LITMIR.BIZ

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as though she was one of Paul’s soldiers on parade when she faced her father. She did not feel like his flesh and blood.

      “Your Grace.” She lowered in a deep curtsy sinking as far as she was able, in the hope he would think her penitent and be kinder. She did not look up to meet his gaze in case it roused his anger. But she needn’t even look at her father to know when he was displeased; displeasure hung in the air around him without him saying a word. Yet he never showed his anger physically, apart from barking orders and offering condemning dismissals.

      Those cutting words and his exclusion were enough punishment though. He never looked at her as if he cared, never smiled…

       What I am planning will horrify him …

      Her father’s fingers encouraged her to rise, with a beckoning gesture.

      “Papa.” She lifted her gaze to his.

      Paul’s words, promising faithfulness, love and protection, pressed against her bosom as she took a deeper breath. A blush crept across her skin. She feared even the blush might give her away.

      Compared to her father, Paul was water to stone, something moving and living.

      Vibrancy and approachability – warmth – emanated from Paul.

      Her father hid beneath coldness and disdain. If there was any warmth in his soul she’d never been able to see it. He most often communicated in a series of bitter glares rather than words.

      Yet Paul had experienced awful things. Death. Illness. He had cause to be bitter. He’d seen friends die, and killed others for the sake of freedom in Europe. He never spoke of it though, even when she’d asked. He always spoke of good things. But she supposed his months in England were months to forget the Peninsular War.

      “Well? Have you thought about your behaviour, Eleanor?”

      Paul’s letter was warm against her heated breast. Yes, she had thought, and she had made a choice – to leave. “Yes, Papa.”

      Until this summer she’d thought her father was unaware of his daughters, they’d grown up in the hands of servants, with a daily visit from her mother. But last year she’d reached a marriageable age, and now he saw her – but only as a bargaining tool. He wished her to marry to secure a political alliance.

      “And are you sorry?”

      Ellen’s gaze dropped to his shoes. She felt no regret. “Yes, Papa.”

      “You will take Argyle?”

      Ellen took a breath longing for courage. She did not feel able to lie to that extent.

      “Eleanor?”

      Looking up, she faced his stern condemning glare. His expression was as unreadable as marble. “I cannot, Papa. I do not wish to marry His Grace.” Her father had a way of making other people seem small and insignificant – incapable. “Papa?” Do you love me? Will you miss me?

      “You do not have a choice, Eleanor. You will do your duty.”

      His gaze held her at a distance, blunt and cold.

      Hers reached out, begging for a sign of his affection. “I cannot, Papa. He is so old, and–”

      “You are being wilful and defiant, Eleanor. You will do as I say and that is an end to it.”

      The words inside her pressed to escape catching up in a ball in her throat as she longed to plead, to make him accept Paul, but her father did not like emotion. As children they’d always been taken from his presence whenever there were tears, or shouts or laughter. But today, today she could not quite hold herself back. “Papa, please… What would be so wrong with Paul? I love him and he loves me…”

      He gave no obvious sign his anger had escalated, yet she knew. It was in the stiffness of his body, in the cut of his silver eyes as they glared at her. He was like her in appearance – or rather she was like him. She had his eyes and his jet black hair and pale skin. But she was nothing like him in nature, and she did not wish to be. What possessed a man to be so cold? He would be handsome if he smiled but he never smiled, merely glowered and growled.

      “Do not be ridiculous, Eleanor. Love? What is love?” Something you do not feel, Papa. “You are talking nonsense. There is nothing in it. You are the daughter of a duke. You have a duty and responsibility, and that is what you must think of in a marriage. It seems you are unrepentant then, and you’ve learned no lesson at all. You will spend the next full day on your knees. Study the bible, ask for forgiveness and pray for guidance. You will learn, Eleanor. Your mother has been too lenient, letting you dream of such fanciful things. I’ll return tomorrow.”

      I’ll be gone tomorrow. She could continue to argue, she could beg and try to cajole, but her father would never change his mind; he had never done a single thing out of kindness.

      Eleanor lowered in another curtsy. “As you say, Papa.”

      “As I say indeed, Eleanor. It will be so. You will marry Argyle. I shall write to him today.” You may write, Papa, but I shall never marry him.

      “Kneel at your bed, child.” She turned and did so, she’d never disobeyed him and even now her heartbeat thundered at the thought of doing so in a few hours. Where would she find the courage? From Paul. Her father would be so angry.

      As Ellen lifted her skirt and knelt, her father turned to the door and called to a footman. “Bring the bible from the chapel, my daughter needs time to search her soul.”

      No she did not. She had found what her soul looked for. She’d found Paul.

      ~

      “Ellen?” A quiet knock struck her bedchamber door.

      “Penny?” Ellen stood. It was dusk, her family had probably just eaten dinner, and their father would be sitting alone at the table drinking his port.

      The handle of her door turned but it would not open. Papa had the key.

      “Mama said I must not speak to you, Papa has forbidden it, so of course she will not come, yet I had to know you are well. Are you hungry? Do you wish me to send you something to eat? Has he beaten you?”

      Ellen rose from her kneeling position; she should not move, and yet she could not shout across the room in case someone heard and told tales on them. Then Penny would be in trouble too.

      Ellen pressed her fingers against the door, leaning to whisper through it. “I know, and I know Mama cannot defend me, she must obey Papa. I do not want him to be angry with her or you. You should go, Penny…”

      “Why?”

      “Paul made an offer. Papa refused it. He is angry because I encouraged Paul. Do not become caught up in this or Papa will confine you to your room too.”

      “Paul? Captain Harding? Oh Ellen. I like him.”

      Resting her forehead against the wood, Ellen smiled. “As do I, but Papa does not. He wishes me to accept the Duke of Argyle.”

      “Ellen… I shall come through the servants’ way and speak with you. You cannot marry that old man. He is awful.”

      “No. Papa would be furious. Do not take the risk. I can manage, I am merely a little cold and hungry,” and I will be gone soon…

      “But you will not agree to marry that old man. I saw him in the summer and–”

      “Of course not.” An urge to share the truth and speak of her elopement shot through Ellen’s heart, another arrow of love passing through it, but it would be wrong to involve Penny. Penny was fifteen, she would not be able to hide her knowledge if their father questioned her, and Ellen would not have Penny hurt.

      “I miss you. Rebecca and Sylvia do nothing but play silly games. Life is so dull without you.”

      Penny’s words tugged as if a cord was tethered to the arrow through Ellen’s heart, and Penny

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