her side that entire evening and again at breakfast the next morning. Afterward, Elle professed herself too busy to go riding with him, since she would be engaged in reading the manuscript of a novel a friend had written.
Damon enjoyed a solitary ride and sequestered himself in the Rosemont library. Then shortly after one o'clock, the first houseguests began arriving.
He'd known he would dislike having Prince Laz-zara in close proximity to his new bride, but he hadn't counted on having his jealousy aroused from another quarter: Rayne Kenyon, the new Earl of Haviland, who'd escorted his grandmother the dowager countess down from London.
Or more precisely, Damon was not happy that Eleanor seemed to be on such easy terms with Lord Haviland and even appeared to flirt with him. Damon overheard them jesting together when they all gathered in the drawing room at four o'clock for tea.
“A pity I was not swift enough to snare your hand in marriage before Wrexham did,” the earl told Eleanor with a smile. “My grandmother would have been enraptured had you chosen to wed me, since she thinks you the ideal young lady.”
Eleanor smiled back at him. “It is common knowledge that Lady Haviland is pressing you to marry.”
“A vast understatement,” Haviland said dryly. “She wants an heir to her family bloodlines before she goes to meet her Maker, which she insists will come any day now. But since you are no longer available, I will have to search elsewhere for a suitable bride.”
“I regret disappointing your grandmother, my lord. But my husband”-she sent Damon a playful glance, her eyes dancing-”proved impossible for me to resist. I have no doubt, however, that you will easily attract scores of eligible young ladies.”
“Eligible, yes… but unfortunately not as appealing as I would wish.”
“I suppose they are all too tame for you.”
“Or they consider me a trifle too uncivilized, since I'm not enamored of London society as a peer should be.”
Eleanor laughed lightly with Haviland, which sent a shaft of jealousy straight to Damon's loins.
There was far more substance to the earl, however, than the typical nobleman possessed, Damon knew from their university days together. He was reminded again that evening upon witnessing Haviland's keen powers of observation. The company had repaired to the drawing room after dinner to hear Eleanor perform on the pianoforte. While Prince Lazzara turned the sheet music for her, Haviland crossed to where Damon stood by the French doors taking in a breath of cool air as a respite from the stuffy, overheated formality of the gathering.
“I am curious, Wrexham, as to why two Bow Street Runners would be harboring on the premises.”
Damon eyed the earl with amused admiration. “So you noticed that, did you? What gave them away? Neither is wearing his usual red-breasted coat.”
“I have had some experience with Bow Street before. What is their purpose? They seem to be hovering near Lazzara whenever possible.”
“It is rather a long story.”
Haviland shrugged. “I have ample time to listen- and hearing the tale will be far more intriguing than making polite drawing room conversation.”
Thus, Damon found himself recounting the frequent accidents that had befallen the prince, beginning with the wheel coming off his phaeton in the park and culminating in the sabotaging of the balloon flight.
Haviland looked thoughtful at the conclusion of Damon's narrative. “You said the pickpocket at the Pantheon Bazaar appeared to be foreign?”
“Yes. He had the olive complexion of the Italians, in fact.”
“It would be no surprise if his highness had de veloped enemies among his countrymen. Royalty often arouses malcontents with grievances.” Haviland paused. “It might be interesting to try to set a trap for his assailant.”
Damon raised an eyebrow at the earl's proposition for intrigue, although such unconventionality from him was not entirely unexpected, given Haviland's purported experience with British intelligence.
“Meaning,” Damon questioned, “that we should use Lazzara as bait? Could it be done without endangering him too greatly?”
“I expect something could be arranged. Let me think on it. Meanwhile you should have the Runners pay close attention to his servants and compatriots.”
“I already have done so,” Damon responded. “Lazzara brought his usual retinue of attendants with him, against my advice, and I thought they bore extra scrutiny from Bow Street. I also asked my valet to watch for any suspicious activity in the servants’ quarters. But, Haviland, the prince would likely be safer if you agreed to keep an eye on him.”
The earl grinned. “I would be happy to oblige. It will be a relief to have something constructive to occupy me for the next fortnight. Frankly, I find these large house parties to be excruciatingly dull.”
Damon once had been of the same opinion-until he'd met Elle at this very same event two years ago. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on the raven-haired charmer, he was bowled over. That first time Eleanor had been surrounded by a coterie of admirers, and he'd been hard-pressed to lure her away from her beaux so he could have her to himself.
His challenge was similar now, Damon reflected, only now his adversary was her aunt. At least, however, Signor Vecchi served to distract Lady Beldon somewhat. Evidently Eleanor was right: Her aunt was becoming enamored of the distinguished Italian diplomat.
To Damon's gratification, Lady Beldon's attention was further diverted when nearly two dozen more guests began arriving the next day and her house party began in earnest. She had invited the cream of the ton, and by now they'd all heard about her niece's hasty wedding.
Many of them offered guarded felicitations, but her ladyship set about annihilating their reservations with the resolution of a field general. It amused Damon to hear the viscountess sing his praises and pretend delight at the union when he knew she was lying through her teeth.
Eleanor, too, did her part to tamp down any whiff of scandal-playing the role of the beautiful, vivacious heiress who had made a splendid match with an extremely eligible nobleman.
Damon couldn't help but admire her as she charmed and enchanted her arbiters. Yet Elle would have captured his attention, even had he not been newly married to her. She was so vital and alive, she seemed to raise the spirits of everyone around her. Damon was constantly aware of her and found himself listening for her sparkling laugh, watching for her warm smile.
But while he always knew where Eleanor was at any given moment, his bride continued to keep her distance from him and always found inventive excuses to avoid being alone with him.
His cousin, Tess Blanchard, was the only one who appeared to note their lack of intimacy. Damon was pleased to see Tess in the throng of guests, but when she congratulated him on his marriage and hinted that she would like to know more about the details, he merely thanked her and changed the subject to her favorite topic: her charities.
Tess knew all about his endeavors in Italy and had actually discovered several cases of consumption in the course of her work with the impoverished families of fallen soldiers. She'd brought the sufferers to Otto Geary's notice, who had then arranged for them to become patients at Damon's sanitorium.
Thankfully, Tess was clever and intuitive enough not to press him further, saying merely when they parted, “I truly hope you and Eleanor will be happy together.”
Elle's elder brother, on the other hand, was clearly not so hopeful or optimistic-or forgiving. Marcus Pierce, Lord Danvers, and his new wife, Arabella, appeared at the house party two full days before they were expected, having heard of the sudden marriage upon returning from their trip to the Continent.
They arrived on Saturday morning, when the guests were entertaining themselves by playing Pall Mall on the lawn or trying their hands at archery. Eleanor seemed overjoyed to see her brother, judging by her alacrity at setting down her bow and arrow to give Marcus an effusive embrace.
When he quizzed her about what the devil she had been up too, marrying the moment his back was turned, she laughed and gave him an abbreviated recount of the balloon ascension.
Watching brother and sister together, Damon found himself rather envious of the close camaraderie they plainly shared, even if he had purposely avoided that closeness in his own relationship with Eleanor.
Marcus called her Nell, the more common diminutive of her name, as well as “minx” and a few other teasing
