Chapter Six
When Eleanor was a child she’d fully considered running away from home.
Though she’d had no idea where she might have gone or what she would have done to support herself—small children seldom plot with such forethought—the prospect of escaping the unhappiness of home had been terribly tempting.
Alas, adulthood had rendered her far too practical to indulge in such fantasies, despite being even more miserable now than in her earlier years.
Once her betrothal to Mr. Broadstead was formal and final she would have no escape.
Eleanor spent nearly every morning in the park adjacent to their London home.
For those brief thirty minutes, she could imagine herself far away from her parents, her cares, and her horrible future husband.
She could wander amongst the trees and pretend she was deep in a hidden forest where no one could find her.
She stopped this morning beneath a clump of maples, leaning her back against a thick trunk.
Though the morning was a cool one, she felt warm beneath her bonnet.
Warm. Closed in. Suffocating. She untied the ribbons and lifted the offending article from her head.
Sticklers would object, but she was alone, her face shaded by the trees.
Surely she could be permitted this small freedom. She had been permitted so little else.
Eleanor let her bonnet hang from her hands by its ribbons.
Her thoughts wandered far afield as she stood in her protective copse of trees.
As was too often the case of late, those thoughts settled upon Peter.
She ought to think of him as Mr. Havensham, but ever since the previous evening at the Strudwicks’ ball when he had broken with decorum and uttered her Christian name in his gentle and tender way, she’d been unable to think of him in formal, impersonal terms.
His company had been a salve to her bruised and battered soul.
He’d returned a smile to her face. He’d once more given her reason to laugh.
She’d confided in him without meaning to, not because she’d been tricked but because she’d trusted him.
She, who had learned through hard experience to be wary of absolutely everyone, trusted him.
She enjoyed his company. She liked him. Liked him quite a lot, in fact.
That path is strewn with pitfalls, Eleanor. Do not so much as glance down it.
She would not dwell on the loss of another chance to be in his company once her engagement was etched in stone. Neither would she think on the dance they hadn’t enjoyed, nor how much different her life might soon become if someone like him rather than Mr. Broadstead had been chosen for her.
She would not regret having refused to press Peter to rescue her. Not only did she object quite strongly to the idea of needing to be rescued, she would not, no matter the direness of her circumstances, abandon her convictions. Right was right. Desperation did not change that.
“Is this a private grove, or are you receiving callers?”
Eleanor turned her head in the direction of the unexpected voice.
“Peter.” She pressed her lips closed—a moment too late to have stopped herself from uttering his name. “Forgive me. Mr. Havensham.”
He leaned his shoulder against a tree near hers. “I believe anytime a lady holds her at-home in a clump of trees, Christian names are considered acceptable.”
“The trees make the difference?”
“Trees make all the difference, Eleanor.”
His sense of humor was precisely what she’d needed in that moment. Her heart was so heavy of late and her mind so burdened.
“I did not see you again last evening after Broadstead sent you to speak with your parents,” he said. “You disappeared. Fortunately for me, you happened to mention that you walk in this particular park each morning.”
“And fortunately for me, you remembered.”
His gaze grew more pointed and concerned. “How soon do you anticipate your marriage arrangements being formalized?”
She dropped her gaze to her bonnet where it hung low in front of her. “Within the week, I would imagine.”
“Is there no hope of escape?”
To her great surprise, a smile formed naturally on her lips.
“I have spent this very morning formulating a plan to run away from home.” She caught a whisper of amusement on his features.
Encouraged, she continued her rather ridiculous tangent.
“I have not yet decided where to go, or how I will support myself, though I am contemplating becoming a notorious highwayman.”
He readily followed her down this odd nostalgic path.
“The one time my brother and I decided to leave home and seek a new life free of the tyranny of our nursemaid’s many lessons and insistence that we wash behind our ears, we chose the profession of stable hands.
” The memory was clearly a happy one. “We trekked all the way to the stables at a neighboring estate and were promptly assigned the duty of mucking the stalls, which cured us rather quickly of our feelings of being ill-used at home. We returned in time for tea.”
“I certainly hope highwaymen are not expected to muck stalls.” She appreciated the moment of levity. She clung to it.
Peter pushed away from his tree and moved closer. “There is a question I have kept only just at bay for fear it would be uncomfortable for you, but I am growing increasingly more anxious to have an answer.”
That was an abrupt change of topic.
She could not begin to imagine what he intended to ask. With any other gentleman—any other person, really—she would have felt almost unbearably nervous to hear an inquiry prefaced that way.
“What is your question?” she ventured.
He turned and rested his back against a tree, facing her.
“You realize how horrible Broadstead is and how unhappy he would make you. I see panic more clearly in your face every time we are in company. You admit there is little to no chance of your parents changing their minds, yet they did at one point offer you an alternative.”
That alternative had been him. He did not pause for even a moment in acknowledgement of that point but continued on.
“I can appreciate your reluctance to suggest such a thing on our first meeting or the next afternoon.” Shadows covered enough of his face to make his expression unclear, though his tone spoke of hesitancy and confusion.
“We have only encountered each other once more since then, twice if we include this morning. I realize that is not time enough to truly know each other’s character or views or preferences, but knowing the misery that awaits you with Broadstead and your parents’ willingness to accept me instead, why have— Why do you not—? ”
She knew the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask. “Why have I not asked you to take his place?”
“It sounds unforgivably arrogant, I know. I’ve simply found myself wondering if you think me no better than he.”
He believed she refused to plead with him because she thought poorly of him?
How could he possibly conclude such a thing?
“I have not posed the request, Peter, because I realize you would likely agree to it out of a sense of honor or gentlemanly duty, and I know perfectly well where that would lead. I would live the rest of my life knowing that you didn’t choose me because you wished for the match, but rather because your own sense of honor required it of you.
I would always worry that you regretted your actions.
It would weigh on me and tear at me. And though I haven’t the slightest worry that you would mistreat me, I know that you would, in time, come to resent me for having taken away this all-important choice from you.
That is an anguish I am not prepared to face.
Life with Mr. Broadstead will be horrible, but it is a horror I know how to endure.
Seeing my presence bring misery to you, someone I admire and care for, would eat away at me. That I could not bear.”
“You would sacrifice your own happiness for mine?”
She leaned her head against the tree trunk. “Do not make me out to be a saint or a martyr. As I said, a marriage between us that rendered you dismal would certainly not secure my own happiness.”
“Do you think, Eleanor, that you could delay your parents in making their final arrangements with Broadstead?”
She eyed him, intrigued. “I cannot say with certainty; my father is determined to move forward.”
He stood straight once more, stepping away from the tree. “Will you take a turn about the park with me?”
She nodded and slipped her bonnet on her head once more.
“I have been thinking all night and all morning about your situation, Eleanor.” They walked side by side out of the copse of trees and down the narrow path. “More to the point, I have been learning all I can about Broadstead.”
She did not at all like the look on his face. “What have you discovered?”
“He attempted to court the sister of my good friend. For her sake, I will not identify her, but suffice it to say, what my friend learned of Broadstead convinced him to put an end to all contact with his sister.” Peter clasped his hands behind his back as they continued their circuit.
“Broadstead is heavily in debt, having far too keen a taste for gambling, as well as very expensive taste in. . . everything.”
“In debt?” Oh, good heavens. “I have wondered why he has pursued this match. I am far from a social success, and while I don’t consider myself homely—”
“Homely?” Peter laughed out the word. “You are certainly not homely, Eleanor.”
Warmth filled her face at the compliment. She was not a stunning beauty, but she had never thought of herself as ugly. Hearing that he felt the same was a welcome bit of reassurance.
“I have had two Seasons and was not truly a success during either,” she continued.
“Mr. Broadstead places so much emphasis on appearances and being the envy of all. I could not make neither heads nor tails of his determination to move forward with this match. Very little about me fits what he clearly finds important in a wife. Knowing that he needs money puts those pieces very neatly in place.”
They turned a corner in the garden, making their way through a bower of roses.
“Broadstead’s situation grows more dire each day, as he spends and loses ever more money,” Peter said. “His habits would dry up even the most lucrative of wells.”
Her heart turned to lead inside her. “My dowry is modest at best, and the inheritance I will receive from my uncle hardly qualifies as a fortune. It will certainly not sustain a spendthrift for long.”
“Rendering him all the more unendurable, no doubt.” Peter guided her around a puddle in the path.
“I don’t know that my parents would change course even with this information,” she said. “They are quite resolved. Our family is nowhere near the uppermost rung of Society, and they are determined to climb that ladder in any way possible. Mr. Broadstead resides a touch higher than we do.”
“They value his connections,” Peter surmised.
“They do. And, though I risk making myself look all the more awful by admitting as much, that is likely why my father invited you to the theater last week. Your family is better connected than ours as well.”
Peter pulled her arm through his, settling his hand gently atop hers.
“My dear Eleanor, I do not consider you the least bit complicit in your parents’ schemes, so please rid your mind of that worry.
I am here, not to condemn you, but to do all I can to see to it you are not destroyed by your family’s ambitions. ”
She looked up at him, both touched by his concern and confused by it. “Why would you do so much to help me, a veritable stranger?”
He leaned a touch closer as they walked on. “Because I wanted very much to dance with you last evening, but the opportunity was snatched from me.”
She knew he was teasing, but she was ever so grateful for it. “I would have liked to have danced with you as well.”
“Be hopeful,” he said. “We’ll yet have our chance. In the meantime, you do your utmost to delay the finalization of your engagement, whilst I see if I can’t plant a few seeds of doubt in your parents’ minds.”
“How do you mean to do that?”
“I am not entirely certain yet, but I have the inklings of an idea.” He stepped away, allowing their arms to slide free. He offered a very proper bow, but with a twinkle in his eye. “Until we meet again, Miss Sherwood.”
He straightened his hat and stepped quickly through the park gate, then disappeared down the road. Eleanor remained behind, her mind spinning.
Do your utmost to delay the finalization of your engagement.
Though Eleanor had been rather hopeless to stop the relentless march toward unwanted matrimony, her determination now rose to the occasion.
Delay.
She could, she felt certain, find a means of accomplishing that, though not indefinitely. If the fates held her in any regard whatsoever, Peter would manage to achieve what had proved impossible thus far: changing her stubborn parents’ minds.