Because she very much wanted to put down roots in this welcoming—if rather alarming—village. And he never stayed in the same place twice.
“As you may have gathered, ours is not a harmonious family. Stupid Stewart is the eldest of a myriad of second cousins. The estate is not entailed to the title. He knows if he doesn’t behave, I can cut him off entirely and leave parcels to anyone who amuses me. My family has ever been careless.” Despite his nonchalance, a taste of bitterness underscored the professor’s words. “Do you intend to eat dinner?”
El finally glanced up at him. Greybourne wasn’t wearing a formal frock coat, but he’d cleaned up, shaved, and donned fresh linen.
“I would be more comfortable dining in the kitchen, my lord.” She had no better gown to change into and his proximity was becoming problematic.
“Eating while standing up? We have no chairs in there. Come along. I require intelligent converse.” He dragged her chair from the desk with her in it.
“I need to wash off the ink and tidy my hair,” Eleanor said stubbornly. It had been a hectic day, and she wasn’t feeling pleasant.
She was feeling scared.
“Five minutes, Leonard, no more.” He pulled out his expensive timepiece. “I will find your brother.”
She didn’t wish him well of that task. Andrew might be lame, but he managed to wander far and wide and hadn’t reported to anyone in years. If he hadn’t informed Grey of his whereabouts, then he’d chosen to take the evening off.
El didn’t feel comfortable dining alone with the baron.
But she couldn’t abandon him, not after the revelations about his careless relations. If he requested company, she would provide. Independence didn’t mean she had to give up compassion.
She had time to decide what parts she played were really her.
By the time she reached the dining room, there was still no sign of Andrew, but Greybourne had settled Peg and Miss Fields at the far end of the table. She almost laughed. If the matronly housekeeper hadn’t already gone home, he’d probably have ordered her there too. The young women barely concealed their terror at dining with their betters. Well, at least, they didn’t have half a dozen plates, glasses, and settings of silverware to conquer.
“I could have eaten in the kitchen,” El protested as he seated her.
“Humor me. I have spent the day reaching conclusions and making decisions. It is a painful process, one I resent, and I wish intelligent companionship while I express myself.”
El refrained from snorting but waited for him to sit before tasting the soup. She nodded approval at the anxious cook.
“You aren’t even going to ask, are you?” Grey spooned his soup, probably not noticing the taste.
He’d swallow poison without noticing. Good thing she wasn’t a killer. “I am sure you will tell me,” she said complacently. Since she rarely expressed anger, perhaps she really was docile.
“What, precisely, will rattle your nerves—Eleanor?” he inquired.
Looking at him when he attempted casual converse rattled her. Using her given name. Eating together. She wasn’t brave enough to admit that. “If you are waiting for me to say your murder, you have your answer.”
“No one is murdering me,” he retorted crossly. “No one has ever even attempted to do so—and that carriage wheel does not count. That was a mean prank. I am a meaningless, boring professor. It is people around me who have a propensity to die, and unless you consider measles, childbirth, and gopher holes weapons, they have not been murdered.”
“Gopher holes?” El wasn’t certain how to take any of that statement, although she disagreed with the part about no one trying to kill him.
“My father took a jump he should not have. His mount landed in a hole and broke its leg. He fell off and broke his neck. I was with him at the time, but I was only a child. Despite any and all rumor, I know for fact the fall was purely accidental. Life happens.”
“Rather too often, from the sounds of it,” she said, appalled. His father had died in front of him? At what age? “Who had the measles?” El tried to limit her questions to ones that would not cause too much pain.
“My older brother.” Grey shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but his eyes had lost their usual light. “He was sickly and tutored at home. I was sent home from boarding school because boys were breaking out. I had no spots and was not sick. Eventually, though, I came down with a fever. My brother died. So did his nurse. They were not murdered, unless one considers the school guilty for sending me home.”
His older brother, the original heir. Grey had inherited the title at a young age, after the death of half his family. El understood the superstition. “And the conclusions you mentioned, sir?” She might as well hear them now rather than worry all night.
“I have been told all my life that I am a danger to others. I have certainly introduced you and your brother to jeopardy. Normally, at this point, I would pack my bags and move on. I enjoy travel. I would like to return to Italy, now that the war is over.”
El swallowed hard. That had been her fear. Except. . . It sounded as if he wasn’t ready to go. “And your decision, sir?”
“I am staying,” he said with a finality that sounded like the voice of doom. “I am finishing this book. I will travel when it is done, not before. And I will leave it up to you whether you wish to stay here or at the Priory. I can easily have pages sent up to you as needed.”
He finished his soup and didn’t look her way. But El heard what he didn’t say. The man had been alone all his life. He didn’t want to be alone now. He simply feared the consequences if he asked her to stay.
