Page 20 of A Desperate Proposal

“Mary! You’re unjust. I swear I would’ve come down if anyone told me. Wouldn’t I, Elinor?”

“Would do whatever pleased you? Yes.” Elinor rose and reached for a chair to help her balance. She could bear some weight on her ankle, but it did not come without slight pain. Mary, seeing her grimace, released Arabella, her smile vanishing in a breath. It was strange to see a face so beautiful as hers fall so quickly.

“Oh, Ellie!” Mary closed the distance between them and drew Elinor into her perfect white arms.

This was the trouble with Mary. Hard enough growing up with somebody who looked like she stepped out of Fairyland with Oberon at her side, but that she was not rotten or obnoxious about it, and cared deeply for her family—with one exception—made it worse, somehow. But Elinor hugged her back all the same.

“I trust your travels went well?” Elinor eased down onto Arabella’s forsaken seat, with Mary’s help.

“Well enough.” Mary didn’t quite hide a shudder. “The roads are so crowded. So many soldiers! And the merchants and sightseers all headed to London for the Sovereigns’ arrivals, I suppose. It’s rather a nightmare. We made quite good time, considering. My dear Lord Dalton insisted we go as far as possible yesterday before stopping, so we only had quite a short jaunt this morning. Though I do wish he’d let us sleep in a trifle longer,” she added the last with a half-stifled yawn. “But a nap here in the luxury of Merfield House is probably better than two hours in a noisy coaching inn. It certainly seems to be helping your recovery, Ellie! You don’t look nearly as wretched as I should with such an injury. You’re practically glowing.”

Arabella smirked. “That’s because she’s—”

“Probably still feeling the effects of Lady Summersby’s cordial,” Elinor cut in, glaring at Bella. “I certainly do not recommend spraining your ankle, but should you do so, Merfield is the place you want to do it.” She smiled and hoped that Mary was oblivious to the sudden heat on her cheeks. It was hard to tell what caused it—thoughts of Lord Asherton and his wonderfully soft lips and amazingly strong embrace, or the fact that Mary just told her that Elinor accomplished something she couldn’t do herself. Even something so minor as suffering an injury well. “And how is the youngest Dalton, dear cousin?”

“Can you believe he’s almost a year old? He’s been so in love with a sweet little rattle his aunt Lady Singleton gave him. And he’s got the most precious way of saying ‘mama.’ I do hope you can come to see him soon, Elinor!” Mary sat on the chaise, her aquamarine eyes glimmering in the light. Now it seemed Mary’s turn to glow. Elinor could not recall a time before now when her cousin’s eyes gleamed with so much joy. She wondered if that would be true for herself when she had a child of her own. It seemed like something that should happen so many years from now, but she allowed herself a moment to imagine it. Would her child have her blonde hair and blue eyes, or would they look more like Lord Asher— She felt a sudden chill engulf her entire body, and she sat up straighter, clearing her throat.

Mary continued, unaware, “I can’t believe Mother won’t send you and Bella to at least some of the victory celebrations. Lady Summersby may need companionship, but she can do without you for a few days, surely? There’s to be such magnificent fetes for the Allied Sovereigns, and the Jubilee is moved all the way to August now—perhaps by then?” She gripped Elinor’s hand. “At the very latest, I should hope Mama will let you come stay with us at Westfield Hall after.”

“I should not wish to burden you,” Elinor said softly.

“I would.” Arabella huffed. “Especially to see the Tsar of Russia, and all the officers and German princes…” She trailed off, starry-eyed at the very idea. God save the German princes if she finds a way to Town this summer.

“Not that you’ll be introduced to any.” Mary’s voice was sharper.

“Why not?” Arabella’s chin took on an ominous tilt. “If you can have a viscount, I don’t see why I shouldn’t—”

“You don’t have that kind of dowry, Arabella. A nice young man of good fortune and perhaps even a title might wed you, but certainly no German royals. Honestly, Mama ought to mind what you read more often. Those novels are going to your head.”

Arabella picked up the brush herself in a huff. “You just don’t want anybody else having a better title than you. Just wait. Next year, Mama promised I’ll go to London for the Season.”

Let us pray the German royals have retreated to a safe distance by then.

Mary shot Elinor a sympathetic glance. “So, is there anyone you hope to see at the ball tonight?”

“Oh, don’t bother with Elinor,” Arabella sniffed. “She’s only interested in—”

“Seeing what everyone is to wear.” Elinor coughed. “I don’t think I could go to the fetes and such in Town anyway, Mary. I have only one ball gown, and—”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Mary patted her arm. “If you’re coming, mother will see you get a new dress or two. And I’ve brought you two of mine, by the way. Only day dresses, but I’ve decided to get new things for this winter. The modistes are all going wild with seeing the German and Russian ladies’ garments and truly, nothing quite fits the same since Samuel’s birth.”

Elinor inclined her head a fraction to inspect her cousin’s figure. Mary’s forest green dress seemed modest at first glance, but the ribbon around the waist and the subtle dip at her neckline drew attention to her bosom, and while she’d not taken time to let her gaze linger, she could say now that Mary’s breasts did seem fuller. The skirt’s full cut hid the fact that her hips were slightly wider, but now Elinor noticed… And still, she looks like a Greek nymph waiting for a hero to write an ode to her. I must pray to appear half so graceful after having a child.

“We shall see, Mary,” Elinor said to hide her thoughts. “Lady Summersby may well need us for a while. And I should hate to think of some terrible luck befalling her once we have departed her company. But perhaps when she is well?”

“Oh, pish. She’s only a bit green at the gills, Elinor. It’ll pass in another month at most. I bet she’ll be coming to herself once the novelty of being poorly wears off.” Mary clapped her hands. “Now, let me see your—” A knock at the door cut her off, and the next moment it swung inward an inch, to Hannah’s audible gasp.

“Everyone decent?” A male voice called, freezing Elinor in place. “I declare, if you won’t come out of your bower, the dragons must lay siege.”

“Decent and dressed, Henry.” Somehow, Elinor could hear Arabella’s eyes roll. Hannah rose from where she’d been silently mending Arabella’s stockings to open the door, revealing a tall, dark-haired figure waiting on the other side. Elinor didn’t dare breathe. Henry Weston’s broad shoulders and easy smile stole the air from the room.

“Hannah, would you fetch us some tea, if the kitchen’s amenable?” Mary asked, without greeting her brother. “And the green wool shawl from our room. I cannot seem to get warm enough. The coach was dreary and cold this morning. Wasn’t it, Henry?”

“Indeed.” He grimaced. “But we were well-supplied with blankets. You make it sound as if we were as wretched as Napoleon’s march from Russia.” He crossed the room to hug a glowering Arabella, whose jaw flexed as stiffly as her arms.

“How would you know what his retreat was like, Henry? You weren’t there.”

“Because unlike some of us, I read the newspapers, Bella. You should try them. It might do you good to know of something besides dresses and the latest ghastly novel.” He turned to Elinor, still smiling. “How well you look, little cousin! From Mater’s letters, I expected you to be near Thanatos’ own embrace.”