Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

E leanor woke on the Sabbath determined to speak with Montefeltro. They had entered the engagement with the goal of rectifying their own immediate problems, but it seemed since their arrival in Emerald Falls, neither one of them had been committed to the relationship. Not as they should be, given they were to be married after the first of the year.

Since her arrival she’d struggled with memories of her former courtship, The love she’d held for James Bailey seemed to poke through the walls she’d built up, like rays of sunlight breaking through on a cloudy day. The important thing to note, in her estimation, was that she had done all within her power to avoid the growing desire to be near James. She hadn’t sought out private moments, not like what Montefeltro had done the previous night.

Sitting at her dressing table, Eleanor relaxed against the back of the chair as her maid removed the wrappers from her hair. She needed a plan if a confrontation with her intended was necessary. Although she didn’t expect him to confess love, she did expect his loyalty. But was her heart loyal to him? An inkling of doubt crept into her thoughts causing her cheeks to heat as she remembered James’s heroic action of catching her before she fell to the ground.

As though her maid knew she needed silence for reflection, Cora worked through her morning routine with very few comments or questions, allowing Eleanor to ponder. It would be a disaster, if she failed, but if she were successful, it was possible she and James could have the happiness they’d squandered. Montefeltro’s requirement for a wife was not particular to her. He could choose any woman of reasonable intelligence to please his mother. Why not Miss Hartwell? Moreover, it would save Miss Hartwell the displeasure of spending any more time with her guardian, the Duke of Rothes.

She dressed with care, a pristine white muslin dress with tiny gold holly leaves embroidered upon the bodice and skirt. Her coiffure was set in the latest London fashion, with little jewels attached to strands of hair atop her head. She looked fit for the high Society parties she’d attended while in town.

With one last look in the mirror on her dressing table, Eleanor decided Christmastide would end with two new engagements. She would orchestrate a match between herself and James Bailey and another between Montefeltro and Miss Hartwell. It was the only solution that would bring happiness to all involved. To do this, she needed Montefeltro on her side. She had to know that what she’d witnessed the previous night was not her imagination before ending her current engagement.

The village church was as quaint and lovely as she remembered. Over the last two years, she’d attended every Sunday service at the parish Church of St. George in Hanover Square. It was within walking distance from her uncle’s home in Mayfair. The stark differences between both edifices could be seen upon arrival outside the small one-steeple church. The church in London was adorned with embossed gold leaf on the ceiling and walls, much larger and more majestic. The one in Emerald Falls was the perfect size for the village. It served the community well without the need for pretension.

Eleanor much preferred the beauty of Emerald Falls to London. The church was a brown brick with one spire and a small circular window in the main building. She knew well the inside would be the same as she remembered. Her family pew was situated next to the Bailey pew. Both of which were behind the larger pew that belonged to the Duke of Rothes.

This village was her home. It was where she belonged, which made every part of it more welcoming than the coldness of Society, with all its grandeur. She accepted Montefeltro’s hand as she stepped out of the sleigh. The melting snow, mingled with mud, seeped up on her boots, threatening to spoil the pristine white of her frock. Lifting her skirt ever so slightly, she hopped from one foot to the next until she was safely on the cobblestone.

Her goal had been to save her dress from the mud, but as she arrived upon the safer pathway, she came face to face with James and his mother, Mrs. Bailey. “Pardon me, I did not see you.”

It was the truth. She wasn’t trying to beg acknowledgement from James. Not yet anyway. Before she could enact her plan, which was very poorly planned out, she must first speak with Montefeltro.

Mrs. Bailey placed both hands on Eleanor’s arms as she pulled her in for a kiss on both cheeks. “I am happy to see you, Miss Dove. We must visit more often over the next week. I will not allow you to leave our village once more without a visit and proper afternoon tea.”

“I would love a visit, Mrs. Bailey.”

“Very good. Then we shall plan it for the day after next. I would not wish you to miss the ice-skating party tomorrow,” Mrs. Bailey said.

Eleanor couldn’t stand next to James and not acknowledge him. But right as she was ready to inquire after his health and determine if he was also to join the ice-skating party the next day, Montefeltro arrived. He lifted her hand and tucked it through his arm. “We should go in out of the elements, amore .”

“Indeed.” It was all she could say, given the way her heart ached to reach out for James’s arm.

She and Montefeltro walked past James as they followed her parents and brother into the chapel. The smell of beeswax candles and the fragrance of aged wood mingled with the earthy aroma of stone-bricked walls, bringing back memories of sitting in the same pews during her childhood. She entered the family pew first, finding herself directly next to James Bailey, separated only by the wood panels encompassing the Dove box.

Gathering her courage, she turned to face him. “I wish to offer my sincerest gratitude for your actions last evening. Please relieve my concerns and tell me you were not injured when we fell.”

“Not at all, Miss Dove. I am quite well.”

She noticed his hands balled in fists, his leather gloves pulled tightly as he released his fists and flexed his hands. The movement was familiar, one she’d witnessed years before. “You have injured your hands. Do not tell me you still have that bag of sand hanging in your den.”

Without waiting for a response, she pulled his glove off to find his knuckles raw. James instantly took his glove from her and pulled his hand out of her grip. “Yes, it is still there.”

“I do hope you have a salve for those injuries. You would not wish to lose your fingers over such an improper use of your time.”

James chuckled. “Improper?” He leaned toward her and whispered. “It is exercise, Eleanor. We agreed upon that a few years ago.”

Eleanor leaned closer to him. “No, James. If I remember that conversation with exactness, we agreed that I was right and you were wrong. You committed to remove the punching bag from Granville House. I would have thought your word as a gentleman was good enough for our agreement to be fulfilled.”

James slid the glove back on his hand and then continued to ball his fist and flex it once more to work out the pain. “If I remember the precise agreement, it was that I would remove the punching bag one day before we were to be wed. Since you never accepted my offer of marriage, I was not compelled to keep my end of the bargain.”

Eleanor bristled at the memory. How dare he speak of that night as though it had had no effect upon either of them. No remorse whatsoever written upon his features or marked by a stutter in his speech. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head slightly away. “I cannot believe you would so callously remind me of that night.”

She wiped at the tears that sprang to her eyes. Wishing she wasn’t so fragile as to fall apart in front of him. The entirety of that night would forever replay during the darkest hours of the night reminding her that regret was quite possibly the worst punishment a person could dole out to themselves. The reminder that he had offered marriage—and she had begged him to speak with her father first, just so she could accept in a more perfect setting—would forever be a source of pain. Her father would not have begrudged her the chance to accept the hand of the man she loved. But she had wanted everything proper and enchantingly romantic.

“Please accept my apologies, Miss Dove.”

Eleanor turned away from him, berating herself for the foolish decision to open a door that had once been tightly closed. She noticed Montefeltro leaning forward in a discussion with Miss Hartwell and the Duke of Rothes. The duke was speaking, his pointed features tight and harsh, his voice practically shrill as he grumbled about his dissatisfaction over the state of the roads and the ongoing snowstorm. Montefeltro smiled pleasantly at the duke, accepting his every complaint with kindness. Her curiosity would have been piqued, especially given her thoughts of that morning, but even that was tempered by a memory that had tried to invade her thoughts every moment of every day since she had returned to Emerald Falls.

As the vicar started his sermon, Eleanor closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to dwell upon that night once more. The night her world had fallen apart. She could almost hear the laughter from the ballroom at Granville House. The smells of holly, gingerbread biscuits, and in her mind’s eye she could see the elegant replica of Granville House made from gingerbread and icing as a centerpiece on the refreshment table.

“Eleanor, might I have a moment of your time?” James’s eyes were alighted with joy, a sparkle shining in them like he was looking upon a single source of happiness, which happened to be her.

Accepting his arm, she allowed him to guide her through the crush, out into the hallway, and then to the den. A fire blazed in the hearth and candles were lit, as though he had planned to guide her to this room.

She took his hand and led him to the desk. Playfully, she led him around to the chair. “If you wish to go over the books, I must inform you that I am talented at ciphering. I will have your accounts situated forthwith, sir.”

“I have a man of business for such work, Eleanor.” James pulled her away from the desk, guiding her to the window that overlooked Emerald Falls. He had a picturesque view of the village and its snow-covered buildings, the perfect scene for a painter’s canvas.

Eleanor had known he would likely propose that evening. They’d courted since the summer, which was far longer than anyone else from their little village had courted before entering the marriage state. She wanted to marry him, but this was not the place where she wished for a proposal. The girlish fantasy of sitting under a starlit night in a beautiful garden was quickly fading from her expectations as she noticed the clouds blocking a view of the heavens.

If she could speak of other things, he might have to delay the offer. Then, he could propose another night. Looking around the room, she noticed a bag hanging in the corner. She’d heard of such things, but she’d never seen anything like it. “What is this?”

“It is a most wonderful diversion. A punching bag.”

Eleanor laughed. She tilted her head to the side as she pulled on his lapels. “Whyever do you need it? Are you secretly a pugilist?”

“Nothing of the sort.” James led her to the bag and then offered a light punch against it. “It is good exercise. Allows a man to clear his thoughts.”

“And what of a woman?” She playfully punched the bag but instantly regretted it as upon impact, a shock vibrated through her hand and up her arm into her shoulder. “Oh, drat! That was painful.”

James pulled her into his embrace, his breath hot upon the side of her neck as he slowly guided the same hand into a fist. He then protectively and slowly guided her hand forward with a softness she’d come to expect from him. This time when her fist impacted the bag, there wasn’t any pain. Just heat from his embrace.

“If it is done correctly, it can be effective for a man of my temperament.”

She turned her head slightly, wanting to see him as he held her. “I wish you would not think so harshly about yourself. Forgive yourself for the past. There is no reason to relive it each day.”

“Marry me, Eleanor. Make me the happiest man in all of England, and I will endeavor to accept your wisdom, allowing me to deserve you for the rest of my life.”

Eleanor was determined to have the proposal of her dreams. It didn’t matter if there was snow falling from the sky. She wanted a starlit night. This wasn’t it. “Only England?” She pulled away from him, instantly regretting the loss of warmth and the tingling of his breath upon her neck. “Why, James Bailey, I would expect the man who offers marriage to me would wish to be the happiest in the world.”

James laughed as he took hold of her hands. “You are right. Forgive my shortsighted offer. Make me the happiest man in all the world.”

She stepped away, pulling him toward the window. “Have you spoken with my father?”

“Not yet. I wish to have your answer before I make a request. This must be your decision. That is, if you love me and wish for a union between us.”

Of course she loved him. With every part of what made her Eleanor Dove, she loved him. She searched the room, looking for any excuse not to give an answer that evening. If he wasn’t going to offer in the right setting, then she could not accept. “What about this punching bag?”

James turned and looked at it once more. “What do you mean?”

“I do not think your wife would like to see you breaking your hands upon this bag of sand. You must remove it from Granville House.”

“Is that an acceptance of my offer?”

“Not yet, Mr. Bailey.” She pushed him away, a coy smile playing upon her lips. “What say you to removing this thing from Granville House?”

“Upon my word, as a gentleman, I shall remove it one day before you become my wife.”

Eleanor slowly walked toward the door, a sassy swing to her hips that had drawn him toward her in the past. “Well, then, Mr. Bailey. Please make the request of my father, and you may ask for my hand once more.”

The memory faded as quickly as it had come. Eleanor searched her reticule for a handkerchief but found she had forgotten to replace the one she’d sent for washing the day before. As she lifted her hand to her cheek, she was surprised to see James sliding his handkerchief between the slats that separated their family boxes.

She didn’t know if it was wrong to accept his offer, but Montefeltro hadn’t noticed her distress. He hadn’t offered his own favor, which meant the cloth hanging before her was her only option, unless she wished to wipe her tears and blow her nose into her gloves. With that realization, she quickly accepted the offering and nodded her thanks.

She’d been foolishly young that night. If she had accepted his offer, it was likely they would have spent more time in the den or they would have gone directly to their parents to share the happy news. Both those options would have saved her from the embarrassment of moments later when everything had crumbled and the perfect life they could have had vanished before her eyes.