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Her mother smiled and hugged her. “All will be well, my dear; just you wait and see.”

Eleanor took comfort in her mother’s words. Perhaps she was right. After all, the most prudent society members all regarded Eleanor as a just and demure socialite with exquisite manners and upbringing. But when she got home, she felt a level of comfort that allowed her to relax; perhaps Simon was the same way.

Jeffries appeared on the pathway. “Excuse me, Your Grace, but the Viscount of Hountshire is here to speak with Lady Eleanor.”

The two women exchanged a look, both having a good idea as to why he was there unexpectantly.

Charlotte looked at Eleanor. Eleanor knew what her mother was asking with the simple look. Charlotte was making sure Eleanor was ready for what was to come.

Eleanor smiled at her mother and looked at Jeffries. “Please tell him we’ll be right in.”

As Jeffries turned to leave, Charlotte leaned into her daughter. “Are you sure?”

Eleanor nodded her head. “I am, Mama. I’ve waited so long for this. He is a good man, and we will be just fine together.”

Charlotte hugged her daughter again. “Good.”

The women turned to follow Jeffries into the house.

“Are you nervous?” Charlotte whispered.

Eleanor lifted a shoulder. “Not really. Although, I am curious to see if he shakes so much he’ll spill his tea.”

Both women smiled, and Eleanor could feel some of her doubt lift. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

Eleanor looked down into her cup and sighed. She was taking small sips as the Viscount droned on about the latest happenings at Parliament. Her eyes were in constant danger of closing.Goodness, could he be any more boring?

Her mother was sitting opposite her, staring blankly out of the window, most likely wishing she were back out in the garden and not in this room. Eleanor dragged her eyes back to Simon. The poor man either wasn’t aware of the exhaustion he was incitingthrough his story, or he didn’t care. Either way it didn’t bode well for Eleanor’s outlook for the rest of her life.

Bringing the cup back up to her mouth, she took in a sip, wondering how long she could drag out this cup of tea before getting a second one.

The door opened, and she knew it was the Duke even before he appeared. With the swing of the door, the energy in the room changed, and her body went on alert.

She looked over the rim of her teacup to see the tall, athletic build of a man who demanded the room’s attention by just walking into it. Her eyes watched as he sauntered in without a care in the world, no regard for the other man who was currently talking.

Graynor walked over to the window just behind Charlotte and leaned against the sill, looking squarely at Eleanor.

She lowered the cup to her lap and swallowed. A flutter of unease crawled up her spine causing her to shift in her chair. She realized the Viscount was no longer talking but looking directly at the Duke.

Her eyes bounced between the two. Simon looking at Graynor, Graynor looking at her. Charlotte was still looking out the window, completely oblivious to the standoff that was happening in her parlor.

“Your Grace, I’m so glad you could join us today,” Simon offered.

Eleanor brought her eyes to Simon. Curiously, it sounded as if he meant it. Perhaps their discussion the other night at the opera had its merits, and Simon was going to put whatever qualms he had about the Duke behind him.

She offered a sweet smile to Simon and gave a slight nod in his direction, acknowledging his effort.

Simon stood and walked over to where Eleanor stood.

“I feel this the appropriate time to have this discussion.” Simon extended his hand to Eleanor, helping her stand next to him.

Eleanor’s heart began to beat quickly. This was it. He was going to propose.

Her eyes flew to Charlotte, who was now sitting up with interest, a bright smile forming on her mother’s face. Eleanor’s mind was resisting the need to lift her eyes just past her mother’s head to take in the Duke’s expression.

Was he curious? Did he know Simon was going to propose? Had they talked about it? What if he didn’t care? It was the possible answer to that last question that had Eleanor’s stomach swimming.

She stood, shifting from foot to foot, suddenly self-conscious about her body. She didn’t know where to look or what to dowith her free hand. Should she smile? Was she supposed to look coy?