Chapter Eleven #2
Her words had drawn blood, as loath as he was to admit it, and now the wounds threatened to fester.
They echoed thoughts that had already crept into his mind over the past months—usually at night when his sisters were in bed and he was no longer surrounded by his reasons to push forward.
Logic—or fear—had swatted those arguments away before they could gain a foothold.
When the bigger picture was taken into consideration, the Linotype would have a net positive effect.
The good overwhelmed the bad. And the bad could be short-lived if others chose to make it so. He couldn’t be everything to everyone.
Meg cocked her head. “Just last week you complained that all your prospective brides were too agreeable and said you were looking for a woman who was not afraid to contradict you. Now here she is—a beautiful, intelligent woman who isn’t struck stupid by your title.”
Jac nodded. “Checkmate, brother.”
He shook his head. “There is an ocean of difference between ‘capable of independent thought’ and waspish.” And, frankly, if he had to choose between a mindless debutante and a woman with Miss Wright’s incorrect opinions, he’d choose the debutante.
Meg sighed. “So, Miss Wright is not the future Duchess of Strafford, then.”
“She most certainly is not.”
Meg leaned over and put a hand on his. “I still think you ought to be somewhat nicer to her at your showdown tomorrow, brother. Her anger is not entirely misplaced. You knew there was going to be some opposition to your new contraption.”
“I did not expect to dance with it.”
“Well, neither did she, I’m sure.” There was the slightest censure in Meg’s tone, which irked immeasurably. His sisters should be on his side, whether he’d told them he needed it or not.
“She is bitter and quarrelsome.”
Meg squeezed his hand. “And you are a big enough person to act kindly regardless. Win with grace tomorrow.”
Winnie snorted. “Unless he loses, in which case, lose with grace, brother.”
“He is an oaf. An arrogant aristocrat with more money than sense and more self-interest than care.”
Both Lillian and Mabel nodded, Lillian taking a loud, sharp bite from her apple while Mabel nibbled on the chicken sandwich she’d brought for lunch.
The morning had not gone well. Eleanor had made far too many mistakes, to the point where her friends demanded a reason, hounding her for it the moment the bell rang to signify lunch.
The duke. The duke was why she was making so many mistakes.
Damn him. Their dance had set her all aflutter.
For the first time in at least a year, her body had tingled and the hairs on the back of her neck had paid attention.
The spot where he’d placed his hand had burned.
She’d found herself thinking that maybe she’d like to go somewhere secluded with him, which wasn’t a thought she’d had about anyone in a long time.
Not that she was looking for a relationship.
But Peter had awakened a physical wanting that had been dormant and now desperately needed attention.
Except Peter was the duke who was trying to destroy her, and any attraction she’d had for him was misplaced.
“So, we are no longer interested in Zoo Man?” Mabel looked crushed. “That breaks my heart. I was so certain the universe had plans for you, with the way it kept throwing you together.” Mabel wiped her fingers with the napkin that her lunch had been wrapped in.
“The universe will have to be disappointed, then,” Eleanor replied curtly.
After tomorrow’s typesetting showdown, she was going to do her darnedest to avoid him, regardless of fate’s plans.
If they happened to be in the same room as each other, she would put herself in the farthest corner from him.
If they happened to pass each other in the street, she would stare resolutely in front of her and pretend she didn’t see him.
And she would definitely avoid the zoo until such a time that his device was a proven failure, and she had no reason to feel so roiled with negative emotions.
“And is there nothing that Zoo Man can do to regain your favor?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Zoo Man is going to cost you your work as well, remember?”
Lillian nodded her agreement. “Yes, we hate Zoo Man. He is clearly a sociopath. He would make an excellent villain in a murder mystery.”
“But this is not a detective story,” Mabel countered, frowning.
“It is supposed to be a love story. If Eleanor is finally contemplating taking a beau, then we must capitalize on her momentum. It’s time to turn our attention back toward the sea of men out there so that she can reel in a codfish, not an eel. ”
Or a shark. Because as much as Eleanor despised him, the duke was in no way an eel.
He was far too tall, too good-looking, and too powerful.
No, he was definitely on the top of the food chain.
That was the only reason her heart pitter-pattered the way it did.
She was going up against an apex predator.
“I don’t need a codfish. I don’t need any kind of fish. They smell.” But her insistence was maybe not as firm today as it had been in the past, because instead of rolling their eyes and moving on as usual, they hunkered down.
“Michael Bennett from the butcher shop,” Mabel said, clicking her fingers. “Or the cab driver from yesterday… if we see him again. He was very pretty.” She eyed Eleanor slyly. “I heard that Joseph Osmond is looking for a wife.”
Lillian jammed the apple she’d not eaten back into her lunch bag, huffing. “Joseph Osmond is nearing eighty years old and has already outlasted three wives. Eleanor should not be the fourth. She should accept Brendan’s overture. We know his character.”
Eleanor sighed. It was because the three were such close friends that they pushed as they did.
What if she changed her mind and it was too late?
What if she lost her job and had no man to rely on?
What if her motherly instinct was simply delayed and by the time it arrived, her uterus had shriveled up?
They needn’t have worried. If, by chance, those circumstances came to pass, then she was perfectly willing to accept the consequences. But she would not risk the life she had unless she was certain the alternative was better.
“I am not going on a date with Brendan Wiles.”
Mabel looked defeated, but Lillian pursed her lips and fixed Eleanor with a mutinous stare.
“It is your turn. I spent a full two hours walking with Nathanial Peabody at the night markets last week, and Mabel met that Hawthorn boy for lunch last Thursday. Neither was a match, but we made the attempt.”
“You did promise to be open-minded at least,” Mabel added.
Eleanor had been open-minded. She’d danced with the duke, had she not? She was writing to the Captain. Of course, she hadn’t told them that because then they’d ask too many questions that she wasn’t sure how to answer. They’d have expectations of her that she wasn’t sure she could meet.
If she was going to marry a man, it might be him.
She could picture him sitting at the other end of her sofa.
He might have his feet in her lap, or maybe she would lie with her head on his shoulder and listen to him read aloud.
Perhaps he was a half-decent cook. That would be a bonus.
Maybe she would make coffee, and he would make breakfast, and they would exchange thoughts over toast before leaving for work.
Maybe she would want shorter days in the printing house and longer evenings at home.
Yet maybe she would find herself cooking and cleaning for two when cooking and cleaning for one was hard enough. Maybe she was only enjoying this friendship because neither of them was revealing their full selves and in real life they’d both be disappointed.
Maybe it was time to confess the liaison to her friends so these thoughts could bounce around in someone else’s head for a while. “I am already communicating with a man who is far more suitable than Brendan Wiles or Mr. Osbourne.”
“What?” The dual-toned shriek vibrated in her ears.
“Since when? How?” Lillian asked.
“Who is he? What does he look like?”
“Do we know him? Why have you not said anything?”
“For a few weeks,” she grudgingly admitted. “We’re exchanging letters. I don’t know who he is or what he looks like, just that he is well read, well educated, and witty.” And the thought of a letter from him waiting at home for her made the butterflies in her stomach dance like it was summer.
Lillian narrowed her eyes. “And you didn’t tell us earlier because…?”
Eleanor sighed. She hadn’t told her friends earlier because she’d been so vocal about not wanting or needing any man, and now here she was, spending much of her time waiting earnestly for a letter from one.
What had started as a polite conversation with the brother of her pen pal had developed into something deeper, and she didn’t want to hear “I told you so.”
Lillian pursed her lips, a crease forming between her brows. “You don’t know his name, or what he looks like? What of his work and his family?”
“It is a deliberate choice to keep all identifying information out of the conversation.” Even as she said the words, they sounded stupid. “It adds to the intrigue,” she added weakly.
“Eleanor!” Lillian stood, arms akimbo. “It could be anyone. It could actually be Mr. Osbourne and then where would you be? Fourth wife to an octogenarian who may or may not have killed his previous wives.”
“It is not Mr. Osbourne.”
“But is it someone of equal disrepute? Is he keeping his identity a secret because no sane woman would converse with him otherwise?”
Eleanor’s throat tightened. This was not the excited response she’d anticipated. “It was my decision to remain anonymous.”
Lillian’s eyes bugged. “Truly, Eleanor, that was a significant lapse in judgment.”