One of her first purchases was an ugly but concealing coal-scuttle bonnet is place of her more revealing one.Safe within it, she was sure she could walk undetected past her brother on the street.To make certain, she replaced her threadbare brown pelisse with one of a warm rust-brown.It was described as a Russian mantle by virtue of the narrow fur trimmings around the cuffs.Eleanor knew it was only a cheap version of fashionable attire, and yet it delighted her.It was so long since she had possessed any clothes not made by herself—most of them made-over, in fact.
She also bought four voluminous flannelette nightgowns, an item her provider had apparently forgotten and that, in some uninvestigated corner of her mind, she saw as a kind of armor.A pair of sturdy half boots completed her immediate needs, and she returned to the hotel in an optimistic frame of mind, horror buried and decision postponed.
After an early meal she fell into bed physically and emotionally exhausted but with the surprising notion that her life was better than it had been twenty-four hours before.Whatever had become of the “wages of sin”?
Perhaps they were to be found in disturbed sleep.Twice in the night she awoke to the belief that she was not alone, once with the half-remembered feel of a body pressing down on her and a scream on her lips.Both times she fought back the cry for help and disciplined her imagination and her body until sleep could return.The alternative, surely, was madness.
As a consequence of all this, however, by the time her maid brought her breakfast Eleanor felt drained and weary and unable to fight back the cold, dark fingers of despair.The river began to have some appeal again, and Lord Stainbridge’s plan seemed madness and only slightly more attractive.
But in time the weather came to her rescue.
The sun moved round and its bright, warm glow flooded her room.Even the dancing dust motes caught in its beams seemed to express the joy of living.She could hear birds singing outside her window, and cheerful chatter and song rose from the people in the street, people whose lot in life was in all likelihood harsher than her own.
She rose from her bed resolved to face her future with spirit.She found to her surprise that she was no longer sore, and her body did not feel any different at all.But, she reminded herself, it was possible, no matter how incredible, that at this moment a child was forming within her.
She tried to weigh her options calmly and logically.
To live quietly in the country as a widow, perhaps with a child, seemed the safe option, but a bleak one, even if Lord Stainbridge gave her a pension.The days at Burton Magna had been pleasant, but she had never intended to spend her life thus.This would be a lifetime sentence unless some man wished to marry her.
She considered the matter of marriage in the abstract, keeping it quite separate from her recent experience.Yes.A gentle, loving man.Calm.Reliable.A person with whom to share life’s burdens.She did not want to be alone anymore.
How could such a marriage be, however?Would the earl provide her with a dowry?Would, she have to reveal the truth of her situation to a suitor?She could hardly believe an upright man would marry her when he learned of her shame and the subsequent deception.She would find it impossible to enter a marriage without honesty…
With a sigh, she considered her other option—marriage to Nicholas Delaney.There, at least, all parties would be fully aware of the truth.This choice, however, could not be kept separate from her nightmarish experience, and she shrank from it.
The thought came to her that her decision would have been easier if Lord Stainbridge had offered to marry her himself.That offer she would have accepted with alacrity.Then she laughed at her foolishness.Why would an earl offer for his brother’s leavings, and Lionel Chivenham’s sister, besides?No, it’s the disreputable younger brother for you, my girl.
A younger brother, however, who travels.Once the ceremony was over she would be able to live with the earl in elegant comfort.She would have loving male support and companionship … without any unpleasant duties.
She was going to do it.It really was her only choice, and with Lord Stainbridge’s protection she would not need to fear his brother.Firmly, deliberately, she reviewed the advantages.
It would be pleasant to be honestly married, the facts of the situation, however distasteful, acknowledged by them both.
There was the attraction of a position in society and a comfortable life, especially when she would be unencumbered by her traveling husband.
If there was a child, it would have its rights.
A major disadvantage did occur to her.She supposed her husband might want his rights, too, on the rare occasions when he was present.
Eleanor had come too far in her mind to balk at that.She liked children, and even if she was already with child she supposed she could allow him, occasionally, and so provide for more offspring in the future.It was an unpleasant business, but she could endure it now and then as women must.
She searched her mind for any information about Nicholas Delaney from her country life, when the local aristocracy, especially the Delaneys of Grattingley, had been a chief source of gossip.There were only scraps.
She thought she might have visited Grattingley with her parents once as a child but had little recollection other than of magnificent fountains.She remembered hearing of old Lord Stainbridge’s death and snippets about the two sons.The new earl was well-liked but…
She struggled to pin down errant memories.There had been a different tone when people spoke of the younger brother.
Suddenly, clearly, she could hear Mrs.Baxter, the doctor’s wife saying, “What a rascal!”But it was the tone.Admiring, perhaps.And Mrs.Baxter was a worthy woman.Perhaps she had been speaking of someone else after all.
Ah, well.Eleanor would learn about him in time.She assured herself he could not be worse than her brother or Lord Deveril, so the change was bound to be for the better, especially as she now had the powerful earl to protect her.
When Lord Stainbridge visited that afternoon he seemed slightly revolted to find his “damsel in distress” licking the cream from a cake off her lips and in excellent spirits.
“I assume you are no longer contemplating a watery grave, Miss Chivenham.”
“Well, life is sweet, my lord,” she replied, determined to face her trials with good humor.
He stared at her.“Of course, of course … And I am delighted you are recovered.”He did not look it.“Shall we discuss your future now?”
