Eleanor gazed listlessly at the dancing couples. Cam was a head taller than most of the gentlemen, and she found him easily—there, at the other side of the room. She’d pled fatigue and begged to be excused from this dance, so Cam had escorted Lily to the floor. He led her effortlessly through the steps now, his face frozen into the same polite mask he’d worn since Eleanor accepted his proposal the evening before they’d left Lindenhurst.
For a man who’d gone to such lengths to secure his bride, he’d been subdued to find he’d won her at last. He’d said nothing at first, but had stood with his head bowed. He hadn’t looked at her, and he’d been silent for so long Eleanor had wondered if he even wanted her anymore. But then he’d kissed her hands, and murmured something appropriate about the honor she did him, which had struck her as ludicrous, given their circumstances.
He’d asked Alec for her hand the next day, and her brother had given his enthusiastic blessing.
And then . . . nothing.
They hadn’t spoken of it since. Eleanor had dutifully informed her mother of her impending nuptials, and since then Cam, his mask firmly in place, had been an ideal suitor. He called on her every day. He took her driving. He escorted her to routs, balls and musical evenings. They’d been to Gunter’s for lemon ices with Amelia on three separate occasions.
He hadn’t missed a step. His mask had never slipped. Not once.
She expected every day for him to insist they call the banns, but here it was, weeks later, and he hadn’t mentioned it. He hadn’t told Amelia about their betrothal, either—if he had, Eleanor was certain Amelia would have asked her about it.
Perhaps he’d at last come to his senses, and changed his mind. Absurd, of course, that this possibility should leave her with such a strange, empty feeling in her chest. It wasn’t as if this were a love match.
“My dear.” Lady Catherine laid a hand on Eleanor’s arm. “You look exhausted. Too much excitement, I daresay. Shall I have our carriage called? Charlotte may come home with Robyn and Lily later, if she chooses—oh, wait. Here’s Charlotte now.”
Eleanor looked up to see Charlotte and Hadley winding their way through the crowd, with Lily and Cam behind them. Charlotte’s face was flushed, and she was laughing at something Hadley was saying. She’d never looked lovelier, and yet . . . behind the laughing mouth, the lines of her neck were taut, her jaw hard, her fingers twisted in her silk skirts.
A chill shot up Eleanor’s spine.
“My goodness, it’s warm,” Charlotte said as she joined them. “Eleanor, come out to the terrace with me, won’t you? I need a breath of air.”
“I’d be delighted to escort you, Lady Charlotte.” Hadley offered his arm.
Charlotte tapped him playfully with her fan. “No, indeed, for I need you to fetch me some lemonade. Perhaps Mr. West can accompany you?” Charlotte glanced at Cam. “My sister looks parched as well, and I’m sure her drink has grown warm.”
Cam bowed to Eleanor, his face distant. “Of course. Shall we, Hadley?”
As soon as the gentlemen were out of earshot, Charlotte grasped Eleanor’s arm and tugged her through the French doors behind them and out onto the terrace. “We’ll be back directly, mother,” she called, and Lady Catherine waved them on.
“For pity’s sake, Charlotte.” Eleanor rubbed at the red marks Charlotte’s fingers had left on the bare skin above her glove. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
Charlotte drifted to the edge of the terrace to stare out into the dark garden beyond, but she looked at it as if she didn’t see it. She saw another garden, under a different moon, on another night, six weeks ago. Eleanor couldn’t have said how she knew this, but she did.
After a moment Charlotte murmured, “Perhaps I did lure him, after all.”
Eleanor joined her at the terrace railing. “Lured who?”
Charlotte didn’t answer, but continued to gaze into the garden, her face unreadable. After a long moment she turned to face Eleanor. “I want to know why you’ve agreed to marry Camden West.”
Eleanor’s shoulders went rigid at the unexpected question. “I can’t think why you’d ask me that, Charlotte, when you know very well why. Because of Amelia, and the scandal with Julian West. Because I haven’t any other choice.”
“No.” Charlotte shook her head. “You tell yourself those are the reasons, but they aren’t. I want to know the real reason.”
Eleanor tried to laugh, but the sound she made was brittle, false. “The real reason? That sounds quite dramatic, but I’m afraid it’s far less mysterious than you think. The reasons I’ve given are sufficient to explain my actions.”
“Sufficient, yes, but not the truth, for all that.”
The truth. Eleanor’s fingers curled into her palms. How strange, that Charlotte would think she even knew what the truth was anymore. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you? Very well, Eleanor. Let’s start with this, then. Tell me, what did mother say when you told her about Amelia being our father’s child?”
Ellie and Alec had told their mother about Amelia’s parentage as soon as they’d returned from Lindenhurst. Like the rest of the family, Lady Catherine was shocked by her late husband’s cruelty, and anxious to do whatever she could for Amelia. “Just what we imagined she’d say—Amelia is a lovely child, and she’s proud to call her a Sutherland.”
“So are we all,” Charlotte said. “We’ll do everything we can for her. The family will take care of Amelia. There’s never been a question of that. You don’t need to accept Camden West on Amelia’s account then, do you? It’s not as if we’d turn our backs on her if you didn’t marry him.”
“But there’s still the question of what’s owed to her—”
