To Trust a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #8)(32)

She shook her head. “I don’t under—”

“Your uncle left you ten thousand pounds.” Her aunt continued to pat her two dogs.

At the duchess’ matter-of-fact deliverance of those life-transforming words, Eleanor’s heart picked up a frantic pounding born of hope. “What?” she whispered. All the greatest terror that had robbed her of rest over her and Marcia’s fate dimmed and a lightness drove back the terror that had weighted her waking and sleeping thoughts since Father’s passing.

A smile pulled at the woman’s usually stern lips. “I’m the one with faulty hearing, gel, not you. Your uncle settled ten thousand pounds on you.”

As the implications of her aunt’s revelation sank into Eleanor’s slow to comprehend mind, she slid her eyes closed. A fortune. He’d left her a fortune which would allow her to care for Marcia, and never worry about being dependent upon anyone, and more…she’d never have to marry for convenience. A sob escaped her throat and she buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t do that, gel,” her aunt said, her voice gruff with uncharacteristic emotion. She patted Eleanor’s knee the way she did her beloved pups. “I loved your uncle, but it doesn’t mean he was intelligent in all the ways that matter, and certainly not in matters of a lady’s mind.” She snapped her fingers and the two dogs ambled off to their corner of the room where they claimed a spot on the sofa. “But there you have it.”

There she had what?

The old woman leaned forward in her seat, and the chair groaned its protest. “Men, they assume they know what is best for all.” Her aunt made a sound of disgust and Eleanor desperately tried to follow along.

Her aunt gave her a meaningful look.

Warning bells blared in Eleanor’s ears.

“He wants you to reenter Society, Eleanor.”

A pall of silence fell over the room.

The duchess’ words came as though down a long hall and Eleanor curled her hands into tight fists. No. She could not. “I cannot.” Did that weak, breathless avowal belong to her?

“The ten thousand pounds are contingent upon that, gel,” her aunt interrupted, settled her palms on the arms of her chair, like a king issuing a decree.

Nausea churned in Eleanor’s belly at fate’s cruel jest. So this is why she was here. It was not merely to serve as companion to her lonely aunt. Fear made her mouth go dry and with fingers that trembled, Eleanor grabbed the leather book from the seat next to her and pulled it close to her chest. After she’d made her hasty flight, she’d vowed to never return to the place where horror lived on in her memories. Only a need to see Marcia cared for had forced her to set aside those fears. She could not, however, have a Season. Not again. She was not so strong that she could dance with the threat of someday facing the man who’d shattered her world. That would destroy her in the ways he’d not already succeeded. Eleanor slowly lowered the book to the spot beside her on the sofa, proud of the steadiness of her fingers. “Aunt Dorothea, I am sure Uncle meant well, and I am grateful,” she said on a hurry. “But I do not need,” want “to take part in ton events,” she settled for, proud of the steady deliverance of those calm words, when inside her mind clamored.

To have hope and happiness dangled so very close, and then yanked back with a vicious cruelty. Why, with the shattered dream, she might as well have been the wide-eyed, hopeful girl she’d been all those years ago. Eleanor shook her head. “I cannot,” she repeated, this time those two words ringing with conviction.

“You do not have to wed in order to acquire the funds,” her aunt said with a frown. She reached inside a pocket sewn into the front of her gown, and fished around. “Ah,” she muttered. She withdrew a sheet of vellum.

The ormolu clock ticked away the passing moments as Eleanor eyed the page before finally accepting it with stiff fingers.

“Go on,” the older woman urged, jerking her chin at it.

Eleanor unfolded the page and quickly scanned the perfunctory list.

Don a colorful satin gown

Allow a gentleman to escort you in a curricle ride through Hyde Park

Dance one waltz at midnight

Attend a ball hosted by your aunt

Partake in ices at Gunther’s…with a gentleman

Attend a performance at the theatre

She furrowed her brow. These were the items comprising her late uncle’s list?

“Your uncle was about happiness,” her aunt said, bringing Eleanor’s head up. “He loved life and lived it to the fullest. He would have seen you happy.”

“I am happy,” she said automatically, folding the page. And she was. She had her daughter’s love and Marcia gave her life a purpose that had meaning.

The duchess scoffed. “This is you happy, Eleanor?”

Unable to meet the woman’s all-knowing eyes, she momentarily looked away. For in truth, even as Marcia filled Eleanor’s heart, she had not truly been happy since she’d left Marcus and crafted a falsified life for herself.

“You just need to see to those items and then at the end,” her aunt said, calling her to the moment, “if no gentleman has earned your affections,” None would. “Then the funds are yours to do with as you wish, for you—” She closed her eyes. She could not do this. “Or your girl.”