“I wish you wouldn’t,” Eleanor said.
But that was too much to ask. Lady Shapster smiled in purse-lipped amusement and slowly shook her head.
Mr. Knight looked from one to the other. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t like it, for he stepped in front of Eleanor as if to protect her from the malevolence of the cruelest woman in the world.
In a cold, clear voice that made Eleanor shiver, he said, “Lady Shapster, I didn’t invite you, and in case I haven’t made myself clear, I intend never to invite you to anything ever again. That you decided to attend my wedding is an act of unparalleled brazenness, and in the future, I demand that you leave my wife and me alone.” Placing a protective hand on Eleanor’s back, he pushed around Lady Shapster and onto the church porch.
“Mr. Knight! You’re so rude, and to one of the family. It’s a sign of ill-breeding, and you don’t want to suffer that reputation. After all”—Lady Shapster cast Eleanor a gloating smile—“I am now your step-mama-in-law.”
Mr. Knight observed Lady Shapster casually, as if her ravings only slightly interested him. Turning to Eleanor, he asked, “What does she mean?”
Eleanor wanted to run, but she knew it would do her no good. Lady Shapster would trip her. Shout the truth up and down the street. There was no escaping justice now. It had hunted her down, and she would pay the penalty. Her lungs wouldn’t expand, and she used the last of her breath to say, “She means…she means I’m not Madeline. I’m not the future duchess of Magnus. I’m Madeline’s cousin and companion.” Painstakingly, she told him the truth. “I’m Eleanor.”
He stared at her, and slow comprehension overtook him. It was as if he had been trying to solve a puzzle, and this was the piece that had been missing.
“I could have interrupted the ceremony, Mr. Knight,” Lady Shapster said. “I could have saved you from this dreadful blunder. But you thought you were better than me. You didn’t invite me to your party. You didn’t invite me to your wedding breakfast. And now you’re bound to stupid little Eleanor forever.”
“Shut up,” Lady Gertrude said.
“How dare you?” Lady Shapster drew herself up in outrage. “You knew. You can’t tell me you didn’t. You—”
“Shut up.” Like a small goat, Lady Gertrude lowered her head and ran at Lady Shapster, butting her off her feet.
Mr. Gilbert wrung his hands.
Clark exclaimed and reproved.
But although their mouths moved, Eleanor heard them only faintly. Although their arms waved, she saw them dimly. They were on the periphery of her attention. All of her being was concentrated on Mr. Knight.
His pale blue eyes grew bitterly cold. He looked at her as if she weren’t worth grinding beneath his heel. Slowly, his hand rose and touched her cheek. “I thought you were the one.” His whisper vibrated with feeling. “I thought you were real. I should have known.” His fingers slipped around her throat. “No one in your family can be trusted.”
She felt the faintest of pressure. A threat, not realized, but there nevertheless.
Leaning into her face, he said, for her ears only, “I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Chapter 22
“Sit down, dear.” Lady Gertrude relaxed on the fainting couch, sipped her brandy and watched as Eleanor paced across the library, Lizzie at her heels. “Mr. Knight will come home when he’s ready, and you’ll want to be the same dear, serene self you always are.”
Parting the curtains, Eleanor looked out into the dark. No fog or rain softened the black of this night, but the wind rattled the panes and sent a chill up her arms. This morning at the church, after Mr. Knight had handed her and Lady Gertrude into the carriage, he had mounted his horse and escorted them to his town house. She’d been scared, planning an explanation of her misdeeds. But he’d waited until they’d entered the front door, then, without a backward glance, he’d ridden away.
Although Eleanor had faithfully watched, there’d been no sign of him since. “What good does it do to be my usual serene self, when Mr. Knight wants another?”
Lady Gertrude smoothed the burgundy cashmere shawl draped over her feet. “I’ve watched the two of you together. He might want to own a duchess, but he wants to bed you.”
Whirling around, Eleanor faced Lady Gertrude. “I’ve been abandoned by my husband on my wedding day. I must point out, that doesn’t bode well for the marriage.” Vaguely, she was aware she was acting a Cheltenham tragedy. But if, after the events of today, she couldn’t be dramatic, when could she?
“Pish tosh.” Lady Gertrude dismissed Eleanor’s apprehension with an airy wave of the hand. “He’ll be back.”
Again Eleanor prowled across the room. She had changed for her wedding breakfast, which she’d miserably shared with Clark and Lady Gertrude. They had chatted amiably about many topics, and the only time they’d faltered was when Clark had mentioned how disappointed his wife would be to have missed the occasion. He’d escaped immediately after, and all through the long afternoon, Eleanor had paced and waited—and remembered. When the time had come, she’d dressed for dinner, hoping against hope Mr. Knight would return.
He hadn’t, and now her hopes faded. She watched as Bridgeport entered with another glass of brandy for Lady Gertrude and a cold rag, which Lady Gertrude placed on her head.
As Eleanor observed the odd ritual, memory stirred. Vaguely she recalled seeing Lady Gertrude standing over the prone Lady Shapster. “Ma’am, do I remember correctly? Did you knock down Lady Shapster?”
Bridgeport fought a smile.
“I gave her a blow with my head—when one is my size, one uses the tools one has.” Lady Gertrude rubbed the top of her head. “Glad I am I did it, too. Dreadful, spiteful woman.”
“Yes. Thank you. That was possibly the bravest thing anyone has ever done.” In her mind’s eye, Eleanor saw Mr. Gilbert and Clark assisting Lady Shapster to her feet. Lady Shapster had shaken off their solicitousness and dusted off her skirt, but she hadn’t been browbeaten. She was angry and she was ruthless. Eleanor had no doubt Lady Shapster blamed Eleanor for her humiliation. Lady Shapster would get revenge.
“Would madam like a refreshing cup of tea?” Bridgeport asked.
With a start, Eleanor realized he spoke to her. She was the mistress of this house, and every servant knew the circumstances of her wedding. The gossip must be flying around the servants’ quarters—indeed, all of London—tonight. “Thank you, Bridgeport, but no. I think I shall do my needlework.”
Bridgeport cast an unfavorable eye on Lizzie, now lolling at Eleanor’s feet. “Would madam like me to remove the canine?”
“No.” Leaning down, Eleanor rubbed Lizzie’s ears. “She makes me happy.”
Bridgeport stifled a sigh. “Very well, madam, but I want to assure you that, should Mr. Knight return, I will keep the animal with me until morning. You don’t need to worry about the creature.”
“Thank you, Bridgeport, that’s very kind,” Eleanor said.
Still Bridgeport hovered. “Your needlework is here, madam, on this table. I’ll send a footman in with an extra branch of candles.”
Eleanor surmised he, like Lady Gertrude, wished her to become her usual serene self. Even the dog stared at her, its brow wrinkled expressively. The trouble with composure was that people, and creatures, came to expect it of one. Surrendering to the inevitable, Eleanor seated herself. Lizzie at once came and lay on her feet. The footman brought the candles. Bridgeport handed her the needlework, bowed and discreetly disappeared.
Eleanor stared at the work in her hands. It was a chair cover for Magnus Hall in Suffolk. She had done four of them. She had twelve more to do, and right now she didn’t care if she ever finished another.
For no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t shut out the picture of Remington that relentlessly played across her mind. His triumph when he’d kissed her at the end of their vows. His incredulity when her stepmother had told him of Eleanor’s trick. And his disdain when h
e’d realized the truth. He hadn’t married a duchess. He’d married a nobody, and all his words of wanting her, only her, were shown to be flagrant lies.
Yes, he had lied, too. He was as guilty as she was.
But then, she had known he lied. Only in a small, hidden corner of her mind had she dared to dream that he might really want her.
Not love her. She wasn’t so confident. But want her.
“You must stop worrying,” Lady Gertrude said. “You’ll make yourself ill, and that will never do. Mr. Knight is a man. They’re simple creatures, and when he arrives, if you welcome him without reproach and smile and flirt, he’ll soon come around.”
Eleanor plunged her needle into the canvas. “Pardon me, my lady, I don’t mean to be cruel, but did you not do that with your husband?”
Surprisingly, Lady Gertrude appeared not at all offended. Rather, she was thoughtful. “The difference is in the man. Some of them are rotten to the core, disgusting asses no woman can appease or satisfy. My husband, for one. Mr. Knight is different. He’s not kind. Mind you, I would never tell you he is kind. But there’s a core of honor in him. I don’t know why he wanted to wed Madeline so much, but I still say that, after this rough patch, this union between you and him will work out.”
The dog came to her feet and stared ferociously at the door.
Gesturing grandly toward the door, Lady Gertrude said, “I hear someone now. Could it be Mr. Knight?”
“No, it bloody well couldn’t.” The duke of Magnus stomped in the room, an exorbitant frown on his whiskered face.
Bridgeport followed on his heels, looking helpless and affronted. Sidling over to Eleanor, he muttered, “Sorry, ma’am. He brushed past me before I could announce him.”
She patted his arm, then petted the bristling dog. “Don’t concern yourself. Magnus does as he pleases.” Even when he should know better.
“Greetings, Magnus,” Lady Gertrude said. “About time you got here.”
Brow lowered in irritation, Magnus answered, “I came as fast as I could, as soon as I heard Knight and Madeline would wed today.”
Eleanor stared in confusion. “But…but…”
“Where is that bastard? Where is he?” Magnus stopped and glanced about him. “Eleanor, Gertrude, good to see you and all that rot, but where’s Maddie and where’s that blackguard who would marry my daughter in such an unseemly hurry?”
Eleanor frowned. “You should know where Madeline is. She’s at Mr. Rumbelow’s.”
“What’s she doing there?” Magnus demanded. “Ramshackle fellow, not to be trusted.”
“Oh, dear.” Eleanor’s heart sank. “When she heard about his gambling party, she resolved to go there and stop you from losing the queen’s tiara.”
“I didn’t know that,” Lady Gertrude said.
“Because it’s not true.” Magnus shook his head, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “I didn’t go to his gambling party. The whole setup stunk to high heaven, and even if it hadn’t—the queen’s tiara is not mine to gamble.”
How could a man who wagered his daughter have scruples about gambling away the historical de Lacy tiara? It seemed illogical, yet Eleanor didn’t doubt him. He was every inch a duke; sure of his welcome, loud and bluff, with rosy cheeks, and a hearty voice he never regulated. Tall and broad, his belly jiggled when he walked, and right now he walked over to Lady Gertrude and peered at her glass. “Brandy. Good. I’ll have one.” He lowered himself into a chair, which creaked beneath his weight. Snapping his fingers at Lizzie, he said, “Silly-looking dog you’ve got there, Eleanor.” Cautiously, Lizzie came over and sniffed his fingers, then allowed him to pet her. “Good for anything? Hunting? Birding?”
Eleanor smiled. “I doubt that, but she’s very sweet and she adores Mr. Knight.”
“Not too bright, then,” Magnus said.
As if affronted, Lizzie returned to Eleanor.
“Bright enough.” Eleanor rubbed the dog’s ears.
Bridgeport gave a brandy to Magnus, then apparently decided Eleanor should have one, too, for he presented her with a cut glass goblet half full of amber liquid.
Eleanor wondered if she appeared so beleaguered and accepted it. With a gesture, she dismissed Bridgeport, who closed the door behind him.
After a hearty swallow, Magnus demanded, “Did Madeline marry today?”
Before she answered, Eleanor also took a drink. She coughed, cleared her throat, and answered, “Not exactly, Uncle.”
“Not exactly? There’s no such thing as a little bit married. She’s either married or she isn’t.”
Lady Gertrude cackled. “When you’re right, you’re right, Magnus.”
“To the best of my knowledge, Madeline is not married.” Eleanor wet her lips. “I’ve married Mr. Knight in her stead.”
Magnus stared. A smile spread across his broad lips. He said, “Jolly good of you, dear girl! I knew you would always care for your cousin, but I had no idea you had the courage to take on a man like Knight.”
Dryly, Eleanor said, “I’m as surprised as you, Uncle.”
“How did you convince him?” He winked. “Or should I ask?”
Disgusted, Lady Gertrude proclaimed, “Magnus, you’re as crass as ever.”
To Eleanor’s surprise, he flushed. “’Tain’t crass. Eleanor’s a handsome thing, and Knight isn’t blind.”
Eleanor interrupted before the discussion embarrassed her yet more. “I’m innocent of entrapping Mr. Knight in the manner you’re suggesting, Uncle. He didn’t know it was me.”
Magnus stared blankly.
Eleanor added, “He thought I was Madeline.”
It took a few moments, but when Magnus comprehended the state of affairs, he slapped his knee and roared with laughter. “Good jest! Didn’t know, eh? Married the wrong gel, did he? How I shall love spreading this tale about!”
“Magnus, no!” Lady Gertrude sat straight up.
“Mr. Knight is very angry with Eleanor. It’s bad enough knowing the story shall be in one of those dreadful newspapers. Let us not stir his wrath yet more by having you mock him, too.”
“Mad at Eleanor, is he? Yes, I can see he would be.” Magnus slurped up his brandy and placed the glass on the table. “Ah, well, even if I were tempted, I’m out of London on a mission to restore the family’s fortunes. That’s why it took me so long to get here.” He frowned. “Although thanks to our little Eleanor, I suppose the family fortune is still intact.” Cheering up again, he said, “Still, negotiations are ongoing, and I’ll not abandon them now.”
Although Magnus hadn’t confided in them, Eleanor had known Magnus had a scheme to save Madeline. Convinced that he would gamble away a precious family heirloom, the cousins had decided that Madeline should follow him incognito into a den of gambling and iniquity. To the best of Eleanor’s knowledge, Magnus had never succeeded at anything in his whole life, so Eleanor asked, “What are you doing, Uncle?”
“Old business. Sad business, in its way.” He stirred restively in his seat and looked thoughtful. “Time enough to tell you if the prospect succeeds. Nothing to fret about if it doesn’t.”
Eleanor doubted that, but she had enough worries without assuming his.
“In the meantime, tell me all about the high jinks you gels have gotten yourselves into,” Magnus commanded.
When Eleanor had finished the tale, Magnus sat with his hands on his knees. “Well, I’ll be damned. Beg pardon, ladies.” He shook his head as if bewildered, then asked Eleanor, “So you wed Knight in Maddie’s place?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And that blasted Lady Shapster spoiled your story?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“I never understood what my brother saw in her. A more petty and comprehensive harridan I have never met.” He rubbed his face with his hand, and in a lower tone, said, “But I didn’t expect any better from him. A more thorough scoundrel…” Straightening, he asked, “Eh, Eleanor, do you know why I made no objection when Madeline took you into our
home?”
“I…never have wondered.” Because when Madeline had decided to help, Eleanor hadn’t thought Magnus had had a choice. But he was the duke. He could have made Eleanor’s life miserable. Instead he’d pinched her cheek and treated her with the same indifference he showed his own daughter.
“I feared you would die if left there. Waste away—or take a fall.”
Lady Gertrude took a breath. “So you think Lady Shapster is deadly?”
He bent a hard look on her. “I think both my brother and his wife are best avoided when possible.”
Both sets of eyes turned to survey Eleanor, and she stirred restively.
“I’m back to my hotel, then on the morrow I’ll return to Sussex.” Magnus heaved himself out of his chair. “Gertrude, you keep an eye on Eleanor.”
“I intend to,” Lady Gertrude said.
The dog barked.
Magnus caught Lizzie under the chin and looked into her eyes. “Yes, and you, too.” He pressed a kiss on Eleanor’s forehead. “Congratulations on your marriage, my dear. Don’t let Knight bully you, and remember—you’re bigger than Lady Shapster, a good bare-knuckled blow to the nose will take her down.”
Touched by his sign of concern, Eleanor replied, “Thank you, Uncle. I will remember.”
Chapter 23
Eleanor woke with a start and lay staring into the darkness of midnight and loneliness. Only the orange glow of the embers in the fireplace gave illumination to Remington’s big bedchamber she shared…with no one.
No matter what she dreamed or what she wished, Remington had not returned to the house on Berkley Square.
Impatient with her wistful, old-maid illusions, she sat up. The bed was tall, its posts looming out of sight. Velvet bedcurtains hung at the corners, and the mattress was soft and luxurious. A silk-and-lace gown had been draped across the foot of the bed. She had donned it in hopes he would return, and now it slithered across her cool skin in a sensuous flow of luxury.
Well. She wasn’t going to wear this forever. Cotton was much more comfortable, and when winter came, flannel was the only thing that kept her warm. Of course, if Mr. Knight shared her bed, she would wear nothing but desire.