Eleanor shuddered. "Neither."
This time his laughter was far more pleasant. "Good."
They walked a few more steps in silence before Eleanor seized the moment. "I have been doing some reading on the subject of drunkenness."
He stopped, but just for a second, and then he began walking once more. "Have you?" His tone was careful, wary.
Twirling her parasol nervously, Eleanor nodded. "There are many who believe it to be a disease of the mind."
Brahm snorted, his gaze roaming everywhere but at her. "So I am mad, is that it?"
"No, not mad. But neither are you weak." Eleanor's lips compressed as she carefully considered what to say next. "It is an illness, like any other. Recurring and difficult to recover from."
He squinted as he looked up, fine lines creasing the flesh around his eyes. "You talk as though you believe recovery is possible."
"I think it is."
He smiled as though he pitied her. "So is relapse."
She nodded. "As it is with any disease, I suppose."
Suddenly he stopped, turning his body toward her. She stopped as well, held still more by his russet gaze than by the fact that he had stopped walking. "Would you nurse me if I fell 'ill' during my stay here, Eleanor? Or would you show me the door?"
It was a difficult question to answer, but Eleanor knew that answer it she must. It was one thing for her to talk so objectively about Brahm's illness when he was sober. It would be quite another to deal with if he were to have a relapse, as it were. She had seen him foxed before, and knew the kind of wild, destructive behavior he was capable of.
"I would nurse you," she answered honestly.
"Because it is the Christian way? Or because it is your nature to put anyone and everyone above yourself?" Was he mocking her, or himself? Or was he simply too embarrassed by her admission?
The truth sprang readily to her lips. "Because I care about you."
He looked away, but she could see the movement of his throat as he swallowed. He couldn't be that surprised by her confession, could he? He had to know that she wouldn't have kissed him as she did, wouldn't have researched his condition if she didn't harbor some degree of feeling for him. She had never stopped caring— her anger at him proved that, as did her willingness to believe the best of him once again.
"Thank you," he said finally after a lengthy silence. "Hopefully I will never be in need of your nursing capabilities."
She grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "I hope you never will either. I am not that good a nurse."
He laughed at her jest and they soon turned back toward the picnic area as the others were turning back as well. They talked about silly things as they walked, teasing each other and telling amusing stories about their families. The subject of his drinking never came up again. And Eleanor, despite the temptation, did not dare to ask whether he cared for her. He had kissed her. He seemed to enjoy their time together as much as she did. That would have to be answer enough.
When the party returned to the house after the picnic, Eleanor retired to her room. There was no rest to be found there, however, as her sisters decided that they needed to talk to her. And their subject was Brahm.
"Eleanor, surely you know people will talk." Phoebe folded her arms across her chest in a very chastising posture. "We all saw you walk off with him today."
Muriel joined in. "And when you came back your cheeks were flushed."
Eleanor rolled her eyes at the pair of them. "I had been walking in the sun. Of course I was flushed."
"Not that kind of flushed." Lydia's eyes were bright with something Eleanor didn't want to identify.
Drawing herself up to her full height, shoulders braced, Eleanor refused to be cowed. "I do not need to explain myself to my
younger
sisters."
"Perhaps not, but if you get yourself ruined it will reflect badly upon all of us."
Eleanor shot Lydia a furious glance. "I beg your pardon? Ruined?"
"People are already speculating, of that you can be certain." She sounded more peeved than concerned. "You cannot wander off with a man like Creed and not have people suspect the worst."
Eleanor's jaw was tight. "Of me, or of him?"
Arabella raised a hand. "I wandered off with him earlier. Do people suspect the worst of me?"
Dear Belle. Eleanor smiled thankfully at her sister. Lydia, however, was not done. "That Carson woman's book paints him as the kind of man who would seduce a woman."
How in the name of God did the book do that? "Lydia, if you had read what she wrote, you would know it does no such thing."
Her sisters gaped at her. "You read it?"
Grabbing the book from her nightstand, Eleanor held it up for them to see. "I read what it said about Brahm, and it does not make him out to be a seducer of women." Not unmarried virginal ones at any rate.
Lydia was not impressed. "The fact that you even read that filth shows how much he has already corrupted you."
What a hypocrite! "You did not seem to find it so filthy when Lady Dumont read from it the other day. In fact, I thought I heard you ask her if you might borrow her copy."
Lydia's expression hardened, and Eleanor braced herself for a fight. In fact, she welcomed the opportunity for one.
Arabella tried to smooth things over. "Ellie, we just do not want you to do something you will regret."
She could not bring herself to be angry at Arabella, yet frustration rang in her voice. "Why would I regret giving Lord Creed a chance to prove himself?"
It was Lydia who answered. "Because he hasn't changed, dearest."
"He no longer drinks." That ought to prove that he had changed indeed.
Lydia's expression was so pitying that it was tempting to slap it right off her face. "So he says. You do not know what he does when he is out of your sight."
No, but she believed in him. Didn't she? So why the shiver of dread at Lydia's words? Did her sister know something she didn't?
"Lydia," Arabella chastised. "If you have evidence that Lord Creed has lied about giving up drinking, then tell us."
Lydia shrugged and studied her nails. "I have nothing to tell."
"Then stop speculating." Arabella was obviously not impressed with their sister. "If Eleanor trusts in Lord Creed, then we must respect that."
Eleanor flashed Arabella a grateful smile.
Lydia's head jerked up, her gaze narrow. "And when he breaks her heart and she comes weeping to us, will I have to respect that as well?"
Sighing, Eleanor shook her head. "Rest assured Lydia, that if my heart is broken you will be the last person I come weeping to." Had she actually had a hand in raising this woman? If so, where had she gone wrong?
Lydia's expression was instantly contrite. "Dearest, I meant no slight to you, but you are for all intents and purposes an innocent country maid, and Brahm Ryland is a worldly gentleman. Men such as he know exactly how to lie to make a woman believe in their attentions."
How did Lydia know these things? Had Brahm done such to her to woo her into his bed? No, she could not believe that. She had no reason to suspect him of such deception.
"He is not the man for you," Lydia continued. "He needs a woman just as worldly and experienced as he is."
Eleanor's gaze met her sister's squarely. There was something in Lydia's voice, in her expression that set off warning bells in Eleanor's head. "Someone like you, perhaps?"
Lydia had the grace to blush. "Heavens no!"
"Eleanor," Arabella chastised, "really, that was uncalled for."
If Arabella or Lydia thought she was going to apologize, they were going to be greatly disappointed. Poor Phoebe and Muriel were watching the goings-on with wide eyes and shocked expressions. They were unused to hearing Eleanor talk in such a blunt manner.
In fact, Eleanor never did talk in such a blunt manner— unless Brahm was involved. He seemed to bring out the boldness in her.
She seized the boldness while it lasted. "I think I would like to be alone for a while, if the four of you would not mind?"
The sisters glanced at one another, but no one argued. One of the advantages of having been a mother figure to her sisters was that they seldom argued when she told them to do something.
They filed out one by one, with Arabella bringing up the rear. She turned in the door, her expression rueful. "I did not mean to upset you, Ellie."
Eleanor sighed and managed a strained smile. "
You
did not, Belle."
Her sister looked so relieved, it nearly broke Eleanor's heart. She closed the door with a heaviness weighing down on her chest. What was happening? She was rarely at odds with any of her sisters, even Lydia. The tension between them hadn't appeared until Brahm had. Could it be that Lydia had regrets about her tryst with Brahm, and she was trying to warn Eleanor away from him as a kind of penance? Did she think she was doing Eleanor a favor by doing so?
Rubbing her temples, Eleanor stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes. A little rest before dressing for dinner would do her good. The guests would just have to miss her at the afternoon's entertainments.
Slowly her body relaxed. She thought of Brahm and the kisses they had shared that afternoon. With those sweet images in her mind, she drifted off to sleep.
She awoke sometime later when her abigail, Mary, knocked on her door. It was time for her bath. Had she slept that long?
Eleanor rose, and after the footmen filled her tub with hot water, went into her dressing room, where her maid helped her disrobe. She climbed into the tub and scrubbed the last vestiges of sleep away. By the time she stepped out, she felt much better about everything, including Lydia's behavior.
She dried and dressed and allowed Mary to arrange her hair in a more suitable style for evening. She even agreed to having ringlets put in with the curling tongs, after which her maid pinned the elaborate coiffure up on top of her head so that ringlets tumbled down her back in the Grecian style.
Her gown was a warm, rich peach silk that accentuated her bosom and complemented her skin tone. Brussels lace edged the neck and made up the whole of the short, scalloped sleeves. Pearl earrings and choker completed the ensemble.
She could not wait for Brahm's reaction to her appearance. How silly and girlish of her to base so much on his opinion. Silly, perhaps, but she hurried downstairs all the same.
As she entered the drawing room, she spotted Brahm in the corner. His hair was slightly damp and fell over his brow in a boyish manner, softening the chiseled lines of his face. He was dressed in evening black, leaning on his cane as he talked with an elegantly clad blond woman.
Lydia.
What was her sister doing? Why was she talking to Brahm? Why was she standing so close? Eleanor watched with narrowed eyes as Lydia placed her hand on Brahm's arm. Brahm lifted his glass to his lips, forcing Lydia to remove her hand. Had he done it on purpose? And what was he drinking?
So many unanswered questions. At one time she might have withdrawn and thought the worst of Brahm. She had thought so little of herself that she would have naturally believed that Brahm preferred the sensual, worldly Lydia to her. Not now. Maybe it was because she was still angry with her sister for what she had said about Brahm earlier, but Eleanor wasn't about to turn away. Spite spurred her onward. She wanted to know what Lydia and Brahm were talking about.
As she approached, Brahm lifted his head. His gaze met hers, and he gave her what she could only describe as a relieved yet apologetic smile. Then, as his gaze roamed the length of her, his expression changed. His eyes lit with an inner flame, and his smile became more possessive, more predatory.
"Lady Eleanor," he purred as she came up beside Lydia. "You look exceedingly lovely tonight."
Eleanor blushed at his words and resisted the urge to toss her sister a triumphant glance. "Thank you, Lord Creed. I hope I am not interrupting anything?" This time she did turn her attention to her sister.
Lydia's countenance was one of complete innocence. "Of course not. Lord Creed and I were merely chatting."
"Then you will not mind if I steal him for a moment," Eleanor remarked, linking her arm through Brahm's. "Lord Creed expressed an interest in seeing the orangery. I thought we might take a tour of it before dinner."
He was surprised by her boldness, that was obvious in the way he looked at her, but he went along with the ruse all the same. "I would like that very much, Lady Eleanor." He set his glass on a low table. It had nothing but water in it, of that Eleanor was certain.
"Do not be long," Lydia cautioned. "We will be going in to dinner soon."
