Yes, her son’s name brought back memories which were most likely better forgotten. She remembered well what she’d said to the new-born boy, when she’d first held the babe in her arms. “I will name you after your father, because you can become the man he never could. You will have all of the good qualities he never displayed. I love you, my son. One day, who knows, you may wish to meet him, and declare your status, but do it after you’ve accumulated wealth. You’ll not be a beggar at his fully laden table.”
Noelle noted the sums down in her ledger with pleasure - she’d managed to collect a small but mostly aristocratic male membership who contributed their dues, which went to the provision of entertainment, food, and beverages, but also gave her some profit. She also advertised in the ‘Daily Chronicle Reborn’ newspaper for her events.
After many attempts at witty banter, she’d settled on:
A soiree is a formal affair in the evening. It can present a Grand Expectation or a Great Denouement. Everything is ripe for romantic encounters.
A starlit night.
A handsome gentleman.
Chandeliers aglow and Midnight Magic.
As they say, what happens at The Soiree stays at The Soiree, unless, of course, the indiscretion is difficult to ignore.
Noelle’s keen business sense also fostered genuine relationships with the ladies who did attend The Soiree. In many instances, her motherly instincts shone through. Older women felt confident in bringing their daughters to her afternoon occasions, and those young women often found her a comfortable person to speak to, of their hopes and dreams.
She felt rather a sense of loyalty to these young women who entrusted her with their dreams and desires. She would laugh with them and say, “Remember, my dears, the two cruellest words in the world spoken by a man are ‘trust me’. Because of their species, they will promise you the moon in return for your favours. Beware. The moon dies every night so that the sun can live the next day.”
The girls gathered around at certain afternoon teatimes and asked all the kinds of questions which a daughter might not be at ease asking her mother, all while their mothers played low stakes card games and gossiped. Within propriety, Noelle would give examples of when they should run away or toward a gentleman. She enjoyed her time with them, as much as she enjoyed the evening functions.
These giddy playful girls were so anxious to learn. They reminded her of her daughters, and her heart overflowed with affection. Oh, the secrets that they shared might shock, but if reprimands were needed, they followed in short order.
Her answers to their questions were forthright. “No, you cannot, or yes, you may. Or Heaven forbid. You would not want to disappoint me, would you?” Many of their mothers seemed pleased with her discreet education of their daughters, and she suspected that sometimes the girls would heed her words, where the same words from their mothers would have been ignored. As a result, Bank vouchers found their way to her door, at times, in excess of the amounts that the ladies might owe for their membership of her exclusive establishment. Her rules forbade any immoral activities. She made it crystal clear the Soiree promoted respectability. Gentlemen could meet well-regarded ladies for proper social entertainment, but if their attention bordered beyond genuine interest, any liaisons did not take place at her salon. She did offer a gentleman’s parlour and ladies’ room as was customary, in addition to the magnificent ballroom and terraced veranda. No one was allowed near the second-floor bedrooms of her family.
Noelle might have been indiscreet in the past, but her present and future were the height of respectability. At the thought, her face heated. She no longer held the glow of an eighteen-year-old woman much in love, but Noelle had aged well. Her eyes brimmed, but then a small grin escaped. Some might say she aged like hundred-year-old Scotch malt whiskey, easy to savour and swallow, but she wanted more from her life. Her current situation wasn’t enough.
Her clients referred to her as the merry widow. Alone, she could attest it became a role she performed to perfection.
Those jagged edges of her broken heart could never be restored.
“Enough,” she spoke aloud in the quiet room. She locked the ledgers away, and rose. Noelle went to the small dining room and sat at the circular table where Conrad poured tea. She sipped the mint-laced brew, reached for the newspaper, The Daily Chronicle Reborn, and turned to the gossip column. A rather large smile emerged as she read the report of the previous evening’s events at The Soiree. Harold Miller III reported some conversations between her guests without the use of direct names, but everyone would know the lady or gentleman’s names by their initials. The implied information would titillate readers to buy the paper, again and again, to salivate over the next instalment.
She took full note that Mr Sutton was never linked to any salacious gossip, and considered it a good omen. At Abingdon’s death, his nephew would inherit the dukedom.
The star reporter printed an announcement of the arrival of the Duke of Abingdon back to England from foreign shores. She stared at the words on the page a moment – from her point of view, it was not auspicious news.
Chapter Four
Noelle awaited the presence of Mr Sutton.
The foyer grandfather clock chimed eight times.
Why did it sound like a death knell?
Conrad ushered the aristocrat into the small drawing room.
She motioned for him to sit. He nodded and bowed.
“In actuality, you have preached to me that your salon is respectable, more times than I care to remember. I do admit my honourable thoughts tend to wander to your sweet daughter. My uncle insists I should pursue honourable intentions with a respectable woman. I am his heir, and he is anxious to have the dynasty continued.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “You and I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. May I explain further?”
She admired his cool exterior, in control, and comfortable, yet he impressed her with his sincerity.
“My dear Mr Sutton, I apologise also. You might understand that some aristocrats, for reasons unknown to me, prefer to believe that this is a brothel in disguise. I assure you, that is not the case.”
His grin spoke volumes.
“I can understand your apprehension. However, I also know that a lot of the matrons respect your teaching their daughters about propriety. Wagging tongues with not much else to do prefer gossip and innuendo. My intent is not to offend in any way.”
“Good. Please make your point.”
Sutton removed an envelope from his breast pocket addressed to Noelle, Lady Fenwick.
“Open it,” he spoke in an anxious tone.
She flipped the seal with a finger, read it, and raised her eyes to engage his.
“This is an invitation for me to visit and stay at your estate for ten days, for a Christmas holiday ball at Abingdon Hall.”
“Yes, it would be my pleasure if you could attend this festive season. The hall is a spectacle in and of itself.”
“No respectable woman would accept such an invitation. It is improper, Sutton.”
Again, she turned to leave or kick him in the shins of his silk-stockinged legs.
He stopped her again. “I’ve been awkward.” He handed her another invitation addressed to her daughter, Miss Allyn Fenwick. “I’d like your permission to extend this invitation to her in person, with the full knowledge that you will accept the request for both of you. One night will be a masked ball. You have my assurances there will be many reputable ladies and gentlemen who will attend. You also have my word no one would dare denigrate you or your daughter in our home. I will be responsible for my uncle’s behaviour.”
“Do you infer that you might have an interest in my daughter? I speak of courtship.”
Sutton faced her, his expression agape.
“Why else am I here? I have met your daughter and her companions at many teas and afternoon events. I find her attractive, amiable, and high-spirited. I can see that she has your courage. I find most of these debuta
ntes and their mothers a bore. I have escaped their clutches. One purpose of the visit is to have Miss Fenwick know me better. The other is because of my uncle’s twenty-year absence. It would ease his convergence back into society. I would like to ask your assistance in helping me achieve this event for him. If you agree, you and your daughter will come to the estate before the event date, and you can order Pembrooke, whom you will remember as our Butler, about as you please. I’m at a total loss on how to plan such an event, and you are a respected society hostess and matron. I will, of course, compensate you appropriately for the time and effort involved.”
She placed her hand on her throat.
“After all you’ve witnessed, you want me to arrange an event for… him at his country estate? Are you addled in the brain?”
“No. I’m fond of the man. He claims I’m his favourite. I believe I remind him of his youth. I always get jocular and inform him I am also his only nephew.”
The eyes of the rascal in front of her glittered like green emeralds and outshone the gem pinned to his cravat. His cologne, though familiar, offered an additional scent of musk—a chip off the old block? Noelle arched one eyebrow as if she were about to silence his tongue forever.
She knew her temperature soared at the notion of Abingdon, the man who had ruined her for any other man, now returned. Yet his heir offered her the opportunity to gain respectable employment. One step further to meet her goal of financial freedom.
No, she remembered too much. There wasn’t enough money in the world for her to make such an event happen! Abingdon, the man she despised, was hard to visualise in any way other than contempt. All of his promises were convenient lies. How dare this upstart nephew presume that she would consent to such a task?
Then again, she’d spent every night on her knees in prayer for a way to reunite her family in America. At that thought, ripples of laughter sliced the air from her joy at the idea of spending the Duke’s money in the full knowledge that her fee would mean her goal could be achieved much sooner, and at the scoundrel’s expense.
“Do you find me humorous, Lady Fenwick?” Sutton’s forehead creased in a frown.
“No, I find myself quizzical at my own thoughts.”
The bile traveled upward from her stomach to her chest, to her tongue. Damn, if she calmed her anger, the money would assist in her final objective of debt relief. Torn, burdened with need, she closed her eyes.
When did a beautiful truth transcend an ugly lie? Her son’s birth was the truth grown into a good and handsome man. The lie was he would never know Abingdon as his father. Trevor Duke Fenwick, the proud leader of their family, would never know the secret she’d take to the grave, unless something happened to force the truth from her, for his own good.
Noelle would request a ridiculous sum, half in advance. She would give Abingdon the best party money could purchase, and spend an outrageous amount of his money to boot. In a moment of conscience, she recognised that the nephew should not pay for the sins of his uncle. The pendulum of right and wrong swung in her mind.
“Do you have a budget? If so, how much have you allotted for this event’s cost?”
“Three hundred pounds to start. More if you justify the expenditure. I do not wish to bankrupt the estate.”
Words said in jest could not deflect his stern expression.
Noelle realised that she needed to separate the two issues. Society viewed her daughter as a prime catch, and Sutton, a most eligible bachelor, received the same recognition. Allyn would make a sensible future Duchess. Noelle could guide her daughter through the treacherous ton. Many of those matrons were obligated to her, because of her advice to young women. America beckoned. Unbelievable. The trip could happen sooner than planned.
Another idea nagged at her. How could she leave a daughter behind with a new husband? Allyn could find happiness with a man who cared for her. To have a Duchess in the family would help her other daughter too, no doubt. This happenstance meant that Allyn would reside in England. Oh, no! Her aim to reunite her family would affect all she loved. How could she explain any of this to her son? Noelle shooed away the sad thought and brought a smile to her face. In her experience, a smile could hide an irate disposition.
“Has anyone ever told you that, when angry, you are spectacular? There’s so much fire in your spirit, it begs to kindle into an inferno.”
Sutton hid the compliment with a sly grin.
“So, sir, you recognise that I am about to implode?”
“Yes, but without reason.”
“I will state that you have a devil-may-care charm, Sutton. Many women would swoon if you so much as talked to them.”
“To that point, your daughter chooses to ignore me. I like a woman with spirit. I’m not one to favour ninny-hammers.”
“In which case, you have my permission to deliver your private invitation to my daughter in the garden. I will remain here. If she accepts, we will come to your home tomorrow afternoon. This comes at a good time since The Soiree closes at the end of business today, for the duration of the holiday season. I seem to remember that we live quite a way down the road from your family’s residence. Way down the road. Miles and miles,” she stressed. “More miles than I care to remember.”
“And the point you are trying to offer?” he asked playing with his ring.
“Status. This world in London and its environs is all about aristocratic position.”
“I can only assure you my intent is honourable. By your leave.”
He excused himself as she pointed to the garden. While Noelle listened, she couldn’t discern the words. Noelle would pave the way for a possible future Duchess.
After fifteen minutes, her daughter came into the room with a jovial Sutton behind her.
“Mama, is this true? Will we go to the country estate of Mr Sutton’s family to celebrate Christmas?”
She held her private invitation and then gazed at the man beside her. “It seems you wished for an adventure, and Mr Sutton provided a vehicle for us to join with others in the festivities. I remember Abingdon Hall is like no other at Christmastime.”
Allyn twirled around, and Noelle noticed the joy on Sutton’s face. Smitten, her daughter garnered all his attention. A good sign.
“To welcome England’s hero of the wars back from his India ventures deserves recognition.”
She did not gag at the words. This hero, a devil in disguise, existed to haunt and taunt her. Even though she had accepted the assignment, she’d make sure he could not hurt her again. Abingdon became a devious symbol of salvation.
Atonement.
A means to an end.
Unimportant.
So she claimed, but her heart beat otherwise.
<<<
What a strange turn of events. The answer to Noelle’s prayers came in the form of a handsome nephew to honour his uncle. Never would she have guessed at such a happenstance. When God wants to punish you, he grants your dreams.
“We do have ladies’ maids at the estate should you wish one for each of you,” offered Sutton.
“All in good time, Sutton. Allyn, it seems I’m a guest but also hired as a chatelaine to plan all of the details for this wondrous visit. On short notice, I might mention.”
Her tone became whimsical, and her smile beamed.
Allyn’s smile faded.
“Mama, does this mean we won’t spend time together? I’ll be most disappointed.”
Sutton interjected, “Your mother will have many servants to assist her, Miss Fenwick. Besides I intend to keep you occupied. Abingdon Park is a sight to behold. I will show you all its secrets.”
Noelle interrupted, “Beware of men who wish to share their secrets and also the gazebos, daughter. They abound everywhere. Enough to turn a girl’s head.”
“Lady Fenwick, you do enjoy your torment of me, don’t you?”
“Yes, because I know you are an honourable man — like your uncle.”
“Touché.” He saluted.
&n
bsp; She offered a sly grin and arched a haughty brow.
“C’est un plaisir.” It is my pleasure.
“With sincere regrets, I must depart. I look forward to your arrival tomorrow, Madame.”
He moved toward Allyn, nodded, and kissed her ungloved hand.
“Good evening, ladies.”
He gathered his accessories and departed.
“Well, my darling,” Noelle said. “Does he please you?”
“Mama, he’s charming.”
“I am glad that you think so. You are to select your ensembles for this visit. Let Jones assist you. She’s to come with us. We have much to do and so little time. I will direct the staff in preparation for the deluge of guests who will come from far and wide to attend this auspicious event.”
She paused to inhale and calm herself as she marvelled at the fact that she didn’t regurgitate, surprised the words came out with somewhat ease.
Noelle smiled at the expression of genuine excitement on her daughter’s face.
“I’ll run upstairs and place this invitation in my diary. My very first one. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, my dear. Hurry. No dillydallying.”
She grinned. It boded well that her daughter would circulate with the cream of society.
Handling her personal reactions, even after all these years, to the Duke of Abingdon’s betrayal would require tact and refinement, she reminded herself as she went to prepare. Which meant she couldn’t hit him over the head with an antique porcelain vase, since she might break the heirloom beyond repair.
Chapter Five
Abingdon Hall and Park, Leicester
Mid-afternoon, Noelle, Lady Fenwick, and her daughter arrived in a rented carriage, which entered the wrought iron gates and drove up the circular drive of pine, hawthorn, and cypress trees.
The Duke's Christmas Promise (Regency Christmas Romance) Page 3
