Arabella followed suit.
Eleanor did not move.
James’s gaze never left hers.
“I am here,” he said evenly, “to see my betrothed.”
Lord St. George gestured eagerly toward Charlotte. “Of course. Charlotte, my–”
“My betrothed,” James interrupted, his voice cutting cleanly through the room, “is MissEleanorBarker.”
The words struck like a dropped plate.
Charlotte froze.
Arabella inhaled sharply.
Lord St. George stared, uncomprehending. “I beg your pardon?”
James stepped forward, stopping just short of Eleanor. “Miss Eleanor Barker is the lady who has claimed my hand. I am here to address that claim.”
Lord St. George’s face darkened. He rounded on Eleanor at once. “What nonsense is this?”
Eleanor opened her mouth.
“You have humiliated me,” he roared. “In my own house. Do you have any idea how shameful–”
“That should be quite enough.” James’s voice was quiet. Dangerous.
Lord St. George faltered, then nodded hastily. “Yes, Your Grace. I agree entirely. Her behavior has been most–”
James stepped forward again, placing himself fully between Eleanor and her father.
“I was not speaking of her behavior,” he said.
The room seemed to shrink.
Lord St. George blinked. “Your Grace?”
“I will not have you speak to my betrothed in that manner in my presence,” James said coolly. “It reflects poorly on your household.”
Eleanor’s heart pounded.
Charlotte recovered first. “Papa,” she said softly, “perhaps there has been a misunderstanding.”
“There has most certainly not been a misunderstanding,” James replied without looking at her.
Lord St. George flushed. “Miss Barker has clearly deceived you.”
“She has exercised initiative,” James said. “Which I respect.”
Eleanor found her voice at last. “I will not marry you, Your Grace.”
Every head turned.
James’s gaze sharpened. “You should have considered that before spreading rumors of our engagement.”
Eleanor had no answer.
