Lord Melcham took out a document.“I have not had time to read the full report.”He muttered to himself as he skimmed through.“Ah!She was accompanied by a number of men, one in particular being a handsome gentleman with blond hair, who my man was told was Mr.Delaney.But instead of coming off the ship to report to my man, as arranged, he remained on when the ship sailed.It would seem,” he said, looking up, “your friend had a change of heart.”He winked.“A damned fascinating woman, I understand, and he’s still a young man, easily swayed.”
Lord Middlethorpe had never felt so violent in his life, but any action against a man old enough to be his father went against all his breeding.Fists clenched, he merely snapped a cold, “Good day to you, Lord Melcham,” and stormed out of the room.
What the devil was he going to tell Eleanor?
Had Nicholas gone willingly?Lord Middlethorpe had been forced to watch his friend playing the lover most convincingly with Madame Bellaire, and now doubts began to eat at him.Could a man act so well?He was sure he could not.Was there some attraction there still, even if mired in disgust?
But what the devil was he going to tell Eleanor?
He arrived at Lauriston Street just as Eleanor was taking off her bonnet.Lucien had already left, which was perhaps as well as he was inclined to judge Nicholas harshly as it was.Eleanor was smiling, and the fresh air had brought color to her cheeks.
“News?”she asked.It took a moment for her smile to fade, for her color to fade.“Tell me, please.I would much rather know.”
He took a deep breath.“According to one report, Nicholas boarded ship with Madame Bellaire for Virginia last night.”
Her eyes grew enormous.“Just walked on?”
“That is what was said.I’m waiting to hear from Stephen before I believe it.”
Eleanor sat down, looking like a pallid wax statue.“Do you think he loves her?”she asked.
“No.”He strove to put every ounce of certainty into his voice.“Eleanor, it has always been hard for him to keep up the pretense of love with Madame Bellaire.He’s spoken to me of this.I cannot believe that has changed.”
Eleanor twisted a piece of linen in her fingers.At first he had thought it was a handkerchief, but now he saw, with an aching heart, it was a napkin with an old bloodstain upon it.He couldn’t think what to say that wouldn’t make matters worse.
Suddenly she straightened and seemed to gather her resources.“I feel better,” she said to his amazement.“I have been so afraid he was dead, you see.I cannot think they would preserve his life thus far merely to dump him in the ocean.”
“I suppose not,” he said, though he was not so sure.He found her sudden recovery strange and rather worrying.
He went straight home and insisted that his mother allow Amy to resume her visits.
“My child was abducted from that house!”protested his mother.“I always knew disaster would come from your association with Nicholas Delaney.Amy would be safer well away.”
“I assure you she is in no danger now, Mother, and Eleanor needs a friend.”
The permission was reluctantly given, and Amy too was amazed by the spirits Eleanor was showing.It soon became clear to her, however, how meaningless they were.
Eleanor busied herself with nothings.Her mind skittered from subject to subject, and though she sat to meals she ate little.Amy suspected she did not sleep.Hollygirt told her that when there were no guests she sat in the study staring into space.He wished to know whether he should send for Lord Stainbridge, who was at Grattingley, even though Eleanor had rejected the suggestion.
Amy consulted Francis, who was driven to drastic measures.
He sent for his Aunt Arabella.
Thus, two weeks after Nicholas’s disappearance, a tall, thin woman of indeterminate middle age strode briskly and unannounced into the study at Lauriston Street.
“Good morning.I am Arabella Hurstman.I am quite abominable because I always insist on having my own way.My nieces and nephews are terrified of me, which is why they’re trying to fob me off on you.May I stay?”
Eleanor stared at the dowdy woman numbly.“Stay here?”
“I shouldn’t think so.Who wants to be in London in August?We should go to the country.”She began to walk around the room scanning the shelves.“Nice selection of books, though.”She took one off the shelf.“Villon.Do you read old French, my dear?”
“Only with difficulty,” said Eleanor, answering automatically.“They were my husband’s.”
“A man of discernment and intelligence,” said the older lady, “and not, I think, in the past tense.What would he think to see you like this, jeopardizing the child?What were his last words to you?”
Eleanor’s eyes sparked with anger at this horrible woman.“It’s hard to remember,” she retorted.“He was throttling me at the time.”
“Then you’re well rid of him, girl.”
