by Amy Jarecki
Eleanor speared a bite of meat pie as her expression grew animated. “I’d like to see him.”
“You’re fond of racehorses, are you?”
“Who wouldn’t be? I enjoy going to the track as much as the next person.”
“Then we must pay a visit to the stables soon.”
Their silverware tapped as they ate and after Sher had cleaned his plate, Eleanor stood and took the dishes to the sideboard, her hips swinging lazily. Her Grace’s robe hugged her form unlike the empire waist gowns at the height of fashion that oft hid the curvature of a woman’s waistline. Though not exactly what he’d choose for a beguiling costume, the dressing gown defined her hourglass figure.
When she turned, she scraped her teeth over her bottom lip as if she weren’t quite certain what she ought to do next. “Shall I serve the flummery?”
Sher sipped his wine, the fruitiness swirling across his tongue and making a shiver skitter beneath his jaw. Undoubtedly, the wine had done that and not the way Eleanor dipped her chin and met his gaze with a heavy-lidded look of her own. “I would be honored.”
His wife drifted across the floor like a swan on a glassy lake. As she reached for the dessert plates, Sher inhaled her scent—exotic and flowery with a feminine overtone.
She sliced through the flummery, molded in the shape of a sandcastle. “Do you prefer a healthy portion of hypocras jelly or scant?”
“I cannot resist Cook’s spiced honey concoction. ’Tis a shame to dilute it with the custard.”
“Danby, you do surprise me. I quite took you for a man who prefers savory.”
He caught her wrist. “Call me Sher.”
A delicate pink tongue tapped the corner of her mouth. “Sher.”
Satisfied, he sat back while she heaped liberal dollops of hypocras jelly on both servings, placed one in front of him, then resumed her seat and raised her spoon. “Shall we?”
“You first.”
Sher watched as she placed a small sample in her mouth, closing her lips and gradually sliding the spoon away. As his mouth grew dry, he forced a swallow. Had she any idea how tempting she looked? Hell, Sher could taste the sweet without bothering to take a bite.
Eleanor’s eyes fluttered closed as she smiled like a woman satisfied. “Mm.”
“’Tis good, is it not?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.
“Absolutely divine.” Her expression grew mischievous as she pointed the spoon his way. “Has Prinny ever tasted this?”
“’Tis Cook’s secret recipe, and the prince hasn’t done me the honor of paying a visit to Rawcliffe.”
“If it is a secret, then I suggest insuring you never do give it to him. He would insist on stealing Cook away just so he could add it to his menu.”
“Of fifteen desserts, mind you.”
“One never accused the regent of being miserly.”
Sher enjoyed his treat, and then poured them each a glass of Madeira. Again, he watched Eleanor thoroughly savor her first taste of the fortified wine. But she gave him a questioning look as she lowered her glass. “What is it? I sense you are holding something in.”
In truth, he’d been holding his tongue on a great many topics ever since they’d met, and even more so since the wedding. But there was one thing that had needled him since they’d shared a polite conversation in the gallery at the Royal Pavilion. “I can’t for the life of me understand why you hadn’t married before now.”
As her face colored, she took a healthy gulp of wine and then licked her lips, possibly the most un-duchess-like thing he’d seen her do. “’Tis complicated.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, as you may be aware, my mother passed away when I was twelve years of age. Naturally, Papa’s duties with the navy required him to be away most of the time, so I was sent off to finishing school. When my closest friend, Georgiana, prepared for her first Season, I was seventeen. Her mother took me under her wing and introduced me to polite society for my one and only true Season.”
“Did we meet? What year was it?”
“The year of our Lord eighteen hundred and nine. And we were introduced—at your mother’s annual ball. As I recall, you were considered quite a catch, though you had wandering eyes, which never shifted my direction.”
“Hmm. I was a rather misguided youth.” The entire ton gossiped ad infinitum about how much his eyes wandered… “But you were delightfully fetching. Why on earth did you not find a match?”
“I was courted by Baron Strange, but when Papa returned half-dead and penniless from the wars, the baron grew cold feet.”
“Because you had no dowry?”
“It seems he was hunting for a fortune, and a penniless, gently bred viscount’s daughter was useless to him.”
“My word, you must have been devastated.”
Eleanor picked up the bottle and poured, a full glass for him, half for herself. “More so by the possibility of losing my father…” She covered a yawn with her fingers.
“You must be tired. Is your head still paining you?”
“A little, but Madeira has a way of making me sleepy.”
“Well, then,” he said, pushing to his feet and taking his glass. “Thank you for dining with me. It was…most pleasant.”
She walked him to the door and grasped his hand, not looking him in the eye, but holding his palm between her lithe fingers. “Before you go, I want to thank you as well. You have been kind and generous, and I haven’t always been appreciative.”
Her gaze flickered up for a brief heartbeat, though long enough to instill a spark of hope. In that simple glance, she also imparted respect. Caring. And the yearning of a woman.
Eleanor bowed over his hand and kissed it. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dressed in an azure morning gown and feeling as fresh as a buttercup, a few days had passed when Eleanor entered the dining hall ready for breakfast. To her growing chagrin, Danby sat in his usual position at the head of the table, where he was camouflaged behind a gazette. Her place had been set at the far end.
This must stop.
She gave the footmen a frown as she picked up her place setting and carried it the length of the hall and sat at the corner seat beside her husband. Then she proceeded to further incite them by pouring herself a glass of apple juice, affecting her most pleasant and brightest smile.
The gazette slowly lowered until the duke’s green eyes regarded her over the top of the paper. “Your Grace, might I say you look lovely this morning.”
The tension in Eleanor’s shoulders eased. For a moment, she’d thought he might thrust his finger toward the far chair and send her back to her place. “Thank you.”
A footman presented a bowl and ladle. “Porridge, Your Grace?”
“Please.”
Danby once again disappeared.
Eleanor sprinkled her oats with raisins and added some milk. Had she been overly forward when she’d kissed his hand? Honestly, she wasn’t a stranger to reading men’s interests, and he’d seemed rather interested. And why the devil, if he wanted her there, was he staying away? They both knew about their agreement. She must bear him an heir. Was he drawing out the dreaded anticipation to torture her?
“Is there any news of interest?” she asked.
He folded the paper and slapped it down. “A mighty lot of drivel, I’ll say.”
“Then why do you bother with it?”
“Because a man needs to stay informed.”
Mrs. Temperance stepped in and cleared her throat. “Lady Stevens and Miss Stevens have come to call, Your Graces.”
Eleanor lowered her spoon. Callers? They’d been here for at least a week and a half and no one had paid a visit.
“I knew as soon as the physician stepped inside this house, all of Yorkshire would learn of our presence.” Danby checked his pocket watch. “’Tis a tad early to come to call—especially on one’s betters.”
“Shall I tell them to come back a
t another time?” asked the housekeeper.
“Certainly not.” Danby returned his watch to his waistcoat pocket. “Show them to the drawing room.”
“And bring in a pot of tea and biscuits, if you please.” Eleanor dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Lady Stevens? I can’t place her. Is she a relation?” After all, everyone knew it was quite untoward to call on those of higher rank without an invitation.
“Her husband is a close friend of mine. Served beside me in the war—Sir Gregory Stevens—a good man.”
“Well, then, we mustn’t keep them waiting.”
It took no time for Eleanor to finish her porridge. Together they made their way to the drawing room with its marvelous baroque ceiling fresco depicting Atlas holding the world while cherubs encircled him on a blue sky accented with puffy white clouds. Interestingly, a dashing portrait of George III in his regalia hung above the enormous white marble hearth.
Most of the hearths in Rawcliffe castle were enormous and hewn from marble, with side supports adorned by Greek statues in varying states of dress. This one, being the most opulent, had an elaborate frieze of grapevines beneath the mantel. One side displayed a maiden with one breast exposed beside an animated goat, while she looked fondly upon the beast with grapes and a chalice in her hands. On the opposing side, a handsome young man dressed only in medieval braies appeared to be in the motion of giving a bunch of grapes to a child holding up a bowl.
As Danby made the introductions, Eleanor greeted their guests with all the grace and hospitality of a gently bred woman who had spent more years than most at finishing school. She gestured to the matching red-brocade-upholstered settees, which faced each other in front of the hearth. “Won’t you join us for tea?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” said Lady Stevens, ushering her daughter to the couch. Her Ladyship looked to be in middle age and healthily plump, while her daughter was reed-thin and appeared to be on the precipice of womanhood. “I cannot tell you what a surprise it was to hear you had wed. Gregory thought you might remain a bachelor forever.”
Sher joined Eleanor on the opposite settee and crossed his legs. “Not at all. It simply took me time to find the right match.”
Arching her brows, Lady Stevens’ gaze meandered to Eleanor’s midriff.
Heaven’s stars, there was no second-guessing what the woman was thinking. Eleanor rubbed the back of her neck while she glanced over her shoulder and searched for the maid with the tea service—anything not to look the woman in the eye. Fortunately, the tea arrived shortly thereafter and gave her something to do while Sher took care of the small talk, including updating their guests on the latest family news.
“How long will you be in residence at Rawcliffe?” asked Miss Stevens.
Sher balanced his cup and saucer in the grasp of a large, practiced palm. “As long as possible.” He sipped, his masculine fingers dwarfing the cup’s handle. “Though duty will call us back to London when Parliament resumes.”
Eleanor’s ears piqued at his use of “us”. Was this because of appearances, or because he expected her to be in London with him? Aside from the ease of tension between them, there had been no indication that he might be considering paying a visit to her bed.
“That long?” asked Lady Stevens, looking as smug as a house cat. “If that is the case, then would it not be fabulous to hold a ball to introduce Her Grace to Yorkshire society?”
“Oh!” Miss Stevens clasped her hands and drew them over her heart. “How heavenly.”
“A ball?” Danby stroked his chin and looked to Eleanor. Of course, he most decidedly did not care for balls. In London it was common knowledge His Grace did everything in his power to avoid them, even those hosted by his mother.
She gave his forearm a reassuring pat. “I’m not sure it is necessary to go to such extravagance.”
“I disagree. I think it is a capital idea,” he blurted as if he’d suddenly transformed his ways. “Her Ladyship is right. Everything has happened so fast, it is nigh time to plan something to celebrate our nuptials.”
Miss Stevens grinned so broadly, the corners of her lips almost met her eyes.
Eleanor casually reached for a biscuit. “Well, if you approve, dear, I will set to establishing a date with Cook and preparing the guest list and invitations.”
“Gregory will be thrilled, I’m sure,” said Lady Stevens.
Danby almost snorted. “I’ll look forward to seeing him.”
Eleanor focused on the younger of the ladies. “Tell me, have you enjoyed a Season in London?”
Miss Stevens shook her head, making her brown curls bobble. “Papa will be renting rooms in Town next year, but I’m turning eighteen in a fortnight.”
“Well, then, a ball at Rawcliffe will be good practice for you.”
After bidding good day to the Stevens, Eleanor excused herself and headed for the kitchens, but as she proceeded down the stairs, a heated conversation stopped her in her tracks.
“Now that you’re her lady’s maid, you think you are better than the rest of us,” hissed a woman in a nasty tone.
“How can you say that?” asked a voice that sounded like Rosie—and given the direction of the banter, it had to be she. “You’re my friend. I have no quarrel with you.”
“Well, I have one with you. I’ve waited all my life for a promotion. But you? You haven’t even been in service a year and that trollop picks you as if you floated down from some godly cloud. If you were my friend, you would have told that woman you weren’t worthy and deferred to me.”
“And answer back to Her Grace?”
Trollop? Is that what the servants think? Why? How dare they!
She hastened down the stairs, recognizing Lissa, a bitter shrew who had been avoiding work and skulking about the castle with a scowl since Eleanor’s arrival. “Enough!”
Inserting herself between the girls, she glared at Lissa who was now backing away with a horrified grimace. “How dare you question my authority and spew such unmitigated drivel? Do you honestly believe you should have been chosen over Rosie?”
“I—”
“’Tis all right, Your Grace,” said Rosie, as if she frequently intercepted this sort of abuse. “After all, I am the newest maid.”
“It is definitely not all right.”
Ahead, Mrs. Temperance came out of her rooms, only to turn around. Perhaps there lay the source of festering foul rumors and the like.
“Come with me.” Eleanor grabbed the two girls by the wrists and marched to the housekeeper’s door, which fortunately for Temperance had been left ajar. “Please assemble the maids in my parlor at once.”
The woman’s eyes bulged. “Now? They are scattered about, tending to—”
Eleanor puffed out her chest, making herself as tall as possible. “At once means now! And I will see you there with them.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Temperance, huffing and brushing past them.
“Am I to be dismissed?” asked Lissa, staring at her feet.
Eleanor released her hold on the two maids and drew in a deep breath. “You will consider yourself warned. We are all undergoing a time of change. And during change we can feel out of sorts.” She raised her finger. “But I do not ever want to hear you spread rumors about anyone or spew such hateful drivel again. Am I understood?”
Lissa curtsied. “Yes, Your Grace. I-I’m sorry.”
“It is Rosie who is in need of your apology. Now come along. I want you both to hear what I have to say.”
As Eleanor expected, it took Mrs. Temperance less than ten minutes to have the housemaids assembled in a queue, spanning the width of the parlor.
She began by boldly walking along the line and looking each woman in the eye. When she reached the end, she turned and raised her chin, letting an uncomfortable silence swell throughout the chamber. “It has come to my attention that there is some question as to my family history prior to arriving at Rawcliffe. To allay any untoward rumors, I feel it is important to in
form you that I am the daughter of Viscount Lisle. My father is presently en route with our ward, Margaret, who is an infant, a child found abandoned in Hyde Park. The viscount is an invalid, and nearly lost his life when a ship under his command was hit by cannon fire. Since his return from the wars, I have assumed his care.”
Starting down the line again, she eyed Mrs. Temperance at the far end. “Let it be known that I will not stand for name-calling, directed at me or anyone else residing under this roof.”
Eleanor stopped midway and faced the queue. “Ladies, it is time I set my expectations. First of all, I believe there is more that determines a servant’s character than length of service. Clearly, experience is valued and I do not want to undermine it. However, whilst I am the Duchess of Danby, my servants and, maids in particular, will be respectful of not only me, but of each other. Agreed?”
She waited while the red-faced, stunned-looking females all nodded their heads.
“Furthermore, I value hard work and will reward it. I value loyalty. I value trust and affability.” Eleanor grasped her hands behind her back and stepped in front of Lissa. “Do you know why I asked Rosie to be my lady’s maid?”
“N-no idea, Your Grace.”
“Upon my arrival, she was the only one of you who greeted me with any warmth whatsoever.” Eleanor backed away enough to see all their faces. “I am not so naive to assume young Rosie was the best-trained or the most experienced housemaid. But I will always favor someone who is eager, humble, and agreeable. That is all I ask of anyone in service.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Lissa.
The corners of Eleanor’s mouth turned up. “That said, there is to be a ball. I’ve yet to set the date, but I expect all of you to be at your best.” She clapped her hands. “That is all, thank you.”
As the maids filed out the door, Eleanor signaled to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Temperance, may I have a word?”
The woman pursed her lips and stepped aside.
“I’m sure I do not need to tell you these girls look to you for leadership.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
