The words might have stung had they been delivered with dismissiveness. Instead, they were offered with the calm certainty of a man stating his needs as plainly as one might discuss estate matters. It wasn’t as if he’d said she were unattractive, after all. He’d merely stated that he found other qualities to be moresignificant.Or perhaps she was choosing to interpret them in such a way because that was a more palatable option.
“I have never aspired to be solely ornamental,” she said lightly. “I prefer industry to indolence.”
His expression did not change, though something in his eyes suggested he approved of the answer. “No. I did not suppose you had. And your industriousness is a welcome change from so many young ladies.”
Silence fell, not uncomfortable but deliberate. He did not rush to fill it, as though he expected her to consider what had been said with due seriousness.
“At present,” he continued, “I see no disadvantage in furthering my acquaintance with you. It would allow us to determine whether we are suited in disposition and expectation for the possibility of a betrothal.”
The proposal was not quite a proposal, yet its intent was unmistakable. “A trial of sorts?” she asked for the sake of clarification.
“If you wish to characterize it so,” he said. “I prefer to think of it as a period of observation, where we might ascertain if initial impressions are accurate. One month should suffice to establish whether compatibility exists.”
He spoke as though the matter were one of estate management, to be evaluated and concluded in an orderly and supremely dispassionate fashion. Yet there was nothing truly cold in his manner—stiff? Certainly. Somewhat stodgy and off-putting? Beyond a doubt. But what he did possess was a kind ofcertainty, and the unshakeable confidence of a man accustomed to a position of authority.
Eleanor considered him. He was not unkind. He was not ungentlemanly. He was simply… obliviously awkward. Entirely certain of his own reasonableness to the point of being unreasonable.
But perhaps, she told herself, this stiffness was nothing more than unfamiliarity. They did not know one another. It was natural that reserve should exist between near strangers. Familiarity might soften the edges of such formality. And all of those thoughts were underscored by one. No one else had proposed. And no one else was likely to.
“I believe further acquaintance would be… sensible,” she said at last.
“Excellent.” He inclined his head once, as though a matter had been satisfactorily concluded. “I shall call again… not tomorrow as I have other obligations, but perhaps the next day?”
“That would be most agreeable, Lord Marklynne,” Eleanor replied. If it was so agreeable why did it feel like a lead weight had settled in her stomach? And then her own choice of words hit her squarely. Settled. Settling. Taking the meager offer before her because the likelihood of another coming along was nil.
He rose, and she did likewise. When he took his leave, his bow was precise, his expression composed, his manner unchanged.
Only after he had gone did Eleanor release the breath that had been trapped in her lungs by her clenched muscles.
He was not what she had expected. Certainly, his rescue the previous night had seemed more dashing. In the glittering flow of the ballroom, she’d thought him rather handsome. Now, in the bright light of day, he was not nearly so handsome as she had imagined. Oh, he was not unattractive. But neither washe exceptional. His appearance, like his behavior, was painfully appropriate.
There was no rational reason to find him objectionable. He was serious, certainly. Structured. Perhaps overly so. But there was safety in such solidity. Dependability. Order. If one had to settle, then settling for a man who understood responsibility was surely not a terrible way to go.
And order, she reminded herself, was not an unworthy foundation upon which to build a life. He was not the sort to gamble away the family fortune and she doubted he was given to libertine tendencies. That would require him to relax.
If there was something in his manner that felt unyielding, she attributed it to unfamiliar ground between them. Acquaintance, she was certain, would soften it.
It must. Either way, she had one month in which to make her decision. Their betrothal was not a foregone conclusion, after all. She had only agreed to a trial courtship. Not marriage itself.
That lead weight did not release its grip on her. It stayed with her throughout the remainder of the day and well into the evening. It was only in the business of preparing for the evening’s social obligations that she finally found some freedom from it. Busy as she was with preparations, she had no more time to think about the trial courtship Lord Marklynne had proposed.
She considered telling Caroline, seeking her friend’s advice, but there was no doubt that her friend would disapprove. Caroline was a firm believer in romance. She read Austen almost as an instructional manual rather than merely fiction. There was no one to whom she could unburden herself. This was a decision she would have to make entirely on her own. Fitting really, as that would also be the manner in which she likely would have to live with that decision.
Chapter
Five
Adrian sipped his brandy but declined the cheroot that was offered. Slumped in his chair, his chin tucked down to his chest and a scowl on his face, it would have been perfectly obvious to anyone that he was in a foul mood. While he was rarely at the club so early in the evening, he was normally talkative, friendly, engaging while there. On that particular evening, he was none of those things. Instead, he sat brooding in his usual leather chair at the club where both he and Julien were members. But he had no wish to speak to Julien at that moment as his friend was entirely too close to the matter to offer any useful guidance. He’d either warn him off entirely or give him full support. But what he really needed was someone completely removed from his situation to tell him what he ought to do. And that guidance certainly needed to come from without because within he was naught but a muddle. But there was a sense of urgency, a need to do something before it was too late. He’d never seen Eleanor actually entertain any of the men who’d expressed interest in her in the past. He’d never once considered that she might actually marry someone. Now, he was no longer certain. And that uncertainty left him rocked to the core.
“You’re looking rather gloomy tonight, Grant.”
Adrian looked up to see Alexander Hartwick taking the chair across from him. Tall and lean, Hartwick had a hawkish look about him that belied his nature. He was a good sort. They’d gone to school together but weren’t especially close, but he was the kind of fellow that, if you trusted him with a secret, he’d take it to the grave. In short, he was perfect. The external guidance he wished for could not possibly come from a better source.
“A bit preoccupied with a problem, is all,” Adrian explained cautiously, not quite sure how to proceed with his questions. “In fact, I was just thinking that I needed guidance on a matter of particular importance.”
“Oh?”
Adrian hesitated for just a moment, but then ultimately, went on to ask the questions that would determine the course his future would take. Might take. After all, it wasn’t entirely up to him. “You’re married aren’t you, Hartwick?”
