He eyed her with an inscrutable look for an endless heartbeat before a lopsided smile split his features, giving her a hint of gleaming white fang. “It is indeed a fair evening. You chose a fortuitous night for our little liaison.”
“Yes,” she laughed nervously. “I confess, my Lord, I’m not actually certain how far it was you had to travel. Unc — Lord Ellingboe did not mention how far your residence is. I do hope it wasn’t too arduous a journey.”
The penetrating look had not yet eased up, and Eleanor squirmed under the weight of his cool blue eyes. It seemed to her as if he were waiting for her to make some horrid blunder, and she wondered if the story of Lady Harthington’s ball had already reached his long, pointed ears. She could already hear the tea cart making its way down the hall, and could imagine Lucy and Coraline both skipping along beside it, ensuring their miniature culinary masterpieces were perfectly placed.
“Not at all, Miss Eastwick. I was already in London, as it were. I’ll be returning to Basingstone this week to settle some affairs and then relocating to London for the next few months. Londonderry is so dreadfully dull this time of year; I’ll be glad for the change of scenery.”
She gave him her most charming smile. “I’m sure your duties keep you busy, my Lord. Although that coastal scenery is likely quite restorative for one’s health, even if the town is dreadfully dull.”
Another tight-lipped grin, his eyes still searching. “As restorative as rain-soaked cliffs have the power of being, I suppose. And how is it that you are acquainted with the earl, Miss Eastwick?”
“Oh, of-of course. Well, you see, Lord Ellingboe was a friend of my father. They became acquainted when my father was staying up in the northern country before he’d even met my mother. They were both fond of—“
“I’m more curious,” he interrupted, one of his white brows arching sardonically, “as to why exactly the Earl of Chwyllenghd is so interested in the marriage prospects of a woman who is neither his daughter nor his mistress, nor even his ward? I would expect such consternation over a daughter with three seasons behind her, even coming from a concerned aunt or grandmother. It seems unusual for the same concern to originate from a wholly uninvested party, you see.”
Eleanor felt each word like a blow, each more humiliating than the last. He must have interpreted her stricken look correctly, for he shrugged gracefully, shaking his hair from his brow with a toss of his head. A shrug was hardly conciliatory, she thought furiously, for he’d essentially called her a spinster with no prospects, and a suspicious one at that.
“Come now, Miss Eastwick. We’ve discussed the weather and the restorative properties of the northern cliffs. As enchanting as your company might be, I’m certain exchanging the most banal of pleasantries is not why I was written to join you for tea.”
The tea cart had arrived, saving her from her shock over his shocking and franklyinexcusablerudeness. Eleanor had known men like him, lords like him, and they were all the same — utter prats. She would have been happy to cut the marquis’s visit short, but from her position facing the door, she was able to see the two small heads attempting to peer invisibly around the jamb as Hettie pushed the rattling cart into the room, reminding her that she wasn’t doing this for herself. The conversation paused as the aged nurse carefully placed the three-tiered tray on the center of the table, along with the gleaming silver pot.
Eleanor watched the Marquis of Basingstone taking advantage of the distraction to cast his sharp blue gaze around the room. She wondered what he saw, if he could tell where the piano had once stood, or if could see the slight discoloration of the wood on the shelves that had once been full of books. When Hettie took her leave once more, he turned to face her again, resuming the conversation as if there had been no interruption at all.
“The letter I received from the earl was woefully thin on what, specifically, was being requested of me. I crave your indulgence, Miss Eastwick. I’ve always been dreadful at waiting for things. Patience is, regrettably, one of the many virtues I lack.”
Eleanor folded her hands in her lap primly. She was in danger of biting her tongue hard enough to draw blood as she pressed her lips together tightly in a smile, wondering if he could see the daggers in her eyes.What a rude man. They’re all the same, these lords. Only good for one thing — the security they can provide.If only Lord Ellingboe was still in London, her situation might not be as dire. Alas, the earl had retired to his manor house, his eldest son and heir moving into the London residence and assuming the duties of the title. She’d only met the stony son of the orc lord once, but it had been enough for her to understand he’d not be as willing to take on a charity case as his father.
Uncle Efraim had done enough by writing to this marquis.And now you can’t go squandering the opportunity; you can’t afford to. Think of the girls.This gargoyle was the same sort of fop who would crowd around the backstage area at the theater, attempting to press roses into her arms and take her to dinner, a surefire way, they always thought, of getting under her skirts. She had never needed any of them then, and she’d never given in to their artificial charms.And we won’t be giving into this one either, but wedoneed his connections.
She cleared her throat, wondering if there was any sense in trying to dance around the truth.Not likely. Just get on with it. “Uncle Efraim was a good friend of my late father,” she began again, a thread of ice accompanying her words. “My parents are gone. A carriage accident. I was . . . staying abroad at the time, but after the accident I returned to London to be a guardian to my younger sisters. You’re quite right, Lord Stride, I am hardly of an age to be entering society for the first time. I would prefer to focus on securing a future match for my sister, but—“
“But you need to marry yourself to have the ability to do so,” he interrupted again, reaching the conclusion of her story before she could do so herself.
“We don’t have any close family,” she went on through gritted teeth. “Lord Ellingboe heard about my recent . . . misfortunes and—“
“Ah yes, theparvenuescandal with a capital P.”
Eleanor wondered if she would ever be able to complete a sentence while in the Marquis of Basingstone’s haughty company. He chuckled, and that, too, was an icy white sound.
“It’s as if they don’t even make an attempt to be clever sometimes. As someone whose exploits have been regularly and thoroughly excoriated by the High Tea, if it is any consolation, my dear Miss Eastwick, you can rest assured that by the next edition, no one remembers anything from the previous week. There’s always a new target.”
She was going to need to have the inside of her lip sewn up once this evening was through, Eleanor thought as she practically chewed a hole into it, a desperate effort to keep her occasionally barbed tongue from finding its target in the gargoyle across from her.
“You do have my deepest sympathies for your loss,” he went on, his voice losing a fraction of its chill. “I, too, have experienced the unfortunate role of being orphaned in adulthood with younger siblings to think of. I take it that Lord Ellingboe was the one to sponsor your season then?” he continued. “Although, I am a bit surprised that he went to such lengths on your behalf rather than simply finding a match for you himself here in London. I suppose that owes to the fact that the earl has vacated London completely. A premature decision, in my opinion, but that’s Northerners for you.”
She exhaled slowly through her nose, determined to keep her voice light. “Begging your pardon, Lord Stride, but is Londonderry not in the north? I hadn’t realized those rain-soaked cliffs had been relocated.”
His mouth split, another flash of white fang, although his smile reached his eyes this time, sparkling across the table, as blue and shining as the sapphire he wore, and her breath caught in spite of herself. “So it is, Miss Eastwick. So it is. Now just to ensure I’m keeping the details straight, Lord Ellingboe sponsored your season. A season that I’m assuming is now over, thanks to Lord Pemberley’s valet, more’s the pity, my dear.”
“Not over quite yet, my lord,” she bit out, ignoring his jab. “I shall be attending the Monster’s Ball. Uncle Efraim sponsored my season for the same reason he wrote to you on my behalf.”
She hesitated, watching his eyebrow raise in expectation. She felt as if she were standing in the center of the stage, a limelight casting her in a halo, holding her breath before the music began. That was always the most fraught moment, the most vulnerable. Just her alone, standing before a sea of onlookers she couldn’t make out. She was just as alone now. Heat crept up her neck, and Eleanor had the terrible feeling she was near tears. Her eyes fought away from his, disliking their cold appraisal . . . but all around her were the reminders of why this meeting was so important. The empty shelves where a library of books had once stood, books she’d sold one by one, the missing furniture. Her sisters would wind up as seamstresses and governesses, never enjoying a home of their own at this rate.You don’t have a choice.
“I-I don’t know what I’m doing, Lord Stride. Obviously. I have proven to be,” she sighed forcefully, “a bit of a hopeless case. Lord Ellingboe thought you would be admirably positioned to instruct me to increase my chances of success.”
“Instruct you?”
“On how to win a husband at the Monster’s Ball. I’ve not had fair fortune with men of my own species, let alone navigating the social waters within a community in which I am completely inexperienced. I am not able to pay you to do so, but I’m committed to making up for the use of your time in any way you deem necessary. I am hoping you will be amenable to the request, but I understand, my Lord, if you find it too peculiar.”
