Chapter Twenty-Six
A t Amberley House, his mother waved him into her parlor and sent her butler for a tray of port. “I think we all need a pick-me-up after tonight, don’t we?”
Jack stood by the fireplace until the port was delivered and his mother was pouring generous glasses for them both. She shot him a sharp glare. “Do sit down, Jack. Your restlessness is grating on my nerves. Whatever is it that’s dragged you away from your just returned son? Whatever it is, it must be important.”
Jack eyed the empty space beside his mother on the chaise longue and opted for the single upright chair next to it, noting the frown she gave his dirty boots, but ignoring it.
“Well?” she said, never one to clutter conversation with preamble. “And what have you done to the sleeve of your coat?”
His hand went to where Warren’s bullet had grazed his arm. “Caught it on a nail.” An easy lie. Probably not a good idea to tell his mother someone had shot him.
She grunted. “You need to be more careful. The coat is ruined. Now. What did you want to talk to me about?”
He’d better get it out now, if he was going to. “It’s Elenora.”
His mother’s pencil thin eyebrows arched. “You’ve seen the light? Changed your mind about your engagement when you saw what kind of a girl she is?”
Jack shook his head, annoyed at her assumption. “Not at all. Nothing of the sort. No.” Why wasn’t he able to come out with it? He was brave about everything else. As was Elenora. “Quite the opposite.”
Her already sharp gaze sharpened further. “And what do I infer from that garbled statement?”
There was nothing for it. He’d have to tell her the truth. “I find that quite unexpectedly, and contrary to my intentions, I’ve fallen in love with her.”
“Good heavens.” His mother came from the era of arranged marriages for whom falling in love was not expected. “That is a turn up for the books.”
“I know.”
She fixed him with her usual gimlet stare. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”
He shrugged, and the throbbing in his upper arm, which he’d been ignoring, increased. He’d have to get his valet to clean it up later. “I ought to explain my predicament more clearly.”
“Yes, I think you should.”
Where to start? “Our engagement up to now has been a sham.”
His mother’s eyebrows headed skywards, but she remained silent, watching him.
“It came about because I inadvertently compromised her at your ball. Father and Elenora’s parents caught us alone in the library. I was sewing up her dress. On my knees in front of her.”
“Sewing up her dress?” His mother’s voice rose.
He nodded. “I had been sitting quietly in front of the fire, out of the press of guests, when she came in. She didn’t know I was there until she came to the fire to sit down, and her interest in history, and her choice of book to read goaded my interest in her. The only way I could think of to persuade her to stay was to grab her gown. It ripped. They’re made of such damnable flimsy fabric.”
“I see.”
“And Father and her parents were not alone. By bad luck, Lady Routledge was passing at just the wrong moment. As they opened the door and saw me with Elenora, I could see the glee in that harridan’s eyes that she’d caught me out at last. The only answer to save Elenora’s reputation was an engagement. Of course, I had to offer for her, and I did, but she turned me down with unexpected vehemence. Quite off-putting for the ego to be rebuffed with such determination.”
His mother’s eyes widened, no doubt at the thought her precious only son, heir to an earldom no less and with a sizeable fortune of his own, had been refused. “She turned you down?” Again her voice rose.
He nodded. “She did. But I had a good idea. She needed an excuse to avoid her mother’s matchmaking efforts, and I needed one to keep you and my father from pestering me to marry and produce an heir. I persuaded her into a sham engagement. One we could quietly agree to annul at the end of the season. One that would give us both some peace from pestering parents.”
She regarded him in stony silence, possibly digesting his description of her and his father as “pestering parents.”
“The problem is,” Jack said, soldiering on in the face of so stern a countenance, “that I have fallen in love with a woman who has told me in no uncertain terms that she intends never to marry.”
His mother sighed. “And do you think that in any way your feelings might be reciprocated? I see that is what you would like to happen. This modern idea of having to be in love to marry. Very bourgeois and middle class. Your father and I hardly knew one another before we married. Our parents arranged it for us. I think we met six times before the wedding day.”
He shrugged. “I like to think she might be coming to like me.” He paused, unsure whether he should admit this to his mother. “She allowed me to kiss her. And said I could kiss her again, once Edward was rescued.”
She raised her brows again but didn’t seem too shocked. “And have you?”
“No. Not yet. But I want to.”
His mother sighed. “I think, my boy, that you would do well to declare your intentions to the young lady. She sounds a remarkable young woman if she was prepared to head off into the slums with you, even though I strongly disapprove of her actions as headstrong and foolhardy. Do you not think that was the action of someone who cares for you?”
“For Edward, maybe. I don’t know about me.”
His mother gave a snort. “How old are you, Jack? How many love affairs have you had? Oh, don’t look so shocked. A mother always knows these things. And you haven’t the wit to tell if this girl loves you back?” She harrumphed. “Allow me to tell you something. I saw the look in her eyes tonight when she was standing on the stairs with my grandson, watching you. If I were you, my boy, I would be honest with the girl. I think you might find her reaction favorable.”
It was after midnight when Jack finally returned to Portland Place, although the streets were by no means empty. London never seemed to sleep. He should have been feeling a sense of satisfaction that Edward was once more safe in the bosom of his family.
But he wasn’t.
He was thinking not of his son, but of Elenora and the way she’d sprung to his aid that evening. In fact, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, try as he might. The feeling was pleasurable, but mingled with unease that if he spoke to her, he might find her opinion of marriage unchanged. What would he do then? The realization dawned that a second refusal of marriage from her would feel like the end of his world.
On tired feet, he trudged back along the silent, foggy streets, conscious of the fact that ahead of him lay a house that would be devoid of the strangely fascinating presence of Elenora Wetherby. She would have returned home to her aunt by now, Edward would be asleep in bed, and only a few of the servants would still be up. His shoulders sagged with weariness after the exertions of the night, but also at the thought that he wouldn’t be seeing Elenora. In fact, once her mother and aunt found out about where she’d been with him tonight he’d be lucky if they ever allowed him anywhere near her again. Her aunt would be packing Elenora off down to Hampshire to rejoin her family, washing her hands of a decidedly difficult to handle young lady.
What wouldn’t he give to be returning home now to Elenora’s arms. The thought was delirious. Was he mad? Yes, he was tired, but was he tired enough to let his mind wander in this direction? And would she even welcome his embrace with her odd dislike of being touched? And yet, she’d let him kiss her. And his mother seemed to think she had feelings for him. If only they were the sort of feelings he wanted her to have.
They reached his house and even before he’d set foot on the steps, Alcock had the front door open, his face flushed with relief. Jack had never known his normally imperturbable butler to display so much emotion. Perhaps he’d thought the men Jack had rescued Edward from had returned to wreak their revenge on the man who’d deprived them of their ransom. Jack handed him his hat and cane. “Thank you, Alcock. I’m sorry to have kept you up so late. You can send all the servants to bed and tell them I’ll thank them personally in the morning for their service.”
Jack glanced down at his boots. Filthy. Holding the stair rail he lowered himself to the third step and stretched his legs out. “But before you go, Alcock, could you possibly do me the favor of helping me with my boots? I know it’s not your job, but you’re the only one here, and I’m too tired to do it myself.”
A small smile lit the old butler’s face. “I’d be honored to assist you, my lord.”
A few minutes later, his dirty boots discarded, Jack started up the wide staircase in his stockinged feet, each step an effort now tiredness was pouring over him in wave after wave. He needed to check Edward was sleeping soundly, so he kept on going to the nursery floor, where a single light burned on the wide landing.
Crossing to the night nursery door, he turned the handle with caution lest it squeak, and pushed the door open a crack. A candle flickered on the table beside the bed, throwing its warm light across the figures snuggled together in the bed, a book lying open beside them. For a moment his heart gave an ungainly leap—was that Mary cradling the child she’d never known? Then he saw that the figure he’d taken for a ghost had blonde hair and could not be Mary. Edward lay sleeping sweetly in Elenora’s arms, his head against her shoulder, his dark curls spread upon the pillow beside her blonde ones.
Jack stared, his heart still pounding from the shock. Was he glad it wasn’t Mary there with his child? A child she’d never wanted. The woman who’d lied to him throughout their relationship. He’d been a fool where she’d been concerned. In his heart, he’d known she was using him, but loving her had made him easy for her to manipulate. And manipulate him she had. But she’d left him with the best thing in the world—Edward.
His gaze lingered on the woman in the bed. What was Elenora wearing? Not the clothes she’d run through the slums in. She’d snuck beneath the quilts of Edward’s bed perhaps to comfort him, but he could see the silk of a peignoir he knew all too well. Someone had offered her a change of clothes, and the clothes were Mary’s. His heart did a further leap, although he couldn’t have said why. Was he angry she was wearing Mary’s night attire? And what was she still doing here? The impropriety of the situation settled on him heavily. Someone should have taken her home rather than allow her to spend the night looking after his child. Not that her reputation wasn’t already in tatters.
He frowned. He could hardly wake her now and take her home. That would be just as bad. He looked at his fob watch. Gone one. His only hope for her reputation would be if he wasn’t here in the morning, and could deny having been present overnight, but that was a faint hope indeed. He’d go to White’s and sleep there, in a chair if he had to.
He closed the door as quietly as he could and padded to his room to find clean clothes. Without the help of Briggs it would take him longer than he was used to, but he forbore from calling on his sleeping valet at this hour. All around him the house lay silent and peaceful. The servants would all be in bed, sleeping until they had to rise at five to lay the fires in all the rooms. He’d best be gone before they woke.
Once in his room, he stripped off all his dirty clothes, longing to be able to take a bath and rid himself of the stink of the gutter. No time. Leaving his things in a heap on the floor, he pulled on clean breeches, boots, and shirt and hurriedly fastened his cravat about his neck. Briggs would be horrified at the mess he made of it in his haste, but he was too tired to take trouble with it. Then, having put on a clean coat, swordstick still in hand, he descended to the front hall and let himself out. Let everyone believe he’d never been here. Alcock would swear to it, he knew.
The door closed with a soft click behind him, and he set off toward St James’s Street. It wasn’t much over a mile so wouldn’t take him long. His energy returned, he swung his cane as he walked, his clean boots tapping on the pavement. Elenora had not gone home. She’d stayed. That had to mean something, surely?