Page 77 of Scandal of the Season

Caroline’s eyes widened. “Why? You love him, do you not?”

Stunned, Eleanor could formulate no reply to the blunt—and very accurate—assertion.

“I began to suspect the truth some time ago,” said Caroline, her blue eyes full of compassion. “But I was not certain until the night I discovered you crying. As one who has suffered a broken heart, I know another when I see it. By the bye, mine is mended.”

Eleanor looked askance at her. “The letter?”

Caroline nodded, her cheeks flaring with color. “It was an apology—a very good one. I’m no longer wroth with him. In fact, I’m quite ready to apologize for my part in our long misunderstanding and accept his offer of marriage. He plans to visit later this week to formally ask for my hand.”

“Oh, Caroline, I’m so pleased for you,” Eleanor said, setting aside her own troubles for a moment to hug her friend. It had been a long time coming, and she was truly glad to see it finally happen.

“Thank you—Ellie, I hope you won’t make the same mistake I did and assume the worst,” said Caroline, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “A broken heart is not something you’ll want to live with in perpetuity. I barely survived mine.”

Embarrassment loosened Eleanor’s tongue. “You may have come to an understanding with Lord Marston, but that does not make you an expert in all matters of love,” she retorted. “My heart is not broken!”

“Perhaps not yet entirely, but it is certainly beginning to crack,” her friend shot back. “And there is little point in denying the cause.” A wry smile curled her lips. “You’ve allowed very few gentlemen close enough to elicit such strong emotions.”

Eleanor’s determination crumbled, bringing both a sense of relief as well as great pain. The secret she’d held so close to her heart was finally a secret no more, but it made no difference. “If he asks for my hand, it will be because he feels it is the honorable thing to do. It won’t be because he wants me,” she said, mortified to find herself crying. Taking out a kerchief, she blotted her eyes. “I’m naught but a child to him—a sort of y-younger sister,” she said through her tears.

Caroline just stared at her with wide eyes. “Not to be vulgar,” she said slowly, “but he will eventually require an heir. So even if you are correct about his indifference, which I cannot help but doubt, I’m sure you’ll manage to convince him to do his duty. In fact, I might even venture to say he’ll be—”

A knock interrupted her, and the door opened to reveal Rowena. “Please excuse me, ladies, but I’m afraid this cannot wait. Eleanor, I need to speak with you privately. Now.”

Caroline rose and, casting Eleanor a final encouraging look that did nothing to lift her spirits, left the room.

Rowena came and sat down beside her. “I’d hoped to be the one to tell you, but I can see that Caroline has once again managed to beat me to the mark.”

Before she could stop herself, Eleanor burst into sobs. Rowena’s arms closed about her shoulders, and she surrendered, letting loose the flood she’d been holding back. When the worst of the tempest had passed, she pulled away, her eyes sore and her heart heavy.

“I thought you would be happy,” said Rowena, clearly taken aback.

Happy? How could she be happy knowing that Sorin would resent her for the rest of his life? A fresh wave of tears gushed forth.

“My dear child,” murmured Rowena. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that it had to happen in this manner. I know this is hardly the way any woman wants to find out she is to marry, but the scandal will die down soon. And more importantly, you’ll be wed to a good man who truly cares for you.”

“I would rather remain unwed and suffer the scandal than be forced into a passionless union,” Eleanor blurted with a loud hiccup.

Rowena’s brow furrowed. “Passionless?”

“Yes, passionless. If he asks for my hand, I shall refuse him.”

“Eleanor! You cannot—”

“I can,” she insisted. “I have my inheritance. I’ll go somewhere far away and live quietly so as not to bring further shame on you and Charles, but I will not force my friend to marry someone he does not desire!”

Rising, Eleanor fled the room over Rowena’s fading protestations, unwilling to hear another word. She needed to compose herself and marshal her strength before seeing Sorin. Refusing him would be the most difficult challenge she’d ever face, but face it she must, and with as much dignity as she could muster.

Caroline’s room was mercifully vacant when she entered it. Going to the wash basin, she poured some water into the bowl and splashed her face. The mirror on the wall revealed her frightful state as she blotted herself dry and tried to pat her hair smooth. There was nothing to be done about her red, puffy eyes, but circumstances being what they were, she supposed tears wouldn’t be unexpected.

Still, it would upset Sorin to see her cry.

She stared at her reflection. “I will control myself,” she whispered to herself. “It’s only for a little while longer. For his sake. Just long enough to free him. Then I can fall apart at my leisure knowing I’ve done the right thing. I won’t let him sacrifice himself on the altar of my honor.”

But if I do, he’ll be mine, the wicked part of her replied.

Sorin did care for her, after all—enough to make him defend her good name at the risk of matrimonial imprisonment. Many marriages were founded on far less, and she would do her best to make him happy. But would it be enough to justify such a selfish act? What if after marrying her he met another Jane? He’d regret his decision and resent her for having trapped him. That he would break his vows was not a concern. The Sorin she knew would never do such a thing. But he might want to, and then he wouldn’t be the Sorin she knew anymore. Could she do that to him?

But he would be mine…

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