Page 43 of A Sham Engagement

He resisted the impulse to edge closer and take one of her hands in his. Temptation was a fickle thing. “Perhaps you might try and explain to me how it makes you feel when you’re touched? To better help me understand.”

Her face took on a thoughtful expression, as no doubt she struggled to formulate an answer. She opened her mouth as though about to speak once or twice without saying a word, only to close it again and give a little shake of her head.

“If I were to touch you… like this…” He set an outstretched finger on the back of her hand. “How does that feel to you?”

She snatched her hand back as though she’d been stung. “Like a pencil on slate. It sets my teeth jangling.” She paused. “I never could use a slate and slate pencil in the schoolroom and got into trouble all the time with my governess.”

A good description he could relate to. “And how does it feel if you touch me in the same way?” He offered his hand.

Her brow furrowed, but, her eyes curious, she laid her fingertip on his, her touch as delicate as gossamer. She raised wide eyes to his face. “Different. Not so… scratchy.”

He burst out laughing, and after a moment, she joined in. “Do you know, I’ve reached the age of nineteen without ever noticing that it’s worse to be touched than to touch. How extraordinary.” She gazed down at her hands as though in awe.

Jack returned his hand to his lap. “Edward was asking about you this morning at breakfast.”

She looked up again, eyes full of interest for his son, if not for him. “He was? He’s such a charming boy. I very much enjoyed recreating the Battle of Hastings with him on the occasion of our meeting. For one so young he has an intimate knowledge of the battle and its commanders. He reminds me a little of me.”

This was safe ground. “He asked if you might come to Portland Place to see him again. He’s anxious to talk to you about the battle of Stamford Bridge. And I suspect he wishes to coerce you into recreating it with him.” And it was also grounds on which to induce her to visit, even if the prime reason she had was to play with his son.

“It’s so interesting to meet a young boy with an academic bent,” she said, her voice serious. “I have despaired of my family. None of them seem keen to set their minds to loftier pursuits than having fun. That is my brothers, I should say, both of whom have had the privilege to go up to Oxford and study, and both of whom have wasted the opportunity. Although it’s perfectly possible to both study and have fun—as I do.” She wrinkled her delightful nose. “Tell me. Were you up at Oxford, or perhaps Cambridge?”

He shook his head. “I was keen to… enjoy myself in a different way.” He’d nearly said to sow his wild oats, but she would no doubt have known what that meant and might have been shocked. She seemed to be the sort of girl who picked up information like blotting paper, as she sailed through life. “I set up my own establishment in Town soon after I left Harrow.” He smiled. “My mother wasn’t all that keen for me to do so, but my father overrode her.”

“But you will let Edward go to Oxford? He seems to me the sort of boy who would do well there. Better than my scapegrace brothers, at any rate.”

Would he? Not everything he’d heard about university life had sounded praiseworthy, but Edward was not his father, and nor was he Elenora’s brothers. “Perhaps. What about your sisters? I gather you have more than the two I met.”

She made a moue. “Oh, they are quite boring but very sweet. All they think about is preparing themselves for the marriage mart. Even the younger two who are only eleven and twelve—and covered in spots at this very moment, I suppose. None of them are keen to improve themselves with education beyond that which our governess, Miss Maggs, was able to provide. I had to do all my important learning by myself. Papa says I am an auto-didact, which means I have taught myself most things. Mama disapproves, of course.”

“I know what it means. I suppose you could say that I’m one as well, for I’ve learned more from the books in my father’s library than I ever did at school. In fact, I’m not sure I will even send Edward away to school for fear it changes him. I like him too well to thrust him into the charnel house that is Harrow or Eton and see him either the victim of a bully or turn into one.”

She nodded, enthusiasm shining from her face. “Indeed I fear you might be right, and I’m sure you know from your own time there.” Her eyes narrowed. “Although you yourself have no air about you of either the bullied or the bully, which is puzzling. On such small acquaintance with Edward as I’ve had so far, I divined a thirst for learning comparable with my own. He seems to me to be a child to be nurtured and brought on like a hothouse flower, not exposed to the common rabble in the outdoor flowerbeds.”

Jack burst out laughing. “I have to say that you are a very opinionated young lady.”

She frowned. “Is that a bad thing? I cannot tell when you say things like that to me whether you mean them as criticism or praise.” She sighed. “I cannot tell a lot of things, in truth, with other people too. I find it most frustrating when we’ve had visitors at Penworthy and Mama or my sisters point out one of them was sad, or out of sorts, and it’s completely passed me by. It makes me feel guilty that I don’t see those things, no matter how hard I try to learn from Mama and my sisters.”

On an impulse, Jack reached out a hand to cover her clasped ones. For a moment she resisted, but he kept his hand in place and she gave up. “Please. Never change, Elenora, for it would be a bad thing indeed if you were to curb your nature to please others. You are very charming the way you are right now.”

Color flushed her cheeks most becomingly, and her blue eyes met his, a question in them. “Are you telling me you like me being like this? Being odd? The things others want to change in me? The things Mama says are to be hidden?”

He nodded, swallowing down a lump in his throat. What was this? Emotion choking him? A hitherto unheard of feeling for Jack Deveril, that was certain. “I do. I like you very much.”

Her eyes widened further, she licked her lips, bit the bottom one, looked down at her hands where his covered them and then raised her eyes to meet his again. “And I like you.”

For some reason, Jack could think of nothing to say. She liked him, and she was gazing at him out of wondering blue eyes he could drown in. If he were to lean forward… he might press his lips to hers and steal a kiss… And she might not dislike it. Or she might leap up and run away and never want to see him again.

He released her hands and got to his feet in a hurry, pretending an inclination to walk to the long window and look out into the street. No sign of the man from earlier. “I came to enquire, on behalf of Edward, rest assured, if you would like to come to my house for tea this afternoon. Come back with me, that is, and take tea with Edward. And me. At my house.” Good God, he was gabbling. He’d not done that in front of a girl since he’d been a lusty schoolboy at Harrow with his first conquest.

Elenora’s serious expression melted into a smile. “I would love to, but I have no chaperone, and, nice as it is to sit and talk to you alone, I fear I cannot parade around the streets of London with only you and no chaperone, for all to see.” She paused. “Well, I really believe I could, as what on earth could you do to me in broad daylight in public? But I know, because Mama has told me so on numerous occasions until it’s engraved into my heart, that I should not be alone with a gentleman in that way. Silly as that rule is. And ridiculous as it is that here in the drawing room I’m probably in more danger than I would be if we were walking to your house. If you see what I mean.”

Was she gabbling too? Dare he hope that the cause of this gabbling matched the cause of his gabbling? And why on earth was he thinking like this when it could lead to nothing, as neither of them wanted it to. Probably. No, definitely.

“What about bringing your maid?”

Her eyes lit up. “Of course! An excellent idea. Agatha can chaperone me. I’ll go straight up to my room, and she can fetch my pelisse and bonnet and gloves.” She bounded to her feet. “I am so looking forward to seeing Edward again.” And with that she was gone in a maelstrom of impetuosity.

Jack stood beside the empty chaise longue feeling a little shell-shocked. She’d admitted she liked him, but had she meant it in the way he had? In many ways, she was such a child, yet in others, like an old professor. Would he call her a bluestocking? Perhaps, only her charm outweighed that rather pejorative description. Her enthusiasm for meeting Edward again both endeared her to him and engendered a hint of resentment. Was he jealous? Of his seven-year-old son? Surely not.