Chapter 8 #4
She was stunned when she met the reality.
Peter Lavering was well over six foot tall, of a superb athletic build and incredible good looks.
Curling hair the color of autumn leaves framed the face of a Greek god, and dark eyes flashed with whatever emotion possessed him at the moment.
He and prosaic little Amy seemed like beings from different worlds.
Eleanor just could not link them, but the lovers themselves seemed unaware of any incongruity.
“Hello, Mouse,” said the Greek god with an ungodly grin. “How much mischief have you got up to so far?”
“I am being a perfect lady, Peter. Tell me all the news.”
This prosaic greeting was belied by a warm hug and the messages that passed between their eyes. Eleanor chaperoned them for a while and then quieted her conscience and slipped away for a few moments.
In the hall she met Nicholas as he entered the house. He had not been home the night before, as far as she knew, but that was not uncommon these days and was not the kind of subject ever mentioned between them.
“You’re looking very guilty,” he remarked as he gave her an impersonal peck on the cheek.
“I feel it,” said Eleanor. “I have left Amy and her Peter alone for a few moments. I think they will die if they cannot have one little kiss.”
She became very aware of their situation, and of how much she would like “one little kiss.” What would he do if she were to kiss him? Surely he could not reject her…
He had already moved slightly away.
“I insist on returning with you,” he said lightly. “I’m eager to meet this paragon. By the way, Miles asks if he may bring his brother to our soiree. He is in town for a few days. He’s a naval officer, but Miles vouches that he’ll do his duty by the wallflowers.”
Eleanor abandoned any foolish ideas of seducing him and agreed to the inclusion of such a treasure readily enough. “Will you tell him, or do you think I should send an invitation?”
“Oh, I’ll tell him. Perhaps we should go and interrupt the lovers.”
Such were their conversations these days.
Even though the invitations had gone out at such short notice, they were not short of company for their entertainment.
Eleanor had decided to keep the affair informal.
There was an ample supply of excellent food and drink and a skillful trio to play music, or for dancing.
As most of the guests were young and lively it was a spirited evening, but for Eleanor it was a tainted pleasure.
She was pleased to see Nicholas exerting his charm to the utmost in order to secure the success of the event, but this also led to bitterness.
If he can turn it on and off so easily, she thought, it wouldn’t hurt for him to turn it on for me just now and then.
There are many times when I could do with my spirits raised.
Eleanor found amusement in seeing the jealous care that Peter took of Amy, until she compared it to Nicholas’s casual regard of herself.
Even when Lord Arden went on one knee before her to beg for a rose from her hair, her husband merely smiled.
From then on she could not help feeling sour at every fiery, adoring look directed at Amy by Peter.
She must have shown her hurt, for Lord Middlethorpe, standing beside her, said, “Now what in the sight of those sickening young lovers can be making you look so sad?”
“Nothing,” she said with a tolerable attempt at lightness. “I am just worrying about arrangements. This is my first real party, you know.”
But he shook his head. “Won’t do, Eleanor. May I try my hand at mind reading? You were looking at Peter and Amy and wishing Nicholas was hovering over you in the same way.”
She knew she had colored and did not attempt to deny it.
“He wouldn’t be a very good host if he did that, you know. And perhaps he trusts you rather more than Peter appears to trust Amy.”
Eleanor was betrayed into bitter speech. “He wouldn’t care, I dare say, if I were to throw myself into another man’s arms.”
Surprisingly, Lord Middlethorpe laughed. “You obviously don’t know Nicholas, even yet.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Jealousy is a not very attractive reflection of possessiveness, I always think, but would it make you happy if he were jealous?”
Eleanor wished she had never spoken. “Francis, this is most improper and very silly. I can’t…” Under his gently insistent look she said, “Yes. Yes, it would.”
“Come then,” he said and held out his arm.
When she looked a question at him, he explained. “Show me some particular book in the library. If nothing else, it will give you a moment’s peace from worrying about arrangements.”
Eleanor looked over at her oblivious husband then put her hand on Lord Middlethorpe’s arm and allowed him to lead her from the room.
“You expect him to come after us?” she said as they crossed the hall. “I doubt he will even notice I have left the room, never mind who with.”
“I, however, know I am taking my life in my hands,” he said, and smiled.
His sensitive eyes reflected all his genuine concern for her and she felt her heart tug. Why was she surrounded by care from everyone except the one…
He broke into her thoughts. “Cheer up, or you’ll have me thinking I am very poor company.”
As they entered the darkened study Eleanor said warmly, “Indeed you are not. I don’t know what I would do without your friendship, Francis.”
He lit the candles with a taper from the low fire and looked around. “This is a very fine room, I always think. Which book are you so anxious to share with me?”
Eleanor shrugged and took up the folder of Chinese prints. “Have you seen these? They are exquisite.”
He turned the sheets carefully. “Very fine. I have some similar, but none as delicate as these.”
His manner was simply kind, and Eleanor relaxed as usual into the pleasure of his company. They were studying the prints, Eleanor seated and Francis leaning over her shoulder, when the door opened and Nicholas entered. He closed the door quietly behind him.
Eleanor blushed and Francis smiled.
Nicholas could not be said to be angry, or even concerned, and yet there had been a flash in his eyes when he first entered. Eleanor had to force herself not to leap to her feet and stammer out excuses.
Nicholas strolled over to the table. “You are admiring these? I think we should have some of them mounted.”
“Yes,” Francis replied in an equally light tone. “It is a shame to hide them, but be careful the light doesn’t spoil them. Treasures need to be cherished.” He glanced down at Eleanor’s head, where she seemed engrossed in the prints, and then quietly left the room.
At the click of the door Eleanor looked up in alarm. She had been abandoned. Nicholas was studying her with careful attention.
“Has something in particular upset you?” he asked. They both knew he was not referring to the general state of their marriage.
“No, nothing at all,” she said hurriedly. “We must go back. It does not do for us both to be neglecting our guests.”
“I think everyone is quite content for the moment.”
He perched on the corner of the table beside the chair on which she sat. It was a more intimate situation than any they had been in for weeks. Idly, he twirled one of her curls around his finger.
She found she could not look at him.
His voice came softly in the quiet room. “You are being very brave and very careful, Eleanor. You cannot know how grateful I am to you.”
There was a magic in the moment, and Eleanor tried to hold onto it, but it evaporated as she remembered what he was doing with the time she was so generously allowing him.
She did not want his gratitude for her complaisance.
She was trying, head still lowered, to decide on her response when he spoke again.
“Would it help you to know, I wonder, that I am finding this time as difficult as you? And, I suspect, for many of the same reasons.”
Surprised, she responded honestly with a slight nod, the anger melting into swallowed tears. They were, she thought, equal parts grief and happiness. She did not understand what he was saying, but his tone of deep concern was balm for her pride. At least he felt something for her.
But then he stood up abruptly, breaking the mood. When she looked up in surprise he was facing away from her.
His voice was rough as he said, “I cannot explain things, Eleanor, and believe me, it wouldn’t help if I could. Come, we must go back.”
She looked at him in total confusion.
When he turned to offer her his arm she rose obediently, knowing no way to make any sense of him. His movement was arrested, and then changed.
He raised his hands to cradle her face and she knew the hint of tears must be there, no matter how gallantly she smiled.
“Oh, Eleanor,” he sighed softly. “I cannot even ask forgiveness, my dear.”
He leaned forward until his lips caressed hers gently. It was a kiss that spoke more strongly of caring than of need, but she was grateful for anything he could give her. There was a sweetness to be so close, to be wrapped in his concern, if not in his arms…
“Oh, God.” He wrenched back. She saw the bewildering need in his tortured eyes before he turned and left the room.
Bemused, Eleanor occupied herself in carefully putting away the prints. She understood nothing. Nothing at all. But he was not disgusted by her, and he was not indifferent. Irrepressibly, through tears, she smiled.
When she reentered the music room she saw, without surprise, that Nicholas was in complete control of himself. He was charming the impossibly shy Miss Harby into a semblance of normality. Eleanor accepted an invitation to dance from Miles Cavanagh.
“Do you know, Eleanor, you are blooming tonight. In fact, you’ve the look of a woman who’s just been kissed.”