The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (24 page)

James hesitantly opened the letter from Brantley Fowler. He had heard from Ella's family only once—right after his return home—now it was a fortnight later. He had continued to write to Eleanor each day, but he had yet to receive even one word in response. At first, he had told himself it was because Eleanor would not want anyone to know of her growing ardor; however, each day had brought him such disappointment. His heart ached for her. Feeling the ax preparing to fall, James reluctantly read the letter: Bran's message spelled things out quite plainly.

Pure cold rushed through his veins. He had lost her, but there was no way James could purge Eleanor Fowler from his heart or from his mind. He reread the short note three times trying to comprehend how it could be so. The night before he had left London, he held Eleanor in his arms and gave her pleasure. He knew her—inside and out. James knew her eccentricities and her delights.
How could she willingly give herself to another man?
Did she not understand she was the other half of his heart? These sobering thoughts plagued him.

“Sir Louis!” He screamed as he threw the nearest thing upon which he could get his hands. A Grecian-styled urn smashed and crumbled against the far wall, and he did not stop there. One after another he destroyed decorative pieces he had cherished for years.

For elongated minutes, no one entered the room, until Lady Linworth jerked open the door. “James Martin Kerrington, put down that vase this moment!” she ordered. “Have you lost your mind?”

It was a moot point; James turned slowly to his mother, utter agony evident on his face. “Yes, Mother, I have lost my mind and my soul and much more than I can ever explain.” With that, he strode from the room, barking orders to everyone in sight.

 

He had ridden hard most of the day, hoping the pounding and the abuse his body took would ease his heart's pain, but it made little difference. Now, as he finished off his first decanter of brandy, alone in his own chambers, James found that no amount of alcohol lessened the hurt.
How could Eleanor Fowler pretend that nothing had happened?
Had he misjudged her so completely?
Maybe she was as wanton as her father's reputation!
Yet, even as he thought it, he knew it was impossible. Ella's innocence was never in doubt. As he further analyzed each of their interactions over the last few months, he saw how his obsession had grown. He could not get enough of her, but, in reality, as he considered it, only once did Ella kiss him without his initiating it; and that was after the attack in Hyde Park. Could she have just been tolerating his advances? The kisses—possibly, but not what happened after her Come Out ball. She had maneuvered his presence in the family room. Ella wanted him; he was sure of it.

Sitting in his chambers in the dark, he forced himself to face the truth. Eleanor simply did not care for him even a fraction of what he felt for her. He was her
security
—someone to whom she turned when she felt uncomfortable around strangers. He was, after all, her brother's friend. Well, she would not see him again; he would be no one's second best.Whether his father improved or not, James would not return to London this Season—maybe ever. He could choose a lady from the country when he was ready to take a wife—someone like Miss Alice Westerly. She was pretty enough, after all. With Daniel, he had his heir; it was not necessary for him to produce another. He might never marry again. Trying to replace Elizabeth was foolish in the first place; a perfect love could not be found twice in a lifetime. A second decanter awaited him as his declaration sprang to his lips. “To hell with you, Eleanor Fowler!”

“James,” his mother tapped on his study's door. “May I come in?”

Still half inebriated—a hangover from the brandy dulled his senses—he forced himself to his feet to welcome his mother to his private domain. “Certainly,” he said as he went to lead her to a nearby chair.

Lady Linworth no more took her seat before she began her prodding. “James, I am concerned about what happened yesterday. It was so uncharacteristic of you; I have not seen you so distraught since Elizabeth's passing. I would like to be of support; your father's illness takes much of my time, but you are still my son, and I worry about you. I was never one to simply visit you in the nursery; I doted on both you and your sister.”

“I apologize for giving you any moments of concern, Mother. It will not happen again.” James assumed the responsibility for his family with his father's afflictions. He felt guilty for demonstrating his weakness.

Lady Linworth's eyes teared with his words. “I do not criticize your emotional outburst, James. In fact, I am proud that you are not ashamed to show your feelings; it speaks to the depth of the man you have become. My only moments of disquiet come from the fact you suffer alone. I cannot resolve your problems, but I may serve you by listening.”

James looked away, uneasy with anyone knowing his grief. “I assure you, it is nothing of consequence.”

“Who is she?” Camelia Kerrington probed.

“Really, Mother!”

Her Ladyship ignored his brushing aside her scrutiny. “Considering you spent much of the last month and a half with Brantley Fowler's family, I assume it is someone of His Grace's acquaintance.”

James rolled his eyes in disbelief. Last evening over his first decanter of brandy, he had sworn never to say Ella's name again. He wanted to avoid speaking of Eleanor Fowler, but his mother was relentless once she latched onto an idea. Resigned to telling her, he
began,“I developed a fondness for Fowler's sister Eleanor.That lady, however, has accepted Sir Louis Levering.”

“Is Lady Fowler beautiful?”

He smiled at her insistence even though it was a bit frustrating. “Mother, did you not hear me say Lady Eleanor will marry another?”

His mother shook her head in the negative. “The chit is not married, and until she is, do not give up hope. If you really want Lady Eleanor, then you should stake your claim to her. Now, tell me about your lady.”

“I wish I had your faith, Mother, but I fear the worst when it comes to Fowler's sister.” Could he survive such heartbreak a second time? “Yet, even as I tell myself to forget her charms, I cannot wish her to throw her life away on a man of such low repute as the baronet. According to His Grace, Lady Eleanor speaks of accepting Levering in order to remain close to Thorn Hall and her brother, but the Eleanor I know wanted to see the world and claim her independence.” He now fell into an easy narrative regarding Ella.

“You would love her, Mother. Lady Eleanor defies what you think I might choose.” He smiled in remembrance.“I often thought of her as
my Amazon
, not that the lady is so warrior-like, but Ella is tall and majestic with golden hair and the greenest eyes one ever saw. The odd thing is, when I found Ella, I quit grieving for Elizabeth. I actually spent whole days when I did not think about what my life was. Instead, I considered what it might be. I suppose that sounds foolish.”

Lady Linworth sighed deeply. “It sounds like a man in love.”

“But Ella chose another.” Kerrington paused for a moment of acceptance. “I must walk away—allow her what happiness she may find elsewhere. However, I shall not return to London for the Season. I must accept Lady Eleanor's choice, but that does not mean I need a front-row seat to watch it happen. Even worse, I also will probably lose my best friend. How might Fowler and I continue as before knowing my feelings for Lady Eleanor?”

“It is a quandary. I will make your heart part of my nightly prayers. It should know peace at last. However, I want to make one point: You must ask yourself whether the woman you just described would willingly turn from you to Levering.”

James stood and helped her to her feet. He accepted her interference because he knew she acted out of love. He leaned in for a kiss on his mother's cheek. “I knew perfection once with Elizabeth; I should be satisfied with my lot. Many men never hold happiness in their hands. Why should I think I deserve to feel such purity twice in a lifetime? Fate chose otherwise.”

Camelia Kerrington caressed his cheek. “I will agree to stay out of your personal life as you are a man and know your own heart, but I will not tolerate your saying you do not deserve what you desire.You are the best of men.”

James chuckled, “You may be prejudiced on my behalf.”

“Never,” she protested good-naturedly. “I always tell the truth. It is not just a coincidence, however, that the best of men is my son. Your father and I would tolerate nothing less from our boy.”

“Then I am fortunate to have such righteous parents. Come; let us have tea. Good English tea solves all our ills. It was one of the things I missed most when I traveled the Continent.”

And so Ella's life became one long internment, burying her feelings and her ideas and her hopes and her dreams to protect her family. She endured Louis Levering's dictates because she had no choice. She tolerated his bullying, placing a half-turned smile on her lips. What was most difficult was his forwardness in touching her. He often stroked the side of her leg or ran his finger across the rise of her breast. Each time Levering touched her, Ella suppressed the shiver of revulsion running through her veins.

“I look forward to burying myself in your radiance, my Dear,” Levering whispered close to her ear as the back of his hand brushed against her breast when no one was looking. They sat in a rented
box at the theatre, surrounded by the
ton
, the same people who would celebrate the idea of her opprobrious situation. “I promise you will enjoy every moment of our coupling.”

“Please, Sir Louis, do not speak so intimately. We are not yet wed,” Ella offered a protest, hoping to ward off what she knew he would next say. His verbal familiarity became more and more explicit by the day. “We are in a very public setting, after all.”

“First, I cherish the blush my words bring to your cheeks, but why can I not tell my betrothed how I long to bury my cock in her wetness?” He placed her hand over his manhood and squeezed it against him. “See how hard you make me,” he murmured. “The lights are down, and no one can see. I want you to rub your hand over me. The idea of your touching me in public is quite ribald.”

“Please,” Ella pleaded softly. “Do not make me do this.”

Levering squeezed her hand tightly, purposely bending two fingers backward to the point of pain. “All I ask is for you to show me affection, Ella,” he hissed. “Of course, I understand your objection. I am, after all,
purchasing
your fondness with my mother's diary. However, I had hoped you might soon care for me more than you do your precious Fowler heritage.”

Swallowing hard, Ella could not look at him, but she nodded her agreement, and Levering released his grip. Slowly, she moved her hand across his groin, feeling him pump his hips against her. She heard his breathing go shallow, but she never turned her head. Instead, she stared at the stage, tears streaming down her face.