A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  “Of course,” Eleanor said. She clasped her hands together. “Let us go at an early hour. I will pack my things. Or would you like me to speak to a footman about hiring a carriage?”

  Mrs. Daventry held up a finger. “First, I must speak to the earl. He will see to it that arrangements are made.” Her aunt sighed. “It’s really a shame you cannot spend more time with him, secure a proposal, and enjoy the Season with a marriage contract in hand. But I suppose it can’t be helped.” She sighed again, as if to say that if only Eleanor had done what she was bid, this might have been arranged.

  “A great pity,” Eleanor replied. She went to her room, relieved her aunt could not read the turmoil in her mind. Good! She would soon be removed from the source of embarrassment. If she could avoid Lord Worthing at dinner tonight, she need only risk his improbable attendance at breakfast and then contrive to avoid him were he to come to London. He did not seem to be keen on the idea, and men had more power to direct their paths. In any case, Lord Worthing and she would not move in the same circles.

  R

  Time was running out. Informed by her aunt of Miss Daventry’s departure on the morrow, Stratford knew he could not let her go until he’d said his piece. He owed her an apology, and once delivered, he could put her from his mind once and for all. Dressing with care, Stratford rehearsed until the apology came out smooth and sincere.

  Fortune was not on his side. At dinner, Stratford was seated next to Mrs. Daventry instead of her niece, and he spent the meal explaining there was no need to worry. He’d found a conveyance to Reading, the roads would be in good condition, and he’d given Miss Daventry’s forwarding direction to the solicitor. They would be perfectly comfortable.

  Stratford rose from the table, hoping at last to corner Miss Daventry in the drawing room, but found himself instead losing a cat-and-mouse chase. Miss Daventry was deep in conversation with that coxcomb, Crenshaw, who unfortunately hadn’t given any kind of notice about when he would take himself off. She kept him engaged in chatter before turning to young Keyes, who’d finally made his appearance a day after the reading of the will, provoking his father to a fit of apoplectic proportions.

  “Philip, you’ve arrived at last,” Stratford called out, hoping that by entering the conversation with his cousin, he could find a way to single out Miss Daventry.

  Miss Daventry gifted Keyes with a smile. “The two of you will have much to discuss, of course.” Then she turned her back on Stratford.

  His aunt Hester chose that moment to prevail upon Miss Daventry to play piano. If Stratford hoped to have his chance with her after she played (prettily, he thought), he was doomed to disappointment. Keyes still had him cornered as the ladies bid the party goodnight.

  Stratford ground his teeth in frustration. The next day he had arranged an appointment with the bailiff from early morning to discuss how to adjust production without access to the stream that ran along the Munroe hamlet, and he would not be present to see them off.

  Confound it. He could not bring himself to put this apology in writing. He would have to meet her in London.

  Chapter Seven

  Eleanor barely registered that the journey to Mrs. Renly’s house had ended, though the last mile was over uneven roads. What a difference Lord Worthing’s well-sprung carriage had made. She hadn’t realized he’d lent his own until they stopped at the first posting house and a ray of sun illuminated the crest as she was handed back into it. It was kind of him, she thought, begrudgingly.

  The housekeeper was out the door before the carriage came to a complete halt. “Mrs. Renly is expecting you, ma’am. If you’ll follow me, I’ll see that Foster brings in your trunks.”

  In the darkened sitting room, Mrs. Matilda Renly reclined, eyes closed, face framed by a lace cap. “Oh, Tilly, is it really as bad as that?” Mrs. Daventry chided, but her brows were pinched, for as much as Eleanor’s aunt didn’t have any great affection for anyone, she had some for her sister.

  “Apparently not,” Mrs. Renly replied, weak but tart. “I was at death’s door when the letter went out, but my firm constitution—or so declares my doctor—has allowed me an unexpected recovery. I’m glad of your company, however,” she said as her sister leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Eleanor, you’ve grown into a passable young woman. Let us hope your intelligence has survived.”

  “According to the headmistress, I fill my head with nonsense,” Eleanor replied with a winning smile, “but she says I have enough sense to know it’s nonsense.”

  “You’ll do.” Mrs. Renly struggled to sit up but soon gave up the fight and surrendered to the pillows. “Every bit of effort exhausts me. How long will you stay?”

  Mrs. Daventry pulled a spindle chair next to her sister’s bedside and sat down. “As long as you need me. Unfortunately, we weren’t at Worthing long enough for the earl to fix his interest. But Eleanor has been invited to spend the Season in Lady Ingram’s household and is expected there next week. Perhaps she will take in London. Since I’m not needed to chaperone, this places me entirely at your disposal, Tilly.”

  Mrs. Renly glanced at Eleanor. “How do you know Lady Ingram, my dear?”

  Eleanor approached the bed and rested her hands on the round post. “Her daughter, Lydia, was my closest friend at school.”

  “It’s kind of her mother to sponsor a young girl with no prospects—to bring her out in the same season as her own daughter.” Mrs. Renly sought her sister’s gaze. “Unusual.”

  “Oh, but you don’t know,” Mrs. Daventry replied with satisfaction. “Eleanor now has a portion. Her guardian was generous in his bequeathment and left her an entire parcel of land that will bring in an income of three thousand pounds a year.”

  “Well that changes everything.” Mrs. Renly looked at Eleanor shrewdly. “But Lady Ingram didn’t know that before she invited you.”

  Since Eleanor had no intention of indulging why Lydia had made her a favorite with her mother, she kept silent. However, the reminder of it brought forth the memory of the night she came to Lydia’s aid all those years ago. Young, impressionable, and reeling from her father’s death, Lydia had been on the brink of running off with her Latin teacher had Eleanor not intervened.

  If only Eleanor had been able to do it without risking her own reputation, but she’d had the ill luck of getting caught returning after hours by Harriet Price—the one person who delighted in tormenting her for her lack of fortune, and who never ceased to remind her she did not belong to their set. How one unfortunate episode could turn Harriet’s unpleasantness into something worse—thinly veiled innuendos that it needed only the right moment before she exposed Eleanor publicly to censure …

  Eleanor shook her head. She had been glad enough to leave her school years behind, and with any luck, Harriet would not attend the Season in London. Although that was, perhaps, too much to hope for.

  The conversation had passed to a spirited discussion on whether the two sisters should remove to Bath for the season, with Mrs. Daventry cataloguing its virtues and Mrs. Renly dashing each one. In the end, plans were made for Bath, and letters were sent to inquire of suitable lodging. Mrs. Renly, recovering her constitution in record time, sped the housemaids into a frenzy of packing. Once decided, Mrs. Renly was not one to waste time.

  The week passed with Eleanor swept along in the tide of domestic industry until finally her trunks were loaded onto the carriage, and she settled next to a maid who would accompany her to the Ingrams, then visit family in London. Mrs. Daventry called out last-minute instructions on how Eleanor might reach her in Bath, reminding her, for heaven’s sake, not to forget to smile at the gentlemen suitors if she didn’t want to remain on the shelf, since really it was her only attribute besides a passable figure. “You positively frowned at the earl, and it’s no wonder he did not seek to further your acquaintance.”

  “I declare,” Eleanor murmured, waving her handkerchief as the carriage lurched forward, “the whirlwind of routs and balls Lydia has t
old me about will be quite restful after this week.”

  R

  Major Thomas Fitzwilliam of the 11th Regiment of Foot stared at the brass knocker in the form of a sphinx. He reached into his breast pocket and fingered the rigid seal on the felted paper he was carrying. The paper felt innocent enough, but the message inside was not one that could fall into the wrong hands, and it had been entrusted to him. The door opened. Taking one look at his dress uniform, the butler opened the door wider.

  “I’ve come to speak with Lord Ingram,” the major said. “Here’s my card. He won’t be expecting me, but I’m carrying a correspondence addressed to him.”

  The butler ushered him in, and after requesting him to wait, went through the first door on the right, leaving the major to kick his heels. The wallpaper was dark green damask, and the black bust of some family member, placed on a pedestal in the hallway, presided over the dim corridor. Ingram is not married, he thought. This was not the modern decor of a wife.

  He saw a flash of color at the end of the hallway of someone exiting a room. This was followed by the profile of a young woman with alluring features, who did not perceive him standing there in the gloom of the hallway. “Mama,” she said, “if I’m to have a court presentation it will be with Eleanor. We’re sponsoring her this Season, and I will not go without her.”

  He couldn’t hear the muffled, angry response before she continued. “Besides, you can gain her access anywhere you please. I will not have her treated like an impoverished companion.”

  An older woman followed the younger one into the hallway. “Lydia, don’t try my patience. The girl may now have a portion, but she was hardly left with enough for her Season without the court dress, and I will not put your brother out to the tune of one hundred pounds to provide it. Besides, what with her mother—”

  “You yourself said her mother need not be a consideration with the ton when she comes with an inheritance. I don’t see why Carlton House should be any different,” the girl replied, her foot making a staccato on the wood floor.

  “My dear girl, imagine if Princess Charlotte were to object. We would all be turned out of the royal house. I was perfectly willing to humor you in this invitation, but don’t think for a minute you can have your way in everything. You will attend every assembly of the haut ton, and your friend will attend what she can. And,” her mother threatened, “I expect you to accept the first eligible offer for your hand.” The major, embarrassed to have interrupted a domestic scene, was grateful his presence was hidden behind the stairwell.

  “I will marry when and whom I please, Mama,” the girl shot back. “With my inheritance, I can set up my own establishment if it comes to that, and Freddy will support me in it too. You know that to be true. I’m no longer a small girl who’ll come running when you order it.”

  “Headstrong child—” her mother snapped. The rest was lost when the dark-haired beauty entered the far room and her mother followed, closing the door behind them. Major Fitzwilliam shook his head, a reluctant smile on his face. A formidable opponent, he thought.

  The butler returned and indicated that Major Fitzwilliam follow him to the first room on the right. Inside, Lord Ingram sat behind an imposing oak desk, writing furiously on a sheet of paper, a lock of black hair falling over his face. The young lady’s brother.

  Lord Ingram set his quill down when the major entered. “Good afternoon, major.” He stood, tall and in civilian clothes. “You’ve traveled some way, I apprehend. You’re carrying news from Spain?”

  “That is correct,” Major Fitzwilliam answered. “I’ve a letter from Badajoz that I was to give only to you.” He pulled the envelope from his coat.

  “Let’s have it then.” Lord Ingram held out his hand and broke the seal with a quick swipe of the penknife. Lifting the paper to the sunlight streaming through the window, he perused its contents. He then sat at his desk and read the paper again more slowly, his gaze narrowed.

  “Major-General Le Marchant has sent you,” he observed.

  “Yes.” Major Fitzwilliam offered nothing further.

  Lord Ingram considered the major for a minute and then dropped the letter on the desk. “How much do you know of its contents?” he asked.

  “I was made privy to its entirety,” Major Fitzwilliam answered. “I carried Lord Wellington’s instructions to the major-general and waited for him to formulate this request. The general would like each officer to be given a detailed report on the supplies and troops they can expect to arrive in the next three months. He has not always found his demands are met in a satisfactory manner.” With the ghost of a smile, the major added, “He said I could pass that information on. Le Marchant wants regular reports about the progress to be sent through a messenger chain. A rider will meet you south of Hyde Park at seven in the morning every Friday to receive your missive. The first will be in two weeks’ time. Le Marchant preferred to leave the details of the rendezvous out of the correspondence.” Major Fitzwilliam folded his hands behind his back.

  Lord Ingram tapped the corner of the folded paper on the desk. “He said he wants to get to the bottom of the leaked intelligence regarding the deployment schedule of troops.”

  Major Fitzwilliam nodded. “Efforts are being made to expose the traitor at the battle lines, but there’s some indication that there’s at least one traitor here at headquarters. I believe he thought it would be more effective to bring me in as an outsider.”

  Lord Ingram frowned. “With all due respect to the major-general, he takes much upon himself. I’m not sure the gentlemen at headquarters will take kindly to his offer to help.”

  “You are right, of course,” Major Fitzwilliam said. “And he himself spoke almost identical words. I think this is where you come in. He said he knew your father, and I think he trusts you to handle the thing with diplomacy.”

  Elbows on his desk, Lord Ingram steepled his fingers and appeared lost in thought. At last, he looked up with a smile. “He did know my father.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he continued. “We’re aware of the leak at headquarters. I agree that sending the troop deployment through your rider, rather than using our traditional channels, will be more to the purpose if we’re to have any hope of the enemy remaining ignorant of where our forces are concentrated. I assume Le Marchant wants you implicated in the search?”

  Major Fitzwilliam gave a nod. “I’m to assist you in whatever is needed, whether surveillance or communication, paying special attention to the soldiers recently returned to England or those on the point of departure. I myself won’t return to the Peninsula before July.”

  “Meanwhile, you are commanded to attend every rout, ball, and soirée, are you not?” The corner of Lord Ingrams’s mouth twitched.

  “I see you are familiar with the way the general operates,” Major Fitzwilliam said with an answering smile. “Yes. I’m to be everywhere and to relay to you what I see. I am also …”—he looked at his hands and wiped a speck off his glove—“ ‘commanded to find some amusement and stop being so demmed serious.’ ”

  Lord Ingram threw back his head and laughed. “That sounds like the Beau. You must know how things are done in Welly’s inner circle. Or, at least if you didn’t before, you do now. He won’t promote an incompetent or a jaw-me-dead. You’ll do just fine.”

  When the mirth died down in his eyes, Lord Ingram continued. “Have you any contacts in London?”

  “I came with Sir Jonathon Braxsen, who’s recovering from a minor injury that has earned him some furlough.”

  “I know him,” said Lord Ingram. “We were at school together and spent time on the hunting field during the holidays. Good. You’ll have someone to enter society with.” He pulled a sheet of paper and picked up his pen. “I’ll put your name up at White’s and the other clubs and mention you to Lady Sefton for Almack’s. And you can show this letter at Jackson’s on New Bond Street if you want to throw a few punches.” He finished scribbling something and sprinkled some sand over it. “Are you
set for rooms and banking?”

  Major Fitzwilliam pulled himself up stiffly. “You need not put yourself out, my lord. I have everything I need.”

  Lord Ingram gave him a shrewd look, his smile lurking. “Don’t come the ugly. I have no wish to intrude, major, but we will be working closely together, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable.” He added in a mild tone, “And do call me Ingram. If we’re to be working together, I will soon tire of ‘my lord.’ ”

  Major Fitzwilliam felt his ears burn. “Yes, of course, my l—Ingram. Thank you for your assistance. And please. Call me Fitz.”

  Ingram met his gaze and gave a nod. “All right, Fitz. Here, take this letter. Where are you staying?”

  “At Steven’s on Bond Street.”

  “Excellent. I’ll expect to see you soon at one of these routs, balls, or soirées.” He gave a wink and gestured forward. “Come. Hartsmith will see you out.”

  If the major expected another glimpse of the dark beauty on his way out, he was disappointed. Tucking the letter into his coat pocket, he stepped into the sunlight and breathed in the scent of hyacinths poking through the ground in the small patches of earth. He had liked Ingram much better than he’d expected.

  Chapter Eight

  Ushered into her host’s drawing room at last, Eleanor would have sighed with relief that her journey was at an end were she not so nervous to meet Lady Ingram. Lydia, whose lustrous black hair was hanging in loose curls in the back, in what must have been a new style, threw her embroidery aside and ran to hug her. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages! The Season couldn’t properly begin until you’d arrived.” She took Eleanor by both hands and stepped back, studying her from bonnet to toes. “And apparently the Season cannot begin until we go shopping.”

  “Lydia, allow Eleanor some refreshment before you begin planning wardrobes.” Lady Ingram stood, dwarfing even her daughter whom Eleanor had thought tall, and gave a placid signal to the footman. “Will you ring for tea, James?” Crossing the room, she examined Eleanor with dark blue eyes. “Welcome,” Lady Ingram said. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant journey.”