Forbidden Lord (11 page)

‘Oh, no, and I have a lovely lemon that I have outgrown, but I'm sure it will fit you, Eleanor, and your blue will be perfect, Jane.'

Eleanor smiled from one to the other, touched by their generosity and their eagerness to make her feel at home and one of them, which was something she would never be. How different her life had been at Fryston Hall from the lives of these happy, chattering girls, and their closeness made her
realise how much she had yearned for a closer relationship with Catherine.

When she had been growing up at Hollymead she had never been lonely. She had always known her parents loved her unequivocally, and there had always been local children of her own age to play with. Her home had possessed the same kind of warmth as Staxton Hall and her heart ached fit to break with the memories.

‘Thank you. You are very kind. I should be glad of the loan of a gown, something simple, until I can get into York to purchase some of my own.'

‘You're very pretty, Eleanor,' Jane said. ‘Don't you think so, Anne?'

‘Jane,' her mother admonished sharply, ‘remember your manners.'

Jane tossed back her head and smiled at Eleanor. ‘Well, I think she is, and I don't think it's unmannerly to say so.'

Eleanor laughed. ‘Thank you for the compliment, Jane. You are also pretty, you and your sister—and I must say that I have difficulty telling you apart.'

‘And so they are,' William agreed, smiling admiringly at each sister in turn. ‘When I first saw you earlier your beauty startled me. I visualised you as the plump, over-boisterous fourteen-year-old girls I left behind. Now the plumpness has gone. You have changed in a way that both delights and fills me with anxiety for the future.' He winked at his mother. ‘I think very soon we shall have adoring swains beating at the door, Mother.'

‘Oh, William!' Anne giggled. ‘How you exaggerate.' She shifted her gaze to Eleanor. ‘Did you really ride all the way from London with William?'

Eleanor couldn't help glancing at William seated at the head of the table. ‘Yes, I did—and Godfrey, so I was well protected.'

‘Godfrey? That giant of a man you brought with you. As I understand it he is your servant, William—although I have
to say he is the oddest kind of servant I have ever met. Is he someone you met on your travels?' Lady Alice asked, unable to quell her curiosity.

William nodded. ‘He originates from Glasgow—I believe members of his family still live there.'

‘And will he be returning to Glasgow?'

William shrugged, a twist of humour about his firm mouth. ‘If he has a mind to. Godfrey is free to do what he wants.'

‘Well, I can't tell you how good it is to have you home again, but when are you going to tell us where you have been all this time? When I received your letter informing me that you were coming home, you did not tell me anything that I wanted to know.'

William's expression tightened. ‘Later, Mother,' he said, wanting to avoid the issue of his absence for as long as he could.

Lady Alice sat in thoughtful silence, as if considering the situation from every angle. ‘William,' she persisted, ‘I love you as a mother should and you know what I have suffered in your absence, not knowing where you were—if you were alive or dead. I have never endured such anxiety. Will you not tell me where you went when you were banished?'

‘Not now, Mother.' He was breathing hard.

Eleanor watched him throw his napkin on to the table and get up. Turning sharply away from his mother's questioning eyes, he crossed the room to the hearth and stood looking down into the glowing embers. His shoulders were tense, the tendons in his neck corded, his back unyielding, as though under the force of some strong feelings. In fact, his very stance led her to believe he was on the verge of breaking in two.

Standing up, she went to him and placed her hand on his arm. ‘William?' On hearing her soft voice, which was like a balm to his tortured mind, turning his head he met her eyes, and Eleanor saw beyond the silver-grey to something else—something dark and sinister she did not want to know about just then. His face twisted with pain, and it was almost un
bearable. She wanted to tell him not to torment himself, that he did not have to explain anything he didn't want to.

And yet his unwillingness to speak of what had happened, of the demons that refused to let go of his mind, was as devastating as if he'd said what it was. Why Eleanor wanted to comfort this man who had wronged her, who seemed to look to the darkness of the time he had been away baffled her, but she did possess a strong desire to ease his torment.

‘Whatever it is, there's no need to think of it now,' she said softly, ‘not ever, if you don't want to. You are home and your anxieties unfounded.'

Lady Alice, touched and deeply moved by Eleanor's gesture to reassure her son, rose and moved to his side. Of an inquisitive nature and hating secrets, she wanted William to tell her everything. It was clear that she had revived painful memories for him, and she regretted her curiosity. Something had happened to him, something that went far deeper than his banishment. He was holding something back, as if he were looking inwards even as he laughed and teased his sisters. She knew her son too well to be deceived.

Whatever had happened to him, it was clear he did not want to share it with her, but, she thought, seeing how William's compelling gaze held that of the young woman by his side, what of Eleanor Collingwood? How much did she know?

‘Eleanor is right, William.' She smiled and reaching up lightly kissed his cheek. ‘I will question you no more. If you want to tell me, you will. Now, come and finish your meal—you, too, Eleanor—and then we will retire. It's been a long day for all of us.'

 

Tired as she was, Eleanor could not sleep that night. She lay on her back in the great four-poster bed, listening to the wind that had risen, blowing away the mist and moaning about the great house.

At three o'clock she rose and dressed herself quietly. The
occasional candle lit the passage outside her room. It seemed to her that if she could walk a while in the night air, to feel the cold wind blow in her face, she might be eased of her heavy heart and she might understand the grief, the pain, the consuming guilt and remorse she felt over her uncle's death. The horror was stronger now than when she had actually lived through the horrendous day when she found her beloved home had gone and her uncle murdered.

Moving down the long shadowed corridor, past the dark, draughty windows, seeing some ascending stone steps, on impulse she went up them and pushed open a heavy door. The wind hit her with such startling force that it snatched her breath. Stepping on to the moonlit, battlemented roof, she looked up. Stars blazed in the dark sky, like diamonds against black velvet. She moved slowly towards the parapet and stood breathing deep, filling her lungs with the cold air, feeling the wind catch hold of her hair and blow it free.

Sensing that she wasn't alone, she turned her head sideways. William stood a short distance away. He was little more than a silhouette in the night shadow, so still he could have been a statue. His masculine magnetism dominated the night. He was looking out over the moat towards the open fields.

Watching him throughout supper, she had been struck by the various emotions playing over his features. At times he'd seemed almost in awe of his mother and sisters, as though he was only just discovering they existed. At other times the love reflected in his eyes had caused her chest to ache. Eleanor had not known he was capable of such intense feeling and again she wondered about the years he had been absent from their lives.

Feeling like an intruder and not wishing to disturb him, she moved back towards the door, but he caught the movement from the corner of his eye and turned and saw her.

Although they'd spoken little since arriving at Staxton Hall, William had still managed to find some comfort in her
presence. And earlier, when she had reached out to him, he had been unprepared for the warm pleasure that had flowed through him and the easing of the tension that had gripped him when his mother had questioned him about the past three years. Immediately he strode towards her.

The moon cast its glow over her and the wind caught strands of her hair and danced them wildly about her head. In her hose and jerkin she looked like no noble lady, yet she possessed a fierce pride that was apparent by the manner in which she held herself. For five days she had ridden hard by his side. She should have looked tired and worn and withered, yet she looked enticing and engaging.

‘Eleanor? What are you doing out here?' he asked, his eyes not wavering from her upturned face. ‘You should be in bed.'

‘Forgive me,' she said, thinking how appealing he looked and very handsome. ‘I have no wish to disturb you. I couldn't sleep.'

‘You're not disturbing me. I couldn't sleep either.' Leaning against the parapet and folding his arms across his chest, he looked up at the clear sky. ‘It's a better night. Thank goodness the mist has cleared.'

‘Better to see any intruders. You're worried the same thing that happened at Hollymead will happen here, aren't you?'

He nodded. ‘And with good reason.'

‘Do you think those men will come?'

‘If they do, they'll find it difficult getting past the guards. Their attack on Hollymead was a different matter. It was unexpected, the house undefended. Your uncle wouldn't have stood a chance.'

Eleanor peered down into the dark courtyard and the ghostly shapes of the outbuildings. ‘I don't see any of the guards you have posted.'

‘You won't, but rest assured they are there. If nothing happens after a week, you will be able to ride and roam outdoors, but until the time when it's safe for you to do so you
must confine yourself to the house. Later, if you still wish to go to York, I'll take you.'

‘And can I go to Hollymead? I would like to see how Thomas is managing. It can't be easy for him after all that's happened.'

William nodded. ‘I'll send a couple of men first thing in the morning to be of help should he need it. I've already written a letter to Walter explaining all that's transpired.'

‘Thank you. Walter was close to his father. I know he'll be deeply shocked. I do appreciate all you are doing for me, William. I owe you a great debt.'

‘You don't owe me anything. I was happy to be of assistance.' Sitting on a lower section of the parapet, he looked up at her. ‘I owe you an apology for what happened at supper. It was embarrassing for me and totally inappropriate under the circumstances.'

‘You needn't apologise. It's only to be expected that your mother would voice her concern. You were gone three years. There is nothing wrong with her wanting to know where you have been. Any caring mother would.' She smiled when she observed how his face hardened and a guarded look entered his eyes. ‘Don't worry. I am not about to pry. What happened is nobody's business but yours, and if you don't wish to speak of it then that too is your concern, so we will talk of something else.'

‘What do you suggest?'

‘Your delightful sisters. They have been very kind. They've made me feel so welcome here.'

‘And Mother?'

‘Your mother also—although…' She frowned, unable to put her thoughts into words without appearing rude.

William raised a questioning brow, with an amusing quirk to his lips. ‘What?'

‘I—sense she doesn't like me being here, that she resents my presence.' It hurt her to think she was here at Staxton Hall only because she had nowhere else to go. When William didn't contradict her, she said, ‘There, I knew I wasn't mistaken.'

‘If it's any comfort, it has nothing to do with you personally.'

‘It hasn't? Then what?'

‘She holds your father responsible for what happened to me.'

‘Then it is quite wrong of her to blame my father,' she said, her voice shaking with indignation. ‘Very wrong, and if the chivalrous feelings you have towards me are genuine, you can prove it very simply by telling her what really happened—that it was your betrayal that sent my father to the block. Do you think I could ever forget that? No, William, that memory will burn within me as long as I live.'

William's jaw tightened and a gleam of anger showed in his eyes. ‘I know it will,' he said, making no attempt to defend himself. ‘I promise I shall do my best to make my mother understand. Do not think badly of her. She may have a sharp tongue on her, but underneath she is kind and generous. I hope you don't mind her writing to your aunt, by the way.'

‘I don't, although I expect that as soon as Aunt Matilda returns and reads the letter, she will order me to return to London.'

‘Which is what one would expect under the circumstances?'

‘She has long been determined to marry me to Lord Taverner's son, and since I have nothing of my own she will contribute generously to a settlement should I agree. Lord Taverner was a close friend of her husband, and he has remained her good friend. She will go to any lengths to please him. A union between the Sandfords and the Taverners is very important to her. What I feel is unimportant and that I should have feelings at all is incomprehensible. I'm merely a small piece in a large transaction. You will know Lord Taverner.'

William was unprepared for the jealousy that slammed into him. He stared at her, for once in his life lost for words. And, worse, a mixture of tense emotions twisted together like snakes inside his chest. Was one of them dread? And if so, why should he feel that?

Eleanor gave him a sharp, searching glance. ‘William, why do you look at me like that?'

‘I am astounded. Which one of Taverner's sons has she in mind? He has two sons—as I recall.'

‘Martin—the eldest.'

‘Good Lord! ' Tis all very well, Eleanor, but the man is seriously immature and feeble—too light in the head for you. He has an appalling stammer and he is ruled by his father, a ruthless, greedy man if my memory serves me well.'