. One cannot ignore one’s well-being and then expect compassion for suffering the ill effects of one’s own indifference. ”

What an insufferable egotist, to excuse himself from all human compassion by judging those plagued with poor health to be deserving of their suffering.

She had rightly guessed that he would take such a position.

Appearing before him with even a hint of an ailment had, as she’d hoped, planted a seed of a doubt in his mind.

“One cannot overestimate the importance of a healthy disposition,” Mr. Broadstead continued. “Many of my acquaintance have applauded me for my robust health regimen. Sir Thomas Howard has even commented on it recently.”

“A baronet,” Mother whispered, her voice filled with awe.

“In fact,” Mr. Broadstead added, “Sir Thomas asked me for the particulars of my methods, so he could experience the same positive results for himself.”

Eleanor had only been in Mr. Broadstead’s company on a handful of previous occasions. Yet during those interactions she had sensed that his subtle, self-directed compliments were offered in the hope of receiving more in return from those around him.

Mother and Father were quick to add their voices in support of the baronet’s evaluation of Mr. Broadstead’s admirable constitution.

They asked which other impressive members of Society shared Sir Thomas’s opinion and were overawed by the names they were given.

When everyone’s attention shifted inevitably to Eleanor for her turn to speak on behalf of his hardiness, she undertook the second part of her strategy.

“I remember a man,” she said, “in our small corner of Herefordshire—a tenant of one of the neighboring estates, I believe—who always enjoyed excellent health. I have often wondered if strong constitutions are more prevalent than we generally assume them to be.”

She offered an expression of deepest pondering, as if she were truly contemplating the matter. If Mr. Broadstead thought she was sincere in her question, rather than undermining his claim, he would be far less likely to guess at her purpose.

“Prevalent?” He blinked a few times, the heaviness of his eyelids rendering the movement almost painstaking. “I assure you, Miss Sherwood, mine is not a ‘prevalent’ disposition. Why, practically everyone comments on their amazement at my robustness.”

“People are impressed by interesting things, are they not?” Eleanor wandered a bit away and sat on a spindle-backed chair near the fireplace.

That was the third and final aspect of today’s efforts.

A tiny lapse now and again in her expected behavior as daughter of Mr. Broadstead’s host and hostess would make him wonder if she would be a negligent hostess herself.

She didn’t mean to push any bounds of propriety nor act in a truly ridiculous manner.

She would simply fall short a small handful of times.

Mother shot her a look of quiet reprimand before returning her attention to their visitor. “Please do be seated, Mr. Broadstead.”

He accepted the offer and, with a glance in Eleanor’s direction, chose a seat near the fireplace as well.

“I have heard wonderful things about your estate in Derbyshire,” Mother said. “I understand you have made a number of improvements to the house.”

“I have, indeed.” Mr. Broadstead straightened his wide cuffs.

“Though I don’t personally think I have done anything any responsible estate owner wouldn’t have done, my neighbors have said they are quite amazed by all that has been accomplished on the estate.

Indeed, Broadstead Manor is quite the finest house in the area and, some have said, in all of Derbyshire. ”

“Is not Chatsworth House in Derbyshire?” Eleanor asked innocently, knowing his home could not possibly be considered more grand than that famous estate.

Mr. Broadstead’s gaze narrowed a bit on her. “I am only relaying what others have said, Miss Sherwood. You would do well not to question the opinions of those you have not met. Brash young ladies are not generally thought well of.”

“I had not meant to give offense.” Eleanor poured herself a cup of tea without first offering any to Mr. Broadstead.

Mother rectified the oversight after another of her quick, scolding glances.

Mr. Broadstead eyed Eleanor with more than a hint of uncertainty.

That little bit of doubt was all she needed.

She would spend the remainder of his visit not drawing further attention to herself.

Nor adding to the slightly unfavorable impression she’d given, while at the same time not fully redeeming herself.

She sipped slowly at her tea, doing her utmost to appear as though she wasn’t listening to the others. In reality, she paid very close attention to the gentleman her parents had chosen for her.

He spoke often of the many flattering things his various friends and associates said about him, his estate, and his intelligence.

The only phrase he uttered more often than “people say. . .” was “you likely wouldn’t understand.

” The second was generally directed at Eleanor, alongside reminders that ladies’ opinions, knowledge, and views were inferior to those of gentlemen.

He further insisted that, given time, she would learn when it was best to remain silent and allow gentlemen to discuss important matters uninterrupted.

“It has been my experience,” he told her parents some ten minutes into his visit, “that young ladies are at a disadvantage in matters relating to logic and deduction. They simply haven’t the mental capacity.”

Ah. So it was not her battle strategy that had made him think so poorly of her.

It was that she was young and female. He would have made the same evaluation even if she had been on her best, most proper behavior.

Would her efforts that evening prove beneficial at all?

If he already thought so poorly of young ladies, would behaving in a way that only confirmed his presumptions change his interest in marrying her?

A welcome glimmer of hope, however, arrived at the time of his parting.

Father asked if he meant to call again soon. Mr. Broadstead answered in only the vaguest of terms. He, then, was not entirely determined to move forward immediately with the match.

Eleanor allowed herself the smallest bit of relief.

She and her parents had not been free of their visitor more than mere seconds before Mother spoke. “That was quite an interesting display, Eleanor.”

“I haven’t the first idea what you mean.”

“Mr. Broadstead might not yet know you well enough to realize you are not as vapid as you led him to believe you are.”

Father’s expression was less harsh than Mother’s, though no one seeing it would mistake his reaction for empathy. “You are this determined against the match?”

“I am concerned,” she corrected, “that we have taken insufficient time to know if he is, in fact, a good match.”

Mother was quick to respond. “He has—”

“—￡8,000 a year, I know.”

“Do not use that insolent tone, Eleanor.”

“Can we not allow a bit of time for being certain?” She directed the question to her father. “We ought to at least explore our options.”

“What options does a girl of your age have?” Mother scoffed.

“That is precisely what I would like to know.”

Father’s furrowed brow eased a bit. “Is that what this protestation is about? Options?”

“To an extent,” Eleanor said.

He nodded firmly. “Well, then. I shall see to it you have options.”

That was the last he said before leaving the room, shoulders firmly back, chin up.

Eleanor knew her mother’s lecturing posture well, but she was even more familiar with her father’s demeanor of determination.

He had a plan, and that, to be perfectly honest, worried her more than the prospect of an unwanted marriage.