House, my lady,” he intoned. Then his gaze fell upon Anthony sitting in the carriage, and he goggled at him. “My lady! How—who—”
“Lord Neale joined me along the way, as you can see,” Eleanor said with heavy irony. She got up and stepped out of the carriage, saying, “Perhaps you will take him back to his house while I am visiting Lord and Lady Barre.”
“No need to go to the trouble,” Anthony said behind her, jumping lightly down to the ground beside Eleanor. “I will escort Lady Scarbrough inside.”
He offered her his arm, and when Eleanor gaped at him in astonishment, he picked up her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “Come, my lady, I am sure our hosts are waiting.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Eleanor snapped, trying in vain to tug her hand from his grasp. “You cannot go in with me.”
“Ah, but I already am,” he responded with an irritating coolness. “You see, I intend to stay with you until you give me a satisfactory answer to my questions.”
“Questions? Accusations, rather! I have no intention of talking to you, now or at any other time. You know there is no truth to what you are saying, and I certainly would not lend any credence to your absurd accusations by trying to defend myself.”
He shrugged as he walked up the steps. “Then I fear you will have to suffer my company for some time.”
A liveried footman opened the door before they reached it and bowed to them. “Lady Scarbrough?”
“And Lord Neale,” Anthony added calmly, handing his hat to the man.
Eleanor, struck speechless by the man’s audacity, handed her wrap over to the footman. It was an unaccustomed position for her to be in, but, frankly, she was at a loss as to what to do. If she told the footman that Lord Neale was not supposed to be there and he should throw him out, she would be putting the poor footman in an untenable position. Her own servants would readily toss out anyone at her command, noble or ruffian, but the average London servant would be horrified at the idea of laying hands on a peer of the realm. Besides, it was such an absurd thing to say that, frankly, she was too embarrassed to utter the words.
As the servant turned to lead them down the hallway, Lord Neale offered his arm to her again, but Eleanor did not take it, clasping her hands together.
“Are you mad?” she whispered at him as they followed the servant. “You were not invited. You cannot simply barge in on someone.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Can I not? They might, perhaps, think it rude of you not to have informed them that I was escorting you, but…”
“Rude? You are the rudest man I have ever met, and I shall be happy to tell them that you forced your way into my carriage.”
“Really?” He looked at her quizzically. “You want to explain all this to them?”
Eleanor set her jaw in irritation. He was right, of course; she certainly did not want to embroil Juliana and her husband in this situation. However absurd Lord Neale’s accusations were, and however little Juliana would believe them, it would place her friend in a very uncomfortable position. And though Eleanor had met Lord Barre on a few occasions, she did not know him well, and she had no idea how he would take such accusations. What if he, like a true aristocrat, chose to believe Lord Neale? Eleanor had no desire to be the cause of any friction between the newlyweds.
“You know I do not,” she said in a low voice, charged with emotion. “You are an unfeeling—”
She cut off her words as the footman stopped at an open doorway and announced their names. He stepped aside to allow Eleanor and her companion to enter. Across the room, Juliana was seated on a blue velvet sofa, a tall, dark man beside her. At the footman’s announcement, Juliana bounded up from the sofa and hurried toward them. Her husband, Nicholas, followed somewhat more slowly.
“Eleanor!” Juliana threw her arms around her taller friend and hugged her. “Oh, I am so happy to see you. It has been so long.”
“Juliana!” Eleanor’s irritation with Lord Neale disappeared under the force of her affection for her friend, and she hugged her back. “I’ve missed you….”
Finally Eleanor released Juliana and stepped back a bit to stare at her. “You look very well.”
It was the truth. Juliana had always been attractive, but she positively glowed with happiness now, and it was this, more than the expensive dress or the fashionable hairstyle, that made her beautiful. Her large, gray eyes were alight, and her creamy skin was rosy with pleasure. Her face, Eleanor noted, was softer and rounder than before, and as Eleanor’s eyes dropped down her friend’s figure, she saw that Juliana’s formerly slender body was now roundly curved.
“Juliana!” Eleanor gasped, her eyes flying to the other woman’s questioningly.
Juliana nodded, with a happy laugh. “Yes, I am.”
“Why did you not write to me?” Eleanor cried, grinning, and enveloped the other woman in another hug. “I am so happy for you.”
“I started to, but when you wrote that you were returning, well, I wanted to surprise you.”
“You have indeed.”
Juliana could not seem to stop smiling, but her eyes flickered a little curiously to Lord Neale, standing a bit behind Eleanor, politely waiting.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Allow me to introduce you to Lord Neale.” Eleanor turned toward the man, her manner coolly polite. “Sir Edmund’s uncle. He was kind enough to offer to escort me here. I hope you will not mind.”
“Of course not,” Juliana responded quickly, flashing a smile at Anthony. “You are quite welcome, my lord. I know that Eleanor appreciates your help and support in her grief.”
“Neale,” Juliana’s husband said in greeting, nodding to Anthony.
“Lord Barre. Good to see you again.”
“Then you two know each other,” Juliana said, pleased.
“We have run into each other now and then at White’s,” Nicholas Barre answered. “Neither of us, I fear, is a terribly regular member.”
“No. In general, I prefer the comforts of my own home,” Anthony agreed with a smile.
One would have thought Lord Neale a perfectly amiable sort, Eleanor thought sourly, to hear him. It galled her to have to go along with his charade. Still, there was little she could do except return Lord Barre’s greeting politely.
They sat down, exchanging casual small talk until the meal was announced. Lord Neale, though polite and polished, offered little conversation except in response to others’ remarks. Eleanor was uncomfortably aware of his penetrating gaze upon her throughout the conversation. She felt sure he was judging her, looking for some chink in her armor, some remark or gesture that he could use against her. It was irritating to realize that she was watching her words, examining them for any way in which they could be misinterpreted, before she spoke, aware that any laugh or smile on her part would doubtless be evidence to him that she had not loved Edmund.
Damn his eyes, she
