Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Eleanor's world had been tipped on its axis and spun around until she felt dizzy. Mr. Ambrose had taken his leave, yet she remained in her father's study for many hours, sipping whisky and trying to make sense of what had transpired.

Now, as she made her way to Mr. Ambrose's property for the picnic, she felt unsure how she should greet him. How did one say good morning to a man who had his tongue in her mouth the evening before? She supposed the same way that one always did since the kiss had changed nothing between them. Except interfere with her ease of sleep and peace of mind.

The group, including Mrs. Bridges, Miss White, Mr. Ambrose, and several other neighbors, had already assembled when she arrived, to her relief. There would be no opportunity to converse about the events of last evening with such a crowd to host.

Mrs. Bridges huffed along the path, although she was not carrying anything. Mr. Ambrose had kindly offered to carry her basket, along with his own. Eleanor carried the third basket, which contained blankets. Her friend, Sarah, kept up a steady conversation, which Eleanor found hard to follow while also reflecting on how wonderful kissing was .

Typically, she would be nudging Sarah ahead to walk with Mr. Ambrose, although now that he'd recognized her plan, she found herself reluctant to pursue it. Sarah spent the walk staring ahead at Mr. Ambrose and Eleanor feared she'd made a grave error in her matchmaking. Sarah's delicate heart would be broken when Mr. Ambrose rebuffed her interest.

The walk to Mr. Ambrose's self-professed favorite spot was only five minutes from the main house, yet seemed miles away from civilization. Eleanor quite liked the small pond surrounded by wildflowers. The day was unseasonably warm, as they'd anticipated, and made for a perfect picnic outing.

Eleanor spread the blankets on the grass so that the party could remain close as they ate. Mr. Ambrose set down the food, and Eleanor made quick work of distributing the fried chicken, biscuits, and pie that Mr. Ambrose's cook had prepared.

The group sat around them, making themselves comfortable, and there was companionable silence for a time while they ate the delicious food.

Mrs. Bridges, of course, was the one who broke the silence. "Did I tell you that my sister wrote to me that my niece will be spending the summer here? She apparently has gotten herself involved with the most unsavory of characters. My sister is worried sick."

A round of disapproving hums greeted her announcement. "Of course I told my sister that this was the best place for my niece to retreat until nasty gossip passes. Apparently, they were caught unchaperoned out for a walk in a remote part of the family property."

Eleanor nearly choked on her chicken and she caught a glimpse of Mr. Ambrose spilling lemonade on his shirt. They made a habit of walking—nearly daily—and always unchaperoned, as Eleanor's father was not fit for the exertion. If only they knew that she and Mr. Ambrose had been in the study last night, imbibing, with nary a matron in site to keep watch.

She'd be ruined. And likely forced to marry.

She regarded Mr. Ambrose, who sat farthest from her next to Sarah. If she were to be trapped into marriage, she could do worse than Mr. Ambrose. Not that she was looking to tie herself to any man.

Mr. Ambrose had finished dabbing at his shirt with a napkin and was now chatting politely with Miss White. Of course he takes an interest in the woman once Eleanor has deemed it unsuitable to match them.

Miss White laughed at something Mr. Ambrose said, and Eleanor found herself wishing to hear the conversation. She leaned closer and strained to pick up on the words but could not quite make them out.

Mrs. Bridges noted her interest. "Dear, it's not polite to eavesdrop on conversation when couples are courting."

Eleanor flushed hot at the assumption. "They are not courting."

Her voice carried across the blankets and every head turned in her direction.

Mr. Ambrose focused his intense gaze on her, admonition in his expression.

Mrs. Bridges prattled on. "Mark my words, they will be. It will be the wedding of the year!"

"No." The words flew out before she could call them back. "They are not suited."

Miss White ducked her head and an embarrassed flush stained her pale cheeks. Mr. Ambrose's expression became thunderous. Eleanor had never seen such an angry look on his face.

"Miss White, will you do me the honor of a turn about the pond?"

He stood and gallantly offered his arm, awaiting Miss White's response. Eleanor wished the ground would open up so she could sink into the depths of the earth rather than face everyone at the picnic.

After a rather lengthy time, Miss White stood and accepted Mr. Ambrose's arm. "Thank you," she murmured and allowed him to lead her to the path that circled the pond.

Relief flooded Eleanor, which was followed by anxiety when she realized that Mr. Ambrose and Miss White's absence left her alone to address her hasty words. She waited for Mrs. Bridges to admonish her or say something in support of the match, but she remained silent. In fact, she had never known the woman to maintain a silence this long. She stuffed a biscuit in her mouth and made a show of chewing it to avoid further conversation. The other neighbors seemed fascinated by the pattern of the old quilt on which they sat.

Eleanor watched Mr. Ambrose and Sarah walk towards the dock, then stand there a few minutes in conversation. Mr. Ambrose's head was bent low to Sarah's and whatever he said startled a laugh from the woman. Something heavy settled into her gut and her lunch threatened to return on her. She'd been plotting for weeks for this very outcome and could not fathom why she now could not stand to see the two in such an intimate tableau.

She touched her fingers to her lips, recalling Mr. Ambrose's lips on her own. He'd insisted that a kiss did not cause a person to fall in love, though Eleanor suspected that he was quite wrong on that count, for she had a tumble of feelings at the moment that felt suspiciously like love.

Feelings that she could only attribute to the moment he first kissed her under the mistletoe. If she really thought about it, she could pinpoint threads of these feelings at various times in their friendship. But until their physical intimacy, those feelings floated around without mooring. Now, they had a place to land in Mr. Ambrose.

Her heart twisted as she watched the couple walk towards the group and noted they were walking much closer now. Why did the universe always have to do the exact opposite of what she required? The outing that had promised to be an enjoyable diversion had turned into her worst nightmare.

Upon the return of Mr. Ambrose and Miss White, the party had declared their weariness and it was decided that they would conclude the outing earlier than planned. Eleanor had no doubt that it was because of her. She was not used to being the outcast in a social gathering and found it did not suit.

Too proud to bear even a moment more of interaction with the group, she left as soon as they reached the main house, claiming a headache. Once out of sight of the others, she increased her pace to a near run and did not stop until she reached her bedroom. She threw herself upon the bed facedown and let her tears fall unchecked. What a horrid day.

She feared she could not look Mr. Ambrose in the eyes ever again. Shame washed over her and sadness that the man whom she just now determined she loved most certainly would never look at her with any fondness again.