Page 22 of A Desperate Proposal

“You are not discomforting me,” Elinor said firmly. “I understand well that you both wish to keep your sister from harm. But you are teasing her in turn, so if your wish is to warn her, perhaps doing so with compassion rather than antagonism might ensure your message falls upon receptive ears. And she has worked so hard to organize this ball with Lady Summersby, I will not allow you to ruin her evening by souring her mood.”

“Of course.” Henry rose and offered Mary his arm. “Come along, sister. We really should rescue Lord and Lady Summersby from Father’s latest opinions on the state of the roads.”

Mary took Henry’s arm, her face a mask of worry. “I do wish you’d think about what you’ve been told, Bella. Please, don’t let me see you dancing twice with Lord Asherton tonight.”

“I solemnly swear not to do that,” Arabella said with all seriousness, coming to stand by Elinor just as the door opened. Hannah bustled in with Mary’s shawl, and the tea tray sputtering apologies about the delay, and the state of unpacking Mary’s things.

“Oh, dear. I should supervise. I hadn’t considered how short-handed the staff might be today.” Mary wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, and hurried out with Hannah in tow, leaving the tea for Elinor and Arabella to sort out. Henry paused in the doorway, his dark sapphire gaze caught on Elinor.

“Do take care, Ellie. I, er, I hope you will not be too ill to attend tonight.”

“She’ll be fine. She needs to rest, Henry.” Arabella shooed her brother out, and shut the door firmly behind him.

As soon as her youngest cousin turned to look at Elinor, a wave of anxiety and dread erupted in a sob. Tears filled her eyes, and even as she wiped them away, they wouldn’t stop. “All this time… He seemed s-so nice! W-why did you let me flirt with him, Bella?”

“Because you have to learn how to talk to people. I had no idea he was a rake.” Arabella shrugged and crossed the room to help Elinor stand. Together they made the short, unsteady trip to the bed. “You’ll even have to talk to rakes sometimes if you’re a bishop’s wife, you know. And I’ve no doubt Henry is aiming as high as that,” she said as Elinor collapsed to the mattress in a sodden huff. Bella went back and poured them both a cup of tea while Elinor tried to collect herself.

“H-he told me something of his mother and… Oh, God, I don’t remember it all clearly. I’d taken more cordial than usual that evening. But nothing sounded like what Henry said.”

“Hush. Have some tea first.” Bella pressed a cup into her hands, and settled beside her with one of her own. A few moments of silence and warm tea passed before she spoke again. “Truly, I didn’t see Lord Asherton being that sort of man. Perhaps he was reformed in the Peninsula? I think he serves rather close to General Wellington. That might have taught him better conduct.” She did not, however, sound certain of that hypothesis.

“Maybe you are right? Henry and Mary wouldn’t lie, but perhaps the war changed him? I had hoped… “She bit her lower lip, her eyes closing, and a tear rolled over her cheek as she set the teacup aside. “I-I kissed him. I kissed him, and I liked kissing him…” She whispered the dreaded confession.

“You did kiss him after all?” Arabella clapped a hand over her mouth, though her tone was entirely joyful. “Well. I’m jealous. You get to kiss a notorious rake, and all I get is some of Lady Summersby’s lovely Spanish lace? There’s absolutely no justice.” She heaved a put-upon sigh as if Elinor’s whole world weren’t crashing down with every passing moment.

“I hoped we would be friends. Of a sort. If that’s … something one can do.” It sounded so silly and naïve now. To think of friendship when one was being seduced by a rake. If it had even been seduction? Surely there was more to a seduction than a carefully stolen kiss. All right, so there had been several kisses, but only one incident of such behavior. Hardly a thorough seduction. Perhaps he’s just not a very good rake?

“Ah.” Arabella patted her arm. “I don’t think there’s any rule you can’t be friends with a rake. Just try not to kiss too many of them. Or don’t get caught kissing them at any rate.”

“I do not think there is a danger of that,” Elinor muttered. “It does not seem as though Henry would approve of such friendship.” Though, upon a few more thoughts, she realized she didn’t understand why that was so. Asherton served with Wellington, he was an earl—things Henry should be eager to investigate in hopes of cultivating a patron. And anyway, Henry never held Elinor’s father against her, so why must Tristan’s father count against him? Why wouldn’t Henry seek to understand rather than condemn? Didn’t everyone deserve forgiveness? “I do not think London agreed with Henry half so much as he believes.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’m sure London will wear off once he finds a living. He’s probably being extra insufferable because he’s worried about what’s to become of him if he doesn’t find one. And he does hate the idea of my being married before he’s settled. He’d be the laughingstock of the family with timing like that.” A wistful sigh escaped her and she put her tea aside. “I wish I was announcing an engagement tonight just to spite him.”

Elinor sat up, wiping her cheek. “I am sorry he spoke so horribly to you. I … am sorry, Bella. F-for not…” Her tongue felt thick, and no matter how she tried to think of the right words, her mind drew a blank. “Thank you,” she said instead.

Arabella squeezed Elinor’s shoulders and then gently pushed her backward. “Don’t apologize for Henry. You’re not wed to him yet. Now, do rest up instead of wasting your complexion on crying.” She paused. “Would you like me to try asking Lady Summersby more about her brothers today? She’ll be distracted and it might yield some further illumination on the subject.”

“I wasn’t only apologizing for Henry,” Elinor said, considering her offer. “No. I do not wish to upset her in her condition. I … I should speak with Lord Asherton myself.” For all that Henry and Mary said, she had come to consider him a friend. What else could one be with someone with whom one shared such unguarded conversation? Besides, were the circumstance reversed, and he found out the truth of her own family, she would hope he’d have the courtesy to speak with her. “Perhaps he has not been so forthcoming, but I can hardly blame him. I have not been completely honest myself.”

“I find that impossible to believe.” Arabella raised a brow, even as she stood up. “Did you feign a larger dose of the cordial? Or tell him you didn’t like cake?”

“He’d never believe that. Not after seeing my reaction to Turkish Delight.” The memory warmed her spirits. “Still, Lord Asherton is an officer. So was my father. Even though I have conveniently failed to mention anything about him. I, er, did not want him to know where I came from. Or what I came from. I cannot fault him for failing to disclose his family’s ghosts when I have yet to tell him much about my own. I’m sure he’ll have some reservations about speaking so much to someone whose father’s father was only a blacksmith.” Which was an extremely generous reading of her paternal grandfather’s livelihood, by Father’s own admission.

More truthfully, her father had run away from home to the army rather than deal with a brutal, drunk sot who regularly slept next to a smithy. How, precisely, Elinor’s gently bred mother ran away with a son of a drunk who had little more than a scraped-together commission and bravery to recommend him remained a mystery. But Richard Harcourt had risen through the ranks on grit and luck, and Euphemia Harcourt nee Hawkins had borne seven living children. Which was several children more than their income could support, and far more than their lodgings fit. Which was how Elinor landed with her uncle, and her two older brothers were long since consigned to the Army’s unloving care. All-in-all, the situation wasn’t what an earl wanted to hear about a prospective alliance.

Arabella’s head tilted. “Hm. And perhaps, once you speak to him, he will take it as a sign that he should take you into his … confidence.” Her emphasis on the word made it sound outrageously intimate.

Elinor’s cheeks burned. “Stop it.”

“Only because you’re wounded.” Arabella snickered, and returned to the vanity. “You should close your eyes and think about tonight. Thanks to Mary, I’ve got to do my own hair before I go downstairs.” She added something less-than-complimentary about her sister under her breath, but Elinor didn’t feel like chastising her for it. “If she thinks she’s stealing Hannah for this evening, I swear I’ll poison her tea.”

“Do try to poison her only a little.” Elinor stretched out across the bed, drawing the lightest blanket over her shoulders. “At least until she gives me the dresses she promised.”

“Oh, very well. I shall constrain the dosage until then.” Arabella’s smile was brighter than the weak sun outside their window. “Speaking of poisons, do you need another dose of cordial to help?”

“I think I am tired enough to get some rest without it.” More than that, Elinor didn’t want to risk its soporific effects lingering into the night. She wanted—needed—a clear head for the conversations ahead. “If I have not woken within the hour, wake me. Especially if I’m, um, snoring.” She turned onto her side, and closed her eyes. And when I wake, please let me feel ready to see him…

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