Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (40 page)

She needed to think and she needed to decide just what to do about their life together. The longer they were together like this, however, the harder it became.

"Do you not need some breakfast?" she said at last.

"Not particularly, but I suppose I should go and see to our guest." At her look he explained, "I brought Francis with me for moral support."

He still made no move to leave.

"Perhaps you should bring him up to see Arabel," she suggested.

He raised his brows. "Perhaps when she has finished?"

Eleanor blushed.

He laid one gentle finger on her rosy cheek. Such a small contact to be so devastating. "I'll go and tell him you have at least not shot me on sight. We'll come up in a little while."

When the door closed quietly behind him the baby stirred and seemed to look around.

"Yes, he's gone. Are you already enthralled, little one?" Eleanor caressed the child and switched her to the other breast. The baby latched on strongly and Eleanor winced. "Be gentle with me. I'm new to this too. What am I to do?"

The baby just sucked.

Eleanor sighed. "Why am I pretending I have a choice? I won't send him away, though he would go, you know. It would be unfair and a prime example of cutting off a nose to spite a face. And if he is to stay, my little blossom, it can hardly be in a state of war."

The babe finished her small meal and slid off the nipple, bored by the discussion. In fact, she was nearly asleep.

Eleanor brought her up to her shoulder, as the midwife had showed her, and rubbed her back.

"You're right. It's a foregone conclusion. But I am not going to give in to him too easily, Arabel. I deserve, I think, that he should struggle just a little."

Arabel burped and gave a little gurgle.

"I knew you'd agree. We women must stick together."

Once the baby had dropped off to sleep Eleanor rang for Jenny to make the mother presentable for visitors. Jenny dressed her hair in a neat braid and took out a pretty jacket to wear over her nightgown. The baby just slept on in her arms. As her visitors approached, Eleanor was amused to hear that Miss Hurstman's restraint toward Nicholas had not lasted.

"...have no manners or consideration. You have no idea of the delicate state of a lady after childbirth."

"Respectfully, neither have you, Miss Hurstman," said Nicholas as they entered the room.

"Oh, call me Aunt Arabella. I'm one of the family now. And as your aunt I'll take leave to tell you you're an impudent scoundrel. Did Eleanor tell you I'm to be the child's godmother?" she challenged.

"Yes, and I think it an excellent idea."

"Do you?" said Miss Hurstman in surprise. "Well, don't think I'll leave my money to her. It is all to go to the Society for the Emancipation of Women."

"How wise," said Eleanor. "She will benefit far more from that than from being hounded by fortune hunters."

"A woman of sense," approved the older lady. "Send her to me now and then and I'll make sure she doesn't turn into a milk and water miss."

Nicholas burst out laughing. "No chance of that. We'll probably have to send her to Aunt Christobel to have some decorum drilled into her. Enough of this. Francis, come and admire my daughter."

Lord Middlethorpe looked at the baby and was appropriately impressed but obviously far less at ease with babies than Nicholas. Eleanor suspected that if she had offered the baby to him to hold he would have recoiled in horror. He looked searchingly at her and then gave her what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

She suddenly realized the baby was wet. She smiled at the thought of Lord Middlethorpe holding not only a baby, but a dripping one. She rang the bell by the bed and the new nursery maid came to take away her charge for repairs.

This was signal for the visitors to leave but Eleanor caught Nicholas's eye. He understood and stayed behind.

"I am going to be silly," she said. "This all feels like a dream. Will you still be here if I go to sleep?"

"Of course." He drew the curtains against the wintry sun, mended the fire, and then came to sit on the edge of the bed. "I won't go unless you tell me to, Eleanor. I give you my word. I have never broken my word to you, have I?"

Eleanor thought about it. He had always been careful to promise her little. What he had promised, he had held to. "No. You have never broken your word."

"Go to sleep then. We'll talk when you're ready."

He stayed as she drifted into a dose. Before he left he brushed a feather-light kiss across her brow.

He found Francis in the dining room, attacking a healthy luncheon.

"I'm starving," Francis said. "And damned sore. Fourteen hours in the saddle with hardly a break, and in the middle of winter. I wish to heaven I hadn't been in London to be dragged off on this trip. Is everything well?"

"As well as could be expected," said Nicholas, piling his plate. "Eleanor is amazing. I have hope, anyway."

Francis smiled to see the haunted look that had marked his friend's face since his return—and during the nightmarish, frantic race to Somerset—had faded.

Nicholas had gone straight to his house on Lauriston Street. There he had learned that Eleanor had been ill after his disappearance and had gone to Somerset. It was fortunate, Lord Middlethorpe thought, that he had been in London, for his friend had been frantic. Francis had reassured him as best he could, but nothing would satisfy Nicholas other than to ride down to Redoaks at top speed. He hadn't tried to press Nicholas for his story, but it was clear that he wasn't suffering from a guilty conscience.

"You have a lovely child," he said, spearing a piece of ham. "I think I shall have to turn my own thoughts to matrimony. Luce's parents are beginning to lean hard on him, too. The perils of being an only son."

"The two of you in one season?" said Nicholas with a grin. "Now that will cause a flutter among the matchmaking mamas." Then he looked seriously at his friend. "Forgive me for asking, Francis, but do you love Eleanor?"

Color crept into Lord Middlethorpe fine features. "No, unfortunately. I say that because I think I could have fallen in love with her if the circumstances had been right. She is a very special woman."

"Can love be commanded by logic?"

"I believe so. I met Eleanor as your wife. After you disappeared, and even when we feared you might be dead, she was visibly pregnant with your child. I never saw her as available. I think had she been a widow, after some time it might have developed that way."

"I am glad at any rate you're not suffering a broken heart. I began to think at one time that in asking you to look after Eleanor for me I had put too great a burden on you." With sudden bitterness he added, "I have at least learned that trying to do the right thing isn't enough. Look at all the trouble it's brought."

He went no further, and Francis did not pry. After the meal they both went off to catch some sleep.

Eleanor woke from her nap with a smile on her lips. In a moment she remembered why. It wasn't all roses, though. For one thing he had said nothing of his feelings. Was he here out of duty? Liking? Love? He was making no demands on her, but he was also making no promises except his presence.

She expressed her doubts to Miss Hurstman when she came to take tea with her.

"I doubt you'd appreciate it much if he'd returned to immediately swear his undying passion."

"No," Eleanor admitted. "But he can hardly expect me to lay myself at his feet."

"Don't suppose he does."

"If neither of us dares make a move we are in a fine pickle."

"Nonsense. All a matter of timing. Don't be in a rush."

"But I feel so confused," complained Eleanor. "It's all very well for him to leave everything in my hands, but I'm not sure I want that responsibility. It would have been a great deal simpler if he had swept in here and charmed me out of my wits."

"Ha!" exploded Miss Hurstman. "If you weren't lying-in, I'd whip you, girl. Spineless thing to say! You forget, a husband has all the power if he chooses to use it, and you are particularly unprotected. No father, no brother worth speaking of. The only friends you've got were his friends first."

"I don't want to oppose him either," said Eleanor, feeling totally foolish.

"I know what you want and so does he. But as you say, he's given you the whip. Do you both good if you use it. Let him woo you. He never has, after all."

As Eleanor was struggling with this Miss Hurstman added, "I've been a bystander at a great many courtships and marriages. Often thought it's the courtship which sets the tone for the marriage. Fall into their hands too soon and they'll always take you for granted. You had no courtship at all, and look what came of it."

Eleanor thought of the night in the inn in Newhaven. She supposed that had been the courtship, brief though it was, and it had set a kind of pattern. Not a bad one, either. Honesty, caring, and practicality. It wouldn't hurt, though, to add a little romance.

"You make it sound as if I should expect him to become a performing monkey for my amusement, or a puppet dancing on my strings."

The older woman snorted. "It'll probably be the only time in your life when you say jump and he jumps. Well, do as you wish. People always do."

Nicholas came to her again in the evening and they chatted on light, impersonal subjects, as they so often had before. There was a nervous tension in the air, however, and they met each other's eyes only briefly.

Idly he asked, "Do you have the pearls with you? I looked in the safe and noticed they were gone."

Eleanor felt sick. She had never given them a thought once she had left London. "I gave them to my brother," she confessed, and swallowed a lump in her throat.

His face was unreadable, but he didn't seem angry. "And he has left the country, hasn't he? I would rather you'd given him money. It'll take some time to replace them."

"I don't want them replaced," she said sharply. They would always be a reminder of a horrible time.

"Don't you? They looked so well on you. Arabel might like them one day."

She saw he wouldn't ask for an explanation, and she couldn't bear it. She quickly told him what had happened. "It was foolish of me to be taken in by him, but I didn't want you taken as a traitor."

To her amazement Nicholas laughed. "The crafty scoundrel! I'm sorry, Eleanor. I didn't realize you knew anything of the plot at that time. I've spent some time wondering what I would do differently, given the time over again. I suppose I would tell you the whole, but it was a trifle difficult. I know someone in London who'll find replacements, but if we're lucky your brother will have sold them in one piece and we'll be able to buy them back."

"How horrible," protested Eleanor. "He's the last person I would wish to finance, and it will cost you a fortune."

"It's of no importance," he said, and seemed to mean it. She was amazed by how little importance he attached to material things.

He drew out a flat case. "I've no wish to embarrass you with gifts, my dear, but it is customary for a husband to give his wife a token at this time."

Eleanor took the case and opened it to see a beautiful diamond bracelet, delicate and unostentatious, but still containing over a dozen flawless stones. For someone so unconcerned about possessions, he had exquisite taste.

Hesitantly she allowed him to fasten it on her wrist. The touch of his fingers sent ripples of excitement up her arm.

She strongly wanted to be held by him. To lie in his arms would be heaven.

She knew she had only to ask.

Somehow she couldn't.

* * *

The next day Eleanor caused great commotion by insisting that she was well enough to leave her bed. As a compromise she went only as far as a chaise longue by the window, but at least she was dressed and up.

Nicholas smiled when he came in, and she returned it. She did not think it was her imagination mat he was looking noticeably healthier every time she saw him.

"A little gesture towards freedom," he remarked. "Would you like to come downstairs? I could carry you."

"Oh, no, I..." She saw, deep behind the smile, the flash of pain at what appeared to be rejection. "Yes, please," she amended. "I was planning how best to get out of this room, but I intended to walk. I suppose everyone would have fits."

"I gather you'll fall to pieces if you are so foolish," he said as he gathered her up. There was really nothing sensible to do except rest her head upon his shoulder. She wondered if he knew how right it felt, how she had missed this closeness.

"You've lost weight," he remarked.

She chuckled. "It's lying in the cradle."

"Since I first knew you."

"You've never carried me before."

"Yes, I have. I put you to bed once."

She remembered. She'd hoped for more, or at least part of her had.

"You have been ill, haven't you?" he said softly as he laid her gently on the sofa in the drawing room.

She could not shield him from the truth. "It was the uncertainty, the worry... And the waste, I think. I couldn't bear to think that you were dead and we had made such stupid use of our time together."