Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
“DARLING?”
Eleanor was in her mother’s hothouse, wearing heavy leather gloves, a trowel in hand.
Although it was frigidly cold out and terribly damp, inside it was warm.
She wore a light wool shawl over her cotton gown as she repotted several plants, all exotic species of roses.
Eleanor had never had any inclination to garden until the past month, but her mother’s hothouse had become her refuge, where she could toil in the heated and humid atmosphere in isolation, her only companion her numb heart.
“Darling?” Peter dared yet again, his tone filled with hesitation.
Eleanor was still, not turning to face him, aware that he stood in the entrance to the hothouse.
An entire thirty-two days and six hours had gone by since she had been to Kilraven Hill to see Sean.
In that time, her fiancé had treated her with the utmost respect and even more caution, as if afraid that she might break should he say the wrong word or use the wrong tone.
Eleanor spent most of her waking hours in the hothouse, but when the weather permitted, she would don Sean’s shirt and her breeches and gallop across the hills on her stud, alone.
She slept late and went to bed early. She slept with Sean’s shirt in her arms. There was no word from either her father or Lord Henredon.
Eleanor took a breath, smiled firmly and with resolve, and laid the trowel down.
She turned to face Peter. “Hullo,” she said brightly.
“Have I forgotten the time again?” She knew what time it was.
She wore a small pocket watch pinned inside her bodice, and actually, it was thirty-two days, six hours and twenty minutes since she had left Sean’s cell.
She knew she should not be tracking time.
After all, it was over, he had made it clear that he would not budge.
If she dared to recall their last conversation—which she did not—she would be rushing outside and demanding a horse, any horse, so she could gallop to the fort to see him another time and beg him for any other recourse to their lives.
Peter smiled and approached, closing the door to the hothouse behind him. Perspiration instantly appeared on his forehead and cheeks. “I am going to Limerick with Rex. Do you need anything?”
“Something to read would be wonderful,” she lied.
She had never had the patience to read before, just as she had never had the patience to garden, but locking herself in her rooms for hours at a time, she would insist she was engrossed in a new novel.
There was a stack of such books by her bed, all untouched.
Rex knew. He had come into her rooms unannounced one morning when she was supposed to be reading and had found her staring out of the window into the fog.
He had instantly ascertained that of the half-dozen tomes on her bed table, not a single one had even been opened.
He hadn’t said a word. Instead, he had asked her advice on his domestic affairs—apparently he was in need of a housekeeper.
Eleanor knew he wished to distract her; he had definitely become her favorite brother.
Now Peter nodded, his gaze searching. “I thought you might be ready for another book,” he said with an obvious effort at good cheer. “How is the planting coming?”
“Very well,” Eleanor said, gesturing behind her. Reading was impossible, as it required mental concentration. Planting required a repetitive physical act and she was quite good at it. “Take your time, Peter, enjoy yourself in town,” she added.
“We’ll pause for a light dinner.” He hesitated and then took her gloved hand as if he wished to raise it to his lips. Eleanor tensed, then told herself to relax, as he could not kiss her hand—the glove was covered with soil.
Peter looked her in the eyes and leaned forward, brushing his mouth to her cheek.
His own gaze had become dark. “Eleanor, I despise seeing you so morose!” he suddenly cried with fervor.
“Maybe lingering here as we await some word regarding your brother’s fate is not the best idea.
Maybe we should sail for Chatton. I am certain Cliff would not mind transporting us to England. ”
Cliff had remained in the country, The Fair Lady now at port in Limerick.
Eleanor was certain he would not leave until Sean had received a pardon, just as she was certain he intended to break Sean from jail and sail him away, should that pardon be denied.
In fact, he had spent several nights at Askeaton with Devlin, Rex joining them, and she knew a conspiracy had been formed to answer the worst scenario.
Devlin, of course, had left shortly after Sean’s capture.
He, too, was in London, drumming up support for Sean’s pardon at the Admiralty.
“I can’t leave,” Eleanor said firmly. She did not attempt to smile now. “If your brother was in the jeopardy that Sean is in, you would hardly desert him now.”
Peter was grim. “You are right, of course. But this is taking so terribly long. We have had one brief missive from your father, which merely said he was hoping for the best. I am beginning to worry, darling.”
Eleanor withdrew her hand and hugged herself, mindless of the dirt. “Your father and my father combined could never be denied,” she said fiercely. It was a refrain she believed with all of her heart, as there was no room for doubt. “And now Devlin is in town, too, and he remains a naval hero.”
“I know you are trying to be brave,” Peter returned seriously, “but it breaks my heart to see you so saddened, Eleanor.”
He could not know the real cause of her sorrow. “We will hear something soon,” she insisted. “Very soon, I am sure.”
“You are so brave!” he exclaimed. “At least Cliff and the runners found Flynn. He is our witness to the events of that horrid night.”
Eleanor pulled her gloved hand from his. Flynn had been brought to Adare two and a half weeks ago by a triumphant Cliff. Word had immediately been dispatched to the earl. “I am certain that Father will appear at any moment with good news,” she said firmly.
Peter clasped her shoulder and she was forced to face him. His gaze held hers. “I want to cheer you,” he said after a long pause. “How can I do that?”
“Bring me a new novel,” she said with a smile. “You know that will cheer me considerably.”
He turned away, but not before she glimpsed sadness in his eyes.
And Eleanor became concerned. Did Peter suspect the truth?
That she was frantic for Sean’s fate and grieving over the loss of their friendship?
She had been so careful to be social and charming, to choose the right words, the correct replies.
Her smiles, while artificial, were well rehearsed.
And should he make a jest, she was quick to laugh at it—she was always the first to do so.
“I will see you at supper, then,” Peter said quietly.
Eleanor hesitated, and then she ran to him impulsively. “Peter!”
Surprised, he faced her.
“Thank you for your kindness and understanding,” she said, meaning it. “I am sorry I am not more amusing.”
He pulled her into his arms. Surprised, Eleanor stiffened, as they had not shared an intimate embrace since her return. “I do not want you to dissemble to make me happy,” he said earnestly. “I only want to see your eyes sparkle with laughter and joy again.”
She remained tense, but less so. “I will become my old self again, I will. I just need to know that Sean is going to walk away from all of this a free man.”
His gaze searched hers, and Eleanor instantly recognized the need there. Her heart raced in some alarm. “I cannot imagine our fathers failing,” he said quietly. “Eleanor?”
This was inevitable, she thought. After all, as soon as they received word of an amnesty, they would marry on the following weekend.
It had been planned. And that night she would share Peter’s bed.
She intended to give him all of the passion she could muster—he deserved far more and that was the least she could give.
She hoped, vaguely, that in time, she could give him more than friendship, loyalty and respect.
It didn’t matter. She would be the perfect wife; she had made up her mind.
But then her mind betrayed her will and she thought, Maybe one day, Sean would return to Askeaton and they would pick up the shattered pieces of their lives; maybe, when they were older, their temples gray, they would finally become best friends once more.
Peter’s lips brushed hers, jerking Eleanor into the present. Instantly she reminded herself that she must not wish for a future that, in all likelihood, would never be. She somehow smiled and returned Peter’s gentle, uncertain kiss.
“I do not know whether I should be so forward now,” he whispered.
“If you wish to be forward, it is your right. We are affianced,” Eleanor said firmly. She closed her eyes and waited for another kiss. This time, she returned it with more fervor.
Peter finally stepped back, appearing dazed and smitten. He touched her cheek. “You are beautiful, even when you are up to your elbows in dirt. Until tonight, then.”
Eleanor nodded, still smiling. Then he whirled and strode from the hothouse.
Eleanor began to tremble. She sat down quickly on a stone bench, her temples throbbing with a migraine, her knees uselessly weak.
Once, long ago, Peter’s amorous kisses had moved her.
Now, she could barely will herself to suffer through them.
Somehow, she thought grimly, she was going to have to change that.
And then she heard a soft jangle, not from the vicinity of the front door, but from a distance behind her. She turned, her eyes widening.
Cliff stood behind a huge palm, staring at her. She could not imagine how he had walked in without either her or Peter hearing him; he must have used the hothouse’s back door.