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and his wife had died a year before. For once
in her life, Eleanor was going to make her parents proud.
    “Ouch.”
    “Sorry, my lady. It’s hard
to work around the bump on your head.”
    Eleanor lifted her gaze to
the ceiling. She supposed her hair was useful for one thing—covering the large
and painful egg-like bump on her head. A tiny shiver skipped down her spine
when she recalled Lucian’s large hand pressing against her scalp. Drat, why did
he cause such a sensation? She still hated him, did she not?
    It was so hard to tell. At
times she found herself amused by his gruff demeanour, at other times
infuriated. Sometimes even sad. Around such a beautiful, graceful man, she felt
a bumbling, ungainly creature.
    “There we go, my lady.”
    Glancing in the mirror,
Eleanor nodded with satisfaction. She was back to being relatively
well-presented. She didn’t take long to stare in the mirror—she knew what she
would find and none of it ever pleased her. Quickly patting on some rouge, she
stood, eyed her image in the long gilded mirror and nodded again—this time to
herself. Thank goodness for corsets.  The pale blue gown was flattering
enough to give an impression of a decent figure. Some might even find it
attractive, she supposed.
    Not Lucian though. He was
used to beautiful women hanging off his arm. Mama had kept her apprised of all
the happenings while she had been travelling and often availed her of the
details of Lucian’s recent conquests. The tales of their beauty had never
failed to knot her insides with jealousy. She wanted to be one of those
handsome women. She wanted to hang on his arm and have him whisper
naughty suggestions in her ear.
    Except she did not want that
anymore, did she? She had grown up. Foolish, wanton thoughts like that had no
place in her life now. When she turned, she realised Maggie had left the room.
Eleanor hadn’t even heard her go. Too absorbed in thoughts of Lucian. Lord, she
needed to focus her mind where it belonged. On the mill.
    She pondered her findings
over breakfast. The mill was not making a profit and several customers still
owed on their accounts. There were further numbers to be explored but she had
not had the time. Before Lucian had deposited her home yesterday, she had
reminded him of his promise to let her examine the rest of the records. Whether
he would follow through on that promise was another thing. Honour had never
been his strong suit.
    The loud tick of the clock
on the mantelpiece broke through her thoughts and she glanced at it. Nearly
midday. While it might be de rigueur to rise late, Eleanor had grown
used to waking early on their travels. Even in France, Edward had insisted on
early starts. So to be eating breakfast so late was unusual for her. The knock
to her head must have fatigued her more than she had realised.
    She sighed and peeked at the
footman standing to attention by the door before pouring her tea and snatching
a slice of toast. Her sips and bites seemed unnaturally loud with only the
ticking clock and the odd squeak and footsteps coming from adjoining rooms.
This house was too large for just her. No wonder Edward had been eager to take
on a young bride and leave on adventures. Years of being in a house like this
with only a wife for company and no heirs to speak of had fed his need for
adventure, she’d always concluded.
    Finishing breakfast quickly,
she settled on taking a stroll around the gardens before it was time to meet
with the housekeeper and then pour over her notes for the mill. A little fresh
air would clear her head. She rose and breezed past the footman.
    “Thank you, James.”
    The footman nodded,
expressionless. As she left the breakfast room she wondered if he pitied her.
This lone woman—rich but friendless. Perhaps she should get a companion but
the thought of paying for company did not appeal. She would have to write to
Mama soon and ask her and Papa to visit. Broadstone Hall received few visitors
but her Mama’s