Later, when he had a chance to speak to Eleanor, he would tell her that she needn't worry about his drinking. He would rather die than give in to the devils that plagued him. There was no way she could drive him to such destructive behavior. He would also tell her that they needed to be more careful, that Lydia was suspicious. He couldn't very well tell Eleanor not to trust her sister, but he would do what he could to protect her.
Eleanor was right; Lydia was not a happy woman. In fact, she was very bitter and unhappy. That kind of woman liked to share her misery. He would not allow her to share it with Eleanor. She hadn't managed to do it years ago; she would not do it now.
Dinner passed much too slowly and the port and cigars afterward was a lesson in suffering. Brahm smoked, but he longed for a drink— not because he wanted one, but because he knew it would help numb the ache in his leg. Had he been exercising as he normally did, he wouldn't be in this condition, but the house party didn't allow for his normal schedule, and his pride wouldn't allow him to deviate from the planned activities. It was his own fault that he was in so much discomfort now.
He had laudanum in his room, but it would certainly put him to sleep. He took it only when the pain was to the point where he was like a wounded bear, ready to kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way. He was at that point now. In fact, Locke was looking like a very likely first victim. It took all Brahm's control not to tear the younger man apart with a few choice remarks. After that day at the picnic, his opinion of the man had dwindled further still. The only thing that kept him from giving in to temptation was the knowledge that Eleanor preferred him over Locke and every other bachelor in residence.
"Gentlemen, please forgive me, but I must retire." He slid back his chair and rose to his feet using both cane and table for support. There could be no disguising the grimace that twisted his features as he settled as much weight as he dared on his left leg. Damn it all to hell, but it hurt. If only he had been watching where he was walking, he wouldn't have stumbled.
Perhaps this was fate's way of telling him not to "stumble" again when it came to Eleanor. He would give her the respect she deserved and exercise more control in the future. It would be so much easier if he didn't want her so damn much.
Yes, it was definitely time to go to bed and put himself in a laudanum-induced slumber. If he was starting to feel annoyed with Eleanor, it was definitely time he separated himself from the rest of the party.
Lord Burrough quietly wished him a good night and advised him to rest up for the ball the next night. The thought of dancing made Brahm want to vomit. Sleeping on broken glass would be preferable to dancing at this moment. Regardless, he assured the older man that he had every intention of being in top form for the ball.
"Do not worry, Creed," Lord Taylor remarked in a loud voice. "The rest of us will tend to Lady Eleanor in your absence."
Brahm flashed his teeth— it was little more than a snarl, and Taylor knew it. "Do that. I am certain it will take the entire lot of you to make up for my truancy."
Chuckles followed him as he left the room.
By the time Brahm reached his bedchamber, he was sweating, panting, and in so much pain, his head swam. He paused long enough to shrug off his coat and toss it on a chair. Then he went to the bed and fell upon it with a hoarse cry.
The laudanum was on his bedside table. He uncorked the bottle and took a swallow. It wasn't the best-tasting stuff, but he'd had worse. He lay on top of the bed, still fully dressed, and waited.
Numbness came. It started slowly, seeping through his body from the outer edges, it seemed. Soon the pain in his leg lessened and the fog in his brain thickened. What a lovely feeling. Fortunately for him, opiates had never held the same fascination that spirits did, otherwise he'd be in a very rough spot.
His last thought before drifting off to sleep was of the ball the next night. He certainly hoped he would be able to dance with Eleanor at least once. He wanted to touch her again. Would anyone notice if touched her other breast?
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
* * *
Brahm was not with the other gentlemen when they joined the ladies in the drawing room later that evening. Any pleasure Eleanor might have taken from the evening evaporated. How had she become so infatuated with him so quickly? How could she have forgiven him so easily for what he had done?
She didn't have the answers. She knew only that both had happened with relative ease, and that instead of enjoying this evening and the entertainments it might have brought, she would spend her time counting down the hours until she would see him again. Where was he?
"Lord Creed will not be joining us this evening," her father announced to his guests. "I extend regrets on his behalf."
"Poor Creed," Lord Locke commented with deceptive casualness. "I cannot imagine what it is to be only half a man."
Eleanor shot him a disapproving look. Why was he looking at her that way? Surely he didn't think she'd be so easily swayed by such cruel remarks?
Lord Birch settled into a chair with a glass of brandy. "Of course you cannot imagine it, Locke, being but a quarter yourself."
A smile curved Eleanor's lips as she turned away from the flushing Lord Locke. Her estimation of Lord Birch rose several notches.
Unfortunately Lord Birch took note of her smile, and it wasn't long before he stood before her.
"Lady Eleanor, may I join you?"
There was room on the sofa beside her, and there was no way she could refuse his request without appearing rude. "Of course."
Lord Birch was simply the first. Soon Eleanor was surrounded by the bachelor guests, even Lord Locke. They vied for her attention, competed for her favor. Whatever had happened to make them act this way? Had Brahm's attention toward her whetted their interest? Or was it that with Brahm around they knew they could not hope to compete for her attention, and now that he was absent she was open game?
Or perhaps they had finally caught wind of the size of her dowry. Whatever their reasons, Eleanor was a bit overwhelmed by their attentions. She knew she was not unattractive, but she had never been such a beauty that she had more than one or two admirers at a time. What in the name of heaven was she to do with these half-dozen gentlemen clustered around her?
She smiled when it was appropriate, paid compliments when they were warranted, and refused to allow any of them to inflate her sense of self. Each of these men saw her as a prize to be won, and she would do well to remember that and not allow herself to be swayed by flattery that might not be totally sincere.
Their pretty words and vacuous conversation tired her. The bachelors imparted nothing of themselves to her, nor did they seem terribly concerned with becoming more acquainted with her beyond a superficial level.
Why on earth would any of them want to marry her based on how little they knew? They knew what she looked like and they knew the extent of her fortune, and that seemed to be all they were interested in knowing. Pity.
Escape came in the form of her father. Barely two hours had passed before he gave in to his weariness and decided to head to bed. He was not yet fully recovered, and Eleanor worried about his health, despite her conviction that much of his recent "illness" had been but a ruse to persuade her to agree to this party. She excused herself from her admirers and went to her father.
"I will help you upstairs, Papa."
One look at her face, and he obviously knew she needed an escape. Normally he would have dismissed her concern and told her not to worry about him, but tonight he took the arm she offered and allowed her to lead him from the room.
They climbed the stairs in silence. Upon entering her father's chamber, Eleanor helped him out of his coat, untied his cravat, and removed his shoes. He lay back on the bed, the lamplight softening his craggy features.
"Do you require assistance with anything else, Papa?"
He shook his head. "George will soon be here to attend to me." George was his valet, the son of the man who had been his valet before that.
Eleanor seated herself on the edge of the bed. "Are you certain there is nothing you need?"
"I am fine." He opened his eyes— a blue gaze with more clarity than Eleanor was comfortable with at times. "There is no need for you to stay with me, Ellie. Go back to the guests."
She pulled a face. "I would rather watch you sleep."
Her father chuckled. "The bachelors a tad exuberant for you, eh?"
"They were like roosters, all preening and clucking for the attention of one hen." She toyed with the signet ring on her finger. "They do not care to know me, only to own me."
Her father frowned, all traces of humor gone from his countenance. "Own you?"
Eleanor nodded. "They want a wealthy, connected wife and that is all."
"That is what most marriages of our set are based on. Wealth and connection are everything. They ensure the continuation of society."
His words made sense, but they were so very impersonal. "Am I not to wish for more?"
He patted her hand. "Of course you are. You deserve everything you wish for."
"You and Mama were happy, were you not?" She so desperately needed to hear that they were. So many unhappy marriages, so many affairs and deceits had reached her ears, she needed to know there was something else available.
He smiled at the mentioned of her mother. "We were. Ours was an arranged marriage, you know."
She hadn't known that. "Truly?"
His fingers closed around hers. His hand was strong and warm and comforting. "We were very fortunate that our temperaments suited one another. It didn't take long for us to fall in love— of course, your mama was already carrying you when that happened."
Eleanor's brows rose in surprise. She had always thought her parents were a love match.
"Marriage is not easy, Ellie, be it a love match or a business arrangement." His deep voice was rife with sincerity. "It is something that requires hard work if it is to be a pleasant match. Understanding, forgiveness, patience, those are but three virtues you must learn to cultivate if you are to be married. And trust. Trust will be a difficult one for you, I think."
"I beg your pardon?" Whatever did her father mean?
"Do not get yourself in knots now." He shifted against the pillows. "You need to trust in your own worth, my dear. You blame yourself for so much and think so little of yourself. Stop being so afraid of what might happen and enjoy what is. You will be much happier that way."
She opened her mouth to deny it, but quickly shut it again. There was nothing to deny. He was right. She did blame herself. She often blamed herself for her sisters' unhappiness. There were times when she didn't think much of herself, for example, thinking for so long that Brahm had chosen Lydia over her because Lydia was more worthy. And hadn't she compared herself earlier, asking Brahm questions about his former mistress, wondering if he loved her, wondering how she measured up to the dead woman.
"Marriages are partnerships," her father went on. "There are good times and bad. There will be times when you think the worst of each other, when you believe you will never get past whatever hurdle life has tossed in your path."
"Then why even try?" If it was so much work, so much pain, what was the point? She couldn't believe that love— true love— could be so difficult.
Her father fixed her with a surprised look. Had he expected her to know the answer?
"Because, my dear, love is worth the effort. Love is what makes you see the good again. Love is what lifts you over the hurdle. Do you think your mother and I never fought, never lied or distrusted one another?"
"I…I always assumed you were always happy."
"Bah." He reached for the glass of water beside his bed and took a sip, forcing her to wait until he had quenched his thirst before speaking again. "She almost left me once, you know. Took you and Arabella and was going to run back to her mother. I could have stopped her from taking the two of you, but what did I know of raising daughters?"
Eleanor stared at him. She had no memory of the event whatsoever. They often visited her grandparents, and no one visit stood out as being any different from the others. "What did you do?"
He shrugged. "I told her I was sorry— you do not need to know what I did, you are better off not knowing. But I meant what I told her. I regretted hurting her and I swore I would never do what I did ever again. I kept that promise, and she eventually learned to believe in me and trust me once again."
Her mouth slightly agape, Eleanor glanced away. Why was her father telling her this now?
"I see the way you and Creed look at one another."
Ah, so that was why he was telling her all this. "And?"
Her father smiled. "I hope you learn to believe and trust in him again. I know he regrets injuring you."
