He had spent the better part of the morning pacing his rooms like some knee knocking, nervous boy rather than a man who had long since outgrown such nonsense. It would have amused her, no doubt, to see him so unsettled. Eleanor had always possessed the steadier temperament of the two of them. He had charm. She had sense. And for years he had relied upon that arrangement as though it were set in stone—immovable and eternal—never questioning whether it was fair, never considering that the distance he’d maintained might have wounded her pride in some way. Was it only her pride? He dared not hope it might be more than that.
When she entered the morning room, she did so without flourish, dressed simply in a pale gown trimmed with brightlyembroidered ribbons that was far less somber than what he typically saw her in. Her gloves were already on, her reticule in hand, as if she meant to make it plain she had come prepared for this outing and would endure it with composure, whatever he might attempt. There was no sign that she had slept poorly. No hint that she had spent the evening rehashing their quarrel beneath the terrace lamps. She looked as she always did—calm, competent, and very much out of his reach.
“Good morning,” she said evenly. “You are punctual, at least.”
“Given too much time, I was afraid you might reconsider,” he replied.
Her brow arched. “I do not reconsider. As you well know, when I am set on a thing, I will see it through to the bitter end.”
“That is precisely what I fear,” he responded. She’d given Marklynne consent to court her. For Eleanor, that was tantamount to an announcement of engagement because she wasn’t one to waste her time. “Your stubbornness is unmatched.”
The faintest curve tugged at her mouth—though he knew it was against her will—and that steadied him in a way nothing else could. If he could make her laugh, if he could remind her that there was really affection between them, then perhaps he had a chance. It was heartening to see her—the Eleanor he knew. Not distant. Not brittle. Simply wary.
“You may take me for a drive,” she said. “But if you intend to gloat about last night, I shall insist you turn us about and bring me home at once.”
“I would never gloat,” he said solemnly. “I am not nearly foolish enough to provoke you twice in as many days.”
She made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “That has not stopped you before.”
“No,” he conceded. “It has not. But the stakes are infinitely higher now, aren’t they?”
She appeared uncomfortable then, somehow put on guard by his question. “Shall we go?”
They descended the steps together, and the phaeton waited at the curb—high-wheeled and open to the air, driven by Adrian himself. It had ben a calculated decision on his part, a way to be alone with her that would permit privacy without sacrificing propriety. He assisted her up first, his hands firm at her waist as he lifted her to the narrow bench. For a moment, as he steadied her, she was closer than propriety strictly required. Then he stepped back, going to the other side and climbing up beside her. Then he gathered the reins with practiced ease.
There was no barrier between them. No opposite seat. Only the narrow space of the bench and the shared exposure of open air. The breeze caught at the ribbons of her bonnet, and sunlight fell across her profile as they set off down the street.
“You look very solemn and stern,” she remarked as they joined the flow of carriages in the park. “As though you were about to deliver a lecture on how I might improve my comportment.”
He huffed a faint breath that might have been a laugh. “I have no intention of improving you. That would require presuming you need it.”
“You are utterly confounding,” she said, her face a mask of confusion.
He sighed. “I’ve teased you mercilessly in the past… for which I am heartily sorry. I never thought you’d take it to heart. You must know that I find you to be beyond charming. Your ability to navigate even the stickiest of social situations has always been admirable.”
“Until I fainted dead away in the middle of a ballroom the other night,” she reminded him ruefully.
“Why did you faint, Eleanor? You frightened both your brother and I half to death,” he informed her. It would do no good to tell her that his heart leapt into his throat at the mere thought of it.
“It was the heat. The Eagons prefer to keep the windows closed up even with a crowd gathered and the heat of the ballroom was just overwhelming… It was simply foolishness, really. I was already feeling unwell and then Lord Foxton wandered past—and his cologne,” she shuddered.
“Ah,” he said. “I see. Felled by an overly perfumed and yet unwashed peacock.”
“Precisely,” she admitted. “Now, if we have explored my shame and humiliation enough, might we change the subject? Such as why you suddenly feel compelled to act as though you have any interest in courting me?”
“I am not acting. I am quite sincere in my interest. Have you never wondered why I had not married, Eleanor?” He asked her softly.
She stiffened. “I supposed you simply had no desire to embark upon a matrimonial course. Please do not insult my intelligence by disclosing some unrequited passion for me.”
“Then I shall not tell you that. I will only say that every woman I have ever considered courting has been compared to you and found wanting. Too silly. Too serious. Too much of a bluestocking. Not intelligent enough. Too hysterical. Too emotionless… In short, you represented, and still do, an ideal of what I think women should be. And I did not court you because I hadn’t the prospects to take a wife and your brother would have refused my offer for you… with more than adequate reason.”
“And you no longer fear his rejection of your suit?”
“His reasons for rejecting that suit are no longer valid… I find myself now in possession of a great fortune. Somewhat unexpectedly and not entirely welcomed, but perhaps there issome benefit to it. As it now places me in a position to take you for a drive in Hyde Park and pay court to you as you deserve.”
“And did you ever once consider my feelings in any of these sweeping decisions you made about our respective futures?”
He glanced at her, catching the edge in her tone. It was not true anger—not yet—but it carried a warning. She was allowing him this trial, but she would not allow him to toy with her pride. “I am trying,” he said, “to avoid making a greater fool of myself than usual. It seems I am failing.”
