Matthew’s triumphant shout bounced from the surrounding garden walls and Eleanor prised open her eyes, which she had screwed shut—quite without intent—at the moment she fired. A ragged, black-rimmed hole had appeared in the sack. Not in the centre, but at least she had hit the target.
‘Well done,’ Matthew said. ‘Try again.’
She glowed with his praise. Donald had never praised her. He had always found fault.
She practised until the sack was in shreds and her right arm trembled with fatigue.
‘That is enough for today,’ Matthew said, gesturing to Timothy to clear everything away. ‘You must be worn out. Let us go inside.’
Aunt Lucy was nowhere to be seen when they returned to the drawing room. A maid followed them in, bearing a tray laden with a jug of lemonade and a plate of sandwiches.
‘Cook said as you would welcome some refreshments, milady.’
‘Thank you, Nell, that is most thoughtful. Where is Lady Rothley?’
‘She’s gone up for a nap, milady. Would you like me to sit in with you?’
‘No, that won’t be necessary, thank you, but leave the door open on your way out, will you?’
Eleanor sat on the sofa, a glass of lemonade in her hand, whilst Matthew propped one arm along the marble mantelpiece.
‘Thank you for teaching me,’ Eleanor said.
Matthew sipped at his lemonade. The sweet yet sharp drink reinforced his bittersweet thoughts throughout this long day. What would the future hold for Eleanor? He knew his own future—the days would be filled with running his business. But what of hers? Would she wed? He tamped down the pain such a thought evoked. Maybe she never would marry. She certainly seemed content with her independent life.
‘Why have you never wed?’
He hadn’t meant to ask the question quite so bluntly, but he did not regret asking it. A memory stirred. Lady Rothley...talk of a betrothal. Or a near betrothal. He racked his brain, trying to recall her exact words, as Eleanor stared pensively into her glass, as though it might provide answers.
‘I almost did,’ she said eventually. ‘Three years ago, just before my father died. I was on the brink of getting betrothed, when I found out...’ She paused. ‘I was fortunate I discovered his true nature before all the settlements had been agreed. I withdrew my acceptance of his offer.’ She looked up, eyes glittering defiance. ‘I have never regretted it.’
‘And what was his true nature?’ He could guess what was coming.
‘Avaricious!’
‘He was after your wealth.’
‘He was. He was quite the expert at hiding his true intentions, though. He intended to live a life of luxury in London whilst I remained at Ashby, running the estate to fund his pleasures.’
Bitterness surfaced, breaking through that outer shell of confidence she customarily hid behind. No wonder she was so uncertain of her own allure as a woman.
Before he could probe further, she continued, ‘It is the reason Ruth never liked me.’
‘Ruth?’ What did Ruth have to do with it?
‘Donald was her brother.’
‘Her brother?’ Whatever he had expected, this was not it. ‘Why have you never told me?’
Her brows snapped together. ‘Why on earth should I tell you? It’s in the past. All finished with.’
‘But...could it not be him trying to kill you? Revenge is a motive.’
‘No!’ Eleanor jumped up from the sofa and crossed the room to the window. She stood rigidly, her arms wrapped around her waist. Matthew set his glass down and followed her.
‘He is dead,’ she said. ‘He was a soldier. He had planned to leave the army but, when I refused to marry him, he had no choice but to return to the military life. He was killed in battle. At Talavera.’
‘I am sorry,’ Matthew said.
She turned to face him. ‘It is in the past, as I said.’
Matthew cleared his throat. He must say this without a single tremor in his voice to betray him.
‘You will find someone worthy of you, I am certain.’
Only the slightest flare of her nostrils revealed her emotions. ‘I am sure I will,’ she said, her voice flat as she stepped to one side and glided past him to gain the centre of the room. ‘Thank you once again for obtaining the pistol and teaching me to shoot.’
Her dismissal of him was plain. It was for the best. He must concentrate on finding proof against her cousin.
‘It was my pleasure. Are you engaged this evening?’
‘No. We were to have gone to the theatre but, after such an eventful night and day, we have decided to stay at home.’
‘In that case, I shall see you tomorrow. I hope you will feel safer now, with your pistol and with Alastair staying in the house.’
Her pursed lips stretched into a semblance of a smile. ‘I shall indeed. Goodbye, Mr Damerel.’
It was the night of Eleanor’s soirée, several days after the intruder had broken into the house on Upper Brook Street, and there had been no further incidents, to Matthew’s relief. If she never had to use that pistol he would be a happy man—it went against his every instinct, to hand over even the smallest part of her protection to her or, indeed, to others. He had found fewer and fewer excuses to call upon her now Hugo was in residence and, although he still escorted her to her evening entertainments, the presence of her ‘guardians’ meant she was well looked after. His position was fast becoming redundant.
He arrived early at her soirée, hoping to snatch a few moments with Eleanor before her guests arrived. Pacey showed him up the stairs and there she was, her back to him, fiddling with a flower arrangement on a side table set into an arched alcove on the first-floor landing.
As Pacey stepped forward to announce his presence, Matthew stayed him, then crossed the landing to stand behind her.
‘Good evening, my lady.’
Eleanor started, then turned to laugh up into Matthew’s face, soft lips parted revealing white, even teeth, her eyes glowing, the gold flecks in her irises reflecting the candlelight.
‘Goodness, you startled me.’
Matthew’s heart turned in his chest. She looked so beautiful, her elegant pale rose gown displaying her womanly curves to perfection. He drank in the vision. How much longer would he be able to do so? How much longer could he remain part of her life?
Eleanor brushed a wisp of hair from her face. Her hands were bare, her gloves lying abandoned on the table behind her.
He sketched a bow. ‘My apologies for my early arrival—I thought I would come early in case your cousin showed his face before the appointed time.’
‘He is not attending,’ Eleanor said, as she led the way into the drawing room, ‘and neither is Ruth. I feel...such lightness of spirit. I shall be able to enjoy this evening without the constant apprehension of what James might say or do. I felt obliged to invite them despite my dread of seeing him again.’
The doors between the drawing room and the sitting room beyond had been thrown wide, the furniture removed and the carpets rolled up ready for the dancing. The piano was set at one end of the room, the pianist already there, running his fingers up and down the scales.
‘James sent a note round this morning to say