Ruined by a Rake (6 page)

Eleanor mustered a tired smile as she tucked a blanket more securely around her aunt’s legs. “I certainly met a lot of people,” she hedged, settling into the chair closest the chaise. It didn’t seem particularly good form to respond, “I spoke with none but boring, self-important old men most of the evening, all the while chained to Uncle Robert’s side.”

The one and only highlight of the night had been just before she’d gone to bed. Nick had caught her on the stairs and murmured, “I do so love a good sunrise, don’t you, cousin? I shall enjoy it tomorrow at the start of the hunt, and perhaps the day after that in a more
. . .
private
locale.”

Of course he could only mean the ruins.
After the evening she had endured last night, the idea of pouring out her frustrations through her foil had tremendous appeal. She only wished they could have met this morning. But, with the hunt planned, such a thing would be impossible. At least the men would be gone for most of the morning and she could escape the need to endure the forced match making.

“Interesting, but not an answer to my question,” her aunt said, bringing Eleanor back to the conversation at hand.
“I have met many people in my day, and not all of them served to enrich an evening.”

Eleanor’s smile was genuine. “You know me too well.
All right, it was a passable evening. I spent most of the time speaking with Uncle Robert’s acquaintances.”

Her aunt’s thin white
eyebrows rose, wrinkling her normally smooth forehead. “Heavens, whatever for? A drier group of men I cannot imagine. Were not Miss Landon and Miss Hollister present? Or even Lady Blackwell?”

“Oh, they were. And I was fortunate to have a few moments with each of them.
But it was my mission to get to know Lords Henry, Andersly, and Shevington better.” A mission enforced relentlessly by Uncle Robert.

Aunt Margaret pursed her lips. “Lords . . . oh, I see. They are all bachelors, are they not?”

Good, she was catching on. “Indeed,” Eleanor responded with an ironic grin. She knew her aunt would understand exactly how distasteful such a proposition would have been for her.

Unaccountably, a soft smile brightened her aunt’s face. “I’m so very glad to hear it, my dear. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

Stunned, Eleanor blinked, trying not to show her dismay
. Perhaps there was hope for me yet
? Clearly Aunt Margaret mistook her conspiratorial grin for one of earnestness.

So the truth comes out.

Her heart sank low in her chest, weighed with disappointment and betrayal. Could not
one
of her relatives see that marriage wasn’t something Eleanor wanted? She had thought Aunt Margaret understood that, and that she liked having Eleanor around for her companion. In the back of her mind, she had hoped her aunt would raise an eyebrow and say, “How dreadful!” She had imagined confiding in the older woman and having the satisfaction of her gasping in outrage when she heard of her brother’s manipulation.

But no—
apparently even she wished for Eleanor to drop her objections and marry. Her very soul ached with the knowledge. There truly was no one to champion her.

Oblivious to Eleanor’s distress, Aunt Margaret pushed aside the blanket and came to her feet. “I must say, I am feeling much improved this morning. I do believe I shall be fit to join you downstairs today.”

Eleanor nodded dully. “I shall inform the countess at once.”

It occurred to her as she
stood and padded woodenly for the door that only one person had shown her any amount of support in the last few days.

The very last person she would have thought: Nicolas.

             
              ***

If ever there was a worthless waste of time and perfectly good lead, it was surely grouse hunting.
Nicolas stifled a yawn as he tramped through the underbrush a few yards back from the others. It was all so damned civilized and organized. Everyone walked forward, waited for the flock to be set to air, then shot at the lot of them as if there was any real sport in it. Already the day’s take numbered in the hundreds, and beaters were doing their damnedest to flush out stragglers.

Finally, a cluster of birds rose toward the low clouds, and gun after gun discharged.
Sighing, he raised his weapon to his shoulder, aimed for a perfectly innocent looking cloud to the left of the flock, and fired.

There. Duty fulfilled. Three hundred birds bagged, fifteen gentlemen entertained, and one tedious morning at an end.

“If that’s the best the army has to offer, old boy, it’s a wonder old Boney ever tasted defeat.” Handing over his gun to the servant beside him, Lord Henry laughed and walked over to where Nick stood.

Offering a good natured grin, he nodded. “Too right. I suppose it’s fortunate that humans are a much larger, less flighty target.” He wasn’t about to inform the man that he was as good a shot as any man present.

From half the field away, Malcolm’s head turned in their direction, his interest in their conversation clear. He quickly shoved his gun to his attendant and scurried over to join them. Scared Nick would say something politically ruinous, was he?

“What an excellent bag, Henry. You must have singlehandedly brought down four dozen birds today.”

The man’s chest puffed up as though such praise was the highest of possible compliments. “Well, your lands offered quite the bounty. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to join you again in the future.” He paused and gestured toward Nick. “Perhaps you can give your boy Norton here a lesson or two by then so he can keep up with us.”

The two older men shared a laugh, though Malcolm’s was harsh and devoid of humor.
He was surely stewing at Nick being referred to as his boy. “Sadly, some simply aren’t born with a talent for sports. They’re called
women
. What, exactly, is your excuse, Norton?” This brought on fresh laughter, setting Nick’s teeth on edge.

Forcing a pleasant smile, he said, “Must have been my pauper father. He spent his days toiling in the courts and had little time for the finer gentlemanly pursuits. By the time Malcolm took me in, I fear it was too late.”

It wasn’t quite true—his father was a respected barrister who enjoyed the occasional hunting trip. That, however, wouldn’t have needled Malcolm nearly as much. In his eyes, Nick’s father might as well have been a clerk. Reminding his guests of his stepson’s humble origins
meant bringing attention to a black smudge on his noble family lineage. Already Nick was reaping the rewards of the comment as his stepfather’s eyes narrowed in ill-concealed fury.

Nick grinned. Malcolm could consider it repayment for the way he’d treated Eleanor last night. It little mattered that the man wouldn’t realize it. Nick had scored a point against him, and that was good enough for now.

“Damned pity,” Henry said, shaking his head as they started back toward the house. “I wonder, is your son a good shot?”

“The best. The boy’s a natural.”

Lord Henry chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just like his father. Speaking of your excellent family relations, I do hope I’ll have the opportunity to enjoy more time with Miss Abbington. She is quite a lovely young woman.”

Nick stiffened, his jaw clenching at the mention of Eleanor. Already she had spent too much of her time with the man in the first place. She
hadn’t looked particularly pleased by it, but she had made no efforts to disengage. He couldn’t help the grimace that idea wrought—the man was old enough to be her father!

But as vehemently opposed to the idea as Nick was, Malcolm
appeared absolutely delighted. Clasping the earl on the back, he nodded. “Nothing would please me—or her—more.”