Leonora blinked, and although her eyes cleared and found his, he saw no reaction, no recognition. It was as though she did not truly see him.
Watching her and her sisters ride away, Drake was momentarily at a loss. Under normal circumstances, he would not hesitate to call out Gillingham. Still, something about Leonora’s behavior did not fit. If it had been Gillingham, why had she not said something? Or at least given him a sign?
Perhaps she intended to sneak through the hedge later and tell him everything she had discovered that day. With that thought in mind, Drake hastened home, pacing his study for the remainder of the day, waiting.
Yet, she never appeared.
And then night fell.
Drake was one of the first ones to arrive at Lord Hastings’ ball. He did not dare linger at home for fear he would arrive too late, that she would need him, and he would not be there. In any case, this nervous pacing drove him mad, and especially tonight he needed his wits about him.
Who knew what was to come?
Continuing his pacing on the periphery of the ballroom, Drake finally spotted Lord Whickerton and his family arrive rather late in the evening. Gillingham had yet to appear, and so Drake turned his full attention toward Leonora, noting the pale color of her cheeks and the still distant look in her eyes. Indeed, she looked shaken.
Utterly shaken.
Her family continued to swarm around her as they had done for the past couple of weeks since they had found out the truth. Drake could not tell if Leonora had shared her most recent discovery with them, but he doubted it. If only he knew why?
Could it be that he had misjudged the situation? That something other than the discovery of her attacker had caused the sudden change in Leonora?
And then Lord Gillingham arrived, and the way Leonora reacted to seeing him told Drake everything he needed to know. Indeed, to an outside observer, it might have been too subtle to notice. To Drake, however, it was as though she were screaming at the top of her lungs, impossible not to notice.
It was the fear that once again lingered in her eyes. Drake had seen it before in the very beginning of their acquaintance, and he recognized it now. It had been some weeks, since he had last seen it. Recently, she had seemed so confident and calm and almost at peace.
Rage burned through him in waves of rolling heat. He could barely keep himself from charging across the room and pounding Gillingham into the ground. Yet, he stayed his hand, instead balling them into fists, his whole body trembling with rage as he glared at the man who had hurt Leonora.
“Is it him?”
At the sound of the dowager’s voice, Drake whirled around, completely thrown off balance by her sudden appearance as well as the words she had spoken. For long moments, he stared into her pale, knowing eyes, seeing a strong echo of his own outrage in the way she gripped her cane, her features tense, matching the almost murderous glare in her eyes.
Never had Drake seen the dowager like this. Never had he seen an old, frail lady like this. Indeed, she was a strong woman with an iron will and determination that matched his own.
Eventually, Drake exhaled the breath he had all but sucked into his lungs upon her appearance. “I cannot be certain.”
The dowager nodded. “Yet, you are.”
“She said nothing.”
“Not with words,” the dowager stated as her gaze moved to her granddaughter, her grip upon her cane tightening even more. “Yet, it is obvious, is it not?”
The dowager’s words were all the confirmation Drake needed. “I will kill him,” he snarled through clenched teeth. After all, he had made Leonora a promise, had he not?
“And what then?” Turning to look at him, the dowager shifted on her feet, then raised her walking stick, gripping it lower and all but waving it in his face. Oddly enough, she did not seem to depend upon it in that moment. “In recent weeks, my granddaughter has grown strong under your tutelage.” A glimmer of appreciation lingered in her eyes before it dimmed, replaced by sadness and regret. “Look at her now.” She turned to where her granddaughter stood with a bowed head, hands clenched in front of her. “A scared lamb.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Drake demanded, regretting the harsh tone in his voice, nonetheless, certain that the dowager would not take offense.
A surprisingly warm chuckle rumbled in the old woman’s throat. “Remind her of what she has learned, of what you taught her. She is strong,” a menacing glare came to her eyes as she turned to look at Gillingham, “stronger than this pitiful excuse for a man.”
Drake nodded, feeling his insides tense the moment Gillingham made to stride across the ballroom, his eyes fixed upon Leonora.
“Go to her,” the dowager urged, poking him in the shoulder with her cane. “Now.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In Agreement
Whenever Leonora thought back to the events that had taken place in Hyde Park earlier that day, she felt sick to the stomach, panic nearly blinding her, almost sending her fleeing from the room. And so, she tried her best to distract her thoughts, to keep her mind off the subject at hand. She did not even dare call it by its rightful name but instead used abstract descriptions, hoping that they would calm her nerves and allow her to think rationally once again.
The time between Hyde Park and arriving at the Hastings’ ball was nothing but a blur to Leonora. She remembered voices speaking around her, near her. She remembered answering, but she knew not what she had said. Somehow, she had ended up in a gown, her hair styled in the latest fashion, and made it to the ball.
Now, she stood here, surrounded by her family and she had never felt more awful in her life. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted back to earlier that afternoon. Instantly, panic reawakened in her heart, and she had to stomp on those thoughts, forcing them back down and directing her attention toward something harmless.
“Who are you glaring at?” Harry mumbled nearby.
When Leonora turned her head, she saw Christina standing side-by-side with her childhood friend Sarah, who had once lived in the townhouse next door. While Sarah looked almost as miserable as Leonora felt herself, Christina looked furious, arms crossed over her chest as she did indeed glare at someone across the room. “Him,” Christina snapped in answer to her sister’s question.
“Him?” Harriet inquired, inching closer and all but looking over Christina shoulder. “Who is he? What has he done to deserve such hatred?”
Leonora noticed a slight shiver go through Sarah, her eyes still averted and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Of course, Leonora did not relish the thought of Sarah suffering—for some unknown reason—yet, it posed a most welcome distraction.
“His name is Mr. Sharpe,” Sarah replied in a small voice, her gaze briefly darting across the room to the man in question. “He is…my mother intends…”
“She intends to have her married to that man,” Christina hissed, bolts of lightning shooting out of her blue eyes.
Harriet frowned. “And you object to him because…?”
Christina all but threw up her hands. “I have spoken of him before, have I not? Do you ever listen?” For a brief moment she closed her eyes, no doubt counting to ten in her mind before facing their youngest sister once more. “He is nothing but a merchant, a lowlife, someone who acquired what he possesses through unspeakable means. He has no place among polite society, and the only reason he wishes to make Sarah his wife is to gain her connections. It is despicable!”