‘Indeed she does, sir. The door knocker has been busy all afternoon.’ The butler’s voice rang with satisfaction.
Matthew’s heart sank. That meant he must kick his heels, waiting for the chance to speak to Eleanor and her aunt in private. Not a comfortable prospect when he had little hope Eleanor had yet forgiven him for the argument with James that morning. As they reached the top of the stairs, however, Matthew slammed to a halt, sick realisation twisting his stomach.
‘Pacey!’
The butler looked round enquiringly.
‘My apologies, but I have recalled an urgent matter I must attend to.’
That is becoming a too-familiar excuse—the sooner I reclaim my own name the better. I cannot continue like this. Spending time around the fashionable areas of London was proving riskier than he had anticipated.
‘I’m afraid I will not even have time to pay my respects to the ladies,’ he continued.
Pacey bowed. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said, and began to descend the stairs again.
‘Do you know if Lady Ashby is to attend Lord and Lady Lexington’s ball this evening?’ Matthew asked, as Pacey handed him his hat in the hallway. If they weren’t, maybe he could risk not speaking to Eleanor until the next day.
‘As far as I am aware, sir, their ladyships’ only engagement this evening is to dine with Lord and Lady Ely.’
Welcome news indeed.
Back out on Upper Brook Street, Matthew leapt aboard his curricle and drove away, breathing heartfelt thanks that he had seen in time the trap that lay in wait for him in Eleanor’s drawing room. He pictured the scene: Pacey entering; announcing Mr Matthew Thomas; faces, studying him, sizing him up; the curiosity about this stranger in their midst.
And then, when he was subsequently introduced as Matthew Damerel at the Lexingtons’ ball that evening, the gossip and conjecture as to how they met, and whether she had known his true identity all along, would be bound to encompass Eleanor. It would inevitably harm her campaign to banish the memories of her mother’s disgrace and her ambition to gain admittance to Almack’s.
The past few minutes had emphasised the precariousness of his position. If he had any sense, he would cry off from the ball tonight, but could he delay any longer, knowing his father would arrive in London very shortly? Pring had recognised Matthew as he had left Stephen’s lodgings the previous evening, prompting Matthew to write to his parents and also to his sister, Sarah—now married—to inform them of his return. It was better for the news to come from him than from some interfering busybody. Now, he sensed that the sooner he established his presence in society the better. His father—ever wary of sullying the family name—would not publicly disown Matthew which, in turn, would help protect Eleanor’s reputation.
When Matthew had returned to England, he’d had a definite plan. He had never intended to revisit that card game—his reputation and clearing his name hadn’t been a priority. Once those next two ships had docked, and their cargoes were sold, he had planned to repay his father and then fade back into anonymity as Matthew Thomas.
But now...his plan had changed. Clearing his name had, suddenly, become urgent because Eleanor was in danger, and he had sworn to protect her and he could no longer do that from a distance.
* * *
‘Mr Damerel and Mr Matthew Damerel.’
‘Oh, my.’ Aunt Lucy clutched at Eleanor’s forearm with urgent fingers. ‘I always thought there was a familiarity about him. He favours his mama, of course, and his brother is his father’s son. No wonder I missed the connection when we met Mr Damerel with Derham the other day.’
Eleanor excused herself to the group of ladies she was chatting to, and turned to her aunt. They were at the Lexingtons’ ball, their dinner engagement with Lord and Lady Ely having been cancelled.
‘I beg your pardon, Aunt, what was that you said?’
Aunt Lucy tugged Eleanor round to face the door. ‘Look who is there, talking to our hosts.’
Eleanor perused the knot of guests at the ballroom door. As she spied a familiar shock of dark-blond hair, she gasped.
‘It’s Matthew... I mean Mr Thomas,’ she whispered.
‘Mr Damerel, it would now seem,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘I wonder... I do seem to recall some scandal, years ago. Oh, tsk. My memory is not what it used to be. I have been buried in the country for far too long.’
Eleanor struggled to make sense of what she saw. Matthew—tall, handsome...elegant, even—in immaculate black evening clothes. What is he thinking? He will never get away with...but... Stephen Damerel? Has Matthew somehow persuaded him to take part in this charade, or...? She could not think straight. Matthew was looking around, that keen blue gaze sweeping the throng.
Eleanor turned away. ‘Aunt Lucy, I am feeling a little faint. Might we go into the other room and sit quietly for a few moments?’
She struggled to keep her expression neutral as Aunt Lucy peered up at her. ‘Of course, my pet. Come, let us slip out of this door.’
They made their way into a room that had been set aside for the older, less lively guests who enjoyed a quiet gossip away from the banter and bustle of the ballroom.
Eleanor sank into a chair with its back to the door.
‘Who is he?’ she demanded, as her aunt sat opposite her.
‘It would seem his name is Matthew Damerel.’
‘He was with Mr Damerel, so...are they related?’
‘I think they must be brothers...it is coming back to me...there was a third brother...he was a wild youth, expelled from school, a black sheep. Left England under a cloud, although his father—Rushock, you know—hushed it all up. He was ever a stickler—couldn’t abide scandal. Disowned the boy, I seem to recall. I wonder if he knows Matthew has returned.’
Eleanor listened with a sinking heart. Anger...hurt...humiliation...she could not sort one emotion from the other...they flooded her and she wanted to sink through the floor and never have to face Matthew again. Her behaviour had been shocking enough...succumbing to the hot looks and honeyed words of a man she believed beneath her station in life. But now...that man was one of her peers. The son of an earl, albeit disgraced. How he must have laughed at her naivety. What a disgust he must feel for her, knowing her to be so lacking in morality that she had encouraged...nay, instigated...such intimacies with a man such as she had believed him to be.
And to think...she had even confessed her desire to be accepted into society and her desire to gain approval to attend Almack’s in order to banish the memory of her mother’s shameful behaviour.
Oh, how he must have chuckled, to hear my hopes and aspirations, when all the time he had his own shady past to conceal. Scandal, Aunt Lucy said. The very last thing I need.
She wanted to disappear. She wanted to die...to crawl into a dark corner and lick her wounds like an injured animal.
But she wouldn’t.
She
