Chapter Four
Eleanor paced the length of the drawing room. She’d hardly slept the night before.
A brief few hours were not nearly enough to know someone’s character as thoroughly as was necessary to decide upon a future together.
Yet, she had been given no other choice.
She knew Mr. Broadstead better than Mr. Havensham, but that knowledge had only given her information enough to realize that she could not be happy with her parents’ choice.
Mr. Havensham, without knowing he was being assessed as a possible matrimonial candidate and, therefore, less likely to be misrepresenting himself, had in his and Eleanor’s brief few hours together claimed a bit of her affections.
She liked him, and she was convinced that he was a far better choice of husband than the arrogant and mean-spirited Mr. Broadstead.
But how did one go about explaining such a thing to a gentleman whom one had only met the night before?
She needed to make the explanation herself as her father was unlikely to do so in a manner that accurately portrayed Eleanor’s position and opinions, and she wanted Mr. Havensham to understand both.
The undertaking was best accomplished by her, no matter how overwhelming she found the prospect.
She heard his knock. Her heart skidded to a halt behind her ribs.
She straightened the cuffs of her carriage dress, then fiddled with the buttons at the wrists of her gloves.
What would he think of her? Would he even listen, or would he simply dismiss the situation as complete nonsense?
And what if— She tried to breathe through the broken thought. What if he refused?
“Mr. Havensham,” the butler announced.
Mr. Havensham was there in the very next moment, somehow even handsomer in the light of day and in the less formal clothes meant for driving.
She had spent a portion of her long, sleepless night thinking back on the moment he’d first arrived in her family’s box at the theater.
He had struck her as very appealing, but not, she’d come to conclude, due solely to his outward appearance.
He had the air of one who defaulted to kindness and gentleness, rather than the smug arrogance so common in a gentleman of means. He put a person at ease.
After a bow in acknowledgement of her curtsy, Mr. Havensham greeted her. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Sherwood.” The smile in his eyes spoke of sincerity.
Unlike Mr. Broadstead, he did indeed seem to enjoy her company. Oh, how she hoped he would not dismiss her plea out of hand. She couldn’t bear to think of the misery that otherwise awaited her.
“You seem troubled.” His light tone had turned heavier, his expression shifting to match. “Has something happened?”
She had hoped to delay this discussion until after their ride, but that seemed increasingly less likely and, admittedly, less wise. He deserved to know the whole of the situation, if only she could summon the courage to lay it all before him.
“Mr. Havensham, may I please speak candidly?”
His brow pulled a little, but otherwise he showed no sign of concern. “Certainly.”
She pulled in a fortifying breath. “You were brought to the theater last night under false pretenses.”
Some of the humor left his blue eyes. “I fear you will need to be a bit more specific.”
“My parents did not tell me that you would be joining us last night, and they did not tell you that they have all but promised my hand to a Mr. Broadstead.”
His nose wrinkled up, even as his mouth twisted in displeasure.
“I see you are acquainted with him.”
“I am.” Those two words spoke volumes of his disapproval of the gentleman. “But what have he and your near-understanding to do with me being deceived last evening?”
His words were quick, to the point. An air of wariness had settled over him. She missed the easy conversation they’d shared at the theater. And yet, she’d known this would ruin it all. But she pressed onward. He was her only source of hope.
“I have expressed to my parents my distaste for Mr. Broadstead, as well as my prospect of nearly unrelieved misery as his wife. They offered me only one alternative.”
He watched her closely, intently, but without indication of having solved the riddle she’d put before him. There was nothing for it but to speak the words out loud.
“I am to choose either Mr. Broadstead or—” Her voice caught in her increasingly thick throat.
Heat stained her face. Her pulse vibrated through her entire body. Every reassurance she’d offered herself as she’d rehearsed this speech in the dark of her bedchamber fled on the instant. What she was proposing was madness, and she knew it.
“Oh, I see.” The look of surprise, of almost horror, on his face told her he did, indeed, see. “Either Broadstead or me.”
She nodded, unable to do anything more.
“That is why I was invited to join your family last evening.” He paced away, his posture rigid and angry.
“Not, as I was assured, as a gesture of kindness in memory of my late father, or as an acknowledgement of my years of loss and subsequent loneliness. I was brought to be evaluated and decided upon, quite without my knowledge.”
“Please, sir. Do not be angry with me. I was not made aware of my father’s invitation, nor of my parents’ intention to issue this decree.”
He stopped at the far windows, though she would wager he wasn’t truly gazing at anything beyond the glass. “Did you know before I arrived last night?” he asked through a tight jaw.
“Very shortly before, yes.”
He turned enough to look at her once more. To her surprise, he did not seem truly angry. He appeared more disillusioned than anything else. And who could blame him? He’d been played an awful trick.
“Was any of it sincere?” he asked. “The personable conversation? The levity?”
“It was all sincere,” she insisted.
“You will forgive me if I struggle to believe that.” He was upset, that was clear, but his temper didn’t flare, and his manner remained calm, not resorting to insults nor unflattering evaluations of her. How very different he was from Mr. Broadstead, even now.
“My family has not been forthright with you,” she acknowledged. “Your distrust is more than warranted.”
Mr. Havensham resumed his pacing. “Your father accepted my request to call on you today. Why would he do that, if you were promised to another? Or very nearly promised?”
She twisted the button on her left glove, hating that she was forced to lay bare the difficulties in her family. “His intention was to force me to make a decision.”
“And have you made one?” he pressed.
“I have.”
She hadn’t thought Mr. Havensham’s expression could grow more guarded, but it suddenly had.
The remainder of the speech she had rehearsed died unspoken in a moment of utter clarity.
The true nature of what she was about to do became clear.
She had fully intended to play upon his sympathies, to appeal to the code by which he lived as a gentleman, and to attempt to convince him to enter into a marriage he neither wanted nor had sought.
She had stepped into this room with the express purpose of treating him little better than her parents had treated her.
She could not do such an unfeeling and reprehensible thing.
She would not.
“You have known enough of sorrows, Mr. Havensham. You deserve happiness, and that is not to be found in a forced union.” How well she knew that.
“Your kindnesses to me last evening meant more to me than you likely know, and I thank you for that. I only hope that you can look back on our brief acquaintance and not think too ill of me.”
He stood, still and silent, watching her with a disbelief that pierced her heart.
She took refuge in the manners that had been infused in her since birth. “I will not keep you, but rather wish you a good afternoon and a pleasant remainder of your Season.”
He did not immediately seize the escape she’d offered. Instead, he continued his study of her. “You are choosing Broadstead?”
Her lips turned in that odd semblance of a smile that often precedes the tears of heartbreak. “I am choosing to have integrity.”
Mr. Havensham remained only a moment longer before slipping from the room. As soon as she was alone again, she allowed her shoulders to droop and her head to drop forward. She pressed her hands over her eyes, willing the tears to remain at bay.
She had made the right choice; she knew she had. Pushing a good man into a marriage through coercion or guilt or pity would have made her little better than her own parents. He would have been unhappy, and she as well.
At least by choosing Mr. Broadstead, only she would suffer. Somehow she would find solace in that.
Somehow.