Chapter 5

The gray stone of the London townhouses was darker gray where the rain soaked it. Eleanor, peering nervously down the street, took a deep breath and tried to be calm. She focused on the street, the stone pavement was damp and glistening with rainwater, and the sound of coaches rattling past was loud in her ears, making her heart thud even faster.

"Here we are," Papa said.

"Yes," Eleanor murmured. "Quite so, Papa."

She swallowed hard, gazing around. She and Papa had taken the family coach to London, to meet Lord Ramsgate and his son, Lord Glenfield. Lord Glenfield had insisted on it, despite her protestations, and that made Eleanor frown deeply.

It seems as though he likes to see me disconcerted, she thought angrily.

She bit her lip and glanced over to where her father was jumping down from the coach.

"Here we are, dear," he said softly, reaching up to help her down. She took his hand and stepped out onto the rain-damp pavement, the skirts of her pastel yellow dress swaying as she did.

"Best hurry," her father commented, taking her hand and walking briskly towards the big house that loomed up from the pavement in front of them. Eleanor gripped his hand and hurried up the steps beside him, only risking looking up as they reached the top of the stairway.

Ramsgate House in London was tall, made of gray stone, with long windows and imposing gables. She shivered, despite the thick mantle that she wore against the bitter rain and cold. The aspect of it looked aloofand unfriendly, just like the man whom she knew was waiting in there, somewhere, to welcome them.

"Best hurry and get in out of this rain," Papa commented, lifting the doorknocker. Eleanor swallowed hard, part of her wanting to ask Papa not to hurry, wanting to stand there waiting until someone came to check if they were there, or until the entire idea was forgotten about and they could go back home to Woodford house.

Papa knocked twice and the butler appeared almost immediately. He stood back to let them enter.

"His lordship is in the drawing room," he informed Papa as he passed him his hat and long oilskin cloak. "If you wish, I will show you up."

"Please do," Papa replied, stamping his boots dry on the doormat and then turning to Eleanor with a grin. "Let's go up, my dear."

"Yes, Papa," Eleanor murmured. She felt her stomach twist with nerves.

The butler hung their wet outer clothing by the door and then they went upstairs with him to the drawing room.

"Good afternoon!" Lord Ramsgate greeted them, smiling at Papa and bowing low to Eleanor. "Very pleased to welcome you, Mr. Montague. Miss Montague."

"Thank you," Eleanor said quietly. She dropped a low curtsey, bobbing another one to Lord Glenfield, who stepped forward to greet them. She tried to ignore him, but her heart strained to look at him, to see if he looked exactly as she recalled him from last time. His image had been oddly difficult to dislodge from her thoughts. She recalled those dark eyes, that thin, sardonic mouth, at odd times during the day and found herself flushing.

It's anger, she reminded herself crossly. I'm furious with him.

She gazed up at him, holding his stare angrily. He looked back and she saw one brow raise, his lips lifting.

"Miss Montague," he greeted, bowing low.

Eleanor felt her stomach twist with discomfort. She did not understand the way he looked at her, the light in those dark eyes. Was it amusement? Was he amused by her? She looked away, cheeks flushing.

"Miss Montague! Will you come and take some tea?" Lord Ramsgate asked. Eleanor glanced over at the table, where Papa was already waiting to take a seat, grateful to him for the distraction.

"Yes, Lord Ramsgate. I would be glad to," she said swiftly. That was true—after the cold, bumpy ride in the coach she wanted a cup of tea to warm up and to refresh herself.

She went to sit at the table. Lord Glenfield drew out a chair for her. She looked up at him, a strange mix of annoyance and appreciation filling her. Annoyance, because someone who clearly had no manners was polite, and appreciation because she dearly wanted to sit down, and it was kind of him to do so.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Mr. Epping," Lord Ramsgate called to the butler. "Please come and pour the tea."

"Yes, my lord."

Eleanor thanked the butler as he poured some tea into her cup, and he looked surprised at her politeness but nodded formally despite his surprise.

"So," Lord Ramsgate continued as the butler poured tea for the rest of the guests and wandered out of the room again, "I believe that investments in jute have been hard-hit lately."

"Papa," Lord Glenfield objected, as Eleanor's father cleared his throat to comment. "I don't think this is an appropriate topic to discuss."

"What, son?" Lord Ramsgate frowned. "What is unsavory about it?"

"There is a lady present," Lord Glenfield said. "She will find it tiresome."

"On the contrary," Eleanor said swiftly, her cheeks reddening, "I find it interesting. Papa told me only yesterday that it would be sensible to find a means of investing in hempen cord instead."

Lord Ramsgate roared with laughter. "Well! There you are. Tiresome seems not to be the case."

Eleanor blushed again, this time with shyness.

"My daughter has always paid attention to matters of business," Papa explained, smiling at Eleanor. "She has a fine head for numbers, too."

"Papa," Eleanor said awkwardly.

"It's true," Papa told her firmly. "I think there is nothing within the realm of seemly conversation that we cannot discuss with Eleanor being present."

"Grand. Grand," Lord Ramsgate continued. Eleanor looked up at Lord Glenfield, who was looking out of the window, seeming embarrassed. She felt a little guilty, but then reminded herself that he had insisted on her being here, even when she had all but pleaded not to be. That made her straighten her spine, feeling only defiant towards him.

The two older men continued to talk about investments and business, and Eleanor listened distractedly, sneaking looks at Lord Glenfield across the table as often as possible without letting him see she was studying him. He had a fine jawline, broad shoulders and that long oval face that had a handsome, tranquil appearance. With those dark eyes and chocolate-brown hair he was very handsome indeed, she thought with some annoyance.

Handsome he might be, but she already knew she did not find him pleasant company. He was difficult and opinionated; she could see that much already.

"Well!" Lord Ramsgate exclaimed, as he poured himself another cup of tea. "I declare. I wonder if it might be permitted for me to show Mr. Montague that interesting prospect that I was offered last week?" Lord Ramsgate turned to Lord Glenfield with his square face lit with a pleasant smile. Lord Ramsgate, Eleanor thought a little sadly, had the nicer character of the two of them. He was open, direct, kind and funny. He seemed to have a larger share of pleasant attributes than his son did.

"Papa," he objected as Lord Ramsgate pushed back his chair.

"I'll only be over there," Lord Ramsgate replied, making a gesture towards a desk across the room by the window over the street.

"Oh." Lord Glenfield sounded relieved.

"We're just going over there," Lord Ramsgate repeated, and gestured to Papa to go and join him by the desk, and the two of them wandered over to it together. Eleanor watched them settle down at the desk, almost immediately falling into earnest talk as Lord Ramsgate gestured to a piece of paper that lay on the table between them.

"So," Lord Glenfield said loudly. Eleanor jumped. She had been watching the other side of the room and had not expected that he might speak with her.

"Sorry?" Eleanor asked, not sure if she had missed whatever it was that he'd said to her.

"So," he repeated. "Perhaps, um...perhaps we could look at the pianoforte. Mayhap you're interested." He sounded even more discomforted than she did, and she wanted to chuckle.

"Perhaps," she said, and pushed back her chair, standing up and following him across the room. The drawing room at Ramsgate House was big, with a fireplace, padded chairs and bookshelves on the right of the door, the tea-table and a tall clock on the left, and behind the tea-table stood a small pianoforte, the lid open and the wood polished to a smooth sheen of wax.

"Here it is," Lord Glenfield said, standing beside it. "It belonged to my mother."

"Oh," Eleanor murmured, meeting his gaze. "It's beautiful," she said, feeling her heart twist. She had no idea how old he had been when Lady Ramsgate passed away. She could detect sorrow in his voice, though, and it stirred compassion in her.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Eleanor rested her hand on the keys. She could feel the cool ivory under her fingers and the smell of the wax that was used to polish it was in her nostrils. It was a beautiful instrument, inlay sparkling above the little shelf where the music would stand, the wood a fine hardwood.

"You may sit down," he said lightly.

Eleanor drew out the piano stool and sat down, resting both her hands on the keys. She looked around the room, seeing it from this new perspective. It was paneled on the outer walls, the inner walls decorated with wallpaper of white flocked silk. It was a fine house, but no finer than Woodford House.

She looked up at Lord Glenfield, and felt her cheeks redden.

"I am happy to study the instrument, my lord," she murmured. "But please, don't make me play it."

He chuckled aloud. "It can't be that bad, Miss Montague."

"It is," she said. "Trust me."

They both laughed. Eleanor felt her heart lift. When his eyes sparkled, and his grin tugged at the corners of his lips, he was most handsome. It was that cold, unreadable expression that he wore most days that she did not like.

"...and if you read here, it seems like it's a sound prospect," Lord Ramsgate was saying to Papa across the room. Papa was poring over the papers with him, not paying the slightest heed to Lord Glenfield and herself across the room, five or six yards from them both.

"Do you like London?" Lord Glenfield asked, surprising her.

"I have never liked the city half as much as the countryside," she told him firmly. She looked up at him, daring him to laugh at her. His gaze was bright and she half-expected him to tease her, calling her a hoyden for loving the rougher countryside more than the sleeker, more stylish city.

His smile widened. "I am of like mind," he murmured lightly.

"You are?" Eleanor blinked in surprise. She had not expected him to share her fondness for the countryside. She wanted to ask him what he enjoyed about it, but Lord Ramsgate called them.

"My dear young people!" he called. "It seems we need a sharp pair of eyes. Might one of you come over here and read this print for us?"

Eleanor pushed back her chair at once, but Lord Glenfield was faster and he hurried over to the desk, lifting up the document that his father handed him and staring at it as he tried to read the tiny letters.

"In the case of loss of profit due to accident, we will ensure that..." he began reading.

Eleanor listened distantly; her mind focused on Lord Glenfield. She watched him surreptitiously as he read, her heart thudding for some reason as he walked lithely back over to where she sat after passing his father the paper.

"Were you listening?" he asked lightly. "Or was it tiresome?"

"You..." Eleanor glared up at him, her cheeks reddening again, this time with annoyance. He was impossible.

He raised a brow. He was about to say something, but Papa called to them from across the room.

"Mayhap we should consider finding some luncheon, my dear Eleanor," Papa said warmly. "Lord Ramsgate must hurry to a meeting, and I must also. I would be pleased if we had taken our fill of luncheon before that, however."

Eleanor nodded, a brief grin of pure relief brightening her face as she looked at her papa.

"Yes. I think that would be most pleasant," she agreed.

"I will walk you to the entrance," Lord Glenfield said at once, standing back as Eleanor stood up so that she could walk past him.

She looked at him coldly. "Thank you," she replied. Her voice was icily formal, and she hoped he noticed.

He beamed. "It would be an honor," he said, and Eleanor frowned. He was so strange. He teased her mercilessly, but sometimes she was not sure if he was teasing her or not.

He walked ahead of Papa and her to the doorway and turned as they reached it, bowing low to them both. His gaze on her as he straightened up was sardonic and amused and she felt her spine tense, a mix of wariness and something warm that she couldn't identify racing through her blood.

"Good afternoon," he said as he stood back in the doorway while they tugged on their cloaks and hurried to the door.

"Good afternoon, Lord Glenfield," Papa said politely. "Give my regards to your father."

"I shall, sir. Good afternoon, Miss Montague."

"Good afternoon," Eleanor said formally.

She glanced back as she walked down the stairs, and she saw his dark gaze on her as he shut the door. She shivered.

"Let us find something to eat, Papa," she said as he helped her into the coach.

"Indeed, my dear." Papa said kindly and hauled himself up into the carriage beside her. He shut the door and the driver set off. Eleanor gazed out through the window, her thoughts not on the scenes that passed by the doors, but on the hour or so that they had just spent in Ramsgate House. She felt herself frown as they rattled through the streets, and shuddered, pulling her mantle closer though it was not cold.

Everything she felt about Lord Glenfield was confusing. He was infuriating. He was impossible. And in just over a week, she would be bound to him.

She could not make sense of that.

"Here we are, my dear," Papa said, interrupting her thoughts. "This is a fine inn for taking a quick luncheon in London."

"Thank you, Papa," Eleanor murmured, and stepped out of the coach. Her thoughts were elsewhere as she walked up the steps behind Papa, though, and she frowned, unable to make herself think about something other than Lord Glenfield. His dark eyes haunted her throughout lunch, and she found herself getting annoyed with herself for thinking of him, but unable to prevent it. His dark-eyed gaze haunted her, and that mocking smile, and she could not fathom if he infuriated her or distressed her, but she could not let herself feel either, because she could not escape her fate, which was taking her inexorably towards a wedding withhim.