Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

As his face grew increasingly mottled, Kensington tugged on the hem of his mustard-colored jacket. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Abbington.” The words were stilted and brusque, understandably.

As far as she was concerned, the sooner this interview was over, the better. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, dipping into a shallow curtsey. He turned and stalked away, cutting a straight line through the grass toward the house. Expelling a lungful of air, Eleanor sagged against one of the folly’s rounded stone columns.

That was an experience she hoped never to repeat.

If he’d only listened to her in the first place. Must people look upon her unmarried status as something to be pitied or remedied? Before her father had died, she had seen all too well the life of a married woman. That was something to be pitied—not her perfectly lovely life. Besides attending to Aunt Margaret’s comforts, no one ever told Eleanor what to do, how to act, or what to say. No one ever humiliated her, laid a hand on her, or made her cry.

She was free, and she intended to stay that way.

A quarter of an hour later, Eleanor let herself into the empty library, carefully pulling the glass door closed behind her. The cool interior felt good against her flushed cheeks, and she went straight to the nearest chair and collapsed in it. If she were very, very lucky, perhaps no one noticed her coming back to the house. She wasn’t ready to face her uncle just yet. She wanted a chance to think of what to say—

Bam!

The door banged open, startling her into sitting up straight. Uncle Robert stalked into the room, his heavy grey brows lowered over narrowed eyes. With his full grey beard and patrician nose, he was only a toga away from looking like a vengeful Zeus.

So much for having time to gather her thoughts.

“For God’s sake, Eleanor, have you lost your mind? What would possess you to turn down the suit of such an advantageous match?”

Advantageous? For whom, exactly? Indignation flared to life, trumping her apprehension. Her own brows pinched as she lifted her chin. “I am sorry, Uncle, but I did make it quite clear I had no intentions of marrying Lord Kensington.”

“And I made it abundantly clear that Kensington is a valuable political ally with whom I wish to align myself.”

“I’m certain he is a fine politician. I am less certain, however, as to his suitability as a husband.” The very thought made her stomach ache.

“He’s a suitable husband because of his politics,” he snapped, coming to stand directly in front of her. “This isn’t some fairytale, Eleanor. Marriage is a vehicle for strengthening bonds between allies, as you well know.”

How could she forget? In the three months since she had come out of half-mourning, he had spoken of little else. Eleanor drew a calming breath, trying to sound rational. “I can appreciate that. However, I am not prepared to sacrifice my entire life so that Lord Kensington feels obligated to vote more favorably. The politics should stand on their own merits, should they not?”

His nostrils flared, though the rest of him remained unnervingly still. “You have no idea of what you speak, and quite frankly, you are far too old for this sort of selfish childishness. Thank God my sister is not around to see the sort of ungrateful person you have become.”

His words pierced her armor like a well-placed blade. He knew exactly how to flay her, leaving her breathless. “I will not believe Mama would have wanted me to suffer the same fate as she.” Her words were raspy, filled with barely leashed emotion.

The muscles of his jaw hardened, same as his eyes. “And what fate was that? To become a respected member of society? To have children and be the mistress of a great house? To attend the most exclusive balls and dine at the Prince Regent’s own table? You should be so lucky to ‘suffer’ a fate such as hers.”

She swallowed hard against the need to lash out. To baldly state the truth they all knew but no one ever said. Antagonizing her uncle at this point would only make things worse. Straightening her spine, she nodded. “I am sorry I have failed your expectations, Uncle. It was never my intention to disappoint you or this family.”

He shook his head, regarding her as one might a convicted horse thief. “You’ve gone too far this time, Eleanor. Your streak of independence must be nipped in the bud. You have a duty to this family, as do I.”

She bit her tongue, literally, and nodded. When he set his teeth like that, she knew from past experience it was best simply to agree—no matter how idiotic the statement. So long as she didn’t anger him before she left, she could stay out of sight until he cooled down, and he’d likely forget it.

Maybe.

He did look particularly agitated this time.