style="font-size:15px;"> ‘You need a lady’s muff pistol. That will be small enough to carry in a reticule or, as the name implies, conceal in a muff. There is an excellent gunmaker on Shoemaker’s Row, in Blackfriars. Richard Fenton. I shall buy you one tomorrow and teach you how to shoot.’
‘I understood the gentlemen of the ton always patronise Manton’s?’
‘Ah, but you forget. I am no gentleman of the ton. My associates frequent different haunts.’
‘Oh!’ Eleanor pictured a seedy workshop in a dark alley. ‘I am not sure...would it not be safer...? I mean, I hope he is reputable.’
Matthew laughed. ‘Of course he is reputable. What do you take me for? He is simply not quite as fashionable as Manton or his brother.’
‘I see.’ Eleanor fidgeted with her fan. ‘It was my intention to choose my own pistol.’
‘Trust me,’ Matthew said. ‘I shall find you the perfect pistol. A gunmaker’s shop is no place for a lady.’
The musicians, clustered on the balcony, struck a chord. The chatter died and the crowd began the ebb and flow that would result in the dancers remaining in the centre of the floor and the onlookers arranged around the perimeter, some standing, some sitting. Gowns and jewels shimmered as they caught the light from the many chandeliers and Eleanor thought she had never seen so many sumptuous dresses and beautifully coiffured heads before.
‘Is it not a magnificent sight?’ she said to Aunt Lucy, who had finally escaped the clutches of Lady Ely. ‘How I wish I’d had the confidence to enjoy my come-out instead of hiding amongst the chaperons.’
‘Do not waste time regretting the past, my pet,’ Aunt Lucy replied, squeezing Eleanor’s hand. ‘You made the right choices, for you, at the time. You are here now. Enjoy the moment. There is not a lady in this ballroom to outshine you, so make the most of it.’
‘And I second that,’ a deep voice murmured in her ear. ‘I believe this first dance is mine?’
Her skin seemed to tighten until it felt too small to contain her flesh and her insides quivered.
Matthew. She glanced at him through her lashes as they took their place in one of the sets. His broad shoulders and square jaw allowed no doubt as to his strength and his masculinity. A glance at the other men in their set failed to flame her senses in the same way. His fingers closed around hers and fire flickered along her veins.
Who would choose smooth urbanity and polished address over Matthew’s rugged capability and down-to-earth manner? Probably, she mused, many ladies of the ton would value those qualities higher. But not her. She did not want pretty words with no heart behind them. She wanted... Matthew. She might as well admit it. She had wanted him since that first kiss. It had just seemed so impossible.
Now...
She looked up and caught his eye. He looked...
‘What is wrong? You look preoccupied.’
‘As do you,’ he said.
‘But I was preoccupied in a happy way,’ Eleanor retorted. ‘You look precisely the opposite. Why?’
He did not reply.
‘If you did not wish to dance, why did you ask me?’
His startled blue gaze bored into her. ‘Please do not imagine you know what is going on inside my head.’ He fell silent until they were near enough to converse again. ‘If you must know,’ he continued, ‘I had a visit from my eldest brother earlier. I was wondering what reception I might expect from my father when he arrives.’
Eleanor pondered his words. Matthew was adamant he had no wish to accept his rightful place in society but...could reconciliation with his father change his mind? Ideas of how she might help ricocheted around her brain but, if she were to help, it stood to reason she must discover the cause of their estrangement: the reason his father had banished Matthew to India.
They joined hands for the next movement of the dance. She barely noticed, dancing by rote. A swift tug caught her attention.
‘What are you plotting? I can see it in your eyes. You are up to something.’
Eleanor tilted her chin. ‘I am not. I was thinking about supper.’
She avoided his narrow-eyed study of her face. At the end of the dance, she said, ‘May we sit this one out, Mr Damerel? I find I am rather tired.’ Matthew had marked her card for the first two.
‘After one dance?’
‘It is the worry. The thought of meeting James and Ruth has quite overset me.’ She ignored Matthew’s quiet huff of disbelief. ‘I would appreciate finding a quiet corner to rest. To prepare myself.’
‘Very well.’ Matthew offered his arm and led Eleanor across the floor to where a set of French windows stood ajar. ‘Would you care for a breath of fresh air? There are others out there, so we cannot be accused of being unchaperoned. You cannot afford to take any chances; the patronesses of Almack’s are present. I saw Lady Cowper and Lady Jersey earlier.’
Eleanor glimpsed several guests outside on a well-lit, flagged terrace, where they were taking advantage of a cooling breeze. Perfect...enough in number to provide respectability, but few enough to enable them to converse without being overheard.
‘Indeed.’ Now to wheedle the truth out of Matthew.
They walked slowly to one end of the terrace, which ran the full width of Beauchamp House. Matthew held his tongue—Eleanor would speak her mind soon enough. Until then, he was content to enjoy the peace. As they turned to retrace their steps, Eleanor drew breath.
‘Your father,’ she said.
‘Ah, now we get to it. I knew you were up to something.’
‘I am not up to something. I am...interested. Your brother Stephen has accepted you back. Why do you imagine your father will not? What did your other brother say?’
And if she thought he was going to tell her about that interview, she was mistaken. ‘He was hardly overjoyed to see me.’
‘And yet he visited you. Why?’
Matthew shrugged free of her hand on his arm and strode over to the balustrade. He gazed blindly into the dark garden beyond the terrace.
Tenacious.
It described her perfectly.
She’s only trying to help.
As if she had heard his thoughts, she said, ‘I only wish to understand.’
‘I know.’
He turned to look at her. Gorgeous. His blood heated instantly. Her glorious dark tresses, piled on to her head, artful ringlets framing her beautiful
