Chapter 3
In later years, Eleanor could only think that it was shock that enabled her to survive the waiting period so calmly.
She lived quietly at the hotel under the name Mrs. Childsley, only venturing out on occasional walks in either her coal-scuttle bonnet or a veiled hat.
Lord Stainbridge visited frequently and brought journals and books, but she still had too much time to think, too many unpleasant dreams when she slept, and too much opportunity to have doubts.
By sheer determination she refused to entertain them.
She had made her decision. She would be under Lord Stainbridge’s protection and her husband would be mostly overseas. It would work.
Finally the day came for Eleanor to climb into Lord Stainbridge’s luxurious traveling carriage for the journey to Newhaven. Her principal feeling was one of relief. She felt as if she would almost have been as relieved to be going to her execution, only to be on her way, to have it done.
As the four horses pulled the carriage smoothly into motion, Lord Stainbridge turned to her. “I hope you do not mind leaving the maid behind, my dear. I felt it better that servants be as little involved with this as possible. She will hopefully never know Mrs. Childsley did not exist.”
“No, Lord Stainbridge, I do not mind. I am not accustomed to a maid in any case.” Eleanor was pleased with her level tone.
The earl smiled his approval. He seemed very relaxed and in command of the situation.
Quite different from when she had first met him.
“Good. Now, I have heard from my brother and he will be arriving at Newhaven this evening, as arranged. The weather seems clear, so there should be no impediment. He enclosed this for you.”
Eleanor took the sealed package with surprise.
The package was not large but obviously contained a small, hard object.
As she broke the seal and opened the paper, she felt a frisson of alarm.
Suddenly her husband-to-be was becoming a reality, and the pretty emerald ring she found in the package made him more so.
The note was simply addressed in beautiful, flowing penmanship to Miss Eleanor Chivenham. It was a strong, decisive hand—not what she would expect from Nicholas Delaney. The letter was short and simple:
Dear Eleanor,
You must know I share all your feelings and anticipation at the thought of the ceremony to come. I can say no more. Please wear the small gift enclosed as a sign of your kindness towards me. Soon I will have the right to give you much more.
Nicholas Delaney.
An ambiguous and possibly alarming note, but Eleanor realized it could be read as expressing great devotion.
It was undated, and if it was seen by anyone it could not gainsay their supposed relationship.
This forethought, and the style of the letter, conveyed a sense of the man that would have been comforting if it had not been so unexpected.
She read it through again. This time, however, a note of antagonism, of reluctance, seemed to predominate in the letter.
She considered the ring. Plain gold with a simple faceted emerald.
Why did its quality seem to speak clearly in counterpoint to the letter?
From a simple man this ring would have been a great gesture; from the earl it would have been close to an insult.
From his brother it seemed to state clearly a precise degree of concern and obligation.
It was surely ridiculous, however, to think Nicholas Delaney had expended such thought on the matter. He had doubtless purchased the first adequate ring he could afford. She should be pleased he had bothered.
“That is a charming ring,” said Lord Stainbridge.
Eleanor looked up to realize he would dearly love to know what was in the note. She almost passed it to him, but some notion of loyalty to her future husband stopped her, and she folded it neatly to put it in her reticule.
“Your brother is very thoughtful,” she said.
“I’m glad.” The earl sounded relieved.
“Your brother is willing, Lord Stainbridge?” Eleanor queried. She had to know. This was all bad enough without a resentful husband.
The earl flushed. “What has he said? Of course he is.” The note of bitterness that so often touched his comments about his brother returned.
“I assure you Nicky never does anything he does not wish to. If he wanted to avoid this marriage he would simply have left for the antipodes and not returned for years.”
Eleanor gave up her questioning and responded instead to the pain she heard in his voice. “You would rather he stayed at home, my lord, would you not?”
The earl sighed. “Indeed I would. For one thing, it would be safer here. He leads a charmed life, but he is also like a lodestone for trouble. One day his luck will fail. When he tells me stories of his exploits I cannot see the glory, the adventure, but only the risks. It is painful. We are, after all, twins, and there is a bond.”
“Does he not feel this bond also?”
“It would appear not,” he said bitterly, and the conversation lapsed.
Eleanor looked out of the window. There were signs of spring all around—lambs in the fields and new growth on the trees—but spring was late after the exceptionally harsh winter, and the air was chill.
She was grateful for the woolen rug wrapped so tenderly around her legs by Lord Stainbridge and wondered if such consideration would be a part of her new life.
What a creature of contrasts her husband-to-be was! An adventurer with beautiful handwriting; a wanderer loved by his family and friends; a clever man who could become a debauched ravisher.
She suddenly thought of Fox, the brilliant politician and thinker who had gambled himself into destitution and had rarely let a day go by without becoming insensible through drink. Men were strange creatures indeed.
After a journey of five hours they pulled into Newhaven as the sun was setting. The carriage, its lights shielded, was drawn up away from the inn a little, behind a nearby cottage. Lord Stainbridge assured Eleanor this was by his brother’s instructions.
“You must not be seen before the boat docks, you see. Nicky will have thought of everything.”
Eleanor found this fond belief in his brother’s omniscience rather irritating, but before she could comment the earl disappeared to see whether the boat was close to shore.
He returned a moment later. “The packet is in sight, my dear. Perhaps ten minutes, little more. Will you be all right here by yourself? The coachman and groom will stay with you, but I should be visible, as I am supposed to be meeting Nicholas and his wife.”
She assured him he could leave her and then sat in the gloom, bolstering her sagging courage.
She even wished for a moment she was back in her dreary room in Derby Square.
Despite the discipline she applied to her mind a slight tremble began, and it was not from the cold.
She bit her lip and pressed her hands hard together.
She would not start this marriage in weakness.
She tried to imagine their first meeting. What did one say to a man in such a situation? How could she pretend to be a wife of some weeks with a perfect stranger?
Not quite a stranger, she reminded herself.
Suddenly the door swung open and Lord Stainbridge extended a hand to her. “Come along, Mrs. Delaney.”
Only as she stood beside him on the cobbles did she realize it was not Lord Stainbridge but his brother.
There was no time to think. Arm around her waist, he hurried her over to the inn and swept her into the stream of passengers pushing into its warmth.
A moment later she was being introduced to Lord Stainbridge.
She was amazed to find no restraint between the brothers, only a playful affection.
She resented it and frowned at the man beside her.
She realized then that it was Nicholas Delaney who was setting the tone, who was orchestrating this performance. For all that nobody seemed to be interested in their affairs, he was acting his role perfectly, and his brother, uneasily, was following his lead.
Her “husband” looked down and caught her disapproving gaze. He smiled and gave her a little squeeze. “Come, my dear. Surely you at least can tell us apart?”
Like a puppet, she found herself doing her best to join in the charade.
She greeted her “brother-in-law” and complained about the voyage, she who had never been on a boat in her life.
In a moment the focus shifted back to Lord Stainbridge and Eleanor was able to lapse into silence again.
She immediately resented the way she had been manipulated.
She needed to keep her wits sharp with Nicholas Delaney.
Unobtrusively she studied the brothers.
Yes, anyone would be able to tell them apart.
Presumably nature had given them both the same pale skin and brown-blond hair.
On Lord Stainbridge they remained so, but on his brother strong sun and winds from heaven knows where had transformed them into a startling and uniform gold.
This distinctive coloring had not been apparent in the dim light of her bedroom.
In this gilded frame Nicholas Delaney’s brown eyes seemed bright and rather wicked, whereas his brother’s were gentle and thoughtful.
A woman’s voice suddenly interrupted the conversation and Eleanor’s thoughts. A mellow voice, which spoke perfect English with a delicious French accent. “Nicky! You were never on that dreadful packet too, were you? How could I not have seen you?”
They all turned to see a slender, beautifully dressed woman, not young but not yet old, with an aura of confidence in the power of her attractions.
And she had reason. Her heart-shaped face contained soft, red lips and dark blue eyes full of humor and erotic promise.
Even beneath her heavy cloak the movements of her body were suggestive of delights.