The Wayward Debutante. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

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СКАЧАТЬ decides you’re becoming undisciplined and need to stay with her instead of Charles and me. I know it was an accident, Eleanor, but you’ve been terribly absentminded. Louisa has apparently been planning this dinner for many weeks. You weren’t very sympathetic.”

      Eleanor wished she could explain why she’d responded as she had, but she couldn’t tell Beatrice how she’d really lost the invitation. Hopefully, she said, “You’d rather spend the day with Lucy, anyway. Perhaps I did you a favor.”

      “That is not for your carelessness to decide.”

      She flinched. Beatrice had never spoken to her so sharply before.

      “I am sorry,” she said quietly.

      Beatrice flushed with guilty embarrassment. “You needn’t apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. Forgive me.”

      “If you forgive me. I haven’t been myself…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

      “Yes, well, one’s first season will have that effect.” Beatrice looked up the path, where Louisa’s rigid figure was gradually growing smaller. “I have to go now if I’m to catch up. Don’t worry about Aunt Louisa. I’ll calm her down. Come home soon.”

      Eleanor watched her sister move hurriedly off. She walked over to the nearest bench and sat down, feeling wretched. She’d never stood up to Louisa before, and she’d hardly ever fought with Beatrice. What did it take to please everyone? Perfect obedience? Perhaps her taste of independence had made her bold. At any rate, her reinforced backbone didn’t seem to be going over at all well.

       Who was she?

      James was growing more confused by the minute, and to make matters worse he was beginning to feel rather absurd, as well. He’d been following her, after all, for half an hour now. He’d first seen her when she’d emerged from the stuccoed portico of number five Belgrave Square, preceded by the two stately creatures who’d just left her stranded. Finally alone, she was sitting forlornly on a bench. And he was standing behind a tree, looking, no doubt, like a complete fool. He’d ducked behind the tree when her companions had turned around to remonstrate with her. Now that they’d both left he supposed he could emerge, only he still didn’t know what to say to her.

      His intention had been merely to return her reticule, and it was a matter of pure coincidence that he’d arrived at the house just as she was on her way out. He hadn’t even been certain that it did belong to her, as he could come up with no explanation for why she’d be carrying around someone else’s invitation, or for why a governess would own such an expensive item. As he’d mulled the possibilities over in his head it had even occurred to him, albeit briefly, that she might actually be the Right Honorable lady herself. She certainly talked like a marchioness. But he quickly discounted that thought: she was too obviously innocent to be married. Some rudimentary detective work, carried out the day before—well, he’d just asked William—had revealed that the Marchioness of Pelham was tall, blond and visibly pregnant. She could only be the woman he’d just seen Eleanor talking to.

      If she was an Eleanor at all. Perhaps she was a Jane, or a Maria. He still didn’t know why she’d be carrying the marchioness’s invitation, nor could he explain why she looked so different today. It wasn’t just that the horrible blond wig had been replaced by her own rather nice, sleek brown hair. She wasn’t dressed as she had been before, either. She didn’t look like a governess.

      But the way those women had been bossing her about, not to mention the way she’d been walking ten paces behind them, suggested they didn’t regard her as an equal. He hadn’t heard most of their words, but it was obvious they were taking her to task for something. Words like impudence, carelessness and useless had a way of carrying.

      So, again, who was she?

      He began walking in her direction, his hands in his pockets. He hoped he looked nonchalant, but he didn’t feel that way at all. Although he kept telling himself that he had the upper hand, with both age and experience on his side, it didn’t change the fact that he was starting to feel like an untried schoolboy. He didn’t exactly have a plan, and there was a very real risk that she’d bolt the moment she saw him.

      Luckily, that didn’t happen. She noticed him just before he reached her, but although her eyes registered surprise she didn’t so much as start. Perhaps her mind was too busy with other matters for her to react quickly; he thought he detected a fleeting trace of sadness in her expression, although it vanished before he could be sure. As he halted in front of her, her expression became masked. She straightened warily in her seat, as if preparing herself to spring at the slightest sign of impropriety.

      James hadn’t assumed she’d make things easy, and clearly she wasn’t going to dash his expectations. He suppressed a sigh of frustration. “Miss Smith. What a pleasant surprise.”

      She didn’t respond right away. Just continued to stare levelly back at him, allowing no indication of her feelings to enter her face. But inwardly, she was reeling. How was this possible? Was she dreaming him up…every detail down to his disheveled hair and gold watch chain? Was he as much a figment as Jane Pilkington?

       No, no. Be reasonable, Eleanor. He is real, and he is dangerous. Find a way to leave, and do it quickly.

      Only instead of following her mind’s advice by nodding a curt goodbye and departing immediately, she responded with a question of her own. She was too bewildered to do otherwise. “What are you doing here?”

      James raised an eyebrow at the accusation in her tone, but her suspicion was perfectly justified. He probably should answer her question honestly and immediately by removing her belongings from his jacket’s inner pocket, but he thought it would be unwise to reveal his hand so soon. Better to pretend he was equally surprised by this meeting.

      “I always walk in the park at this time of day…live quite close by, in fact. And you, Miss Smith? I don’t recall seeing you here before.”

      “I rarely walk in the park,” she lied. She often walked in the park, but would now obviously have to change that habit. Blast him. Furtively, she glanced up and down the path. An elderly couple, some distance off, was strolling in their direction. They were hardly a threat, but what if someone she knew came along? What if she should be seen talking to him? She had to leave, and if he tried to stop her she’d…

      Probably expire on the spot, but she’d worry about that later.

      She rose. “Do enjoy the sunshine, Mr. Bentley. I wish you a good day.” But as she took her first step, he moved to the side to block her.

      “Not so fast, Smith. I’m starting to think you’re following me. You’ll have to explain yourself first.”

      Eleanor glared at that absurd suggestion. Speaking quietly through clenched teeth, she ordered, “Move out of my way, Mr. Bentley, or I will scream.”

      He arched an amused eyebrow, almost daring her to make good on her offer. After a few seconds he asked, “Well? I’m waiting.”

      She opened her mouth slightly, but not a scream, or even a peep came out. Her cheeks suffused with color. Of course she wouldn’t do it; she had no desire for public humiliation. The horrible man had called her bluff.

      And he knew it, too. He looked altogether too smug.

      “You grow tedious, Mr. Bentley,” she said finally. СКАЧАТЬ