Return Of Scandal's Son. Janice Preston

all day, but I suspect you do not share my enjoyment of the ridiculous. I shall not bore you with further impertinent questions.’

      Unreasonably, Eleanor was stung by his assumption that she lacked a sense of humour. She was unused to this kind of byplay between a man and a woman and she was aware her embarrassment caused her to appear stiff and unfriendly. Although why she should care about his opinion of her, she did not know. However well he spoke, he was not of her class. She wondered what he was—a prosperous farmer, perhaps, or a merchant or a military man?

      She felt his eyes on her and risked another sideways glance. He captured her gaze—his eyes warm, his expression open. His easy smile transformed his face, giving him a charm that Eleanor found instantly appealing. To her confusion, she read admiration in his regard and her blood heated instantly at the notion. She felt a telltale blush creeping up her neck and cheeks and, uncertain, she tore her gaze from his.

      She was her own woman—rare in this day and age—in control of her own life and finances, answerable to no one, not even her trustees since she had reached her twenty-fifth birthday. She was strong and decisive when running her estates, responsible for not only her own comfort and lifestyle, but also the livelihoods and well-being of everyone who worked for her, plus their families—a responsibility she discharged with assurance. However, for all her outward confidence, she found herself regressing to the awkward, tongue-tied girl of her past in the presence of Matthew Thomas, simply because he was passing time with a light flirtation. Her experience with Donald had caused her to doubt her judgement of men and their true intentions. And had Aunt Phyllis not warned her time after time of the danger of showing too much encouragement to any gentleman?

      ‘If you truly wish to earn my approval, sir, might I suggest that you keep your eyes upon the road? We have already suffered one upset today.’

      She fixed her eyes once more on the road ahead and it was with relief that she saw the Green Man come into view.

      As they pulled up in the courtyard of the inn, Aunt Lucy came to with a start.

      ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘it could have been another attempt on your life, Ellie.’

       Chapter Five

      Matthew, on the verge of springing from the curricle, paused, his interest roused.

      ‘Aunt Lucy! That is preposterous. Bonny’s death was an accident.’

      ‘You cannot be certain of that, Ellie. What about the fire at the Manor? Someone set that fire and lurked around to see what happened. He brained Fretwell to stop him rescuing you, in case you had forgotten.’

      ‘Brained...! Aunt! What a thing to say.’ Eleanor’s voice lowered, holding a clear warning. ‘Mr Thomas does not want to hear those wild conjectures. I’ll warrant it was as I said—a burglar, and Fretwell was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

      ‘A burglar? In the library? Why would a burglar deliberately set fire to a pile of books? You must not dismiss this as coincidence.’

      Eleanor glared daggers at her aunt, who took no notice, continuing, ‘Your bedchamber is directly over the library and now a shot is fired at our carriage. Who knows what their intention was, but you are a common factor to both, you cannot deny it.’

      ‘I think you have been indulging in too many Gothic novels,’ Eleanor said. She laughed in a dismissive fashion, but Matthew caught the haunted look that flashed across her face. ‘That sort of thing simply doesn’t happen in this day and age. Do you not agree, Mr Thomas?’

      Matthew completed his descent from the curricle. Eleanor was regarding him with her brows raised, clearly awaiting his agreement, but he was by now intrigued. He would not be pressed to give his opinion before he knew the facts. He did not doubt that, beneath her dismissal of her aunt’s words, Eleanor was more troubled than she would admit.

      ‘I should prefer to hear the full circumstances before passing comment, my lady.’

      He assisted Eleanor from the curricle, biting back a grin when she snatched her hand from his as soon as she was on solid ground, her cheeks now glowing pink. She was certainly a woman of contrasts: one moment acting the grande dame, the next blushing like a schoolgirl. Not the response he expected from a married woman. Most likely her husband was one of those aristocrats—plentiful enough in the ton—who did not inconvenience himself with romancing his wife. A sad waste, in Matthew’s opinion.

      ‘In the meantime, ladies,’ he continued, with a pointed look at the innkeeper, who had emerged to welcome his guests, ‘I think we should continue this discussion inside, in private.’

      Eleanor turned to the innkeeper, but Matthew stepped forward to forestall her. He might not dress the gentleman, but his upbringing—slowly stretching and awakening after what seemed like a long sleep—dictated that he, as the man of the party, should deal with innkeepers and their ilk.

      ‘Good afternoon, Fairfax. We shall require two additional bedchambers for the ladies, plus accommodation for their servants, who will be arriving shortly. I trust there is room to accommodate the whole party?’

      Fairfax’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry, sir; would that I could accommodate you, but the place is full to the rafters.’ His voice dropped discreetly as he shot a sideways glance at the two ladies. ‘What with the prize fight tomorrow, sir, I doubt you’ll find a spare room anywhere in Ashton tonight.’

      Matthew swore beneath his breath; the fight had slipped his mind after dealing with the aftermath of the accident. The illicit match was the reason he had returned to Ashton after the successful conclusion of his business in Rochdale.

      Eleanor stepped forward, interrupting his reflections.

      ‘It appears we have no choice but to continue our journey after all, Mr Thomas,’ she said, with barely concealed satisfaction, a distinct challenge in her tawny eyes.

      Matthew clenched his jaw. The provocative grande dame had materialised once more.

      Eleanor turned to the innkeeper. ‘I shall require a carriage to convey my party to Stockport, where we have rooms bespoken for tonight, if you please.’

      Before Fairfax could respond, Lady Rothley swayed, groaning quietly, her hand to her head. Eleanor was instantly at her side, her arm around her aunt’s waist.

      ‘Aunt Lucy! Are you all right?’

      ‘A little shaken still, my pet—I feel utterly overcome of a sudden.’

      ‘Come, let us go inside. You need to sit down and rest. Oh, what was I thinking? How could I even consider making you travel any further after what you have been through? Only...what are we to do now, with no rooms available?’

      Matthew could not resist the hint of desperation in Eleanor’s voice.

      ‘Might I suggest you ladies take my room here? It is not ideal, with so many strangers in town, but I am sure you will be safe enough. And I am in no doubt Fairfax will be able to provide a cot somewhere for your maids.’ It would mean a longer drive to view the fight tomorrow, but that would be a trivial inconvenience. ‘The ladies’ carriage was involved in an accident,’ he continued, by way of explanation to the innkeeper.

      ‘Of course, sir. If the ladies don’t object to sharing, I’m sure we can find a corner for their maids, and any men can bed down above the stables. I dare say they’re used to making do.’

      ‘I shall continue on to Stockport today and stay at...the White Lion, was it not?’ Matthew said.

      Lady Rothley perked up, reminding Matthew of a bird that had spied a juicy worm, with her tiny, delicate frame and her bright, beady eyes. ‘That is a splendid notion, Mr Thomas, is it not, my pet? I must confess that the thought of travelling further today quite overset me.’

      Eleanor ushered her aunt into the inn. ‘I am sorry, Aunt. I hadn’t given a thought