Eleanor looked at Charlotte’s flushed face and frowned. “Are you quite all right, Charlotte? You look strange.”
“Very well, indeed. Now, this information you have. Is it the sort that will put an end to Camden West’s scheme for good?”
Eleanor drew in a deep breath. “Yes, but I warn you, Charlotte. It’s ugly. So ugly, I’m not sure I can bear to . . .”
But she had to, didn’t she? Cam hadn’t left her any other choice. He may be a man of his word, but he was also a man who’d used threats and coercion to manipulate her.
Everything he’s done, he’s done for Amelia.
Eleanor wrapped her arms around her knees. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything—
You’ d do the same in his place.
She would. She was.
“I didn’t suppose it would be pretty, Eleanor.” Charlotte’s voice softened when she looked into Eleanor’s face. “Oh, dear. That bad? Well, perhaps you won’t be forced to use it, after all.”
“Not use it?” Eleanor stared at her sister. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t see any way around it.”
Her only hope was Cam would see reason, and the threat against Amelia would be enough to silence him about Charlotte’s lapse with Julian West. She prayed he wouldn’t force her to make the secret about Amelia’s birth public, for if he did, well . . .
Then she’d see how far she was willing to go to hold onto her chance for love. Perhaps, after all, she was the villain.
Charlotte shrugged, but she didn’t quite meet Eleanor’s eyes. “Oh, one never knows. Something could happen, something unexpected that will change the situation entirely.”
Eleanor couldn’t imagine what. They’d been rather short on miracles up to this point, and she didn’t expect one now. “I wouldn’t plan on it, Charlotte.”
But Charlotte didn’t appear to hear her. She’d turned away to study her reflection in the glass, a dreamy expression on her face. “You’ll speak to Mary West today?”
“Yes, if you’ll keep her husband away.”
“I will. Perhaps we can return to town early, if all goes according to plan.” Charlotte’s cheeks flooded with pink again, and she smiled at her reflection. “I find myself quite anxious to be back in London.”
* * *
Eleanor was anxious as well. To be in London, or anywhere but Lindenhurst, doing anything but what she was doing, which was sneaking about after Mary West like a thief intent on pilfering a pocket.
She’d dressed and made it downstairs in time for luncheon. As Charlotte predicted, the gentleman were absent, including Reginald West, who’d left to settle some business in Watford. After luncheon Amelia and the other ladies had gone off to sketch some local ruins.
“Are you sure you won’t come with us, Lady Eleanor?” Amelia asked before they left. “Lady Charlotte said you like to sketch. I wanted to ask your advice on my drawings.”
Eleanor winced at the hopeful note in the girl’s voice, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I’ve the headache, and I don’t want to make it worse by being in the sun all day. But I’d like to see your progress, and I can see the ruins, after all, if you’ll come to my room this evening and show me your sketches.”
Amelia had brightened at that prospect, but her sweet smile had only made Eleanor feel worse, and she struggled to smile in return.
Now she was struggling again, this time to make her feet follow Mary West, who’d disappeared into the kitchen garden a few moments ago. “Good afternoon, Mrs. West,” she called as she ducked through the door leading from the stillroom to the walled garden behind it.
Mary West was leaning over a tall rosemary bush, a pair of shears in her hand, and a basket at her feet. “Why, Lady Eleanor. What are you doing out here? I thought you had the headache.”
Eleanor forced a smile. “I rested a bit this afternoon, and I feel much better now. I thought perhaps some fresh air—oh, how pretty it is.”
She glanced around the garden, wondering if Sarah West had designed it. Neat gravel paths lined a series of well-tended garden beds. In the corner, Eleanor saw a row of trellises, all of them loaded with peas, and in the opposite corner a handful of espaliered apple trees, so tall they reached the top of the wall and were hanging over the other side, heavy with unripe fruit.
“What have you there?” She crossed over to Mrs. West and gestured at the basket. “Rosemary?”
“Yes. Mrs. Mullins says we’re to have lamb tonight, and Camden is partial to fresh rosemary with his lamb.”
Eleanor’s heart twisted in her chest as she looked down at the heaping pile of rosemary in Mary West’s basket. Such a little thing, and yet it was plain to see the woman cared for Cam as much as she did for Amelia.
