It was the first time he could remember ever conversing with Isabella alone, and she had proven to be both informative and insightful. Edmund may not have wished for his uncle’s inheritance, but he was finding himself grateful for the opportunity it afforded him to become more intimate with his cousins and aunt. There was a solidarity in the Drew family that was noticeably absent in his own.

  Isabella reappeared in the doorframe where she’d exited a moment earlier. “Oh, and Edmund?”

  “Yes?”

  “We are all going to see Miss Hayward later this afternoon, as Miss Warwick said she’s up to accepting visitors now. Will you join us?”

  “Well, there are really some things I ought to—”

  “Please, Edmund. I feel it our duty as neighbors, especially as what happened was our . . .” She trailed off, her voice catching.

  Edmund couldn’t stand for her to bear the burden of guilt, and he sighed in resignation. “Yes, of course. Of course I’ll come.”

  ***

  A slight rap sounded at the door.

  Eleanor set her book aside, slowly rolling her neck. She stared down at her ankle. The swelling had diminished considerably, and although it was still sore, Eleanor suffered much more from the tedium of her bedroom than from any pain.

  She longed to be outside, and she longed for solitude. The last few days had afforded her neither. Mrs. Warwick seemed bent on keeping Eleanor constantly occupied, and the last hour she’d spent reading had been the only time in her waking hours she’d been alone for the past three days. Given the isolation of the past three years, it was more than a bit overwhelming.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Eleanor looked up in surprise to see Mr. Warwick enter. “To what do I owe this great pleasure?” she asked with a smile.

  She was already coming to love Mr. Warwick, who, with his kind gray eyes and large shock of white hair, reminded her a great deal of her late grandfather. Unexpected tears rose at the thought of him and the pain of his absence.

  “I came to bring pleasure, not pain. Whatever is the matter, my dear?” he asked gently, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket.

  “Oh, I am sorry. It’s only that I am overwhelmed with how very dear you’ve all become to me. I feel like I’ve been such a burden since my arrival,” she explained.

  He pressed the handkerchief into her hand. “Nonsense. You are our guest. And you deserve every bit of the attention you’ve received. It has been wonderful to have you here.” He paused, hesitating. “I don’t know if you heard, but we lost our youngest daughter, Charlotte, several years ago. My wife and I went through a very difficult time. But it has been good for her to have you here, hurt ankle and all. She likes to feel needed.”

  “I’m sorry about your daughter. I wish I might have known her,” said Eleanor, reaching out and patting Mr. Warwick’s hand. “You and your wife—everyone has been so good to me. My every need has been attended to.”

  “As it should be, my dear Eleanor. Do you mind if I call you that?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Good, because I like to think of you more as a daughter or a niece than a distant cousin.”

  Eleanor smiled, enjoying the sound of that.

  “In fact, I came to see if I could have Stephen carry you down for tea.” Mr. Warwick indicated a servant waiting just outside the door of her bedroom. “I thought you might be growing tired of these walls.”

  “Oh, that would be delightful!” she exclaimed, straightening up. “As lovely as these walls are, I wouldn’t mind admiring the ones down in the drawing room.”

  He laughed. “That’s the spirit! Come in, Stephen. Eleanor has agreed to join us for tea.”

  The air felt fresher downstairs, and just being free of her bedroom afforded Eleanor a great relief.

  “There now, are you comfortable?” asked Mrs. Warwick, fluffing up the pillows behind Eleanor on the settee. She hovered nearby, as if Eleanor might need something at any moment.

  “I’m well, thank you.”

  “Well, if you’re quite sure.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Really, I am.”

  Mr. Warwick held up a hand. “She’s all right, dear. Try not to

  suffocate her.”

  Mrs. Warwick looked offended at the very idea. “I’m not suffocating her; I’m just attending to her.”

  “Shall I call for tea?” asked Caroline.

  But before she could do so, the Warwicks’ butler, Jarvis, entered. “Mr. and Mrs. Warwick, you have company. May I present Mr. Fletcher, Miss Drew, Miss Marianne, and Miss Vivien.”

  Eleanor’s heart suddenly pumped with anxiety, and she forced herself to breathe, wondering why she’d ever left the safety of her room. She’d been expecting the Drew sisters but had hoped that, given Edmund’s obvious distaste for her company, he might find a way to avoid a visit.

  As the guests entered, everyone except Eleanor rose to greet them. Bows and curtsies were made, and Eleanor straightened, feeling awkward in her present position.

  Each of the sisters came forward to greet her warmly, and she received them in kind. But Edmund hovered just behind them, leaving her tense and unsettled. She twisted her hands together in her lap.

  When the three sisters were seated, Edmund came forward. “I do hope your ankle is doing better, Miss Hayward. I fear I’m somewhat to blame.”

  Eleanor looked at him in surprise. Today his face was absent of any emotion, all feelings about their prior acquaintance hidden behind impassive features. “Surely not,” she managed to say. “I owe you and Miss Marianne a great deal of thanks for your timely rescue.”

  Edmund glanced over to his eldest cousin. Isabella, if Eleanor remembered correctly. “I only meant the path has been neglected and the culpability is mine. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

  Still confused, Eleanor only nodded, and Edmund moved to take a seat near Mr. and Mrs. Warwick.

  Miss Vivien sat near Eleanor and began to chat as tea was served. They talked of the ball, and Eleanor inquired about Mr. Rowley, which brought a blush to Miss Vivien’s cheeks.

  “Not you too!” She motioned toward her sisters and cousin. “They all tease me mercilessly. Please tell me I have an ally in you.”

  “I hope I shall be that.” Eleanor took a sip of her tea and lowered her voice. “And your cousin? Will he be around long to tease you a great deal?” she asked with all the nonchalance she could summon.

  Miss Vivien smiled. “Oh yes, Edmund will be here for the remainder of the summer. In all honesty, it’s been quite a relief to have him here. Some of our other relatives have hinted that we are in an undesirable position, but that’s only because they don’t know Edmund.”

  “An undesirable position?” questioned Eleanor.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t know, since you aren’t from the neighborhood,” Miss Vivien acknowledged. “Father died early this spring, rather unexpectedly, and the estate is entailed on Edmund. So Edmund has come to stay with us as he sorts out the management of the estate and what is to be done.”

  Miss Vivien seemed unconcerned, despite the fact that her future was wholly dependent on the goodwill of her cousin. “I suppose that under different circumstances, it would be natural for us to worry, but Edmund will see that we’re well taken care of. Of that I have no doubt.”

  Eleanor did her best to hide the surprise she felt. During her prior acquaintance with Edmund she had known he was a man of some wealth and property, as the sole heir upon his brother’s death. But the inheritance of another estate vastly increased his wealth and status, and it made Eleanor feel the chasm between them even more acutely. Her own circumstances were so reduced, and the dishonor of her family so immense, Edmund must feel nothing but relief at his decision to part ways with her three years ago. His words just the other day had confirmed as much. His accusations of her duplicity still weighed heavily on her mind, as confusing as they were disconcerting.

  “But enough talk about me,” continued Miss Vivien, interrupting Eleanor’s thoughts. “I want to know if you’re going to be up for the picnic on Friday. It would be such a disappointment if you couldn’t come. We all think so!”

  “Are you speaking of the picnic?” asked Caroline. “Of course Eleanor will come! Why, if she’s downstairs today, surely she’ll be up and about for the picnic by Friday. You can be sure I won’t take no for an answer!”

  “Well, I—”

  Eleanor’s reply was cut off as Miss Marianne clapped her hands together. “Oh, I’m so glad. I can’t bear the thought of you cooped up during

  your visit.”

  Eleanor gave her a strained smile as a conversation on the other side of the room caught her attention.

  “Surely there’s a long line of ladies who seek the hand of a man with a fortune such as yours. Not to mention that you’re very agreeable to the eye, if you don’t mind my saying so. Why have you not married?” asked Mrs. Warwick as she filled Edmund’s cup with tea.

  Edmund laughed, as if he didn’t take her comments too seriously. “It is a wonder I haven’t been snapped up yet.”

  “Don’t laugh,” she scolded. “You need to marry, and there are plenty of willing young ladies. And now that you’ve inherited Berrington Hall, we’d love to see you get married and settle down here.”

  Mr. Warwick laid a hand on his wife’s arm. “My dear, give the man room to breathe. He arrived in the neighborhood less than a week ago.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t mind, do you, dear? I’m only trying to help. And of course I noticed how lovely our Miss Hayward looked in your arms as the two of you were dancing the other night.”

  Eleanor looked down, hoping no one noticed her slight intake of breath. She couldn’t help herself; she turned her head a fraction to the left so Edmund was in her line of sight.

  Edmund cleared his throat, setting down his cup. “Miss Hayward is lovely.” He gave a grudging half smile. “But I’m very close to reaching an understanding with another young woman. She’s actually coming for a visit early next week . . .”

  Eleanor didn’t hear the rest. A rush of blood filled her ears as her teacup slipped from her hand. The cup hit the side of the small table and broke, spreading the remnants of her tea across the rug.

  Her face grew hot as coals under everyone’s stares. She looked around frantically. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”

  Caroline came and sat beside her, brows furrowed. “Did we wear you out? Perhaps all of this company has been too much for you.” She turned back toward the door, where Jarvis stood. “Jarvis, send for one of the maids to clean this up. And fetch Stephen to take Miss Hayward back up to her room.”

  Mr. Warwick appeared at Eleanor’s side. “Perhaps we should have waited another day to bring you downstairs. You look fatigued, my dear.”

  “Please excuse my clumsiness. Now that you mention it, I am feeling rather tired.” What Eleanor felt more than anything was the desire to be alone. She didn’t know why the news should shock her so much, but somehow she had come away with the impression that Edmund was as unattached as when she had known him before. Not that it should matter to her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “Stephen will be here any moment,” Mr. Warwick assured her.

  Following a quick farewell to their guests, Eleanor found herself back upstairs. After seeing her settled, Mrs. Warwick left Eleanor alone, believing her to have quickly fallen asleep. But behind closed eyes, an unexpected wave of emotion battered Eleanor, leaving her far from restful.

  Chapter 6

  Kent, 1813

  Eleanor arranged her skirts down around her ankles, situating herself on the picnic blanket. Then she leaned back, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.

  “Excuse me, madam?” came a familiar voice. “We are not here for leisurely pursuits and relaxation. There are brambles to be picked!” Mr. Fletcher approached, casting a shadow where the sun had been shining, and Eleanor opened her eyes, tilting back her bonnet so she could look up at him.

  “You couldn’t have informed me before I was comfortably seated?” she asked with a pout and then grinned. “Oh, all right. I’m coming.” She took Mr. Fletcher’s proffered hand, secretly pleased he had singled her out.

  Over the past few days, distinguished guests from all over the county had been arriving at Claremont. Mrs. Clark liked her children to be in the company of the rich and titled, and hosting extended house parties was one of her favorite maneuvers to bring it about.

  To no one’s surprise, least of all Eleanor’s, she had not been on Mrs. Clark’s guest list to dinner the last few nights. It was her Season in London all over again; at any grand event, Mrs. Clark and Beatrice would give Eleanor and her mother a polite greeting, only to rush off toward someone of greater wealth and importance. And just as always, now that the entirety of Mrs. Clark’s house party had arrived, Eleanor would be brushed aside in favor of superior company.

  Eleanor almost hadn’t come, knowing Beatrice would be distracted entertaining the newly arrived guests or flirting with some titled gentleman. Even more, Eleanor feared her own disappointment when Mr. Fletcher’s attentions waned once better prospects presented themselves. But she loathed self-pity in all its forms, so she’d forced herself to come, determined to be cheerful.

  When she had first arrived, Mr. Fletcher had been deep in conversation with Charles and several fashionable women who looked as if their dresses had come directly from London and who seemed to have very little inclination toward blackberry-picking.

  Eleanor was surprised at her own cynicism. One would almost think her jealous. Mr. Fletcher had just disproved her conjecture that he would soon move on to better prospects, so why this hint of envy? This new and unusual feeling of resentment—no matter how small—for the women that flocked around him was quite unpleasant.

  “You seem a little lost in thought this morning, Miss Hayward,” he observed.

  Eleanor shook herself from her daze and gave him what she hoped was a radiant smile. “I’m just happy to be here is all,” she said playfully, determined to leave her jealousy behind. “You are lucky you chose me as a partner, you know. Follow me!” she said, increasing her pace.

  “Wait a moment,” said Mr. Fletcher as he laughed. “The blackberries aren’t going to disappear.”

  Eleanor turned back. “Down where everyone else is picking, they actually do. Lots of animals graze through there,” she said, pointing to the spot where most of the others were congregated. She took a few more strides, leading him to an all-but-hidden bridge. “But back here the bushes are much denser. Our basket will be full in no time.” She looked down at his empty arms. “You didn’t bring a basket?”

  “Well, in my defense, neither did you,” he said with a sheepish grin.

  She raised her eyebrows. “It will be exceedingly difficult to gather berries without a basket.”

  “We could use your bonnet,” he suggested, struggling to keep a

  straight face.

  She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a pointed look. “Or your hat.”

  He tipped his hat to her. “Madam, I will be back momentarily with a basket,” he said, stalking off with brisk strides.

  ***

  Edmund chose the largest basket he could find, hoping to spend a great deal of time with Miss Hayward as they filled the oversized hamper. “Do you think this basket will do?” he asked Miss Hayward, who waited on the bridge.

  She looked it over with a discerning eye and nodded in approval. “Yes, I believe it will.”

  He handed her the basket. “Then, lead on, Miss Hayward.”

  She led them over the bridge, leaving behind many of the others who were slowly working their way through the picked-over brambles. Turning back, she spoke over her shoulder. “Oh, and you’ll want to take off your gloves. Blackberries leave the most horrid stains.” She removed her gloves, and he did the same.

  “May I?” he asked. She laid the gloves in his hand, her delicate fingertips brushing his palm. A warmth radiated through him as he placed the gloves in his coat pocket.

  “I should have known you would be an expert,” said Edmund, pushing back some of the leaves to uncover a bush heavily laden with blackberries.

  “Mind yourself,” she warned. “They’re prickly.”

  He stayed close behind her. “I’m a little surprised the Clarks haven’t pointed out the better patches back here.”

  “Perhaps blackberries aren’t everyone’s priority,” she observed, nodding toward Miss Clark, who was being attended by a very handsome and very rich-looking young man.

  Edmund grinned in appreciation, noting that Clark, too, was surrounded by several of the ladies he’d been introduced to last night, though all of their baskets were empty. He laughed softly. “Very observant. I suppose this is all just a diversion created by Mrs. Clark. She seems to enjoy choosing activities that will put her children in the best light possible.”

  “If you consider that a sin, I’m afraid all mothers are guilty.” Miss Hayward smirked at him, her dimple showing.

  “Fair point. But what about your own mother? I haven’t seen much of her.” Miss Hayward’s father had been at several of the neighborhood functions since Edmund’s arrival, but he had only met Mrs. Hayward once, briefly, at a small supper, and he didn’t recall much from the encounter.

  “She has generally poor health. It’s rare for her to attend social gatherings; thus, I am left to my own devices to show myself off,” she said flippantly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Edmund adored this side of her, this charming and clever young woman who matched him wit for wit in conversational exchange.

  “It seems you are up to the challenge—you managed very well the other night, when you sang,” he pointed out.