Damerel could make no difference to his eligibility. He was a third son, making his living in trade. He was proud of his achievements, but that same pride dictated he was not a suitable match for a wealthy peeress.
‘That day we visited James,’ Eleanor said.
Matthew felt his brows shoot up. ‘No greeting? No enquiry after your visitor’s health? Tut-tut, my lady.’
Eleanor flushed. ‘I apologise. But this is important.’ Her words tumbled out one after the other. ‘You spoke to a man, after you left Aunt Lucy and me. Who was he? Have you set him to watching me?’
‘What man?’ Matthew paused; racked his brains. ‘I left you and I walked back to Hill Street. I do not recall speaking to anyone. I had urgent business.’
Avoiding being seen by my brother.
Eleanor crossed the room to scrutinise his face. Her scent enveloped him, her tawny-brown eyes huge—and doubtful—in her dear face. Matthew clenched his fists to keep them by his sides, to stop himself cradling her cheeks and kissing those soft lips.
‘It was on the corner of Hill Street. Have you set anyone to watch me? A man in a brown suit with a pointed nose?’
‘Who is watching you, Ellie?’ Lady Rothley had come in and paled with fright. ‘Oh, do not say you have seen the villain who has tried to harm you.’
Eleanor’s words had sparked a memory in Matthew. ‘I do recall a man in brown, now you say that, but he was only asking for directions.’
Eleanor bit her lip. ‘I am sorry, Aunt. It was nothing. I thought I recognised a passer-by just now. I make no doubt I was mistaken.’
She smiled at her aunt, but it was forced and her eyes were strained. Matthew made a mental note to talk to Eleanor about this again but, for now...the subject was distressing Lady Rothley and he had another, more serious, matter to discuss.
‘There is something I need to tell you,’ he said. The change of subject would no doubt drive all thoughts of lurking villains from Lady Rothley’s head.
As Eleanor and her aunt sat down, Pacey returned.
‘Are you at home to Mr Weare, my lady?’
Eleanor leapt to her feet again. ‘Why, yes, of course, Pacey. Please show him up.’
Matthew cursed silently. His confession must wait.
She crossed the room to greet her cousin as he came in wearing a sheepish expression. He kissed Eleanor on the cheek. Their family resemblance was strong—James was tall with an abundance of thick dark-brown hair and the same tawny-coloured eyes—and yet he seemed somehow less vital than Eleanor; faded, almost.
‘Before you say anything, Eleanor, allow me to apologise once again for the welcome we gave you the other day. It was a somewhat trying day all told.’
‘Oh, James, there’s no need. I told you that I understood. Is Ruth not with you? Is she still unwell?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘It’s the strain, you know. That appointment on Tuesday was with her doctor. She finds these things intolerable, but I’m afraid they are necessary. He has given her a restorative for her nerves, so she’ll soon be her old self again.’
James walked further into the room and started when he became aware of Matthew, shooting him a suspicious look from beneath bunched eyebrows. ‘Mr Thomas, isn’t it? Good day to you, sir. I didn’t expect you to have a visitor this early in the day, Cousin. Please forgive my intrusion.
‘Lady Rothley, your servant.’ He bowed.
Matthew held James’s gaze as he stepped forward and gripped the other man’s hand, noting the deep worry lines around his eyes and mouth.
‘I had hoped to talk privately with my cousin,’ James said pointedly.
‘You have had ample opportunity since we called upon you on Tuesday.’ It was a provocative statement. Matthew knew very well—thanks to Timothy—that James had not called as promised, but had sent a note to Eleanor instead.
James’s jaw tightened. ‘Eleanor is well aware that my wife has been unwell since then and that I could not leave her. What exactly is your interest in my cousin, sir?’
‘James, really, there is no need for such a challenge. Mr Thomas has called in to assure himself that I am still alive.’ Eleanor’s voice wobbled, belying her attempted humorous note.
‘Alive? What do you mean?’
‘It is time you told James what has been happening,’ Lady Rothley said.
‘I know, Aunt, and I intend to. We had an eventful journey to London, James, and Mr Thomas came to our rescue. He appears to think that places him in a position of obligation to me.’
Matthew watched James closely as he elaborated. ‘Your cousin and her aunt had the misfortune to be involved in a carriage accident just outside Ashton. One of the horses was shot and the carriage overturned.’
‘Shot? Good God, Eleanor. Are you all right? Was anyone hurt?’
His shock was evident. If James had been involved, he was a convincing actor. But who else could be responsible? It was this man who stood to gain from her death.
‘Everyone escaped unscathed, James, please don’t worry.’
‘And, following that,’ Matthew continued, ‘a young girl was brutally attacked in the very room that you reserved for Lady Ashby in Stockport. Fortunately—although not for that poor girl—I had insisted that the ladies stay in Ashton overnight as they were already shaken by the accident.’
James blanched and groped blindly for the seat behind him, sinking into it. ‘No...’ he breathed. ‘Oh, my God, Eleanor! And she was in the room I reserved for you, you say? I can’t believe it. What a...what a terrible coincidence. But thank goodness you are all right.’
‘You believe it to be a coincidence?’ Matthew glared at James.
‘Mr Thomas...please...’ Eleanor said.
‘What?’ James looked wildly from one to the other. ‘What? You believe...you mean...you think I had something to do with it?’
‘James, of course not. It must have been a coincidence. Mr Thomas has merely taken some wild notion into his head. Of course I don’t believe you had any hand in it.’ Eleanor looked daggers at Matthew, who was unrepentant.
‘You must stop denying the gravity of this, my lady. You are the common factor to these incidents. Someone attempted to kill you on three occasions. That—’ he glared at James ‘—is no coincidence, and when I find out who—’
‘And who, precisely, are you, sir?’ James snarled, springing to his feet. ‘Matthew Thomas? Where are you from? Can anyone vouch for you? It seems to me that you, also, have been a common factor to these events. I, on the other hand, have been right here in London. And I can produce witnesses to prove it. I repeat—where are you from? My cousin is a wealthy lady; do you hope to win her over by scaring her witless? Is that your
