The Outrageous Debutante by Anne O'Brien

Author:Anne O'Brien [O’Brien, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781460818671
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises Pty Ltd, Australia
Published: 2012-10-13T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

New York

The house still smelt of new wood and paint, but at least it was complete with walls and roof intact. Or nearly so. Eleanor could still hear sounds of hammering somewhere in the distance, but not so insistently or loudly enough to annoy. Probably the stables, she thought. The room was warm with early summer heat, despite lowered blinds and a light breeze through the opened windows. It was a boudoir, although still lacking more than basic furniture, and Eleanor was at ease. Or she would have been, she thought, if ease was possible for a lady in her condition. She shuffled on the satin day bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. She had been instructed, on pain of death, to rest her swollen ankles and, for a lady who had remained distressingly active throughout her pregnancy until the eighth month, was finding the enforced leisure difficult.

But it was merely a matter of waiting, she consoled herself. And not long now. A smile touched her lips. Pregnancy had done nothing to rob Eleanor Faringdon, once Marchioness of Burford, of her beauty. Her rich auburn hair, only loosely restrained and allowed to fall in waves onto her shoulders, shone with health, her skin glowed. And those deep amethyst eyes, eyes that had captivated Lord Henry Faringdon when she had been a young débutante making her first curtsy to polite society, shone with love and anticipation. The years between that first meeting and the present, in this new home in New York, had been long and fraught with difficulties. But now Eleanor was united with the one who held her heart and would remain so until the day of her death. If she were certain of nothing in life, it was that one incontrovertible fact.

If only she were not so hot. And so … large !

The dark shadows of those distant weeks in London had finally melted away. In New York, free from gossip and sly comment, critical or knowing glances, wrapped around by Henry’s love and constant care, Eleanor had grown into her full maturity, content and confident in their future together. Nothing would ever separate them again. And now she awaited the birth of her second child. Henry’s second child.

It was all so different, she mused, from Tom’s birth, when she had been racked by guilt and anger, the child’s father far distant on the other side of the world, ignorant of her situation. Now Henry was no further away than the warehouse or the stables—and refused to be lured much further until this child had arrived safely. Her thoughts naturally moved on to Thomas, her first husband, lapping her in a well of tenderness. How generous and understanding he had been, how incredibly honourable to give his name to his brother’s illegitimate child. He had loved her, supported her and kept her safe through all the difficulties. Eleanor sighed a little at the sad memories, but they no longer hurt her. Her son Tom was a constant delight.

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