“Harry. What are you doing here?”
As a welcome to a son not seen for years, it sounded inadequate to Elinor. She tightened her hand on Harry’s arm.
“This is my house, if you recall,” he said.
She made a dismissive noise and looked at Elinor. “And this is…?”
“Allow me to present my wife.” Harry’s smile barely touched his mouth and reached no higher.
“Your wife? Since when have you been married?”
Elinor was rather pleased to see that Lady Doncaster looked annoyed. She bowed her head slightly to her motherin-law to acknowledge the introduction, and said, “Please allow me to offer my condolences on the death of your husband. I understand it was quite sudden and unexpected.” Her eyes swept down over Lady Doncaster’s dress and back to her face. The annoyance changed to a flush of anger.
“We were married in Rome,” said Harry calmly. “I regret we were unable to inform you, but when the news of my father’s death reached us, we decided to simply hurry home.”
That did not appear to placate his mother, who turned on him with an angry frown. “I had plans…”
A loud harrumph from her companion interrupted her. He looked uncomfortable, and that discomfort increased when Harry turned to him.
“Ah, yes.” Harry smiled coldly. “My dear, may I present Lord Percival Winters?”
“Oh, I know Lord Winters,” Elinor said with a polite social smile. “We have met at my parents’ home.”
“Indeed, indeed, I have known Lady Elinor since she was a little girl. How are you, my dear?”
“Actually, it’s Lady Doncaster now,” Elinor said.
“Of course, of course.” He made a choking noise before he turned to Lady Doncaster with a warning look. “Penworth’s daughter, you know.”
Elinor could almost see the wheels turning in Lady Doncaster’s head as she assimilated this information and tried to decide how to use it. Just then Bidewell appeared with the tea tray. He stood there uncertainly until Elinor waved him to the tea table and seated herself behind it. “How do you take your tea, Lady Doncaster?”
Such an ordinary question with which to announce who was now the lady of the house. Such a bloodless coup d’état.
The older Lady Doncaster recognized precisely what had happened and looked for a moment like a fox at bay. She managed to recover enough to say, “Just a drop of milk, if you please.”
Harry stood beside Elinor, leaning with studied casualness on the mantelpiece. “What brings you here today, Winters?”
Winters darted an uncomfortable glance at Lady Doncaster, who said smoothly, “Winters is an old friend of the family. He came to commiserate with me on the loss of my husband.”
“Dear me,” said Elinor. “There seem to be no more cups. Does Lady Winters not take tea?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Lord Winters finally harrumphed and said, “My wife was unable to accompany me.”
“You must miss her dreadfully,” Harry said. “Do not let us impose on you any longer. Feel free to leave at once. We will have your things sent on after you.”
Lord Winters put down his teacup and got to his feet with a quick, nervous smile. “Excellent idea.”
“Don’t be absurd, Winters,” said Lady Doncaster, reaching out to grab his sleeve.
Winters shook his head and pulled away. “Much the best thing, don’t you know. After all, you have your family with you now.” He hurried from the room.
Lady Doncaster turned on her son. “How dare you march into my house and interfere in my life this way?”
“Actually, it is my house,” he said mildly.
“And you haven’t set foot in it in years. I will not allow you to meddle in my affairs. If you propose to stay here, I will go to London.”
He shrugged. “Do not let me hinder you. But don’t plan on going to Doncaster House. That also is now mine.”
She stared at him openmouthed. “Do I understand you correctly? You are throwing me out of my own home?”
“As I said before, it is now my house, not yours. Did Dalrymple not explain the situation to you? He assured me that he had. You have your income, a quite generous one, and either a house in London or an estate in Wiltshire. Have you decided which you will choose?”
“Although there is more entertainment to be found in London, there is, perhaps, more privacy in the country,” Elinor put in. “Fewer people to be shocked if you choose to put off your blacks.”
Lady Doncaster gave the younger woman a look of loathing. “Do not be an insipid fool.”
Harry choked down a laugh.
She turned to her son. “And your father would never have expected me to pretend grief at his death, any more than he would have mourned me. Don’t try to claim that you ever thought us a loving couple.”
Elinor looked to see if there was enough tea in the pot for another cup. Regrettably, she decided, there was not. “It is not the dead who care whether we wear mourning or not. It is the people who make up society. And they seem to care a great deal.”
“Will you be quiet!” Lady Doncaster glared at Elinor before returning to her son. “You know I could never live permanently in the country, and you cannot expect me to live in that pokey little London house. It’s practically in Pimlico.”
Harry said nothing.
“Think of your sisters. In a few years they will be grown. You can’t expect an earl’s daughters to be brought out from a house in Pimlico.”
“That is not a problem,” said Elinor. “Harry’s sisters now live with us, and I am sure I can manage to bring them out. If I have any difficulties, I can always call on my mother.” She smiled serenely.
Lady Doncaster looked at her son, suddenly uncertain.
He smiled. “You don’t really think I would allow my sisters to remain with a woman who thinks nothing of entertaining her lover in what should be a house of mourning?”
She stared at her son with narrowed eyes. “He told you, didn’t he? The old fool.”
“Told me?” Harry was trying to appear imperturbable.
“Told you what I said to him when you were born—that you probably weren’t his. God, he was so stupid. Such a stupid, boring prig.”
“A prig? The earl? That is hardly the way I would describe him.”
Harry was still leaning casually against the mantel. Elinor wondered if his mother could see how tense Harry really was, how coiled, ready to spring. Probably not. She did not seem to be a perceptive woman.
The countess laughed shortly. “You should have seen him back then. Chortling with delight over a puny, mewling infant. And I was feeling sick as a dog. I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something to prick that inflated bag of smugness.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you lied to him?” Harry’s hand was clenched so tightly the knuckles were bloodless. Elinor didn’t think the countess could see it from where she stood, but she reached up to put her hand on his anyway. If he struck his mother, he would regret it later. His hand was icy, and she wrapped her fingers around it to try to restore some warmth. Slowly it relaxed and wrapped around hers in turn.
Lady Doncaster looked at her son, an unpleasant smile twisting her lips. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? You would like to be certain that you are Doncaster’s son. You might be. You’re smug and self-righteous enough. But that means the uncertainty will be good for you.” She stood and strolled to the door. “Very well, I will leave, and I think it unlikely that we shall meet again. I will let Dalrymple know when I decide which house I want.” She turned to look back. “It will take me a few days to pack, but this house is big enough for us to avoid unpleasant encounters.”
“Wait.” Elinor stood up.
The countess raised her brows, but paused.
“Excuse us, Harry. I need to speak to your mother.” He scowled and began to protest, but Elinor shook her head decisively and pushed him toward the door. “We need to come to an understanding. You can go give orders about havi
ng Lord Winters’ things sent after him.”
Once the door was closed firmly behind him, she turned to face the older woman. They were of a height. The equal footing made it easier to speak without any pretense of subtlety. “You will not cause Harry or his sisters any further distress.”
“I? How could I possibly distress them?” Lady Doncaster looked amused. “I see them so rarely I hardly recognize them.”
Elinor was not amused. “You will create no more scandals. You will behave with at least outward propriety. And you will continue to keep away from your children.”
That ended Lady Doncaster’s amusement as well. “Why, you sanctimonious little brat. How dare you presume to order my behavior? I will live as I please, just as I always have.”
“No. You have shamed Harry and his sisters enough. There will be no more of that.”
Lady Doncaster’s smile was more like a sneer. “And just why do you think I should pay any attention to a child like you? Do you think I am powerless? I have friends who could make your life miserable if I choose.”
“Do you? I think not. You forget that I have a family and friends myself, and I do not think your friends would care to make enemies of mine. You saw how quickly Lord Winters took his departure. He knows how much difficulty my parents could make for him, were he to offend me.”
Elinor saw doubt begin to creep into Lady Doncaster’s expression and smiled implacably. “You see, the queen, who rather admires my mother, wrote to Harry and me, wishing us well in our marriage. Her Majesty also expressed the hope that this meant an end to scandals in the de Vaux family.”
“As if it matters what they say of me in that pompous, prudish court.”
“You will find that it matters to many people, even to those you call your friends. I doubt you have any who care for you enough to risk their own positions in society. If you do not wish to change your habits, I suggest you take up residence abroad. It’s a pity you can’t enter a convent, but you might like Vienna, or perhaps St. Petersburg.”
“I don’t believe it. You can’t be serious.”
Elinor shrugged.
“Harry would not let you…”
“Do you seriously think that Harry would come to your defense? You have brought him and his sisters nothing but shame and scandal all their lives. Be grateful it has not occurred to him that he could have you clapped into an asylum as a depraved lunatic.”
Elinor almost laughed at the expression of horror on the woman’s face. She truly did not know her son at all. Harry would die before he did such a thing to anyone. Fortunately, he had a wife who would make any threats necessary to protect him, and his sisters as well. “Your departure from England would be the least painful solution for all of us,” she said.
A snarl escaped from the countess before she caught herself up and looked coldly at Elinor. “I will consider what you have said.”
“One more thing. Harry’s sisters will be arriving later today. You will not distress them with your complaints.”
She shrugged. “Why would I even see them? There is privacy enough for all of us. We need not meet again.”
Then she was gone, leaving Elinor half triumphant, half aghast. She collapsed into a chair to collect herself, hardly believing her own success. Without the tension that had held her upright, her legs would not hold her up. When she was able, she hurried off to find Harry.
He was in the library, staring at the portrait of the late earl. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, wanting to wrap him in her love, and could feel the trembling begin. It grew stronger until he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight until it subsided. He was still pale, but he seemed to have regained control of himself.
“She may have lied just to make him miserable. She destroyed him in a fit of pique. What kind of woman would do that? Is that my heritage?”
“You inherit nothing from her. She gave birth to you. That is the only connection between you.”
He shook his head. “Now you know why I wanted to keep you far away from her.”
“She is nothing to me, so she cannot hurt me. But she had the power to hurt you. I didn’t want you to have to face her alone.”
“He may well have been my father. I should have…”
She put a hand to his lips to stop him. “There is nothing you should have done, nothing you could have done. When did he ever take on a father’s role? He was no more your father than she was your mother. He made his choices just as she did, and you are not responsible for them.”
He cupped her face in his hands and moved his thumbs across her cheeks in a gentle caress. “I do love you. You are a very fierce champion, wife.”
“That I am.” She smiled and tugged at him. “Now come along. We have to locate the housekeeper and find out where your sisters should be put. Then we have to make this a home for them.”
“And then we will build our own life with our own family. Not like mine.”
“And not like mine, either. But our own. After all, we make a good team, do we not?”
“We do. Oh, indeed we do.”
Epilogue
Bradenham Abbey, 1861
“Mama, Mama, this way. Come see.” His little legs churning, young Viscount Tunbury raced at surprising speed down the neglected portrait gallery of the Abbey. It had become a favorite rainy-day playroom ever since he and Nurse discovered it. Its length offered space for running with a minimum of things to crash into. He stopped before a large family group near the end of the gallery. “Here.”
His mother, laughing gently at his excitement, followed at a somewhat more subdued pace. “What have you found, Will? Another knight in armor?”
“Me,” he said proudly. “My picture.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Then she stopped in front of the portrait. Most of the paintings in this gallery were mediocre portraits of unimportant and long-forgotten members of the family, and this was one she had never noticed before. She glanced at it, and then she stopped and stared. It was a family portrait, the father in a dark coat with one of those elaborate neck cloths wrapped around his throat, the mother in a simple white dress that looked almost like a nightgown, and a child, a little boy, wearing a red velvet jacket.
Will pointed at the little boy in the painting, a little boy with the same brown curls as his, the same brown eyes, even the same way of standing with his head tilted to the side. “It’s me.”
The silence stretched out as she stared at the painting. “No, my sweet,” she said at last, “not quite you. That’s a portrait of your grandfather, Papa’s father, when he was a child.”
He frowned. “It looks like me.”
“Yes it does, indeed it does.”
“I like it.”
“I like it too.”
“Will Papa like it?”
She bent over to hug her son. “I think that when Papa sees it, he will like it too. Very much indeed.”
Lillian Marek’s Victorian Adventures continue with
Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Constantinople, March 1861
The British Embassy in Constantinople was a major disappointment. With its neoclassical facade and geometrical flower beds, it would have looked right at home had it been set down around the corner from Penworth House in London. Inside it was furnished in the latest English style, with Scottish landscapes hanging on the walls and Wilton carpets on the floor.
Emily heaved a sigh. Constantinople had looked so promising when they arrived this morning, with the city rising up out of the morning mists, white and shining with turrets and domes and balconies everywhere. The long, narrow boats in the harbor all sported bright sails. It had been so new and strange and exotic. Now here she was, walking with Julia behind her parents on Wilton carpets. Wilton carpets imported from Salisbury! When even she knew that this part of the world was famous for its carpets.
The doors at the end of the hall were flung open and a butler, dressed precisely as he would have been in London, announced
, “The Most Honorable the Marquess of Penworth. The Most Honorable the Marchioness of Penworth. The Lady Emily Tremaine. The Lady Julia de Vaux.”
They might just as well never have left home.
Emily smiled the insipid smile she reserved for her parents’ political friends—the smile intended to assure everyone that she was sweet and docile—and prepared to be bored. She was very good at pretending to be whatever she was expected to be. Next to her, she could feel Julia straighten her already perfect posture. She reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand.
“Lord Penworth, Lady Penworth, allow me to welcome you to Constantinople.” A ruddy-faced gentleman with thinning gray hair on his head and a thinning gray beard on his chin, inclined his head. “And this must be your daughter, Lady Emily?” He looked somewhere between the two young women, as if uncertain which one to address.
Emily took pity on him and curtsied politely.
He looked relieved, and turned to Julia. “And Lady Julia?”
She performed a similar curtsy.
“My husband and I are delighted to welcome such distinguished visitors to Constantinople,” said the small, gray woman who was standing stiffly beside the ambassador, ignoring the fact that he had been ignoring her.
Emily blinked. She knew marital disharmony when she heard it. She also knew how unpleasant it could make an evening.
“We are delighted to be here, Lady Bulwer,” said Lord Penworth courteously. “This part of the world is new to us, and we have all been looking forward to our visit.” He turned to the ambassador. “I understand that you, Sir Henry, are quite familiar with it.”
“Tolerably well, tolerably well. I’m told you’re here to study the possibility of a railroad along the Tigris River valley. Can’t quite see it myself.” Before the ambassador realized it, Lord Penworth had cut him out of the herd of women and was shepherding him off to the side.
In the sudden quiet, Lady Penworth smiled at her hostess and gestured at the room about them. “I am most impressed by the way you have managed to turn this embassy into a bit of England,” she said. “If I did not know, I would think myself still in London.”
Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures Page 26
