The Second Seduction of a Lady (8 page)

That the spinster in no way regarded herself as pitiful and in fact reveled in her old-maidhood was irrelevant. Max and his cronies had regarded her as a dried-up prune in need of softening up. But now she was home and ready to forget the whole sorry business. Again. She thought she’d forgiven him, but her anger had returned in greater force. Panic about disrupting the calm of her rational existence had nothing to do with it. It was anger that had driven her away, not fear.

Mr. Hardwick, whose soft discourse had faded from her consciousness, stared in surprise as she slammed her cup down, breaking one of her mother’s Worcester saucers into two neat halves. “I beg your pardon, Papa. I slipped.”

Yes, she had slipped. Twice. Slipped into a crevasse and broken an entire dinner service. Her brief respite of serenity was over. The room was too hot, despite a mild summer drizzle outside the open window. The lace trim of her gown scratched her neck. Her scalp felt itchy.

“I must see Mrs. Hibbert. Perhaps she can mend this.”

Mrs. Hibbert could. The housekeeper went over the accounts with Eleanor and consulted her on a couple of minor problems that she could have easily solved on her own. The staff was quite adequate to the task of caring for the comfortable parsonage and its eccentric master.

These banal tasks restored Eleanor to a state of serenity bordering on somnolence. Being at home always did. Wistfully she thought of the busy life she’d left behind in Somerset: friendly neighbors and an agreeable social circle. What her Lancashire life had always lacked. Mr. Hardwick’s living was not a prosperous one, neither was his parish busy. He liked it that way, had indeed accepted the position because it asked so little of him and allowed him ample time to study. The county was traditionally Catholic and the neighborhood gentry and their tenants adhered to Rome, holding themselves aloof from the representatives of the established Church. They required little pastoral care and offered no society. Like her mother before her, Eleanor was bored to distraction.

The distraction she sought in visits to her numerous relations, where she could participate in the pursuits of the gentlewoman. How much happier would her lively mother have been had she been an active vicar’s wife, like Mrs. Walpole, busy with friends, a growing family, and her husband’s advancement. Instead she had supercilious Catholics and a spouse who needed no help, unless he happened to have mislaid a rare pamphlet on the origins of barley. And a child, just one, a well-behaved and self-sufficient little girl. Had Eleanor been as much of a hoyden as Caro, perhaps her mother would have felt needed and stayed alive.

Poor Mama. She hadn’t the option of travel, as Eleanor had. She couldn’t take off for balls and horse races and enjoyable interference in the lives of her erring relatives. She’d been a married woman and tied to her husband.

If Eleanor wasn’t to go mad with no one but her lovable and oblivious father to keep her from brooding on Max Quinton, she’d better find another cousin who needed some bracing advice. In her current mood, she’d even consider the Ashdowns. She’d take a good deal of pleasure in making life miserable for Sir George.

The next day, she eagerly shuffled through the post, hoping for a summons from another county. Surely all her relations hadn’t been simultaneously struck down with health, happiness, and the pursuit of common sense? There had to be an only son who wanted to join the army, a mother of four with a broken leg, or a daughter with a broken heart.

There was but one missive inscribed with her name, in Caro’s unorthodox penmanship. Poor child! Her only qualm about her rapid departure from Sedgehill had been leaving Caro before she learned of Robert’s inconstancy. She’d done her best to prepare the way, persuading Cousin Elizabeth to let Caro accompany the Markhams to Bath for a week or two.

“Robert will find me there,” Caro had whispered happily.

Eleanor left her illusions intact. The likelihood of Robert Townsend abandoning the delights of London for starchy Bath seemed less than nothing. By that time, she trusted, the pangs of first love would have diminished.

She took her time opening the letter, fetching a knife to slice under the seal with a good deal more care than its sender had used in its application, judging by the splash of red wax on the folded sheet. A quick survey told her that Caro didn’t mention Max Quinton. Perhaps he hadn’t even called at Sedgehill. Perhaps he’d taken her request for a few days reflection seriously. Or maybe he’d thought better of his proposal. Which was fine and proved Eleanor had made the right decision. Again.

Dearest Eleanor,

I wish you hadn’t left in such a hurry because you’ve missed such goings-on. I want you to be the first to know that I am to be married! I told you so, and you wouldn’t believe it. But right after you left, my darling Robert spoke to Mama.

Eleanor’s heart sank. She would have expected Elizabeth Brotherton to forbid the match, not because Robert was young and wild but because he didn’t have the high title she craved for her daughter.

She said no, of course. I knew she would. Mama never lets me do what I want and she doesn’t like Robert because he isn’t a horrid old marquess. I told Robert not to even bother asking for her permission but he said he might as well do the right thing for once. Mama said I’d shown I was too young to be out so I was going to have to come back in again until next year. No trip to Bath and no more evening parties till we go to London. So we leave tonight for Gretna Green.

Cousin Elizabeth hadn’t disappointed after all. She’d behaved with predictable narrow-minded stupidity and driven Caro to rebellion. With rising dismay Eleanor read her way through an account of the juvenile couple’s elopement plans to the sorry conclusion that proved Caro’s lack of readiness for marriage.

By the time you read this, I daresay I shall be married and should sign myself

Caroline Townsend.

 

P.S. Finally I’m leaving Somerset.

P.P.S. I’m so happy!

P.P.P.S. Love is
delicious
. You should try it.

Eleanor tore upstairs and started packing. A decade of visiting all over England had given her an extensive knowledge of roads, distances, and travel arrangements, and a much better grasp of timing than Robert Townsend and his feckless friends. According to Caro, she and the four young men would travel first to Lord Kendal’s family estate to borrow a carriage. Eleanor had cast her eyes to the ceiling when she read that Robert lacked sufficient ready money to travel post all the way to Scotland. There was little chance they would arrive at the border for another two days. When they did, Eleanor intended to be there, to prevent this most disastrous of matches.

“Off already, my dear?” was all Mr. Hardwick had to say when she went to his study, garbed for the road.

“Caro needs me.”

“The little girl? Did her foot get worse?”

Explanation was futile. “I shall take the carriage to the Red Lion and engage a post chaise. I’ll write and let you know when to expect me home.”

Unlike Robert Townsend, Eleanor always had a supply of guineas in the house, ready for a journey. Sixty-odd miles by post would be expensive and curtail the purchases she’d planned for her London wardrobe. Caro’s future was worth the loss of a gown or two.

She entered the Red Lion Inn, where she was a frequent and well-respected customer. “Good morning, Clitheroe. I need a carriage. I’m going to visit my cousin near Carlisle.” No need to mention Gretna and give rise to undesirable speculation. And no need to explain the absence of a traveling companion. Her own standing in the county, her frequent travel, and advanced age should be enough to quell impertinent questions.

“I’m sorry Miss Hardwick. You should have sent word,” the landlord replied. “This gentleman just engaged the last one.”

She hadn’t even noticed the large figure lingering in the shadowy hall. “Good morning, Miss Hardwick. Fancy meeting you here.”

She almost betrayed herself into expressing the moment’s joy she felt at seeing his reassuringly large figure. He’d come after her! “Mr. Quinton. What a surprise.”

His expression conveyed no reciprocating pleasure. She’d never seen Max so grim.

“You know this gentleman?” Clitheroe asked. “Happen he’s headed for Carlisle, too. Pity you couldn’t share the carriage but it wouldn’t be fit, what with you being alone without your maid.”

“Certainly not.” So he hadn’t come to find her. In fact he must be on the same mission as she.

“If you’re concerned with propriety,” he said curtly, “I can take you as far as the next change where you can hire your own chaise.”

Clitheroe nodded at the happy solution and Eleanor had to admit it made sense. “Very well, Mr. Quinton. I accept your offer. I’m sure I can hire my own carriage at Burton.”

The advantage of speed when traveling post was balanced by the cramped quarters offered by the light carriage. Especially when one had to share it with a large man with whom one was scarcely on speaking terms.

She was the first to break a charged silence. “I take it we are on the same mission.”

“Why else would I have undertaken a two-hundred-mile journey?” His voice was flat and brisk, quite unlike his usual amiable tone.

“Robert Townsend is no longer your ward.”

“I still feel a responsibility.”

“So you should. Caro told me she and Robert kept you informed of our plans so you could get close to me. You used a pair of foolish children, as you quite rightly called them.”

“I wondered if that was the reason you left Somerset without even doing me the courtesy of responding to my proposal. Last time, at least, I was not abandoned without explanation.”

She was on treacherous ground here, and she knew it, so she attacked. “As a result of your callous manipulation, my poor little cousin will be trapped into a terrible marriage and her reputation ruined. And it’s
your
fault.”

“And I accept my share of responsibility. Had I paid more attention, I would have noticed things between them had progressed so far.” He regarded her steadily and she refused to meet his eye, staring forward at the fustian wall of the chaise. His attention had been on her. Hers had been equally absent from her cousin and she felt her failure deeply.

“However,” he continued, “Robert offered for Miss Brotherton. He told me he would when I scolded him after the ball. I came to tell you the next morning but you were still abed. When the pair of us called the day after, you had left.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Eleanor absorbed the fact that she might have saved her cousin. “Oh Lord. And now she is ruined.”

“If she’s ruined, her mother must share the blame. They are both young, it is true, but Robert is of good birth and has a healthy fortune, as I am in a position to know. Not only did she turn him down flat, she refused to let him see Caro again. Her intransigence precipitated the elopement.”

“My cousin acted stupidly, I agree. She should have postponed the engagement but let them continue to see each other. Very likely the infatuation would have run its course.”

“Exactly! We think alike. We can only hope for things to go well with them. It’s true I took advantage of the information Robert learned from Caro.” His voice dropped. “You can blame me for the deception, but I was a man in love.”

“You ordered him to court her! Do you know how soiled it makes me feel that I was in any part responsible for their coming together? I thought I could forgive the sordidness of your wager. But this. It is too much.”

“You misunderstand the matter. That had nothing to do with you. I suggested Robert cultivate Miss Brotherton’s company because I thought an innocent flirtation a more wholesome occupation for him than losing his fortune at cards.”

“Oh!” she shrieked. “So he is a gamester! My poor Caro!”

“No! Not a gamester. At least I hope not. And surely not irredeemable. Perhaps marriage will steady him.”

Eleanor snorted. “If I have anything to say about it we’ll never find out. I intend to save her. I shall find her and take her home. We’ll tell everyone she was with me all the time.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work. Her mother and brother have already disowned her.”

“The devil they have!” It took a lot to make Eleanor utter a profanity.

“I went to Mrs. Brotherton to discuss what should best be done. Good God, Eleanor! What a foolish and disagreeable woman she is. She fed me some nonsense about wishing her daughter to marry Kendal or a marquess, and told me that under no circumstances would she ever speak to her daughter again. I soon found she’d made not the least effort to hush the business up and the news was already spread around the neighborhood.”

“If only I had been there! I could have reasoned with her.”

“Why weren’t you?” he asked. “Why did you leave?”

“I—” She paused. “You know why. I don’t wish to speak of it. We must decide what to do about the children.”

Max’s ears strained to hear her words. She’d started to say something different and changed her mind. Something important. His bewildered anger at her fickleness had haunted the long journey into Lancashire. Yet he’d have sworn on any ancestral grave anyone cared to produce that Eleanor was not capricious. Her affections to all but him were unchangeable. And her flight had been irrational.

A tinge of dark humor tugged the edge of his mouth when he considered her probable reaction to such an accusation. He loved her for her much vaunted common sense, of which commodity she’d shown precious little in her dealings with him. The human heart rarely traded in logic. An acorn of hope sprouted in his breast. Lips pursed, eyes straight ahead, she was not to be argued with…yet.

“Let us agree that we are neither without fault and try to make the best of the situation.” He spoke dispassionately and resisted a strong desire to take her hand, to comfort her distress if nothing more. “Her only choice is to marry Robert. And since it’s what she wants, what they both want, it could be worse. If I, Robert’s former guardian, and you, representing Caro’s family, are present for the wedding, perhaps we can salvage things enough that they will be received. That
she
will be received. You are conversant enough with the way things are to know that it is always the lady who pays.”