the memory of your mother’s scandal, to be accepted for Almack’s. You care what society thinks of you. You want a position in society, and you have one. And I care what society would think of me if...’
His voice had risen. He stepped back and Eleanor’s hand slipped from his arm.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, quieter now. ‘I had no intention of raising false expectations. I will not be labelled a fortune hunter on the catch for a rich wife. My honour...’
‘Your honour?’ Her eyes flashed scorn. ‘You speak of honour, yet you think nothing of stealing kisses from a maiden who, by your own admission, you would never wed.’
The bitter words hung in the air between them. Why could she not see how hard this was for him, too? Did she think it gave him pleasure to picture her with another man?
‘You should go and find your gloves before your guests arrive.’
Eleanor left the room without another word, back straight, head high.
He had expected nothing less.
* * *
Although he had stated his case, Eleanor’s words nevertheless came back to him at times during the evening. I would never view a gentleman who earns his way in the world as inferior to a gentleman who has inherited his wealth. He believed her. The problem was not with her views on the chasm between them, but with his. And with his pride. He might start with just a tiny feeling of inferiority, but what if it were to grow? What of Eleanor’s penchant for having her own way? How long before their disparate circumstances reared up to cause trouble? He would never be approved to buy vouchers for Almack’s—not that he would want them, but that was hardly the point. Would she grow to resent him and to regret shackling herself to a gentleman who would not be fully accepted everywhere?
She deserved better than him and, in time, she would see it.
On the other hand...love. He could think about her, and them, and all the reasons—very good reasons—why they should stay apart. It was the only outcome that made sense. But then, in his heart... Eleanor. She was so deeply entrenched he could not imagine a day without loving her. He had no interest in any other woman.
Confused, Matthew chatted, and danced, and played cards by rote as Eleanor acted the gracious hostess. He clenched his jaw against the pain of seeing Eleanor with other gentlemen, all more worthy of a wealthy peeress than he.
* * *
When will they get here? How will he react? Will he hate me for interfering?
Eleanor’s nerves skittered as she chewed at her lower lip, hoping she had done the right thing. She looked around, seeking Matthew, and her stomach clenched in irritation at the sight of him dancing with yet another pretty miss. He had not danced with her and she could not blame him.
That kiss...she had been swept away by it...swept away by him...until anger had allowed her to gather her wits. She had returned to reality with a painful bump. Matthew was right. It was for the best. She could see it now. It could never work. She was better off without him.
There was a flurry of movement by the door, and Pacey appeared. He caught her eye and beckoned. Oh, heavens. Eleanor’s heart raced as she walked to the door. Too late for doubts or regrets: the die was cast.
In the hall downstairs, William was divesting a scowling Lord Rushock of his hat and gloves. Eleanor’s heart sank at his expression. Stephen had assured her their plan would work. She must trust him to know his own father. But Matthew...that stubborn pride of his...would it allow him to unbend enough to meet his father halfway in this attempt at reconciliation?
Stephen Damerel stood waiting for his father, with an anxious frown that cleared as he caught sight of Eleanor.
‘Good evening, Lady Ashby,’ he said, with an elegant bow. ‘I apologise for our tardy arrival.’
‘I am delighted you could both attend.’ They exchanged a conspirators’ smile. ‘Good evening, Lord Rushock. I trust you are well?’
‘Harumph!’ Rushock’s chest expanded. ‘Yes, well enough, I suppose, although—’
‘Father, you do wish to mend your fences with Matthew, do you not? Think of Mama.’
The older man subsided. ‘Yes.’
His brevity surprised Eleanor. He had appeared an inveterate blusterer, but mayhap it was all show.
‘Would you like to come through to the parlour?’ she said. ‘Mr Damerel, if you would be so kind as to—?’
‘I’ll go and get him.’
‘Thank you. Pacey will show you which room.’ And Aunt Lucy and Hugo had been primed to forestall any guests who might notice that both Eleanor and Matthew had disappeared.
They waited in silence in the parlour. Eleanor, full of trepidation now the moment was close, was unable to make small talk. Lord Rushock paced the room, hands clasped behind his back.
The door opened to admit first Matthew, then Stephen, who closed it and leaned back against it in a nonchalant manner; only the tight line of his mouth revealed his tension.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Matthew’s ice-blue gaze speared Eleanor. He turned to leave. ‘Let me pass.’
‘Not yet, little brother. Not until you and Father have a proper conversation. It is time you thrashed over the past and set it behind you.’
‘We’ve talked. There is nothing left—’
‘For your mother’s sake, if not mine.’ Rushock gripped Matthew’s shoulder. ‘Please, son.’
Matthew’s indrawn breath was audible. ‘Very well. Just family.’
It was as though he stabbed her in the heart. It could not be clearer that she did not belong. Eleanor walked to the door, trying not to show her hurt.
‘I will see you later,’ she said in a low voice to Stephen as he opened the door to let her pass.
Matthew searched the room for his hostess. Ah...there! She could not help but stand out, with her burnished curls piled high, topping every other woman in the room by half a head. He strode across the room to where Eleanor stood with Lord Vernon Beauchamp and his sister, Lady Cecily. Her awareness of his approach was exposed by the sudden flush of her cheeks, despite her determined attempt to keep her attention on her companions.
Beauchamp...rake and darling of the ton. Resentment scraped at Matthew’s insides. It mattered not that Stephen had assured him none of the gentlemen watching over Eleanor was hanging out for a wife...and why Stephen had even thought it necessary to tell him such an irrelevant fact, he did not know...! Grrr! He’d lost his train of thought. All he knew was the sight of Eleanor anywhere near any of these so-called gentlemen burned in his gut.
And the memory of her interference scoured his insides even more. How dare she? What business of hers was it if he
