Chapter 3

Woodford House, October 1817

Eleanor stared at her reflection, trying to distract herself from the fact that her stomach churned with nausea. The church clock had just chimed the hour of three. Her pale-brown hair was arranged in ringlets about her face, and her maid, Betty, was busy setting some ribbon in place to hold the back in an elegant chignon. Eleanor studied her appearance. She looked scared. Her green eyes were wide, the white muslin dress she wore making her face seem even more pale and frightened.

"What time is it?" she asked her maid nervously.

"It's three o' clock, miss," her maid assured her gently.

Eleanor felt her heart race, tension and confusion making it impossible to think.

In just half an hour, the man that her father had promised her- would be here.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. In her mind, the man was unsightly and cruel, with a thin mouth twisted in distaste, blank gray eyes and a heavy, brute-like face. Or perhaps he was like Mr. Inishmore, the accountant for Papa's business—tall and thin with disapproving dark eyes. Whoever he was, and however he looked, she was sure he was not a nice man. Anyone who could agree to such a thing, to force a woman to wed him out of obligation,was not decent or kind.

She shivered, and not from the cold, despite the short, puffed sleeves of the gown she wore.

"Sister! May I come in?" a voice called at the door as Eleanor reached for her jewelry case. She frowned, recognizing the voice at once.

"Jonathan? What is it?" she called through the wood of the door to her brother.

"Please, let me in?" He sounded small and anxious, as she had heard him only once, when they were both children and he had broken a window. She drew in a breath, feeling protective.

"Get yourself in, then," she called to him kindly. She heard the latch turn uncertainly and then her brother came into the room.

"I'll fetch your shoes, miss," Betty commented, excusing herself to the wardrobe room next door. Eleanor nodded.

"Thank you," she called after her maid, trying for a warm tone. "Jonathan?" she addressed her brother, who stood nervously by the corner by the door. "What is it?"

He drew a deep breath. "Sorry, sister," he said softly. She could see his big eyes, like Papa's, were close to tears. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault that this has happened to you and I'm so sorry. So very sorry."

Eleanor took a breath. "It's all right, Jonathan," she said gently. She felt pleased he'd thought to apologize. After all, even though she would gladly face all manner of foul things to protect his family, she still appreciated that he acknowledged that. "Fear not, all is well."

"It isn't," Jonathan said softly. "He's a wicked man. I'm so sorry, sister." His voice ached. Eleanor frowned at him.

"You know him?" she asked, heart thumping in her chest. If he knew the man, why had he not come to her earlier? Knowing something—anything—was like gold to her. She needed to decide what to do, whether she should remain here on the outskirts of London or whether she should escape. If Jonathan knew aught about the man, he should have told her yesterday.

"I have not made the acquaintance of the fellow; no. I regret we move in different circles. Or perhaps regret is the wrong word. He has a terrible reputation, sister." His voice was tight.

"And what manner of reputation is it?" she asked in a small, tight voice. Her throat tightened.

"A dark one," her brother confided softly. "A gambler, a drinker, and a womanizer. And not just that. He was almost responsible for the Regent's cousin's death. People whisper that he conducts illegal duels, and he is thought to be involved in smuggling too, and boxing, and..."

"Brother," Eleanor said shrilly. "Please. Stop it."

"Stop what?" Jonathan blinked. He seemed genuinely surprised at her hard tone.

"Stop it. I'm frightened enough as it is. I do not need you to come here and tell me such things. I cannot escape as it is...at least give me some good news."

Jonathan swallowed. "But, sister, I speak nothing but the truth. Lord Glenfield has a terrible notoriety in the Ton . He..."

"Lord Glenfield?" Eleanor whispered. She gaped at him in surprise.

"Yes. Sebastian Thornton, Lord Glenfield. He is the Earl of Glenfield, or at least by courtesy, as his father, who holds all the family titles, is still living..." he trailed off, uncertain.

Eleanor turned away, staring at the curtained window. She had imagined that this friend of her father's was a fellow factory-owner, or even an accountant, and that his son would be in the same trade. Nobody had ever suggested, not even once, that he was nobly born.

"I'm not sure that makes it better," Eleanor told her brother in a small, clipped voice. "His being an earl, is what I mean."

"If he was not nobly born, I doubt his father could have helped," her brother admitted softly.

"Quite so," Eleanor sighed. She looked away. She should, perhaps, have thought of that. She stood up and went to the mirror, turning away from her brother where he stood uncertainly by the door. Her thoughts were busy and confused. In many ways, the fact of Lord Glenfield's noble birth made things more complicated—that would likely mean he was entitled, spoiled and difficult to convince. She had hoped for someone who would identify with her, who would feel some sorrow for her plight. A nobleman would not do that. He would see herself and her family as playthings, people he had no need to respect and with whom he felt no connection. She had met noblemen and women at Almack's Assembly in London, but she'd never talked closely with them, and her assumptions remained negative and unchallenged so far. She felt no need to trust them.

"I wish I could do something about this," her brother whispered.

Eleanor sighed. "Brother, it would be a grand help to me if you were to go downstairs," Eleanor said swiftly. "Mayhap you can delay our guests a little while I complete my preparations for the tea."

"I could do that," Jonathan agreed, face brightening at once. Eleanor felt her heart twist. Jonathan always wanted to be helpful and well-thought-of. He loved their father and desperately wanted him to be impressed by what he did. Whatever he had done in the London business, he'd done it to win Papa's approval. She knew it.

"Thank you, brother," she murmured. She watched as he went to the door and shut it behind him, and she felt sudden relief as she heard him walk down the hallway.

She drew in a deep breath. His revelations had confused her utterly. All of her preparations seemed unable to prepare her for whatever it was that was about to occur. She took another deep breath, trying to feel calm. She glanced at herself. The white muslin dress she had chosen was simple but stylish, falling from the fashionable high waistband to just on her ankles. The neckline was square and not as low as it would be for an evening- gown, and the sleeves were delicate puffs of soft muslin. Her hair framed her face and the white silk ribbon that held it back as a hairband suited her. She went to the door when she heard Betty knock on it.

"Your shoes, Miss Montague."

"Thank you," Eleanor said politely. She pulled on the silk indoor shoes, her mind wandering. She frowned as a noise drifted up from the open window. Her bedchamber was on the easterly side of the house, catching the early sunshine, but sounds from the front garden and the drive still floated through the windows to her. She tensed, knowing instantly what the sound was. It was coach wheels drawing up outside the door. Her heart fluttered wildly, hands shaking as she pulled at the shoes. All the images from the morning spent imagining him flooded back to her. He was tall and shambling and with a leering stare and cruel eyes or maybe he was short and built like a wrestler and angry with everyone. He was...

"Hurry, miss. He's here," Betty murmured, as Eleanor paused to straighten her gown, fussing suddenly about her appearance in ways she never usually would.

What are you doing? she asked herself, annoyed. You want his bad opinion. Why are you trying to make a good impression on him?

She felt suddenly relieved as an idea hit her. It was simple. All she had to do was make the man think badly of her. She would be rude, impertinent, and generally do her best to make herself as disagreeable as possible. Then he would refuse the match, and his father could not very well punish the family for what his son had decided. She swallowed hard and walked out of the room.

In the hallway, she tensed. She could hear Mama and Papa downstairs in the small entrance-way, greeting a guest. She looked around, but Jonathan must have done as she requested because he was not upstairs either. Rachel had taken the children to town for the day, giving them all some peace and quiet in which to meet Lord Glenfield.

"Good afternoon," a cultured, low-register voice murmured distinctly in the hallway. Eleanor felt her spine straighten. The voice was low and musical, and she was surprised by the way her flesh tingled, but not with repellency. The voice sounded quite pleasant.

Remember your brother's warning, she reminded herself crossly.

This was a dangerous man.

All the same, she couldn't help feeling a twist of anticipation and she tiptoed to the wooden railing, peering down into the hallway. As a child, she had hidden here with her brother, so they could watch the adults in the hallway unseen. Now, the hiding place served her well as she peered out through a small gap in the wood. She felt her stomach twist.

The view from the banister was not perfect, but she could see somebody tall. He was talking to Papa, his back to her, and she could only see his shoulders, clad in a blue jacket, and his hair, which was somewhere between cocoa-brown and black. Her heart thudded. From this angle, seeing nothing of him at all beside his hair and shoulders, he had some quality that was appealing to her.

Stop it, she told herself harshly. This man is dangerous, and not the sort of person you would wish to know. All of her brother's stories flooded back and she tensed, stiffening in readiness to repel him as much as possible. She was going to use this opportunity to right this problem as swiftly as she could.

All the same, as she walked to the top of the stairs to greet the guest, she couldn't help a small tingle of curiosity and interest to find out what the man with the glossy dark hair was like in truth.