The Cheer in Charming an Earl(2)

Miranda, Abigail and Charlotte, Elinor’s younger sisters, were peering into the awaiting carriage as though they’d never seen their brother’s primeval equipage before. Of course they had; Gavin owned just one conveyance, an ancient monstrosity that rarely left its post. Their village was five blocks in total, including their whitewashed house at the end of the cobbled street. But he insisted on keeping the rickety coach even if the carriage roof leaked, one glass pane was cracked through, and the whole of it smelled like ruined boots.

“I envy you to tears.” Charlotte’s declaration was followed by an enormously overdone sigh, considering she believed Elinor to be resigning herself to spinsterhood, and by way of a moldy, rattling carriage. “I wish I were the second-oldest.”

Miranda frowned. “Poppycock. You would detest being anything but the youngest. At any rate, it’s not as though Elinor is going on holiday. I shouldn’t wish to be the one who must shuffle our poor aunt off this mortal coil.”

Elinor shuddered. What a ghastly thought! Yet wholly understandable in the circumstances, what with the family believing her to be on her way to attend their estranged aunt’s deathbed. Her belly tightened. It wasn’t entirely her fault they thought Aunt Millie knocking at death’s door. Neither she nor any of her siblings had ever met their mother’s sister, nor did they correspond with her directly. Mama had always maintained six boisterous children were too much stimulation for a woman in Aunt Millie’s condition. Elinor had never thought much of it; there was no need to write their aunt letters on their own, for she sent news twice per month—letters delivered directly into Mama’s hand.

Until Elinor had decided to take matters with Grantham into her own hands. Then she’d written Aunt Millie secretly, to propose an arrangement that could benefit them both. For Mama had lamented her sister’s eventual passing for years, and while, insofar as Elinor knew, Aunt Millie was no worse for wear today than she’d been in the past decade, it had seemed reasonable to Elinor to offer up her company to a dying woman in exchange for a pretext to leave Gloucester.

Again she reminded herself that all would be understood once she was able to explain why she’d contrived such nonsense.

Charlotte turned to Miranda and pulled a face. “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t know what to do with a dead body. Aside from scream, I suppose. A lady in distress is always allowed to scream.”

“How inefficient,” Elinor murmured. Why, if Aunt Mildred did cock up her toes while Elinor was supposed to be attending her bedside, Elinor would perish of guilt long before she thought to scream. But she put on a brave face when Georgiana shot her a suspicious look, and clasped one hand to her heart. “I will be strong for us, Charlotte. I promise.”

Charlotte cast her a look of adolescent condescension. Miranda gave her a curt nod of approval, and Georgie continued to watch her warily. Both Miranda and Georgiana were terribly sensible, unlike Abigail, who vied with pretty Charlotte for ridiculousness.

“If anything should happen,” seventeen-year-old Abigail said firmly, “anything of interest, that is, or at least more interesting than here, do send us a post. Gloucester is so tedious that it hasn’t even bothered to snow.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. Nevertheless, she rubbed at the thin coat covering her arms. It was mere days until Christmas, and the weather was quite cold.

Again, Elinor did her best to look resolved rather than impatient. “I shall. Right away. That is, when I have something to convey.” With any luck, that would be within the next day and a half—approximately the time required to reach Chelford House, just a few miles from Aunt Mildred’s cottage, and win Grantham’s heart.

Assuming she was ever allowed to actually leave.

Finally, her brother stepped forward. He opened his iron-band arms for her and she stepped into his strong embrace without hesitating. Gavin gave the best hugs in all of England. She needn’t travel the countryside to know it.

He squeezed her tight and bussed her fur-capped head as if she were still a little girl. “Be good for Aunt Millie. Remember to send Mama long letters about her. I shall read them in a falsetto after dinner, in my best imitation of your voice.”

Elinor laughed and hugged her brother tighter. If only she were going to Aunt Mildred’s, she would write pages and pages describing their unknown aunt. “I will.”

“Good girl.” He embraced her a second time before pulling back to examine her. “You do know how sorry I am that it’s come to this, don’t you? I’ll hold out hope that Aunt Millie calls for you to inherit her estate, to be sure, for a woman should have a house of her own even if she has no husband. But I never wanted you to live out your days alone.” He forced his lips into a hard line and glanced at her four sisters, who’d wandered away to investigate a frozen puddle. “I suppose you’d take in Miranda or Georgie in time, if nothing can be done for them. Abigail and Charlotte may make their debuts yet, but…” He shook his head. “How I wish one young man had caught your fancy before they’d all ridden off to war!”