“Yes, but I believe his lordship's grief was greater than normal, considering how close they were. Sometimes, apparently, there is a bond between twins that is not present between most siblings. It was difficult for Lord Wrexham to watch his twin waste away, suffering such terrible pain. I suppose you could say it devastated him.”
Eleanor winced inwardly, imagining how agonizing it must have been for both brothers. Of course Damon was still haunted by his twin's death. And he was enduring his grief all alone. She hated to think of it.
“I wish there was something I could do to help,” she said, her voice low and earnest.
“Perhaps there is, my lady.” Cornby was not immediately forthcoming, however. When Eleanor gave him a searching glance, he added quietly,”I dislike betraying Lord Wrexham's trust in me by speaking of him out of turn.”
“Please tell me, Cornby,” she urged, badly wanting to understand her husband better. “I am his wife now, but you know him better than anyone.”
The elderly manservant nodded yet still looked uncomfortable when he spoke. “I think perhaps it might do his lordship immeasurable good if he could unburden himself to a confidant. Of course it is not my position to advise you, but perhaps if you could speak to him…”
Eleanor was extremely glad to see that Cornby had his lord's best interests at heart. “I will indeed speak to him, Cornby. Thank you for suggesting it.”
The valet hesitated again. “My lady… perhaps… that is, you should not feel slighted if his lordship rebuffs any attempts at discourse. He is not one to let others close.”
Which was an immense understatement, Eleanor reflected, recalling how Damon had abruptly ordered her from his room the other night, despite the torment of his nightmares.
“You are extremely loyal to him, are you not, Cornby?”
“Yes, my lady. I am devoted to him. But he has earned my devotion. He is a fine master… and a fine man.”
She smiled faintly. “I agree with you-and I thank you for serving him so well.”
The valet bowed low. “It is my duty, my lady, but my pleasure also.”
Cornby had given her a good deal to think about, Eleanor mused as she returned to her own bedchamber, and she was very grateful to him.
It was crystal clear to her now why Damon was determined to let no one in, even her. Especially her, perhaps. Because the loss of his brother had affected him so profoundly, he was bent on shunning any future intimacy for fear of enduring that devastating grief again.
The thought made her heart hurt.
She also couldn't help thinking of their broken betrothal two years ago. Had Damon turned to his mistress so as to purposely drive her away? Because he didn't want to let her get close enough to have the power to hurt him?
It was possible.
But the past concerned her less than what to do now. What happened to a man when all his grief was bottled up inside him? The pain escaped in nightmares, that was what. Unless it had another outlet.
She needed to speak to Damon about his feelings, Eleanor decided as she left her own room and moved down the corridor to return downstairs. But would he allow her to? He'd spurned her recent efforts to console him and might very well do so again if she attempted to make him talk about his brother.
In fact, now that she considered it, Damon had never shared any of his real feelings with her in all the time she'd known him. He'd buried his emotions grave-deep and doubtless wanted to keep them buried.
Well, she would just have to change his mind, Eleanor resolved-and she could not use Fanny's tactics to do it, either. Until now she had relied on the courtesan's counsel for guidance, but this was a time when she needed to follow her own instincts. There had been enough of mating games between them. What Damon needed was a friend.
Strengthening their friendship would go farther than trying to arouse his desire for her, Eleanor concluded. She was still determined to make Damon fall in love with her-and to make certain he had no reason to want a mistress when he had her for his wife- but she intended to rely on her own intuition rather than an instruction manual.
Still stewing, she rejoined the company, but she felt almost hopeful as she spent the next several hours forming a plan.
Damon didn't make an appearance at dinner, although Eleanor knew he had returned to Rosemont; the stables had informed her, as she'd requested.
If anyone noticed his empty place at the table, they didn't question her about it. But Eleanor couldn't forget. Even with Marcus and Arabella and Tess there to distract her, without Damon present, the evening seemed rather interminable. She kept watching the ormolu clock on the hearth mantel, wondering if he was drinking himself into oblivion to keep the haunting memories at bay.
After the tea tray had been brought into the drawing room later that night, Eleanor slipped away and went upstairs. Damon didn't answer her quiet knock on his bedchamber door, but she entered anyway.
She found him sitting alone before a fire that had nearly burned out, wearing merely a shirt and breeches and riding boots. The room was dim except for the fading glow of embers, but there was enough light to see his features. His expression was dark and brooding when he met her gaze.
“What are you doing here, Elle?”
His words were only slightly slurred, but she suspected he had drunk a great deal.
“I wanted to see you,” she answered, keeping her tone light.
Damon averted his gaze to stare at the floor. “Well, you can just go away again. I am in no mood to suffer your teasing.”
“I imagine not.” Her tone was wry. “But I am not here to tease you or lead you on.”
“Then why the devil are you here?”
“To bear you company. I assumed you wouldn't want to sleep for fear your nightmare would return.”
He scowled at that and lifted his head. “I don't want your damned pity, Elle.”
“Of course you don't. But I mean to stay. Any friend would do the same. You shouldn't be alone just now. You need someone to share your sorrow.”
“What do you know about it?” Damon demanded harshly.
“I think I can understand how important your brother was in your life.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “Has Cornby been talking out of turn?”
“He happened to mention that this was the anniversary of Joshua's death.”
Muttering a low oath, Damon drained his snifter in one long swallow. “If you came to offer solace, I don't want it,” he repeated.
“Very well, then I will just watch while you drink yourself into a stupor. May I pour you more brandy?”
Although his expression never softened, he considered her offer for a moment before holding out his glass. “Yes. I fear I am not in the best condition to manage it myself.”
Taking his glass, Eleanor poured him a generous measure and handed it to him. “May I have some of your brandy for myself?”
Damon shrugged. “Help yourself.” Then he paused to peer up at her. “The Dragon would say that ladies don't drink brandy.”
She ignored his provoking reference to her aunt. “I don't want to be a lady tonight, Damon. I just want to be your friend.”
“Bloody hell… I don't want a friend, Elle.”
“Well, perhaps I want one. I have always enjoyed your company far more than my aunt's illustrious friends, and just now I have had my fill of them.”