Chapter 6

Eleanor sat in the coach, her gaze focused on the silk gown that draped over the seat and her knees. Beautiful, made of pale ivory silk imported from the Far East, it was a gown anyone would have loved. She stroked the silk and tried to think of something to say.

Her mind was entirely empty.

Opposite her, she could almost feel Lord Glenfield's dark, brooding presence. She lifted her eyes to glare at him. He had done this. He had forced her into this union and now there was no escape.

It was not his plan, but his Papa's, she reminded herself crossly. He did not decide to do this, or want to, any more than she herself did.

She looked down again at the gown. Beside her, on the seat, a copy of the King James' Bible sat; an old copy with a worn leather cover and a handwritten name in the front. It had belonged to her great-great grandfather and had been handed down to successive members of the family for generations. Her mother had given it to her at the church, just before she had alighted into the coach. Eleanor frowned at it. It was unlike her mother to part with such an important item, which, she supposed, was more the birthright of Jonathan than herself, since it was him who would continue the family name. All the same, she was glad to have it. In the space of silence and discomfort, of so many new things, it was a cherished presence.

"So," Lord Glenfield said opposite her, clearing his throat. "Well. We're getting close to Ramsgate Manor now. That is our home. Of course, it's Papa's home, really. But it will be ours too."

"Oh." Eleanor replied softly. She looked over at him, studying him as he talked. He looked the same as always...tall, with a chiseled profile and a romantic mouth. When she wasn't looking into his eyes, she found him rather handsome. It was his stare that disconcerted her. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as though her skin was aflame, a discomfort so intense filling her she had to hastily look away.

I don't know what is wrong with me.

She glanced at him, and blushed, looking hastily down.

"I take it you're not one for long coach trips?" Lord Glenfield asked softly.

Eleanor shook her head. They had been traveling since ten o' clock in the morning with a brief stop for luncheon at an inn, and it was two o' clock in the afternoon already.

"No. I am not over-fond of coach trips," she replied.

"I see. Well, luckily, then, there is only an hour left before we reach Ramsgate," he replied. Eleanor let out a breath.

"Good," she said softly.

He chuckled. "An honest answer."

Eleanor looked at him without speaking. She had no idea what to understand from that comment. He made strange comments sometimes, ones that seemed positive, yet she could not be certain of that. His stare, too, confused her. It was warm and interested, and it set her on fire, a strange discomfort that was also oddly something that she welcomed filling her each time he looked at her.

And yet, his kiss had been a mere brush of lips against hers in the church.

She looked down at the silk.

"If you like," Lord Glenfield said after what felt like an age, but was probably three minutes, "we can stroll about the grounds when we arrive. It might help you feel refreshed after the long ride."

"Mayhap," she agreed. She cleared her throat. As they approached his home, she found herself feeling more uncomfortable. The last week or two, while her family and his had arranged the ceremony, had passed in a sort of mist, and she had allowed herself to forget about the reality that was approaching. In the coach, it was not possible to imagine that it was all some wild dream. She was really traveling to Ramsgate Manor in the Kentish countryside, and she was really wed to Lord Glenfield.

She was going to his home where they would spend their first night as a married couple.

She took a deep breath. Betty had talked to her a little—a very little, and mostly in euphemistic ways—about that and what it might mean. Some of it, she had learned from the French novels she'd borrowed from her friends. The realities of what that meant remained largely shrouded in uneasy references, but she had some ideas of what it entailed, and the merest thought made her blush scarlet.

Would she really be expected to do...that...with a complete stranger? She looked at him.

He was turned sideways, his face in profile, but as if he could feel her stare, he turned, and his eyes met hers.

She blushed, heat flooding her. His gaze was dark, a rich brown like chocolate, and it held hers firmly. She swallowed hard.

"Um...do you have very large grounds at Ramsgate?" she asked, clearing her throat, trying to think of something that would distract her and diffuse the tension she felt.

"Quite large, yes," he said at once, as if he appreciated her efforts to talk. "The grounds themselves are two acres, but the estate is, of course, much larger."

"Oh." Eleanor stared. Their garden at Woodford had seemed immense at half an acre. Imagining grounds four times that size was almost beyond her. She gaped at him and then turned, blushing, to stare through the window. Her mind filled with trying to visualize the house and the gardens and what it might be like.

"My father likes gardens," Lord Glenfield observed. "He had some plans to create a water garden at Ramsgate—they have, in part at least, been acted upon. The barest outline of the water garden now exists. My mother liked gardens too, but, well...since she passed away, there has not been much interest paid to them." His voice was tight.

"Oh." Eleanor's heart twisted. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He inclined his head. "Thank you. It was a very long time ago." His voice was still tightly formal, the pain she could hear there not matching up with his dismissive words.

Eleanor swallowed. "I'm still sorry to hear of it," she said gently. She looked out of the window, watching the trees. A thought slipped into her mind, relieving her dark thoughts. "A water garden?" She had seen such gardens before, at the estates of nobles who they had visited for the odd private ball. A garden based around a large pond or small lake, usually featuring a willow tree or bridge, if it was large enough, and water-loving plants like irises and lilies—water gardens were beautiful.

"Yes. You ought to see it in around half an hour," he added, staring out of the window. "Or a little bit longer. I believe we are nearing the house."

"Oh. Good," Eleanor said, feeling nervous. She rested her hands on the smooth silk of her gown and tried to think about gardens. Everything else was too intimidating.

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, and then she cleared her throat.

"Do you prefer the country?" she asked quietly. "Or the town?" She looked at him, hoping he would allow their talk to be diverted to something other than the approaching house.

"I think I like both," Lord Glenfield commented lightly. "The town has its diversions, but the countryside offers real peace."

"Yes," Eleanor answered, breathing out. "I prefer the peace of the countryside."

"Good," he commented with a smile. "Since we're here now."

She smiled. He was a strange man, but there were times when he made her laugh. They were rare, interspersed with oceans of time when he made her feel terribly uncomfortable. She cleared her throat again, trying to think of something to say to keep her mind off the evening.

"Do you have any pets?" she asked.

"I have my horses," he said at once, a fond smile crossing his face. "Two mares for the hunt, and a stallion to ride around the estate."

"Oh." Eleanor said briefly. She was about to elaborate on her answer when he gestured at the window.

"Look. You can see the church tower. We'll be nearing Ramsgate town soon. Then it's another two miles until we reach the estate."

"Oh?" She craned her neck, staring out of the window. There was indeed a church spire, tall and dark, like a smudge on the green hills in the background. As they neared it, the shape of it became clearer along with some surrounding buildings. She held her breath. Soon, they would approach Ramsgate House.

"There!" Sebastian commented, making her jump. She'd been staring out of the window, watching the green trees race past the coach, and his comment startled her out of her more relaxed thoughts.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I can see Ramsgate House. There it is," he added, pointing out of the window on his side. Eleanor craned her neck, staring out. She couldn't see it yet, sitting facing with her back to the coach-driver while he sat forward. As she watched, the outline of a house appeared. She stared.

Built on a slight rise, surrounded by woodlands, the house was pale sandstone and it stood out against the green fields around it. She gazed over at it. As they approached, the details became more apparent. She could see scrollwork and gables and she drew in a breath. It was beautiful. Imposing, old and beautiful.

"It's lovely," she murmured.

"I'm glad you think so." He sounded sincere as the coach turned and they went up a long drive covered in white gravel. The coach-wheels crunched on it; the hoof-beats audible now as they slowed.

Eleanor drew a breath. They were nearing the house. She stared up at it, heart thudding. It was tall, three floors, with a slate roof and a stern, traditional feel to it.

She looked around. The garden stretched out around them, all tall, leafy oak trees, the leaves turning rich red and gold. The lawns were still green, and a box hedge flanked what she guessed was the water-garden. As they stopped outside the manor house, she frowned.

"No flowers?" she asked. The flowerbed in front of the house was entirely green and leafy—bushes and small shrubs flanked the house, but, where her house was surrounded by late-flowering roses and lavender, there were not any flowers to see.

He smiled. "No. Are you fond of flowers?" He jumped down, lifting a hand to help her out.

"Is there any woman who is not fond of flowers?" she asked a little teasingly.

He grinned. "No. But then, I have already seen you are a most unusual woman."

Eleanor went red. Her heart flooded with warmth. His low voice wassoft, and his gaze was admiring.

"Here," he said, taking her hand. "Let me help you."

"I thank you," she murmured, looking down at his gloved hand. She placed her fingers gently in it and he closed his grip, helping her down. She felt a flush creep through her body, heating every inch of her and making her fingers tingle.

She jumped down, jarring her feet on the hard ground. He held her hand to steady her.

"Thank you," she murmured again, feeling awkward. He was standing very close indeed. She looked into his eyes. That dark gaze was fixed on hers.

She looked hastily away.

"My father will be delighted," Lord Glenfield continued. "I trust he has arrived ahead of us—he traveled in the Landau after all."

"He likely has," Eleanor murmured, but Lord Glenfield was already striding up the stairs and she doubted he had heard her.

"Good afternoon," he greeted the butler as the door opened almost instantly. "Is my father here?"

"He arrived twenty minutes ago. He is resting in the drawing room, my lord. Welcome," the butler added, bowing to Lord Glenfield and to Eleanor. Eleanor swallowed through a tight throat.

"Thank you," she murmured as the butler took her cloak. She was here now. She was Lady Glenfield.

It made no sense.

She walked up the stairs, gazing wide-eyed at the house around her. The entrance-way was similar to that at Woodford House—marble tiles, a sweeping staircase leading up to the first floor, a high ceiling. The scale of it was much larger, though. Ramsgate House was built on an entirely different scale, clearly built in a much earlier century. It had been refurbished several times, she guessed, and the current appearance was pleasant and stylish.

She followed Lord Glenfield to the drawing room.

"My dear lady." Lord Ramsgate greeted her, bowing low.

"Good afternoon, Lord Ramsgate," Eleanor replied softly. She looked up at him, a little concerned. The marquess was obviously tired, dark prints of exhaustion under his eyes. He was standing stiffly, and she could see his knee hurt him because he was stooped slightly, favoring his left side.

"Come! Come. Sit and refresh yourselves. You must be in need of tea and victuals." He gestured them to the tea-table.

"Thank you," Eleanor murmured, but she could eat nothing. She was too nervous. She glanced at Lord Glenfield, but he was pouring tea and chatting with his father, clearly at home here.

Eleanor poured herself some tea and helped herself to a dainty sandwich, though she was sure she would not be able to eat anything at all.

They sat and talked, and the butler strode in after perhaps twenty minutes.

"My lord?" he called to Lord Glenfield. "Apologies, my lord, but your solicitor is here. Would you like me to take him to wait in the anteroom?"

"No. No, I'll see him directly. Excuse me, my lady. Excuse me, Papa."

"Of course, son. Of course. We'll keep some cake for you." He smiled at Eleanor, who smiled back, even though her stomach twisted nervously. It was three o' clock. In a few hours,dinner would be served. And then...

She smiled at Lord Ramsgate, trying not to let him see she was uncomfortable.

"My dear lady? Would you like some of this Madeira loaf?" he asked, pausing in the middle of cutting a slice.

"No. Thank you, my lord," she murmured in reply. "But I am not hungry."

"Oh?" He blinked. "Oh. Well. Very well, then. I suppose you'd like to rest?"

"Yes. Thank you, my lord," she answered softly. "I think I would like to retire to my chambers to rest."

"Of course, my lady. Of course. I'll ring for the butler to take you there, eh? I'm going to have some more of this tea and cake. Most reviving after that long trip. I wish you a speedy recovery of your appetite." He beamed at her.

"Yes. Thank you, my lord," she murmured, smiling back. Lord Ramsgate was a dear. She already liked him, after the few brief conversations they had together. She could have disliked him for thinking of this wild plan in the beginning. Oddly, though, she found she didn't blame him. After all, he didn't know how fervently she'd asked to escape it. Only Lord Glenfield knew.

And Lord Glenfield had forced her into it.

She scowled. Oddly, though, she couldn't make herself angry with him, either. She looked around the hallway as the butler arrived and led her down it. It was long and white, lined with many windows, sconces affixed to the walls between them. She frowned, her stomach churning with anxiety as the butler led her down the hallway. Soon she would be in the room.

"My lady," the butler said with a bow. "His lordship said you may request any chamber for tonight. Here are the suites and rooms that are open to you." He indicated three doors on his left, and another two on his right. She drew in a deep breath.

That is odd, she thought, frowning. Surely, he would send me to a particular place.

She swallowed hard and looked around. It felt so awkward, and she pointed to a room, choosing it without even looking.

"That one," she decided.

"Very well, my lady," the butler said with a bow. "I will have refreshments brought up. Would you like to bathe?"

"Yes. Thank you," Eleanor said at once. Her heart thumped in her chest. Soon, he would be here.

She went into the room. It was decorated in white—the walls were papered with white flocked silk wallpaper, the curtains white velvet. She looked around. The room was sumptuously appointed, with a big, comfortable bed, a dressing table, a wardrobe and a small nightstand. Another room to the left was a small parlor or space for reading. She swallowed hard. It was all very luxurious.

"My lady?" A woman's voice came through the door. "I am Miss Whitford. I'm going to be your new maid."

"Oh. Thank you," Eleanor murmured. The woman was around her own age, perhaps a little older, with a thin, serious face, blonde hair hidden under a cloth bonnet and big blue eyes.

"I will have a bath prepared for you," the woman said at once.

"Thank you," Eleanor replied gratefully.

The bath arrived and two maids carried in buckets of hot water to fill it. Eleanor undressed and slipped in, shutting her eyes and almost falling asleep. The water smelled of lavender and was blissfully warm. She drowsed in it until she felt it getting cold, then slipped out. Miss Whitford had left a nightrobe on the bed, and she slipped into it, then went to sit by the fire to dry her hair. She found her eyelids drooping and she was almost asleep when she heard footsteps outside. She tensed, heart thudding in fear. It was him. He was coming to the room. He was going to do...to...

"My lady?" the familiar voice of Miss Whitford came through the door, flooding her with relief.

"Yes?" She hastily stood, hurrying to the door to open it.

"My lady, a note from his lordship. And your nightgown. I unpacked your luggage in the wardrobe room."

"Thank you," Eleanor said at once, taking the note from Miss Whitford. Her maid went into the room and put the nightgown on the bed, then tiptoed out again.

My dear lady, she read in swift handwriting. I am still kept busy with estate accounts. I do not know how much longer it will take. Please forgive me and take dinner in your chamber. I will have the butler send a meal up to you so you may retire to bed. Thank you, your Sebastian.

She let out a sigh. He was delayed. He was not coming.

She cleared her throat. "Please have dinner sent up to me now?" she asked, noting it was already dark outside. Her stomach was rumbling, and she longed to have something to eat.

"Yes, my lady."

The dinner arrived and it was delicious. She ate and then washed her face and mouth and slipped into bed. She lay there in the half-darkness of the room, the fire flickering in the grate, the lamp on the mantel still blazing.

The church clock chimed again, and then again while she lay there, awake and nervous, and she shut her eyes.

He is not coming, she told herself firmly. Relief was strong, but she couldn't help feeling a little confused, a little ashamed. What was wrong with her, that he would choose to consider estate business over the most pressing business of his marriage? Was she so repellent that he could not bear to join her? Was this arrangement solely to please his father, and not because it pleased him?

She swallowed hard and rolled over.

"Go to sleep," she told herself firmly. She had a lot to find out the next day.