Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elena hadn’t said anything more while they had walked back, entering through the kitchens instead of the main portion of the house.
When West gave her a curious look, she had smiled faintly. “My boots. I can get to my rooms without dirtying so much of the house this way. I can go change now if you—”
“No,” he told her firmly. “Stay. Please.”
Was he reduced to one-word sentences now? Was that what the stress and strain, the waves of information in London, had done to him?
But if Elena noticed his state, she gave no sign of it. She only nodded and gestured to the table before she moved out of sight to fetch Mrs. Andrews.
West ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
He hadn’t meant to bombard her with that question the moment he saw her.
He’d planned on just conversing with her like a friend and asking if they could talk later, perhaps after supper.
He’d ask about her life and tell her what he’d discovered in London, including the proxy marriage, and let her explain.
But after seeing her in the fields, dressed in those maddening trousers and boots, her rough clothing and loose plait suiting her nature far more than he’d ever believed possible the first time he’d seen her like that .
. . He would not claim to know her well now, but he knew her better, and if there was anything he knew about Elena, it was that she was practical and did not hold herself to Society’s expectations.
She had a certainty about herself that he envied and a determination to succeed that she refused to leave to fate. She worked rigorously for whatever outcome she sought, never content to oversee or remain aloof. She had no airs, did not care for finery, and was not put off by hardship.
She was the most unique, fascinating, confusing woman he had ever met, and rather than remain irritated by her, as he had been at first, he found himself wanting to know more.
Her beauty was one thing; her nature was another.
And that beauty was something so natural, so understated, so soft, that it would be easy to overlook it or take it for granted. To pay it only a glance and be distracted by the more obvious, more contrived, more cultivated beauty that was so favored by those in wealthier circles.
He might have dismissed a look like Elena’s once. Not long ago, even. But now, seeing her in this place, when her cheeks were flushed with the weather and her exertions, her dark hair struggling to remain in its plait, there could not be anyone or anything more lovely.
And when he’d seen her, the question of her marriage to his half brother had been the only thing he could say.
He had to know.
Not for himself, but for her. He had to know just how far her dedication to Fenmore went, what she had risked, and if her heart had ever been at stake.
Elena returned a few moments later, the rosy hue of her cheeks only slightly faded. She came to the table and sat across from him, the expanse of the table suddenly feeling more like a canyon or a moat than a surface for dining.
What did he expect? That she would sit beside him?
He wasn’t even certain he would have wanted that.
It might have bothered him that she had taken such liberties, actually.
What if she had paced before the fire while telling the tale, and he had sat at the table like a rapt member of some audience?
Would that have been too formal or intimidating?
Would it have reduced the nature of the content to something of an act rather than a declaration of her truth?
“Mrs. Andrews is going to bring us luncheon in a moment,” Elena murmured softly, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the large fire in the kitchen grate. “Would you like me to wait until we can eat, or . . .”
“Elena,” West said as gently as possible, waiting for her to look at him. “This is not an interrogation. Begin when you like. I only ask that you tell me the truth.”
She nodded, her eyes remaining on the surface of the table.
“My father was a scholar as well as a squire. He loved my mother madly, and my childhood was happy. My mother died before I reached the age of ten, and my father, rather than send me away for my education or hire a governess, kept me at our home and taught me himself. As a result, my education was not typical for that of young ladies. I didn’t mind, since I was with my father, the one last person who loved me. ”
West could hear the empty tone of her voice, the vacancy where pain once lived but had been forced to be abandoned, for whatever reason. He could also see the glassy sheen in her eyes, and wondered if those tears would ever fall.
“We had gorgeous lands,” Elena said even more softly. “Rolling hills, stunning wildflowers, trees perfect for climbing . . . and fields upon fields of crops. I loved the smell of harvested wheat and hay as the autumn broke.”
“I love that smell myself,” West murmured. “It is the very best.”
Elena’s smile was soft and genuine, and it warmed him more than any fire ever could.
“My father died when I was eighteen,” Elena told him.
“That was when I learned that the entail upon the estate, something I had been aware of but never understood, was going to force me away from that haven of mine. I had to go to London, at my cousin’s insistence, and find a match.
But if I was going to marry, it was going to be something that would benefit me as well as my intended. ”
Her eyes raised from the table’s surface to meet his, and the impish light in them settled something in his stomach. “I was never raised to be particularly soft and biddable. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeated with a firm nod, grinning easily.
She sobered and leaned her forearms on the table.
“I hated London. But I had to do as I was told, since they’d only let me remain a few months after the funeral.
I was in London at their residence—without them, thankfully—until the social Season began, at which point I had to hunt for a husband.
That . . . took some time to settle in my mind. ”
“Husband hunting?” West asked her, surprised at how frank and open she was being about her past.
But grateful. So very grateful.
She shook her head quickly. “No, just the sort of husband I was hunting for.” She shrugged, the fabric of her rough, masculine coat tightening at the movement.
“My parents had a love match, and I had wanted one, too. But I had to be practical. I was so young, and I needed a place to live more than I needed to prance about in pretty frocks and put on airs. I needed to be free to grow into myself and exist until I came into my majority. And I was desperate to be in the country. I think you understand that part.”
“I do.” His voice was softer, lower than he meant it to be, but he hoped that only showed the depth of his sincerity in this.
He had always wanted to be in the countryside rather than in any cities.
The Highlands, the Lowlands, the Midlands, the Lake District, the coast .
. . any of it was preferable to a city life.
“I learned which gentlemen about had country estates and were not desperate for heirs immediately, or a large fortune,” Elena went on, lacing and unlacing her fingers, her eyes fixed upon the action.
“I specifically looked for fairly indifferent men. The most practical match I could find that would get me what I wanted. Leonard met those qualifications. He courted me three times and asked if I would be amenable to be his wife, but he would like a long engagement. It was exactly what I wanted, so I agreed. Everything I had learned about him told me that he was not a villain, but he was vain. He did not like the country, despite having the estate. He never spoke of his family, so I knew there would be no one to object or pressure him.” She flicked her eyes up to West before returning them to her own hands.
“I understood from Mrs. Havens later that he disliked you.”
West grunted softly. “That is putting it mildly. He hated me. Hated my mother. Hated everything about Fenmore because we loved it. He took great delight in making sure I was not allowed back when he inherited, not even to see my mother at the dower house. I could come to the village, but not the estate. Once I could set her up in her own place from my own funds, I did so. That would have been three years before you came here, I think.”
Elena nodded to herself. “Leonard offered to have me live here, but warned me it was in a poor condition. He said when we married, I could live where I liked with any children we’d have, and he would be as involved as he saw fit, but nothing more.
Since there was no fondness, I did not mind that.
But a few months into living here, I learned that, despite having a position as mistress of the house, the estate needed far more than the house could provide.
The idea of a proxy marriage was proposed to me by the solicitor, something Leonard apparently suggested.
He said that he was comfortable with me making decisions for the estate in general as his wife, but he was not going to return early from his time on the Continent.
So we married without seeing each other, and I never saw Leonard after our engagement was finalized in London. ”
West jolted in his seat, nearly ramming the edge of the table into his stomach. “He never came to see you?”
“Not even once,” Elena confirmed with a shake of her head.
“And I was grateful. I did not want to be Lady Bickham yet, I just wanted to be able to help the estate. That was why we did not publicize the wedding or have the banns read. None of the Society ladies or the locals know. Worsley and Mrs. Havens were our witnesses.”