“Fear?” He was now concerned. “What is there to fear, miss?”
“I fear I have wounded my sister irreparably, sir, and she will never forgive me now,never.” And before he knew it, she’d covered her face with her hands, trying to hide from him.
“There now, miss, surely ’tis not so bad as that.” He procured her a handkerchief, which she took without question. “I am certain your sister will forgive you, whatever your quarrel.” Wells awkwardly patted her arm.
“She won’t.” Eleanor sniffed into his kerchief, allowing him to guide her to a kitchen chair. “Not Charles. She is not so forgiving. She is stubborn as a mule when hurt.”
“She loves you immensely.” He’d read enough of their correspondence to know this without doubt. “I am certain she will come round.”
The girl only sighed more deeply.
“Where is she now—your sister?”
“Gone, my lord. She did not wait for you.”
“Do you wish to tell me about your quarrel?”
She shook her head no.
“Do you wish me to sit here a moment longer with you?”
She nodded yes.
“Tea then?” he ventured, not quite sure how to deal with a distraught female, as he’d barely known what to do with her distraught old man.
“Oh!” She let out a gasp. “Yes of course, sir. I shall make us a pot at once. Do forgive me, my lord, I seem to have lost all sense of?—”
“Miss Eleanor, I mean to fetchyoutea, not the other way round.” He gave her a little frown. “Now sit a moment and collect yourself.”
When she tried to rise he insisted, “That is an order, miss,” and she stayed put.
Wells put on the kettle and found the tea, busying himself in the ramshackle kitchen, thinking. No doubt they’d been arguing about Cuthbert. He would have to speak with Charles on the matter—sooner than later it seemed.
Yet when he arrived bearing the tray Miss Eleanor looked no better. In fact, the girl looked worse. He poured her a cup and carefully pushed it towards her.
“Drink,” he ordered softly.
“Lord Wells . . .” she began and then promptly broke off.
“You may speak freely, miss, I’ll not take offense.”
“Do you have feelings for my sister, sir? Have you . . .” She could not meet his eyes. “That is”—she nearly trembled to say it—“have you . . .”
He wouldn’t let her. “Your sister is an excellent housekeeper, Miss Eleanor, and excellent person. I have the highest regard for her, that is all.” He said this as matter-of-factly as humanly possible, knowing Charles would kill him if he did not.
“I know that sir, that is not . . . That is not what I meant.” She inhaled a deep breath. “Do you have feelings for her the way a man has feelings for a woman, my lord?” She boldly met his eye.
Wells blinked, nearly cracking under this woman’s gaze. She had her sister’s willpower, alright, and for an instant he didn’t know what the devil to tell her.
“Miss Eleanor I . . . cannot answer you that,” he choked out.
“And why not?”
“Because I do not have your sister’s permission to speak,” he finally said.
“You are a Peer of the Realm, Lord Wellesley.” She had suddenly grown calm. “You do not need anyone’s permission to speak, sir.”
He bit his tongue. “Be that as it may, miss, I gave your sister my word that I would not involve myself in her family’s affairs. In fact, she made me promise her no less as we walked here today.”
