Nick took a sip of wine, continuing his surveillance over the rim of the glass. His stepfather’s domineering ways didn’t surprise him, but Eleanor’s continued passivity did. She hardly looked like the same person he had met at the ruins earlier. In the morning gloom, she had stood straight, tall, and proud. He hated seeing her inner light squelched by Malcolm now. For a moment he considered intervening, but it would probably only serve to annoy her.
“Nicky, darling,” his mother said from behind him, “I must introduce you to Miss Landon.”
Suppressing a sigh, he turned and nodded to his mother. She was arm in arm with a pretty young blonde girl who smiled up at him with a shy smile.
“Miss Landon, allow me to introduce to you my son, Mr. Nicolas Norton. He is an officer in the militia, and he has only just returned yesterday after an extended absence. We are so thrilled to have him home safe.”
Nick bowed as the girl curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Landon.”
A delicate pink blush touched the apples of her cheeks. “We’ve met before, Mr. Norton, though I doubt you would remember it. I was but a girl, and you were home from Cambridge for a few weeks.”
She looked to be ‘but a girl’ still, with rounded freckled cheeks and wide blue eyes. Though he would have sworn he didn’t know her from Eve, he smiled politely and said, “Well, it is good to see you all grown up.”
Mother patted her arm. “I had forgotten all about that. You’ve some catching up to do, then. Why don’t the two of you talk—I see Lord Henry is in want of conversation.” With a none-too-subtle wink at Nick, she floated away, waving her fingers at the widowed earl.
“Is this your first house party, then?” Nick asked, struggling to keep his attention on the girl when Eleanor was visible just over her shoulder.
“Indeed, sir.” She glanced around the room, surreptitiously taking in the other guests. “I must say, I’m feeling a bit out of place.”
“What, you don’t normally fraternize with old, yet politically important, men?”
Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she ducked her head. “I can scarce believe you said that,” she said, biting her lip against laughter. “I was referring to how very sophisticated everyone is—men and women.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Sophisticated is just another word for old and boring. Though I will grant there are a few exceptions here tonight. Not many, but some.”
She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, do stop, Mr. Norton. My mother would have my head if she overheard this conversation.”
“Ah, but that is the beauty of a house party, Miss Landon. With my mother agreeing to be your chaperone, you are as good as free to do whatever you like.”
They both glanced at his mother, who was lifting a wine glass from a passing tray as she stood entirely too close to Henry.
“Regardless, I’m much too terrified of incurring my mother’s wrath to make even the smallest faux pas. It’s a long time until the Season—I’d rather not spend it listening to her lectures on propriety.”
“I’d be more worried about impropriety when you are with Nicolas, Miss Landon.” Eleanor, apparently having broken free of her jailor, grinned at the girl. “He can be quite the trouble-maker.”
“Noted, Miss Abbington,” she answered, returning the smile. “Mr. Norton, you must be on your best behavior around me.”
Nick offered the pair of them his most rakish look, making Miss Landon giggle and Eleanor roll her eyes.
“It shan’t work, Nick. Miss Landon is a friend, and I will not allow her to be fooled into believing you are the consummate gentlemen.”
It was a relief to see a spark of mischief glinting in her eyes. He affected his most solemn expression, shaking his head. “Have no fear, Miss Landon. I am a reformed man, courtesy of the army. If Eleanor wasn’t so busy playing the part of the social butterfly, she might have noticed what an utterly charming and devoted companion I am tonight. Isn’t that so?”
The girl went along with his teasing, nodding. “Yes, utterly.
Eleanor arched a dark eyebrow, “Somehow I’m not convinced. I suppose I shall have to take your very dubious word for it, since I’m much too busy to keep an eye on you this evening.”
Spreading his arms, he let a wicked grin turn up the corners of his mouth. “And yet, here you are.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Malcolm interrupted, sidling between Nick and Eleanor. “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I must steal Eleanor away. There are many who wish to speak with you, my dear.”
The mere sound of his stepfather’s voice put Nick’s teeth on edge. Why was he acting as though Eleanor was his to command tonight?
Returning his stepfather’s false smile in spades, Nick said, “Yes, including Miss Landon and myself. I’m certain the others will expect her to mingle with everyone present, and we wouldn’t want Miss Landon to be neglected.”
It was only because he was watching that he caught the flash of surprise in Eleanor’s eyes. Before he could interpret whether she was pleased or not by his interference, Eleanor pasted the artificial smile back in place and raised her gaze to meet his. “Uncle Robert’s right, I should return to my duties. But it is so lovely to have you with us, Miss Landon. I do hope Nicolas will find it within him to be good company for you.”
Nick had to work to keep his expression neutral. What the devil had gotten into her lately? Why was she being so damned biddable? She may look perfectly content to others, but he knew her too well. He could see her strain in the way she held her mouth, and the dullness of her normally luminous brown eyes.
It made him want to shake her, to make her confide in him. Had her mother’s death changed her so much, or was it something else?
Pulling Eleanor away from them, Malcolm said, “I’m quite certain Norton can provide all the entertainment Miss Landon could hope for.” With a slight bow, he headed for Lord Shevington, pulling Eleanor along with him. Nick couldn’t help but be put in mind of a sacrificial lamb.
“Well, that was a bit awkward,” Miss Landon said, biting her lip as she looked after Eleanor.
“Indeed,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes in thought. Did Malcolm think he could use Ellie as some sort of pawn? He took a good hard look around the room. There were an inordinate number of members of the House of Lords present—several of whom were unmarried. There was no disguising the fact that this house party was meant to strengthen political bonds.
A thought occurred to him, one so distasteful he nearly crushed the stemware in his hand before he realized what he was doing. Did Malcolm have visions of marrying her off to one of these overly dry, mostly older men? Nick had no doubt that if his stepfather couldn’t get by on his politics, he’d use whatever weapon he had in his arsenal to get what he wanted.
And Nick would be damned if he’d let Eleanor be the man’s ammunition.
***
With a bland smile firmly in place, Eleanor pretended to listen as Lord Shevington droned on about his hunting trip to Scotland last month. She couldn’t have cared less about the details of the hunt, but she was determined to appear to Uncle Robert that she was abiding by his ultimatum.
The very thought of his words poisoned her mood, and she swallowed against the lump that lodged in her throat. It had been over a day since Uncle Robert had thrown down the gauntlet, and absolutely no alternative had presented itself, no matter how much she tried to think of one.
She could refuse, make a fuss, cause a scandal—but all of them seemed to come back to her sister paying the price. Libby deserved a Season, blast it. More than that, she deserved the chance to decide her own future.
By God, Eleanor wouldn’t let her uncle steal that from her.
Laughter from across the room caught her attention, and she glanced to where Nick stood with Miss Landon and Lady Blackwell. Her brittle smile softened just a bit. It had been the highlight of her night when he had attempted to free her from her uncle’s control.
O
r was it just that he enjoyed being contrary to his stepfather? That was more likely the case, but still, she appreciated the effort.
“Don’t you agree Miss Abbington?” Shevington blinked at her expectantly, his old-fashioned whiskers making him look like a squirrel begging for a nut.
“Of course,” she said with conviction, having no idea to what she was agreeing. Whatever it was, it made the man smile and carry on.
Sneaking a glance in Nicolas’s direction again, she was struck with an unexpected pang in the vicinity of her ribs as Miss Landon giggled at something he said. It was the oddest sensation—she’d never once felt jealously where Nick was concerned. He was a pest; surely she was just envious of their freedom. It had nothing to do with the brief touch of Miss Landon’s fingers to his sleeve, or the way he tilted his head toward her when he spoke.
Ugh—she had to get a hold of herself. This was Nick! The bane of her existence, her competitor, her own personal tag-along tormentor. Clearly Uncle Robert’s demands had addled her brain.
Speaking of which, she should be paying more attention to Shevington. A low burn deep in her chest nagged at her, threatening to turn to full-blown panic. The men she had met so far tonight either were old enough be her father, or worse—reminded her of him. Polished manners, polite smiles, but with a certain arrogant authority about them that could easily translate to overt possessiveness or unreasonable rage.
She shuddered, pushing back against the memories that threatened to surface at the thought of her father.
“Are you chilled, Miss Abbington? Shall I have a footman fetch you a wrap?”
Caught in her woolgathering, though thankfully he didn’t seem to recognize it as such. She purposefully relaxed her tense shoulders and smiled. “No thank you, my lord. I think perhaps I could use some refreshment.”
“Allow me to fetch you something to drink,” he replied, bowing his head before lumbering off in search of a servant.
Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. Finally—a moment of peace. Of their own volition, her eyes strayed once more toward Nicolas. Miss Whittingham had joined them and was fluttering her eyelashes as though caught in a windstorm. Not that Eleanor blamed the girl for trying to flirt with him—he was the youngest man present. And his regimentals did rather stand out among the sea of somber jackets the other men wore.
“Eleanor,” Uncle Robert murmured from directly behind her, his hot breath uncomfortably damp against her ear, “I suggest you ignore your little friends and set your focus on the task at hand. Not that I mind choosing a husband for you.”
She turned, as much to escape his invasion of her space as anything. “I’m aware of what I should be doing,” she said through clenched teeth. At that moment, Shevington returned with a glass in each hand, and she gratefully accepted the one he held out to her.
She was beginning to understand why Aunt Lavinia liked spirits so well.
***
“Did you have a good evening, my dear?” Aunt Margaret, looking better than she had in days, smiled up at Eleanor from the chaise lounge nearest the windows. The drapes had been pulled wide to allow the morning sun to infuse the small, private sitting room they shared.
Eleanor mustered a tired smile as she tucked a blanket more securely around her aunt’s legs. “I certainly met a lot of people,” she hedged, settling into the chair closest the chaise. It didn’t seem particularly good form to respond, “I spoke with none but boring, self-important old men most of the evening, all the while chained to Uncle Robert’s side.”
The one and only highlight of the night had been just before she’d gone to bed. Nick had caught her on the stairs and murmured, “I do so love a good sunrise, don’t you, cousin? I shall enjoy it tomorrow at the start of the hunt, and perhaps the day after that in a more . . . private locale.”
Of course he could only mean the ruins. After the evening she had endured last night, the idea of pouring out her frustrations through her foil had tremendous appeal. She only wished they could have met this morning. But, with the hunt planned, such a thing would be impossible. At least the men would be gone for most of the morning and she could escape the need to endure the forced match making.
“Interesting, but not an answer to my question,” her aunt said, bringing Eleanor back to the conversation at hand. “I have met many people in my day, and not all of them served to enrich an evening.”
Eleanor’s smile was genuine. “You know me too well. All right, it was a passable evening. I spent most of the time speaking with Uncle Robert’s acquaintances.”
Her aunt’s thin white eyebrows rose, wrinkling her normally smooth forehead. “Heavens, whatever for? A drier group of men I cannot imagine. Were not Miss Landon and Miss Hollister present? Or even Lady Blackwell?”
“Oh, they were. And I was fortunate to have a few moments with each of them. But it was my mission to get to know Lords Henry, Netherby, and Shevington better.” A mission enforced relentlessly by Uncle Robert.
Aunt Margaret pursed her lips. “Lords . . . oh, I see. They are all bachelors, are they not?”
Good, she was catching on. “Indeed,” Eleanor responded with an ironic grin. She knew her aunt would understand exactly how distasteful such a proposition would have been for her.
Unaccountably, a soft smile brightened her aunt’s face. “I’m so very glad to hear it, my dear. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”
Stunned, Eleanor blinked, trying not to show her dismay. Perhaps there was hope for me yet? Clearly Aunt Margaret mistook her conspiratorial grin for one of earnestness.
So the truth comes out.
Her heart sank low in her chest, weighed with disappointment and betrayal. Could not one of her relatives see that marriage wasn’t something Eleanor wanted? She had thought Aunt Margaret understood that, and that she liked having Eleanor around for her companion. In the back of her mind, she had hoped her aunt would raise an eyebrow and say, “How dreadful!” She had imagined confiding in the older woman and having the satisfaction of her gasping in outrage when she heard of her brother’s manipulation.
But no—apparently even she wished for Eleanor to drop her objections and marry. Her very soul ached with the knowledge. There truly was no one to champion her.
Oblivious to Eleanor’s distress, Aunt Margaret pushed aside the blanket and came to her feet. “I must say, I am feeling much improved this morning. I do believe I shall be fit to join you downstairs today.”
Eleanor nodded dully. “I shall inform the countess at once.”
It occurred to her as she stood and padded woodenly for the door that only one person had shown her any amount of support in the last few days.
The very last person she would have thought: Nicolas.
***
If ever there was a worthless waste of time and perfectly good lead, it was surely grouse hunting. Nicolas stifled a yawn as he tramped through the underbrush a few yards back from the others. It was all so damned civilized and organized. Everyone walked forward, waited for the flock to be set to air, then shot at the lot of them as if there was any real sport in it. Already the day’s take numbered in the hundreds, and beaters were doing their damnedest to flush out stragglers.
Finally, a cluster of birds rose toward the low clouds, and gun after gun discharged. Sighing, he raised his weapon to his shoulder, aimed for a perfectly innocent looking cloud to the left of the flock, and fired.
There. Duty fulfilled. Three hundred birds bagged, twelve gentlemen entertained, and one tedious morning at an end.
“If that’s the best the army has to offer, old boy, it’s a wonder old Boney ever tasted defeat.” Handing over his gun to the servant beside him, Lord Henry laughed and walked over to where Nick stood.
Offering a good natured grin, Nick nodded. “Too right. I suppose it’s fortunate that humans are a much larger, less flighty target.” He wasn’t about to inform the man that he was as good a shot as any man present.
From half th
e field away, Malcolm’s head turned in their direction, his interest in their conversation clear. He quickly shoved his gun to his attendant and scurried over to join them. Scared Nick would say something politically ruinous, was he?
“What an excellent bag, Henry. You must have singlehandedly brought down four dozen birds today.”
The man’s chest puffed up as though such praise was the highest of possible compliments. “Well, your lands offered quite the bounty. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to join you again in the future.” He paused and gestured toward Nick. “Perhaps you can give your boy Norton here a lesson or two by then so he can keep up with us.”
The two older men shared a laugh, though Malcolm’s was harsh and devoid of humor. He was surely stewing at Nick being referred to as his boy. “Sadly, some simply aren’t born with a talent for sports—and they’re called women. What, exactly, is your excuse, Norton?” This brought on fresh laughter, setting Nick’s teeth on edge.
Forcing a pleasant smile, he said, “Must have been my pauper father. He spent his days toiling in the courts and had little time for the finer gentlemanly pursuits. By the time Malcolm took me in, I fear it was too late.”
It wasn’t quite true—his father was a respected barrister who enjoyed the occasional hunting trip. That, however, wouldn’t have needled Malcolm nearly as much. In his eyes, Nick’s father might as well have been a clerk. Reminding his guests of his stepson’s humble origins meant bringing attention to a black smudge on his noble family lineage. Already Nick was reaping the rewards of the comment as his stepfather’s eyes narrowed in ill-concealed fury.
Nick grinned. Malcolm could consider it repayment for the way he’d treated Eleanor last night. It little mattered that the man wouldn’t realize it. Nick had scored a point against him, and that was good enough for now.
“Damned pity,” Henry said, shaking his head as they started back toward the house. “I wonder, is your son a good shot?”
“The best. The boy’s a natural.”
Lord Henry chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just like his father. Speaking of your excellent family relations, I do hope I’ll have the opportunity to enjoy more time with Miss Abbington. She is quite a lovely young woman.”