“You mean courting me?” She replied cheekily. “Because no one prior to him had ever dared to do so?”

  “You had opportunities for other suitors and you rejected them all rather soundly,” he reminded her. “He was the first one you entertained seriously.”

  Her smile faded a bit, replaced by something wistful and a bit sad. “Because I’d given up all hope of you ever recognizing what was literally right before you.”

  He paused then, his steps halting as he took her hand and turned her to face him. “But I am very aware of it now and grateful for it. Do you feel compelled to speak to the boring bas—lout?”

  “No. We shall simply nod as we pass them. There is no need to give them the cut, or for them to cut us, but we need not pretend great friendship or even any sort of affinity at all… We are, at the end of it all, merely acquaintances.”

  And that is precisely what they did. A brief acknowledgement and then they were both on their ways. But Eleanor felt a frisson of unease. And, unable to halt herself from doing so, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Miss Langford glaring daggers at their backs. She’d made an enemy there even if through no fault of her own.

  A slight shiver raced through her. The girl was the sort to be petty and vindictive.

  “You are cold,” Adrian said with concern. “You should have said so. I’ll see you home at once.”

  “I’m quite alright really, but I should return home. Caroline is coming over this afternoon and… I’m just so worried for her. I’ve never seen her so glum.”

  Miss Verity Langford seethed with quiet, resentful fury. Fury she dared not reveal to Lord Marklynne as he would no doubt consider such an emotional display unseemly. She had worked very hard to secure his favor and had no intention of spoiling it now. But how it goaded her that a spinster like Eleanor Harcourt—plain, old, dowdy and boring—had been his first choice. And it was that resentment which had her plotting and planning. They’d been invited to the Harcourt’s masquerade ball. Likely because the invitation to Lord Marklynne had gone out prior to Miss Harcourt’s decision to throw him over in favor of Mr. Grant. A foolish decision in Verity’s estimation. After all, who would want to be a mere Mrs. When they could be Lady Marklynne?

  “I do so love a masquerade, Henry! Surely the Harcourts would not be so mean as to rescind the invitation,” she said, pouting prettily. She’d learned men had one of two responses to a pouting woman—both typically resulted in efforts of appeasement.

  “I hardly think that would be appropriate, Verity, given the circumstances,” he said, ever so stodgily.

  “Oh, posh! We just passed them and Miss Harcourt was perfectly pleasant. If she has no hard feelings, surely you do not. After all, had she not elected to accept Mr. Grant’s suit, we would not be here together now,” she cooed. “Unless you would rather be with her. Is that it, Henry? Would you prefer to have Miss Harcourt on your arm?”

  He sputtered ineffectually. “Well, no… of course not. I’m very happy to be with you. Very happy, indeed. But it might be perceived as being a bit… scandalous.”

  She smiled, her expression the picture of innocence while her gaze remained completely cold. Calculating. Like a viper ready to strike. “It’s a masquerade, Henry. Scandal is part and parcel. And with Lady Lyndehurst in attendance, surely you can see it would be quite proper.”

  “I will consider it,” he said.

  That was as good as a yes. Because she would not leave him be until he relented. She’d see Eleanor Harcourt humiliated at her very own soiree.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  Julien was noticeably distracted. Preoccupied to the point of complete inattentiveness, in fact. Adrian was more than a little puzzled by his friend’s state. “Are you troubled by something, Julien?”

  Julien looked up from the ledger page he’d been staring at. The very same one he’d stared at nonstop for the past quarter hour. “Oh, no. Not especially. Just tired of looking at bloody numbers and columns. Didn’t you say that Miss Ashworth was coming to visit Eleanor this afternoon?”

  Adrian nodded. “I did. You seem awfully invested in the comings and goings of Miss Ashworth, Julien.”

  “I’m a bit concerned for her. That is all. She is a friend to my sister and is facing a difficult time and a not inconsiderable degree of scandal. Concern is only natural,” Julien protested a bit too vehemently.

  “Umm. I see… Julien, do you remember all the young ladies I was introduced to over the years? Perfectly lovely, perfectly eligible and more than sufficiently accomplished young woman whom I had absolutely no interest in courting?” Adrian asked him.

  “Of course, I remember... Because you compared all of them to my sister. I know years ago that you were in love with her and that she was equally enamored of you. It was simply a matter of time as I waited patiently for the two of you to figure it all out,” he admitted, still distractedly drumming his fingers on the green baize atop his desk.

  Adrian sat up from where he’d been lounging negligently in his chair. “Then I am going to be a better friend to you than you were to me. If you have feelings for Miss Ashworth, then do something about them. Tell her. Now, before it is too late.”

  Julien halted his drumming. “I have no notion of what you speak.”

  Adrian laughed softly, though the sound was not at all mocking. “My friend, you are incapable of lying… perhaps not to others, but certainly to me. I have known you too long.”

  “What if I do have feelings for her? What good would it to do say something now when she is least inclined to give her heart to anyone else.” Julien sighed. “I cannot pursue her in good conscience at this time. She is heartbroken over that bounder and I would not take advantage of her vulnerable state by seizing an opportunity when her heart still belongs to another…. Even if that person was, is and will always be unworthy of her.”

  “Caroline Asworth is beautiful, accomplished, well connected. While her fortune is modest, there are many men who for whom that would be no obstacle at all. And many of them will not be so chivalrous as you in waiting for her broken heart to mend.” Adrian pointed out, not meanly but realistically. It was an astute observation and one that he could see gave Julien pause. “Do not wait so long that opportunity slips through your fingers, my friend, as it very nearly did to me.”

  Julien turned back to the papers on his desk. “You’ve inherited several homes in the past few months, Adrian. Why don’t you go to one of them right now and leave me in peace? Saints preserve me from the recently matched who now feel everyone else must follow suit and pair up like we are boarding some biblical ark.”

  Adrian took no offense. He merely laughed. “You only get testy when you know I’m right. But I can take a hint… I will take my leave of you for today. And if you truly wish to know that Miss Ashworth is well, you should simply ask her. An expression of concern would not be remiss whatever your intentions are.”

  Eleanor stared at Caroline at a complete loss as to what to say. Finally, after several false starts, she managed, “I would not wish for my happy ending with Adrian to be salt in your wounds.”

  Caroline looked up from her embroidery which lay untouched on her lap. “Oh, no! You mustn’t think that, Ellie. Right now, your happiness with Mr. Grant is perhaps the only thing that allows me to have hope.”

  “Hope of what?”

  Caroline sighed wistfully. “That I might one day find someone who loves me as he loves you. Someone that will never falter and be true to me always. Is that silly?”

  Eleanor was saddened by the wounded note in her friend’s voice. It wasn’t that William Sutton had broken her heart at all. It was that he’d severely bruised her pride and left her confidence in tattered ruin. Caroline felt foolish for believing in him, foolish for waiting patiently for so long, for accepting his lies that he was only waiting for his grandfather to shuffle off before he could propose without the old man’s disapproval. But clearly that was not the case as he’d run off with the actress whom the old man would surely not approve of at all. “No, Caro. I don’t think it’s silly at all. And I think I anyone is deserving of such happiness, it is you. You have ben steadfast and loyal where it was neither deserved nor appreciated. It is my most fervent hope that you find someone who is deserving of you.”

  “May I confess something to you?” Caroline asked, “Something that might make me sound fickle and horrible?”

  “You can confess anything to me and I would never think you horrible,” Eleanor replied with conviction.

  “I am not as heartbroken over him as I ought to be. Certainly not as heartbroken as one should be when an ages long courtship and not quite publicly announced betrothal ends so abruptly! The truth of the matter is, if it wasn’t for the scandalous manner in which it has happened, I find I don’t mind very much at all.”

  Eleanor was silent for a moment, taking that in. It had always seemed curious to her that Caroline would settle for William when she could have had her choice of suitors. “Why did you ever entertain him as a potential match?”

  “I suppose over the years I became rather less than confident in myself and my ability to catch a gentleman’s attention… My stepmother has only ever told me, at length and with great repetition, that while I might be pretty enough, I possessed neither the wit or charm to be a true diamond. That I should be grateful for William’s continued attentions. And I suppose, having heard it so often, I came to believe it.”

  Vivian Ashworth was a truly wretched woman. Eleanor had never liked her, but she had never truly hated her before that moment. “She’s a jealous cat who only wishes her own daughter was half as pretty as you.”

  Caroline smiled but it did not quite reach her eyes. “Enough about my maudlin thoughts about difficult relations and William’s perfidy. Neither will not be improved by dwelling upon them! Tell me what is left to do before the wedding and before the ball.”

  “Nothing,” Eleanor admitted. “I’ve organized both with such enthusiasm that I’ve essentially left myself nothing with which to occupy my time. Is it dreadful to be so eager?”

  “No. It’s gratifying,” Caroline insisted.

  No more was said as Julien sauntered into the drawing room. He stopped mid stride. “Ah, Miss Ashworth. I was not aware you were here.”

  Eleanor frowned. It was an absolute lie. Julien had been standing next to her when Caroline was announced by the butler and he’d immediately made himself scarce. She’d assumed it was because he feared Caroline might weep copious tears in his presence—and he detested tears. “Did you not?”

  Julien did not even glance in her direction. Instead, his gaze remained focused on Caroline. “No. I wasn’t certain if Miss Ashworth’s visit would be a lengthy one or if she was merely stopping in for a moment.”

  As Caroline had never stopped in for just a ‘moment’ it still rang very false. “Well, is there something you needed?”

  Julien did glance at her then, startled from his study of Caroline’s wan face with her slightly red rimmed eyes. Even in her melancholy, she was still lovely.

  “Oh, yes… well, we are only a few short days from your wedding and from the ball. I merely wished to determine that you had everything in hand.”

  Eleanor’s suspicion continued to grow. They’d had that very conversation the night before. He knew all of those things already. But then she realized that he wasn’t there for her at all. It wasn’t the wedding or the ball or anything else. He was there, in his own clumsy way, to ascertain whether or not Caroline was faring well. And that sparked an idea for her. She was the last person in the world who ought to be playing matchmaker since it had taken nearly a decade for her to match herself with the man of her choosing. But who better to pair the two of them up than a person who loved them both? And the masquerade ball would be the perfect opportunity.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  The ceremony was small, despite Julien’s insistence that she have the wedding of her dreams. What her brother failed to understand was that any wedding where she would become Adrian Grant’s wife was a dream come true. The wedding breakfast would be small as well. And their more elaborate celebration would be the masquerade ball.

  And as she stared up at Adrian, his eyes locked on her and his expression so undeniably tender, she was all but overcome by it. Her gloved fingers trembled where they rested in his hand.

  He tightened his grip, not enough to restrain, only enough to steady. The small gesture sent a rush of warmth through her that had nothing to do with the crowded church or the unseasonably warm air within the sanctuary.

  She had imagined this moment once, years ago, and then had forbidden herself to imagine it again. Dreams were dangerous things when there seemed to be no chance of them being fulfilled. Yet here she stood, her hand in his, the man she had loved in silence now standing before God and everyone, to bind their lives together until death parted them.

  When the vicar began the vows, Eleanor heard the words as though from a great distance. She repeated them dutifully, but the weight of what they signified pressed upon her chest until it was almost difficult to breathe.

  When Adrian spoke his vows, his voice did not waver. “I take you, Eleanor Rebecca Harcourt, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow. To love and to cherish. For all the years she had believed herself resigned to a life beside him but not with him, these words felt like a miracle spoken aloud.”

  She saw that his jaw was tight, as though he too struggled to contain something too vast for the moment. Softly, she repeated her vows, but said them with great conviction. She did not need everyone gathered to hear them. Only him.

  He slid the ring onto her finger. The gold caught the light, gleaming with quiet promise. “Eleanor,” he murmured, so softly only she could hear. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there just above where her wedding ring now rested.

  Her vision blurred.

  When the vicar pronounced them man and wife, the small crowd gathered in the church might as well have been absent. The world had shrunk to a pinpoint, only the two of them. Everything had changed.

  Everything. And it felt as if her life was finally beginning… as if she’d only been waiting until that moment.

  After rounds of well wishes, they returned to Harcourt House for the wedding breakfast which passed in a blur of toasts, laughter, and the endless choreography of congratulations. Eleanor smiled until her cheeks ached and endured embraces from well-meaning matrons who spoke of happiness and heirs with alarming enthusiasm. Adrian bore it with surprising good humor, though his hand found hers beneath the table whenever the speeches grew long.

  Julien raised his glass with conspicuous restraint and declared that he had always known they would come to their senses eventually. Caroline, seated at Eleanor’s side, squeezed her hand and whispered that she had never seen two people look so entirely right together.

  At last, propriety loosened its hold. Carriages were called. Farewells exchanged. The crowd thinned.

  And the day, which had belonged to everyone else, finally belonged to them.

  It was nearly twilight when they finally reached the townhouse that Adrian had procured for them. After a brief introduction to the limited staff, she excused herself to go upstairs.

  Eleanor entered the bedchamber prepared for them. She paused just inside the door. The scene laid out before her was one clearly intended for romance and seduction. Candles burned low and steady, their light soft against the pale walls. Her trunks had already been unpacked; her gowns hung neatly in the wardrobe. Everything appeared settled, orderly, as though she had always lived here. And draped on the bed was an exquisite nightrail. It was the sheerest silk, edged in delicate lace.

  Never in her life had she worn something like it, and the idea of baring herself so completely was difficult. But her eagerness to finally discover what lay beyond passionate stolen kisses surpassed her wariness.

  A soft knock at the door and then her maid entered. Liza helped her to prepare for bed, taking her hair down from its elaborate coiffure. Brushing the mass of dark waves until it shone. Then her dress was removed and carefully put away. Her undergarments were stripped from her to be taken for laundering and she donned the nightrail with fingers that shook furiously. There was, thankfully, a matching wrapper. Though in truth it provided only the illusion of modesty.

  The maid ad only just vanished, slipping almost unseen and unheard from the door, when Adrian entered.

  For a moment neither spoke.

  He closed the door softly and remained where he was, as though approaching her too quickly might startle her into retreat.

  “If you are frightened—” he said gently.

  “I am not frightened,” she answered, though her voice betrayed her.

  He crossed the room then, slowly, giving her time to step away if she wished. She did not.

  “I would never hurt you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “And we have all the time in the world.”

  The tension in her chest eased at that. “We have wasted too much of that already. I’m… apprehensive, I suppose, because I do not truly know what to expect. But I am not reluctant. Not in the least.”

  He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles lightly along her cheek, a touch so tender it sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned into it without thinking, the gesture instinctive, inevitable.

  “Eleanor,” he murmured, as though the sound of her name alone was something he savored.