Chapter 2 #3
Again he flushed uncomfortably. “I have heard of none, and Nicholas would never abandon a child. He is very kindhearted. You must believe me. In truth,” he added, almost with desperation, “when he learns of this affair he will want to marry you and make all right. He will be as shocked as I by what was arranged. You will see.”
Eleanor looked away, bewildered by this relationship. Lord Stainbridge, an elegant man of the world, appeared to idolize his debauched twin and suffer to the heart at any criticism of the man. She, however, had experienced the other at his worst, even if in the briefest of encounters.
Either Lord Stainbridge was grossly deluded, or Nicholas Delaney had acted completely out of character.
“Perhaps when I meet Mr. Delaney,” she said carefully, “and we become acquainted, I may be happier at the prospect of this marriage.”
She was surprised to see that this conciliatory speech did not ease the earl at all.
“I am not sure that is possible, Miss Chivenham,” he said, nervously pacing.
“As I said, it will be weeks before Nicky returns. If there is a … a child, then the sooner you are wed the better. I believe you should be married as soon as he returns. In fact, I had thought we might give it out that you met in Paris and married there, returning with him.”
Surely the recent events have turned my wits, thought Eleanor, for this plan seems insane. “Even if I were fleeing the country this moment, my lord, and I do not have the means, it would be a very sudden attachment.”
Lord Stainbridge chewed his lip again. Eleanor was beginning to find it an irritating habit. “Where exactly was your home in Bedfordshire?” he asked suddenly, “and how long is it since you left it?”
“Near the village of Burton Magna. I left just after Christmas.”
He nodded with satisfaction. “Then if it should become necessary, we can give it out that you met Nicky in the country. It is only ten miles from Burton Magna to Grattingley, though I do not recall that our families knew each other.”
Eleanor was bleakly amused that he would even consider that the lowly Chivenhams of Burton Magna would be on terms with the local magnates, the Delaneys of Grattingley.
He seemed to be cocooned by wealth and privilege from all understanding of lower forms of life.
It must be that same wealth and privilege, however, that made him confident that all problems would bend to his wishes. She hoped he was proved correct.
“And my trip to France?” she asked.
He waved that off. “Everyone in the world is going to Paris these days, Miss Chivenham. The situation in your brother’s house became impossible,” he declared, “and you, in effect, eloped.”
“Eloped?” protested Eleanor in outrage. Then she realized that she was no longer in a position to care about such niceties. Coming back to earth with a thump, she accepted that a clandestine marriage was probably the best she could now hope for.
A clandestine marriage to a drunken, debauched black sheep.
She knew she was in danger of losing control.
Her dignity seemed to be all she had left in the world, and consequently it was precious to her.
Desperately she rose. “I am sorry, my lord. My head is spinning and I cannot think straight. Please could I become your ‘widow’ and get some rest? Can we talk of all this later?”
“Of course,” he said with his sweet smile. “You must trust me. It will all work out perfectly. You will see.”
Wealth and privilege.
In no time at all, it seemed, she was installed in a pleasant room in the quiet Hotel Marchmont, which was patronized mostly by clerical men and their families.
An agency maid took charge of the basic items that some, presumably trustworthy, person had purchased for her.
The woman behaved as if the situation was perfectly normal, and perhaps it was.
The aspect of the situation that bothered Eleanor most was the wedding ring the earl had provided, and which she felt obliged to wear. It seemed almost sacrilegious.
As he left, Lord Stainbridge slipped a purse into her hands with enough money for her to buy what she needed and pay vails.
Eleanor could have wept at such thoughtfulness; not being penniless was a tremendous relief.
She lay down on her bed to relax for the first time that day.
She even drifted into a light sleep, but was awakened before she was fully rested by a scarcely remembered and yet horrible nightmare.
Sitting bolt upright in the bed, hands over her mouth, she swallowed against nausea and told herself she was safe. Even if her brother was to find her here, he could not harm her. She was under the protection of a powerful earl…
It was no good. She needed to escape the room. She had sense enough not to run into the unknown, but she hurriedly called for her maid and went out into the bustling street.
There were shops nearby, and as she calmed she began to take pleasure in looking at the wares displayed. It was not an area patronized by the ton, of course, but to Eleanor the goods were entrancing. When she recalled that she now had money to spend, her spirits began to lift.
One of her first purchases was an ugly but concealing coal-scuttle bonnet is place of her more revealing one.
Safe within it, she was sure she could walk undetected past her brother on the street.
To make certain, she replaced her threadbare brown pelisse with one of a warm rust-brown.
It was described as a Russian mantle by virtue of the narrow fur trimmings around the cuffs.
Eleanor knew it was only a cheap version of fashionable attire, and yet it delighted her.
It was so long since she had possessed any clothes not made by herself—most of them made-over, in fact.
She also bought four voluminous flannelette nightgowns, an item her provider had apparently forgotten and that, in some uninvestigated corner of her mind, she saw as a kind of armor.
A pair of sturdy half boots completed her immediate needs, and she returned to the hotel in an optimistic frame of mind, horror buried and decision postponed.
After an early meal she fell into bed physically and emotionally exhausted but with the surprising notion that her life was better than it had been twenty-four hours before. Whatever had become of the “wages of sin”?
Perhaps they were to be found in disturbed sleep.
Twice in the night she awoke to the belief that she was not alone, once with the half-remembered feel of a body pressing down on her and a scream on her lips.
Both times she fought back the cry for help and disciplined her imagination and her body until sleep could return. The alternative, surely, was madness.
As a consequence of all this, however, by the time her maid brought her breakfast Eleanor felt drained and weary and unable to fight back the cold, dark fingers of despair. The river began to have some appeal again, and Lord Stainbridge’s plan seemed madness and only slightly more attractive.
But in time the weather came to her rescue.
The sun moved round and its bright, warm glow flooded her room.
Even the dancing dust motes caught in its beams seemed to express the joy of living.
She could hear birds singing outside her window, and cheerful chatter and song rose from the people in the street, people whose lot in life was in all likelihood harsher than her own.
She rose from her bed resolved to face her future with spirit. She found to her surprise that she was no longer sore, and her body did not feel any different at all. But, she reminded herself, it was possible, no matter how incredible, that at this moment a child was forming within her.
She tried to weigh her options calmly and logically.
To live quietly in the country as a widow, perhaps with a child, seemed the safe option, but a bleak one, even if Lord Stainbridge gave her a pension.
The days at Burton Magna had been pleasant, but she had never intended to spend her life thus.
This would be a lifetime sentence unless some man wished to marry her.
She considered the matter of marriage in the abstract, keeping it quite separate from her recent experience. Yes. A gentle, loving man. Calm. Reliable. A person with whom to share life’s burdens. She did not want to be alone anymore.
How could such a marriage be, however? Would the earl provide her with a dowry?
Would, she have to reveal the truth of her situation to a suitor?
She could hardly believe an upright man would marry her when he learned of her shame and the subsequent deception.
She would find it impossible to enter a marriage without honesty…
With a sigh, she considered her other option—marriage to Nicholas Delaney. There, at least, all parties would be fully aware of the truth. This choice, however, could not be kept separate from her nightmarish experience, and she shrank from it.
The thought came to her that her decision would have been easier if Lord Stainbridge had offered to marry her himself.
That offer she would have accepted with alacrity.
Then she laughed at her foolishness. Why would an earl offer for his brother’s leavings, and Lionel Chivenham’s sister, besides?
No, it’s the disreputable younger brother for you, my girl.
A younger brother, however, who travels. Once the ceremony was over she would be able to live with the earl in elegant comfort. She would have loving male support and companionship … without any unpleasant duties.
She was going to do it. It really was her only choice, and with Lord Stainbridge’s protection she would not need to fear his brother. Firmly, deliberately, she reviewed the advantages.
It would be pleasant to be honestly married, the facts of the situation, however distasteful, acknowledged by them both.