Free The Second Seduction of a Lady by Miranda Neville

an agreeable social circle. What her Lancashire life had always lacked. Mr. Hardwick’s living was not a prosperous one, neither was his parish busy. He liked it that way, had indeed accepted the position because it asked so little of him and allowed him ample time to study. The county was traditionally Catholic and the neighborhood gentry and their tenants adhered to Rome, holding themselves aloof from the representatives of the established Church. They required little pastoral care and offered no society. Like her mother before her, Eleanor was bored to distraction.
    The distraction she sought in visits to her numerous relations, where she could participate in the pursuits of the gentlewoman. How much happier would her lively mother have been had she been an active vicar’s wife, like Mrs. Walpole, busy with friends, a growing family, and her husband’s advancement. Instead she had supercilious Catholics and a spouse who needed no help, unless he happened to have mislaid a rare pamphlet on the origins of barley. And a child, just one, a well-behaved and self-sufficient little girl. Had Eleanor been as much of a hoyden as Caro, perhaps her mother would have felt needed and stayed alive.
    Poor Mama. She hadn’t the option of travel, as Eleanor had. She couldn’t take off for balls and horse races and enjoyable interference in the lives of her erring relatives. She’d been a married woman and tied to her husband.
    If Eleanor wasn’t to go mad with no one but her lovable and oblivious father to keep her from brooding on Max Quinton, she’d better find another cousin who needed some bracing advice. In her current mood, she’d even consider the Ashdowns. She’d take a good deal of pleasure in making life miserable for Sir George.
    The next day, she eagerly shuffled through the post, hoping for a summons from another county. Surely all her relations hadn’t been simultaneously struck down with health, happiness, and the pursuit of common sense? There had to be an only son who wanted to join the army, a mother of four with a broken leg, or a daughter with a broken heart.
    There was but one missive inscribed with her name, in Caro’s unorthodox penmanship. Poor child! Her only qualm about her rapid departure from Sedgehill had been leaving Caro before she learned of Robert’s inconstancy. She’d done her best to prepare the way, persuading Cousin Elizabeth to let Caro accompany the Markhams to Bath for a week or two.
    “Robert will find me there,” Caro had whispered happily.
    Eleanor left her illusions intact. The likelihood of Robert Townsend abandoning the delights of London for starchy Bath seemed less than nothing. By that time, she trusted, the pangs of first love would have diminished.
    She took her time opening the letter, fetching a knife to slice under the seal with a good deal more care than its sender had used in its application, judging by the splash of red wax on the folded sheet. A quick survey told her that Caro didn’t mention Max Quinton. Perhaps he hadn’t even called at Sedgehill. Perhaps he’d taken her request for a few days reflection seriously. Or maybe he’d thought better of his proposal. Which was fine and proved Eleanor had made the right decision. Again.
Dearest Eleanor,
    I wish you hadn’t left in such a hurry because you’ve missed such goings-on. I want you to be the first to know that I am to be married! I told you so, and you wouldn’t believe it. But right after you left, my darling Robert spoke to Mama.
    Eleanor’s heart sank. She would have expected Elizabeth Brotherton to forbid the match, not because Robert was young and wild but because he didn’t have the high title she craved for her daughter.
She said no, of course. I knew she would. Mama never lets me do what I want and she doesn’t like Robert because he isn’t a horrid old marquess. I told Robert not to even bother asking for her permission but he said he might as well do the right thing for once. Mama said