"My dear Mr. Ormston," Eleanor cried. "Surely you jest. The moves are devious. White simply brings his pieces to bear on the denuded King, one by one." "I must be distracted," he said.
Eleanor threw him a teasing glance. "My sister gave me firm instructions not to play chess with you, for I may frighten you. Are you afraid, Mr. Ormston?" "Yes."
They walked a pace or two and then she took his hand. "Leopold?"
He spun her off the path and behind a thick lilac hedge so quickly that she didn't breathe. "I'm afraid, Eleanor. I'm afraid that you don't love me as much as I love you. I'm afraid that you won't believe me, that you'll think I want you merely for the benefit of my children. And oh God, Eleanor, I'm afraid I can't live without you."
She reached out and slowly, very slowly, undid the pearl buttons on his very proper right glove.
Then she peeled back the heavy gray silk—far too fine, really, for a plain Mr. Ormston—and gently pulled it off his hand.
She raised his hand, still without meeting his eyes, and kissed each finger. They trembled slightly in hers. She turned over his hand and pressed her lips to his palm. Only then did she meet his eyes. "I am not afraid, because I love you. And I will always love you. Always. Your love stands between me and fear."
His face transformed itself—without a smile, of course. Then before she realized what was happening, he went down on one knee. "Leopold—"
"Will you do me the inexpressible honor, Lady Eleanor, of becoming my wife?" "Yes," she whispered. "Oh yes, I will, I will."
Then he was on his feet again and holding her tightly, and kissing her with that sort of passionate force that made Leopold... Leopold.
"I have a ring in honor of our betrothal," he said some time later.
Eleanor was nestled against his chest, his arm around her.
"You may not feel it is fit for a duchess," he said, just a touch of doubt in his voice.
She opened her eyes to find that he had pulled the glove from her left hand and was sliding a ring over her finger. It was made of pale gold, shaped into the petals of a lily, with a beautiful diamond in the center. It was neither ostentatious nor lavishly ornamental. It was the kind of ring that delicately heralded true love. It was elegant; it was subtle. It was everything the Duke of Villiers wasn't, and Mr. Ormston was.
Tears welled in her eyes. She put her arms around his neck. "Oh, Leo," she said, "it's absolutely perfect."
Had she ever thought his eyes were cold? "I could get you a marquise-cut diamond as big as—as a mouse," he said. "If you would prefer?"
"So I could impress everyone with my glittering rodent?" She managed to smile even though tears were slipping down her cheeks. "This is utterly perfect."
"May I speak to your father?"
She couldn't help laughing a little. "He returns on the Saint Esprit, due to dock tomorrow, if it's on course."
He wiped away her tears and replaced her glove. Then they stepped out from behind the hedge and decorously made their way back to the carriage.
When Eleanor walked through her front door, she almost felt as if the past hour had not happened.
Her hair was unmussed. Apparently Mr. Ormston did not believe in twisting his hands into a lady's coiffure when he kissed her. He had kissed her...but only on the lips.
Anne looked up. "Why—Why—" Eleanor smiled and took off her glove.
"But you've seen him only twice!" Anne shrieked. "Oh, what an utterly darling ring!" She froze.
"Eleanor, I've seen this ring." Her voice was hushed. "Your Mr. Ormston is—is quite extravagant."
"What do you mean?" Eleanor said, looking lovingly down at the ring. "I have certainly seen bigger diamonds."
"It has been on display at Stedman and Vardan, the jewelers on New Bond Street for over a month
—because it belonged to Queen Elizabeth, until she threw it to Sir Walter Raleigh after a jousting tournament. The diamond in the middle is one of the finest examples of a European cut that Mr.
Stedman has ever seen..." Her eyes grew round. "Eleanor, what sort of fortune could Mr. Ormston have inherited?"
She couldn't stop laughing. It was so like her own, darling Leopold. He had found the one ring in England that would suit both of them. "Would you say that this ring cost more than a marquise-cut diamond?" she asked Anne.
"Why... why this ring probably cost more than ten such rings, Eleanor! He must love you so much."
She peered at the ring, awed. "He must have thought of nothing but you for the last three years."
"Not exactly," Eleanor said, beaming. "Not exactly."