Furthermore, Ellisfield probably did feel trapped, because he was. He had responsibilities to his lineage, to the title hecouldinherit, depending on what more Beck learned about his past. He was expected to marry, and soon, considering his age. Miss Purley was probably not the first woman his family had dangled in frontof him like bait. The expectations would be overwhelming.
That he had so far managed to be his own man spoke volumes for him—
“I have noticed Miss Lanscarr.”
Ellisfield’s statement snapped Beck to attention. “Miss Lanscarr?”
“Yes,” he said, the light of possibility coming to his eyes. “I find her remarkable. Beauty, intelligence.Grace.”
She has faults, Beck wanted to say... although he hadn’t noticed any. Well, she was stubborn. And headstrong. No one could deny those two qualities.
Yet what some would see as flaws, Beck actually enjoyed. Because she was also loyal—and when those characteristics were matched with beauty, intelligence, and grace, it made for a very attractive package.
One that he didn’t wish to share.
Ellisfield shot him a glance and continued, “However, I sense a bond between the two of you. Is that true? Because if there isn’t one, I’m interested.”
At that moment, the bay stepped into a rut in the road and stumbled slightly. Beck appreciated the interruption. It gave him a moment to sort out his response to Ellisfield.
The man was handsome, well-connected, titled, and spoke of wanting love... he was everything the Lanscarr sisters had come searching for in London.
Except, Beck realized he didn’t want to let Gwendolyn go.
“We have an understanding,” he lied to Ellisfield.
And those words meant that he needed to be certain they did once he returned to Colemore. Of course, he had no idea what he would say to Gwendolyn. Especially after he had told her in London that she should expect nothing from him—and yet, he had kissed her.
It had been a good kiss, too. The sort that left a man hungry for more.
No, the sort that told a man, he had fallen in love.
The truth of that statement rang through Beck. He loved Gwendolyn Lanscarr. It was a simple statement, and yet it changedeverything. Especially him.
His lordship’s head seemed to sink a bit between his shoulders as if he’d received a setback, but then he straightened. “I thought as much. I saw you riding together this morning. Still, if I thought I had a chance—” Ellisfield started.
“You don’t.”
His lordship laughed and then confessed, “Now you see the challenges of my love life. The ones I want are taken.”
“You will find yours,” Beck answered. Although he didn’t care if Ellisfield found happiness or not. Beck loved Gwendolyn Lanscarr, and that made him one very lucky man.
The horse for sale was lame. The squire hoped they would not notice. They did.
However, that didn’t mean that Beck and Ellisfield had not enjoyed themselves. Beck hadfew friends. He told himself he liked it that way—except he didn’t. He could be honest with himself now. Gwendolyn had opened him up and exposed the lie.
Now he rode with a man who was his blood. In another life, with different circumstances, as cousins, they could have been bonded as close as brothers.
Their trip took longer than anticipated. They arrived back at Colemore a good two hours before dinner to find Lady Middlebury pacing in the front entry, annoyed that they had not returned sooner. She apparently knew that her son had ridden out with Beck, and she was not pleased. Her glance rolled over him, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes before she turned her back on Beck to speak to her son. “I need you, Henry, to help with the guests. You know, your father—”
“I know,my father.” Ellisfield waved Beck on while he stayed to placate his mother and listen to her complaints about the marquess.
If Lady Middlebury was free to worry, that meant the cardplayers had quit for the time being. He wondered where Gwendolyn was. He checked the small library. Gwendolyn was not there with her nose in a book. He took a moment to examine the portrait more closely, seeing it differently now that he understood his connection to the happy bride. He’d decided they would leave this evening, after dinner and before the charades that were scheduled. Any sensible person would bow out of charades, and their absence would not be noticed, he hoped. He wishedhe could take the portrait with him. Perhaps he could claim it later.
He hadn’t spoken to Lady Orpington about leaving yet. He met Mrs. Newsome in the hall. She held her knitting bag in one hand and appeared tired. “How was the whist?” he asked.
“Disappointing,” was the crisp answer.
“Miss Lanscarr and Lady Orpington did not do well?”
