And then their engagement had abruptly ended. No doubt Damon was vastly relieved that he no longer risked any possibility of her reaching him.
A sad smile touched Eleanor's lips when she recalled his claim last evening, that by building his sanatorium he had tried to control fate. She had undertaken a similar goal concerning her own matrimonial future, vowing to rule her destiny. They were very much alike in that respect. Yet there was one enormous difference. Damon did not want to find love as she did.
Her greatest fear had always been living a barren, lonely life without love, so she had been determined to fall in love with a man who loved her in return.
She'd hoped that Prince Lazzara would ideally fit her needs. And last week, when her former betrothed unexpectedly reentered her life, she'd escalated her efforts to attract his highness. Yet her burst of defiance, Eleanor could now admit, was driven more by hurt and wounded pride and anger against Damon. She would be cutting off her own nose to spite her face, as the saying went, if she continued her pursuit of Prince Lazzara.
More critically, the simple truth was, she could not possibly love him or any other man as long as she had unfinished business with Damon.
She didn't like to think of how vulnerable her new wisdom made her to Damon, yet that was not her most pressing problem at the moment.
She would have to end the prince's courtship, of course. It would be cruel to persist and thereby raise his expectations any further when she had no intention of fulfilling them. But she would gradually ease away so as not to wound
Throwing off the covers, Eleanor rose and rang for her maid so she could bathe and dress and begin mentally preparing herself for their excursion to the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew, if it was still on.
The question of what to do about Damon remained completely unsettled, but at least now she knew her mind regarding her noble Italian suitor.
Unfortunately, Eleanor had little time for private conversation with the prince that afternoon, since two of Signor Vecchi's fellow dignitaries and their wives joined their small party for the alfresco luncheon on the grounds of Kew Gardens.
Because Prince Lazzara could not walk easily, his servants spread quilts on a grassy stretch of lawn near the River Thames, in the shade of a large willow tree. The younger ladies willingly kept his highness company, while Signor Vecchi and his colleagues escorted Lady Beldon on a tour of the Botanic Gardens to view the exotic flora brought back by various scientific expeditions around the world.
Without privacy, Eleanor had no chance to discuss the events of last evening with Prince Lazzara, or to tell him her suspicions about the cause of his illness. His appetite had returned, however, judging by his apparent enjoyment of the delicacies provided by the Beldon chef. The repast was almost a feast, served formally on china and crystal and silver.
Nonetheless, his highness seemed eager to get her alone at the conclusion of the picnic. Standing with the aid of his cane, he offered Eleanor his arm so they could better view the swans swimming on the Thames.
As they slowly strolled the short distance to the river along a footpath flanked by willows and alders, she grew more confident in her decision to terminate their courtship. Prince Lazzara was not the right husband for her. She would never come to love him, no matter how valiantly she tried. One couldn't tell a heart what to feel or whom to love. And it was foolish to believe otherwise.
She would never be happy with so tame a gentleman, either, Eleanor decided as they reached the stone embankment overlooking the Thames. For all his attractive personal attributes and illustrious worldly advantages, Prince Lazzara was not only rather ordinary, he could not fire her blood the way a single look from Damon could.
“You are very quiet, Donna Eleanora,” the prince observed as she stood watching the magnificent birds make lazy circles on the water's rippling surface.
Eleanor dragged herself from her contemplations to give him a faint smile. “To be truthful, your highness I was trying to determine the best way to broach a certain subject without sounding overly dramatic. You see, I am rather worried for your safety.”
“Indeed?” Lazzara responded curiously. “And why is that?”
“Do you recall meeting the renowned physician, Mr. Geary, last evening?”
“Yes, I do. He is an intriguing gentleman.”
“Well, after you became ill and left the ball, he discovered something very unusual about the punch you had been drinking.”
Before she could say any more, however, Eleanor heard an odd whistling sound, followed by a soft thwack. Prince Lazzara gave a faint exclamation of pain before raising his hand and slapping the back of his neck behind his left ear.
Eleanor's first thought was that he had been stung by a bee, yet beneath his probing fingers, she could see a small brown object embedded in the skin above his high shirt collar.
At that same moment she heard a distracting rustle in the copse of willows behind them, but her attention was focused on whatever had struck the prince.
When he jerked it out and examined it, she realized the brown object appeared to be a feathered dart about one inch long, with a pointed metal tip that was needle-thin and sharp.
Then to Eleanor's startlement, Lazzara's eyelids drifted shut and his knees slumped. The dart slipping from his limp fingers, he slowly pitched forward into the river four feet below to land with a great splash.
Eleanor gave her own cry of dismay, yet she was held immobile by shock for an instant; to her horror, the prince had plunged headfirst into the water!
When he bobbed up again, he began struggling lethargically to keep his head above the surface. Apparently he was not entirely unconscious, yet not only was he in danger of drowning, he was quickly floating downstream.
Regaining her senses, Eleanor shouted for help to the servants behind her, then threw herself feet first off the embankment after the prince. The impact as the cold water closed over her head was powerful enough to take her breath away, and her long skirts dragged her down. But once she fought her way to the surface, she desperately struck out after his highness using the currents to aid her pursuit.
It seemed to Eleanor like an eternity before she reached him. He was still flailing weakly, however, and when she tried to catch the sleeve of his frock coat, he fought against her with an urgency that resembled panic.
“For the love of God, your highness,
Fortunately for them both, he didn't have the strength to continue resisting. When he surrendered, she rolled him onto his back and grasped his coat collar. Then with all her might, she towed him toward the stone embankment.
When they finally reached it, Eleanor was grateful to find a gnarled mass of willow roots they could cling to while waiting for help to arrive. The prince slumped there coughing and spitting up river water as she strove to catch her breath.
They had landed a dozen yards downstream from where he'd fallen in, but her shout had alerted the others in their party, and they all came running, guests and servants alike.
However, since apparently none of the footmen knew how to swim, it was some time before they were rescued with the aid of a leather rein purloined from a carriage. Eleanor insisted that the prince be hauled up first and so looped the rein under his armpits. When he had been dragged to safety, she followed to find him sprawled limply on his side.
Eleanor sank down beside him, wondering fearfully if he would survive-if he had been poisoned by the dart or merely drugged. But at least he was still breathing. And after a moment he shook his wet head and blinked up at her, as if trying to regain his bearings.
“What… happened?” he rasped in a hoarse voice.
“You fainted and fell into the river, your highness,” Eleanor answered.
“I don't remember… Ah, yes… you pulled me to shore…”
He pushed himself up onto his elbow, still looking dazed and sluggish. But he seemed to be recovering.
