“Good morning, my lady,” a black-clad maid greeted as she placed the tea tray on Eleanor’s coffee table. “Was your night peaceful?”
“As could be, Lisa,” Eleanor mused while casting an eye over the teapot, cup, and morning crepes. Her eyebrow danced up when she spotted a calling card beside her fare. Reaching out, she plucked it up and opened it. It was a request for a visit by Lord Greenville.
Oh drat.
The Lord was wonderful and gentle but…he was too unassuming. That was the kindest word she could offer as nothing about the man stood out for her. It was wonderful that he thought to initiate correspondence with her but he had barely made a mark upon her last night. The man that had was one she knew she was never going to hear from again—Duke Oberton.
“When was this delivered?”
With her head down as she fixed the objects on the tray, the maid replied, “This morning, my lady. Mr. Ambrose received it.”
Placing the card down, she received her tea with a soft smile. “Thank you. In half an hour, please fill my tub.”
Lisa curtsied, “Of course, my lady.”
Alone with her tea and thoughts, Eleanor wondered how she was going to play this. Though she had little interest in seeing him, a gentleman caller would stave off her father’s ire for a while. After finishing her tea, she went to her escritoire and fished one of her rarely-used calling cards out of her drawer and wrote a reply to the lord.
With her pen dangling from her fingers, her mind ran right back to Duke Oberton’s dratted card. What was it about him that irked her so? Usually, when anyone showed her disdain, she ignored it with no trouble but the Duke’s very presence annoyed her.
“Ugh,” she huffed in frustration and chucked the book away so hard it clattered to the floor. “I cannot suffer him.”
“My lady?” a small, timid voice cut through her thoughts and she found little Maria looking at her with soft fear on her face. Instantly, she felt contrite.
“Oh, Maria,” she sighed. “Forgive me for scaring you.”
The child’s smile was tempered, “I can come back if you are not ready for me.”
“No, no,” Eleanor said. “It’s alright. What do you need to do?”
“I’m here to dust, my lady,” Maria said while lifting her bucket of cleaning cloths. “I’ll be as quiet as can be.”
“It’s fine Maria,” Eleanor replied while plucking the book from the floor. “You won’t bother me.”
What did and what continued to bother her during the morning was the dratted Duke and his mysterious card. If she had known that this was the level of confusion it was going to give her, she would have found a moment to chuck the damned thing back into his face.
Now, wandering through the library, she was briefly interrupted by a maid who conferred to her that Lord Greenville had arrived and was in the sitting room and that Miss Malcolm was also present.
That was rather fast, does he have a phaeton or does he have a house nearby?
She replaced the book she had nearly taken out and nodded, “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The trails of her dark blue dress whispered on the Aubusson rug as she turned away. With her hand on the smooth railing of the staircase, she descended the graceful curve and stepped down the lushly-carpeted hallway.
“Lord Greenville,” a footman announced. “Lady Eleanor has arrived.”
The man stood from the chaise and bowed. “My Lady, good afternoon. It is wonderful to see you.”
“And you, Lord Greenville,” Eleanor replied while acutely aware of Miss Malcolm's presence. “I must again apologize for the Duke of Oberton’s interruption last night.”
“It’s alright, My Lady,” Lord Greenville’s suit of complimentary dark blue coat and light waistcoat matched with his pale cerulean eyes. “I am not offended. I gathered there was a history between you, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t say a history,” Eleanor refrained from scowling at the memory of the Duke and his rudeness. “But we had met in the past. How are you?”
“Fairly well,” he replied.
Sometime during their light conversation, where Eleanor learned of his love of politics, horses, and philosophy, a tray of refreshments was brought in. Eleanor idly mentioned her recent reading on the topic of naturalism and his eyes lit up.
“I too find such philosophies fascinating. I did not know you were interested in such topics, my lady,” he enthused. “It is not a subject many women find appealing.”
“Many women bury themselves in the never-ending scandal sheets,” Eleanor replied while setting her cup down. “I do not have the time or interest in such trivialities.”
“I would love to find out what else you find fascinating,” Greenville replied as he had one eye on the corner clock. “On another visit perhaps?”
Eleanor found his subtle fishing for another audience charming but was not sure if she would give him one. “I cannot say for sure, my lord but I will write to convey a time when I am available.”
It was not a direct refusal but it was not an acceptance either and both knew it.
“Well,” he stood and bowed. “I must take my leave, my lady. I do look forward to your correspondence.”
She stood and curtsied, “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, my lord.”
With the footman showing him out, Eleanor sat again and looked at the tray with dismay. Was this how she was going to be all her life? The man had been nothing but polite yet she had put him off. Why?
“Lady Eleanor—”
“Thank you for being with us today but, please, excuse me, Miss Malcolm,” she said softly. “Have a wonderful afternoon.”
Without preamble, she left the sitting room and did not stop until she got back to her room. Maria was gone and there was not a speck of dust in sight. For such a young child, her work was impeccable.
Listlessly, she gravitated to the drawer where Duke Oberton’s note drew her like a puppet on a string. Opening it, she took it out and silently read line by line. With every repetition of his name, she felt turmoil build in her chest.
Why was this bothering her so much?
The question repeated itself so many time in the next three days that Eleanor found it tiring and mind numbing. Would it be wrong to just take a carriage to the Oberton dukedom and demand Barvolt explain himself? Most likely.
“My lady?”
“Hm?” Eleanor asked.
“Is something on that paper troubling you?” Maria asked. “You’ve been lookin’ at it for over fifteen minutes now.”
Fifteen minutes? Oh, Lord. She dropped the card back into the drawer and shoved it closed with unnecessary force.
“I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I’d not realized.”
Maria nervously fidgeted with her broom, “My lady…you’ve been lookin’ at that paper for days…but there’s this look on your face.”
Now Eleanor was intrigued, “What look, Maria?”
“Er…I see it sometime when my Ma used to look out for Da…” Maria said quietly. “Ma used to tell me that its hope…are you hopin’ for whatever’s on that paper, My Lady?”
Eleanor could have been knocked over with a feather. Was that the look on her face? No, it could not be. That was laughable! What on earth could she be hoping to get from the Duke? More derision?
“I’m sorry Maria,” Eleanor said. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Oh…sorry fer oversteppin’ my bounds, my lady,” Maria said timidly. “It won’t happen again.”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor dismissed her comment with a wave. “You did nothing of the kind, now, let me get out of your way.”
She was almost at the doorway when an errant thought ran through Eleanor’s mind.
Perhaps I have been hoping for something from the Duke…but only for him to apologize to me that is.
Halfway down the corridor, Miss Malcolm came around it breathlessly, “Lady Eleanor, I am so glad I caught you, your father is coming home tomorrow, and he would l
ike to meet Lord Greenville.”
Dash it all!
* * *
The Barvolt Townhome
Mayfair
“I must have lost my mind,” Aaron sighed while looking into the dancing and hypnotic amber flames which blazed happily inside the sitting room’s majestic marble fireplace. The long rectangular room was clothed in thick drapery and thicker carpet with a splatter of wingback chairs and a chaise lounge.
Not many days after the fiasco at the Greyson house, Aaron had removed to the Mayfair townhome for a reprieve from his ancestral home. His sudden move was not because of Harold’s sympathy after he had admitted his major faux-pas with Lady Eleanor to him—though Harold’s response did irk him somewhat—it was more wanting a new atmosphere to think.
He still did not know why he had given Lady Eleanor the card and the more he kept wracking his brain over it, the more confused he got. In desperation, he had almost gone to see her at her home but stopped. If he couldn’t rationalize what he had done to himself, how was he going to miraculously explain it to her?
Moreover, why did she have to be so matter-of-fact and skeptical? For such a young lady those lines of cynicism should not have already started to embed themselves at the corners of her mouth. For God’s sake, the lady was nine-and-ten, not ninety-and-nine!
Huffing, Aaron strode over to the nearest window and looked out in the dark. A thick grey soup of fog hovered over the shadowed trees and its snake-like tendrils dipped to the bushes. The moon was a blurry disk, illuminating the clouds with a ghostly sheen.
His conscience was hounding him. He had to do something to stop this unresolved issue from festering. She had a right to be angry with him anyway, which young lady would shine with pleasure after being told she was a tomboy?
“I should have chosen my words differently,” Aaron mused while moving away from the window. It’s not like I spotted a pair of breeches under her skirts.
He paused for a moment and chuckled at the mental image, “But with her directness, that wouldn’t have surprised me.”
Heading off to his bedchamber Aaron vowed to right his wrong as soon as possible and hoped that when he did, she would believe him.
* * *
Receiving Lord Greenville was a lot less daunting than Eleanor had expected. Eleanor did not waste her energy wondering how her father had known about Lord Greenville, as clearly he had spies tracking her movements at the Greyson affair.
As she watched the nondescript brown carriage pull up to the gate, she turned away wordlessly. Her deep Prussian blue promenade dress, a fitting match for her eyes, clung lovingly to her slender figure as she descended the stairway.
Mr. Ambrose was opening the door just as her father, who had arrived that morning, came into the foyer. Dressed in menacing dark colors and a wine-red waistcoat, her father stood like a towering monolith in the room. With his height brushing six foot and five, he was naturally imposing but his stern features and dark navy eyes enhanced it.
Without a word, she stood to the left of him and waited until Lord Greenville was relieved of his outer coat and hat.
“Your Grace and Lady Eleanor, Lord Greenville,” Mr. Ambrose pronounced soberly.
Eleanor curtsied while her father went to shake his hand. “Welcome, Greenville.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Greenville heartily shook the older man’s hand and then bowed. “Lady Eleanor, how wonderful to see you again.”
“And I, you, my lord,” her smile was simple.
“Let us remove to the sitting room until dinner is announced,” the Duke of Brisdane’s words were more an order than a request and Eleanor followed the two men silently.
The large sitting room, the same room she and Miss Malcolm had entertained Lord Greenville days ago suddenly seemed small to her. It felt as if the air had been sucked out or, somehow, the room had shrunk. Perhaps it was the dominant and suffocating presence her father exuded. He filled up the room with his air of tight control.
“Lord Greenville,” her father spoke. “If I am not mistaken, your father was the late Marquise of Tremont, aye?”
“Actually, Your Grace, he was my guardian and benefactor as I am his nephew, not his son,” Greenville corrected respectfully. “My cousin died of consumption when he was one-and-ten and the marquise took me in.”
Eleanor peered at her father under her lashes. Her father always had correct information about anyone he was interacting with. Was he deliberately misleading the man? From the glimmer in his eye she knew her father was toying with Greenville, but why? Was he trying to trap the man with his own words?
“Ah, yes,” her father conceded with fake contrite. “My mistake. He was a trader in the East, no? With a line of ships that traded spices, furs, and other curious bric-a-brac?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Greenville added with a fleeting look of sorrow. “He sent me to Oxford and to honor his name and legacy I have expanded his business to the colonies. Before he died, he had made ties with the Governors of Jamaica and Nassau in the Indies. I made sure to follow those through.”
“Imports of sugar and coffee?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Impressive,” her father nodded sagely. “Smart move for a young man.”
Eleanor grew sickened with every passing moment. Her father had his genial mask on, and she itched to reach over, dig her fingers in the façade and rip it off. Would this charade just end already? The worst thing was that Lord Greenville was falling for it. The younger man had metaphorical stars in his eyes while conversing with the Duke.
“Ahem,” Mr. Ambrose delicately cut in. “My apologies for the disturbance, Your Grace, but His Grace, the Duke of Oberton is here to see Lady Eleanor. He says it is urgent.”
The Duke! What in the name of God was he doing? This was the worst possible time for him to make an appearance and seeing the dark glower on her father’s face, fear ran down Eleanor’s spine.
Chapter 4
I’ve got to admit, Aaron mused while admiring the checkered marble floor of the foyer and the glittering chandelier overhead this is a lesson in decadent taste.
“Oberton,” Duke of Brisdane’s deep voice jerked Aaron from his thoughts. “Welcome, but this is not a good time. My daughter and I are occupied with company, you see.”
“Ah, I see,” Aaron replied coolly. Despite the man’s intimidating demeanor, they still held the same title and he would be damned if succumbed to Brisdane’s menacing attitude. “Are you sure Lady Eleanor cannot spare a moment? I will not be long.”
“Yes, I am sure,” the Duke’s lips thinned. “It will have to be another time.”
“I will offer my apologies then,” Aaron nodded. “Good d—”
“Wait,” Brisdane interjected. “What apology?”
Smiling slyly Aaron remarked, “A faux-pas I had made, but as you said, that is for another day. Good day, Brisdane.”
Leaving the room, Aaron knew he had crossed a line with the man but seeing his deep scowl that overtook his previous politeness, he now had an inkling of what Lady Eleanor had been talking about. The man was not inviting at all.
Venturing out into the warm sun, he boarded his carriage and felt another pang of guilt that he had probably gotten Lady Eleanor into trouble with her father with his impromptu visit. Sighing, he vividly pictured her icy glare and pointed words, stabbing into his chest when he did get to speak to her.
His apology would then be threefold; one for classing her as a spoiled tomboy; the second for the inexplicable note at the dance; and the third for getting her into trouble with her father.
“I’d best distract myself with some work,” Aaron sighed as he came upon his townhome. It slightly jarred him that Harold was not there to greet him when he arrived and he laughed under his breath. He missed the old man’s presence.
“Light fare this evening,” Aaron directed a maid while tugging off his coat and moving toward the stairs. “I will be in my study.”
Naturally, his eyes wer
e drawn to the large, oak-wood desk. The piece of furniture was so massive that it was daunting. Tugging his jacket off and doing away with his waistcoat, Aaron sat and tugged out a drawer where his files were.
While working through them, his mind kept shifting over to Lady Eleanor and grim anxiety came with it. Eventually, his work was abandoned and he began to pace the room like a hostage in his own home. He could not shake the icy feeling that he had made life worse for Lady Eleanor.
“Capital,” he groaned. “Is there any part of this lady’s life you won’t make worse?”
The walls closed in on him and he raked both hands down his face. His concentration was shot so there was a good bet that no further work would be done that night. He was tugging his jacket back on as a maid entered with his dinner.
Blast it all.
“Your Grace?” her voice was timid.
“I have to step out,” Aaron said while fixing his sleeves. “Please place that in the oven.”
Securing his money pouch and hat, Aaron called for his driver. He stood in the foyer with unease until the man came around with the carriage. Not waiting for his greeting, he strode out announcing his destination in clipped tones, “White’s, Barnyard.”
In retrospection, Aaron should have known that going to a den of men who he barely got along with would cost him but he had not cared; he simply wanted to get out of his house. All he had craved was the solace of dark, smoky rooms, the taste of smooth scotch and poignant manly conversation.
He was barely three feet into the room when Wyndrake’s serpentinite voice slithered toward him, “Funny seeing you here, Oberton, I suppose the wooing of the dragon-miss went south, eh?”
With a tight jaw, Aaron endeavored to ignore him but the man would not stop.
“How could it though? Young and handsome as you are.”
Aaron had enough but forced his voice to be calm while beckoning a waiter over, “Heavy on the Spanish coin there, Wyndrake.”
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