When he’d arrived from India, nigh on a month ago now, he would have cut his eyes out rather than start probing this old sore. Henson had been stabbed and robbed that same night, before their duel, snatching away Matthew’s chance to fight for his honour and to clear his name.
Dishonourable conduct. He could not allow his scandal to taint Eleanor by association, which it would surely do once his true identity became known. He must—somehow—prove his innocence. A lead weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he pictured Eleanor’s growing trust of him turn to scorn when she discovered the truth of his exile to India.
He would gain nothing by going inside the house opposite. All these hells were crooked—in favour of the house, of course—but it was not the house that had falsely accused him of cheating all those years ago, nor the house that had believed him responsible for attacking Henson shortly afterwards. The old resentment curdled his stomach. His own father. His own family. They had believed him capable of both charges. They had washed their hands of him. And now, if he was to protect Eleanor, he would—inevitably—be recognised. Remembered. Accused all over again.
Henson.
Where to begin to look? Matthew ran through the names of the men round the table that night—names branded in his memory.
Henson, both Alastairs—Lady Rothley’s sons, Silverdale, Hartlebury, Perivale.
He would have to hope some of them were in London for the Season. The older of the two Alastairs, Lucas—now the Marquis of Rothley—was not in town. That was no loss; he and Henson had been thick as thieves. But the younger brother, Hugo...he might be a good place to start.
He must prove his innocence. Deep in his gut, he believed others around that table must know the accusation to be false. They just hadn’t spoken up against Henson—older, worldly-wise, a man the young bucks admired and wished to emulate. Maybe now, as more mature and, hopefully, responsible adults, they would take the opportunity to clear their consciences.
Matthew turned abruptly on his heel and strode away.
* * *
Three days after their arrival in town, Pacey opened the front door for Eleanor and Matthew was on the doorstep. Rendered temporarily speechless, she was grateful Aunt Lucy took charge.
‘Mr Thomas! Why, what a pleasant surprise. How do you do?’
Matthew removed his hat and bowed, his blond hair glinting in the early afternoon sunlight.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Rothley.’ He bowed and then his blue gaze rested on Eleanor’s face and her heart kicked into a gallop. ‘Your servant, Lady Ashby. I am very well, thank you. Have I called at an inconvenient time?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘We are—’
‘No,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Your timing is perfect. We are going to call on Eleanor’s cousin, James. Would you care to accompany us?’
‘Aunt! I don’t think... I beg your pardon, Mr Thomas, but—’
‘I should be honoured,’ Matthew said. ‘Are you planning to walk?’
‘Yes,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘It is not very far, but it will be pleasant to have a gentleman’s arm to lean on. Come, Ellie. Peter and William can still accompany us.’
Eleanor straightened her bonnet and sailed past Matthew on to the pavement. She could think of nothing worse than Matthew being present when she and James had their first meeting. Her irritation that James had not even had the courtesy to call on her in the three days since her arrival was bound to reveal itself and she was loath to give Matthew another reason to think ill of her cousin.
Eleanor winced inwardly at the spectacle they must present: it was bad enough having two burly footmen dogging her footsteps wherever they went but, now, to be seen in the company of... Eleanor looked beyond Aunt Lucy to Mr Thomas, strolling nonchalantly along the pavement, cane swinging. A cane? His blue superfine coat was well tailored, his tall hat set at a jaunty angle and—although he still presented a rugged and slightly dangerous appearance—no one would doubt him a gentleman. Mayhap he was wealthier than she had assumed. But he was still a merchant.
‘...and we have spent much of our time shopping and with dressmakers,’ Aunt Lucy was saying. ‘The fire at Ashby destroyed much of Eleanor’s clothing, of course, and it is a long time since I came to London. My dresses are sadly outmoded, I fear.’
Eleanor smiled to herself, recalling their argument over Aunt Lucy’s need for some new gowns. Suspecting her aunt’s funds were limited, Eleanor had refused to give way and eventually Aunt Lucy had conceded that Eleanor might treat her to a couple of new evening gowns. After all, Eleanor had argued, you are only in London on my behalf. It is right and fair that I should bear your expenses. Pride satisfied, Aunt Lucy had then thrown herself with enthusiasm into their shopping expeditions.
‘What had your cousin to say about the carriage accident and the attack on that girl?’ Matthew asked as they turned into Hill Street, where James and Ruth lived.
Trust him to settle upon the one topic she had hoped would not arise. Anger at James for not visiting her battled against her anxiety at seeing him again.
‘We have not yet spoken,’ she replied.
‘Very discourteous of him,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Both Eleanor and I are disappointed by his neglect of his familial duty. It’s been three days since our arrival and not even a note from him to enquire if the house is satisfactory.’
‘I am sure he has good reason, Aunt.’ Why she felt obliged to defend James, she did not know, when in reality she thought his conduct indefensible. She glanced behind, reassured by the stoical presence of William and one of the new footmen, Peter.
‘No doubt his guilty conscience,’ Matthew said.
Eleanor glared at him. ‘Mayhap you should not come inside with us, if you are determined to stir the coals. James is hardly likely to attack me in his own house. Even if he is guilty.’
‘Please do not desert us now, Mr Thomas. I feel so much safer with you here. I begged Ellie not to call upon James unannounced like this, but she would not listen to me.’
‘Why did you not just send him a note and ask him to call on you?’ Matthew said. ‘Then you would meet him on your territory.’
‘I cannot sit at home on tenterhooks waiting and wondering when he might appear. Surely that is understandable?’
‘I understand you are impatient, Eleanor. Just like your mama.’
Eleanor stiffened. Just like her mama. That was exactly what no one must think any more. Apprehension had churned her stomach on and off all day, for tonight marked the beginning of her assault on society, at the Barringtons’ ball. Aunt Lucy had been busy leaving cards with her old acquaintances and the invitations had started to trickle in.
Their new gowns had been delivered that morning and Eleanor was both looking forward to and dreading the moment she must enter the Barringtons’ house and find all those eyes upon her. This time, however, she would not allow the whispers and innuendoes to overset her. She would hold her head high and prove she was not like her mother. At least visiting James gave her something else to worry about.
Aunt Lucy grabbed Eleanor’s hand. ‘I am sorry, Ellie. I don’t know why I said that. I dare say I am nervous at the thought of facing James and what to say to him. I know you are nothing like my silly, selfish sister.’ She halted outside a tall, narrow house. ‘Look,