‘I have not told them you are back.’
‘You did not tell them where I went. You allowed them...all of them...to believe I would leave without a word. They did not even know if I was alive or dead.’ His voice shook; the words near choked him. He swallowed convulsively, and drew strength from Eleanor as she—under cover of her skirts—feathered his hand with warm fingers.
‘No doubt Stephen told you that.’
‘Why would he not? He was as shocked at your actions as, no doubt, Mama will be. You should know, sir, that I have written to Sarah, so it will do you no good to try to prevent Stephen from telling Mama the truth. Besides—’ Matthew gestured at the onlookers ‘—you know how fast news travels.’
‘I did my best for you. If Henson had died—’
‘But he did not. And...I...was...innocent.’
‘But not of cheating.’
Eleanor’s gasp soothed the wound to his heart. As did the sudden realisation that his father had the look and the sound of a man who suspected he was in the wrong, but was desperate to justify his actions.
Matthew reached a decision: this should not, could not, be resolved in a crowded ballroom.
‘I will call on you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘With the money. And we can discuss how we move on from there.’
His father opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
‘Very well,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I shall await your visit.’
Matthew watched his father walk away, the tightness in his chest relaxing as his galloping heart eased to a trot.
‘I am sorry you had to witness that, my lady,’ he said, without looking at Eleanor.
‘Are you angry with me?’
She did not sound particularly contrite. More...interested. Was he angry? Yes...and no. He felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
‘What made you imagine it was your business?’
‘I was interes—’
‘Interested. Yes. I gathered that. Interested; or interfering, depending on your perspective. Or...’ he glanced at her, and her expression dispelled the remaining shards of any anger he had felt, ‘...or a friend, trying to help.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. One question.’
‘Go on.’
‘How shall you repay your father?’
His spine stiffened. This, surely, was a step too far, even for her.
‘Do you have enough funds readily available? If not, I can—’
‘No!’
She recoiled, a wounded look on her face. ‘You do not know what I was going to say.’
‘I can guess.’ He gripped her arm and steered her into an empty alcove nearby. ‘Do not insult me by offering me money. I am no pauper. I can pay my own debts.’
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until Benedict arrived with those two ships and their cargoes were sold. After that, he would have the wherewithal to pay his debts, invest in further imports and to live comfortably. Until then, however...
‘I was only offering a loan,’ Eleanor said, in a hurt voice.
Matthew groaned inwardly. He must raise the money somehow. His pride would never allow him to admit to his father he was not yet able to pay his full due, but neither would it allow him to accept money from Eleanor, loan or not. It would have to be the bank. Or, if the bank failed him...he had always thought of moneylenders as the last possible resort but, now, Eleanor had supplanted them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I will not accept money from you, even as a loan.’
‘Very well. I cannot force you to accept, but the offer is there if you have need.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Lady Ashby? I believe this is our dance?’
Matthew fought the burning jealousy that scorched his gut again as he watched Eleanor walk away on the arm of yet another self-assured, titled and no doubt wealthy member of the St James’s set.
His mistake had been to secure her hand for the first two dances. He could not dance with her again without causing gossip. It was bad enough they had spent so much time already in one another’s company, although the continued attentions of the cream of society’s most eligible bachelors would no doubt preclude any criticism. No one would risk upsetting them.
He was now condemned to spend the rest of the evening either watching Eleanor from the edge of the ballroom or dancing with another lady. Neither option particularly appealed. With a muttered oath, he spun on his heel and headed for the card room.
In the hallway he passed two jaded-looking elderly gentlemen, making their slow way to the ballroom. The name ‘Baroness Ashby’ caught his attention and he slowed.
‘I only said that I don’t know as I should care for a wife who is mistress of her own property,’ said the one, as he availed himself of a liberal helping of snuff. ‘An independent wife? Goes against the natural order of things, don’t you know. How’s a man to keep his pride?’
‘You’d be too lily-livered to stand up to her, anyway,’ his companion retorted. ‘Why, she must be six inches taller than you for a start. Besides, you wouldn’t get a look in, old fellow. With her wealth, she can look as high as she pleases for a husband. I doubt she’d settle for a paltry baronet like you, not with all the rich blood in town at the moment.’
They moved out of earshot and Matthew entered the card room with a heavy heart.
* * *
‘Milady!’
Eleanor jerked awake, heart clambering into her throat, mind groping to identify that voice. Her maid’s anxious face was lit by the wavering flame of a candle, the shadows casting her normally unremarkable features into a macabre mask.
‘Lizzie. What is it?’ Eleanor pushed herself into a sitting position and gathered the bedcovers to her chest. ‘You frightened me. What time is it?’
‘Nigh on four. Mr Pacey told me to come in here and not to leave the room no matter what.’ The urgency in her whisper set Eleanor’s scalp prickling. ‘Peter’s standing guard outside the door.’
‘Standing...?’ Panic clutched at Eleanor. ‘Is everyone all right? Aunt Lucy?’
‘Matilda is with her.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Peter heard a noise in the dining room.’ One or other of the footmen were always on duty in the hall during the night. ‘He went to look and there was a window open.’
