by Laurie Brown
She blinked away tears. “It just sort of hit me. How much I miss him.”
She sat up, but he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Stay with me,” he said.
She turned and looked at him. So tempting. For a few moments she was lulled by the thought. But … what did Shermont really mean? Her common sense returned with a jolt. She gently broke his hold, scooted off the bed, and gathered her clothes. “I have to get back before I’m missed.” Both to her room tonight and to her own time.
“I understand, even if I’m not pleased. We’ll find time to be together during the fortnight I planned to stay. After that, we’ll think of something. Until then, name a time and place and I’ll be there.”
“I … I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’ll be leaving to my own … for home, I mean, London, and then back to America, probably right after the ball.”
Her statement was a kick in his gut. In order to give himself a few moments to process what she’d said, he rose from the bed, donned a robe, and poured himself a drink. Did he need more proof she was one of the foreign agents? Who was she working with? His heart argued with his brain and lost.
He turned to face her and toasted her with his glass. “Well, then, my sweet, perhaps we’ll run across each other in London before you sail.”
Her stricken expression punched him in the chest. Then he remembered she was his lead to the other agent or agents, and he certainly shouldn’t alienate her. He forced a smile to his lips. “My apologies. I allowed my disappointment to speak uncensored.” He took her in his arms and held her gently, despite her poker-stiff spine. “Please say you forgive me and will let me make it up to you.”
He gave her a charming smile and caressed her cheek, but to her his words rang insincere. Eleanor tried to hide her confusion by dressing as quickly as possible. Did she do something wrong? She’d thought the lovemaking had been pretty damn good, the best. He couldn’t have expected her to be inexperienced. Maybe men of the time didn’t have a high opinion of women who responded enthusiastically. Unable to voice a lie at that point, she nodded quickly, before ducking out of his embrace and scooting out the door.
Eleanor dashed away her tears before they could fall. Making love with him had been a huge mistake on many levels. At least getting pregnant was out of the question because she had kept taking birth control pills after her breakup, and even though she’d missed a few days, that possibility was remote. There was the issue of unprotected sex. Stupid, stupid. STDs were quite present during the Regency.
But her biggest mistake was not guarding her heart against falling in love. She would have to remember that, for whatever time she had left. She refused to consider it was already too late.
Shermont watched her safely back to her room. She didn’t turn around or glance back. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had. Wave? Blow a kiss? Ha! He would have to do more than that to get back into her good graces. Even if he must woo her relentlessly, he needed to stay by her side as much as possible to learn the identities of her possible cohorts. At least, he chose to believe this was the reason motivating his decision.
Chapter Twelve
Eleanor had fallen into an uneasy sleep by repeating a litany of all the things she missed: sneakers, toilets, M&Ms. When she woke with a toothache, she added twenty-first-century dentistry to the list. Apparently, using her finger to apply the tooth powder had not been effective, even though she’d mixed it half and half with salt as instructed on the can. Twilla had proudly pointed out the wooden toothbrush with boar’s hair bristles, but Eleanor, who hadn’t known boars even had hair, couldn’t stand the idea of putting such an offensive substance in her mouth.
She sat by the window, her hand cupping her sore jaw. She also missed extra-strength Tylenol. To take her mind off the pain, she added items to her catalog. Her car. Shopping online. Dove dark chocolate. Lights and music available at the flick of a switch. And her cell phone. How could she have forgotten to add that to the list? It was one of the top ten—right up there with hot and cold running water and flush toilets.
A knock on the door interrupted her mental exercise.
“You’re not dressed,” Deirdre said, entering Eleanor’s bedroom.
“Thank you for that statement of the obvious.”
“Oooo. And grumpy,” Mina said as she followed her sister. “I hoped after the hours you spent with Teddy last night that you and he—”
“I did not spend time with Teddy. I didn’t even see him.”
Deirdre flashed Mina a smug look. “See. I told you so.”
“Then who—”
“Why don’t you two go downstairs and deal with your guests. I didn’t sleep well due to this toothache and won’t—”
“I know what to do for that,” Deirdre said. She used the bellpull to summon the maid and requested oil of cloves, red flannel, and willow bark tea. She ordered Eleanor back to bed, and Mina set up a small table within reach for some books and fetched a warm shawl.
“I’m not an invalid,” Eleanor complained.
“We’re just trying to make you comfortable.”
Twilla brought the supplies. Even though Eleanor doubted the archaic remedies would work, she submitted to their ministrations for no other reason than it distracted the girls. After dousing the tooth with oil of cloves, Deirdre wrapped the flannel under Eleanor’s chin and tied it on top of her head, which looked positively ridiculous. The willow bark tea was bitter and tasted, no surprise, of cloves.
“Now, you try to get some rest,” Deirdre said.
“You look terrible,” Mina added.
“We’ll check on you in a few hours, and if you’re not any better, we’ll send someone to fetch the barber from the village.”
“The barber?” Eleanor asked.
“Very experienced in tooth extractions,” Deirdre said. “Takes care of all the locals, but, of course, if you’d rather wait, we can fetch one of those modern trained dentists from London. I’m sure Old John will do as good a job.”
“No, no. I’m sure everything will be fine.” No way was Eleanor going to let the local barber near her mouth. He probably didn’t wash his hands and most likely had never heard of sterilizing his equipment. “I’ll try to sleep now,” she added, hoping the girls would take the hint.
They left, and Eleanor immediately got up and paced the room.
Despite the attractions of the time period, including one too sexy Lord Shermont, she wanted to go home. She could never be happy without the conveniences she’d taken for granted all her life.
“All right, you ghosts,” she said. “Manifest yourselves or whatever it is you do. We need to talk.”
No response.
“I did what you asked, and now I want you to send me back.”
No response.
Then she heard movement in the sitting room and rushed to slam open the door, startling Twilla as she set a large arrangement of pink and white roses on the table. She almost caused the girl to drop the porcelain vase.
“Oh, miss, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Twilla said, using her long apron to wipe up the water she’d spilled from the vase. “Lord Digby sent you these.” She pulled a note from her pocket and handed it to Eleanor.
“They are beautiful,” she said. The note from Teddy was a formal wish for her speedy recovery—reserved, proper, and impersonal. She tossed the note on the table.
After Eleanor reassured her she didn’t need anything, Twilla left.
In truth, the treatment had made her feel a bit better. She wandered to the window and watched the other guests playing at archery. Shermont scored a bulls-eye, and all the women cheered. Eleanor was almost thankful for an excuse not to be down there. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist his charms.
Even from a distance, she could see Mina and Deirdre seemed determined to catch his attention. And their so-called chaperone was nowhere in sight. The naïve girls could still get into trouble.
Was that why the
ghosts had not yet sent her home? Would they send her back if she failed?
Eleanor paced again. She couldn’t do anything cooped up in her rooms, and she had to do something other than mope around in self-pity. She spotted the girls’ sewing boxes and got a brainstorm. Digging in one, she found white embroidery thread. She cut a length of fourteen inches and separated one of the six twisted strands to use as dental floss. She dislodged a piece of food. After several saltwater rinses, she felt well enough to get dressed.
She heard Mina and Deirdre moving around in the sitting room and opened the door from the bedroom to find the girls had brought a guest.
Shermont stood in the open doorway to the hall and refused Mina’s invitation to enter. He extended both hands, one with a simple bouquet of cheerful daisies and the other with a recently published book, Mansfield Park. “I thought you might enjoy this.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, touched by his thoughtfulness. Just seeing him brought back vivid memories of the previous night, causing the back of her neck and other body parts to heat. She didn’t want to get any closer, so she asked him to lay the gifts on the table by the door.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said.
“Of course, we are, too,” Deirdre said. “What a rapid recovery. One might even say miraculous.”
“Yes,” Mina said. “When Lord Shermont insisted on bringing his trinkets in person, we told him you were probably asleep. Where is your red flannel?”
“I believe you are mistaken,” Shermont said. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I asked you to deliver my best wishes personally, and you insisted it would mean so much more if I accompanied you. Though I admit, due to my concern, I wasn’t difficult to convince.”
Deirdre glared at Mina as if the younger girl had let the cat out of the bag. Indeed, she had.
“How sweet of both of you.” Eleanor smiled with insincere sweetness at the sisters. They had meant for Shermont to see her swollen and wrapped in red flannel.
“Come in,” Mina said to him. “Make yourself comfortable. Eleanor can act as our chaperone.”
“Yes,” Deirdre said. “We’ll order some tea and have a nice cozy chat.”
“No, thank you,” Shermont refused again, maintaining his position in the doorway. He covered a fake yawn with his hand. “I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll take a little rest. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He said it with a straight face, but a hint of a cat-that-got-the-cream smile curled the corners of his mouth.
“Apparently the storm made for a restless night for everyone,” Deirdre said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “A tempest of a night.”
“Hopefully we’ll have good weather for the ball tonight,” Deirdre said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I now have a certain fondness for storms. I was rather hoping for a repeat of last night.”
“Don’t even say that,” Mina said, horrified. “We must have good weather, or we can’t set off the fireworks we ordered. Oops! I wasn’t supposed to let out the surprise. Please don’t tell anyone, especially Teddy.”
“Why? Doesn’t he know?”
“Of course he does. He made the arrangements, but I don’t want him to know I told you.”
“My lips are sealed,” Shermont promised. “However, I will take my leave before any more secrets are revealed.”
He bowed, but Eleanor caught his glance.
“I have no secrets worth revealing,” she said with what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug.
He raised an eyebrow and would have said something, but Mina grabbed his arm, demanding his attention.
“I can’t let you leave without promising me a dance tonight,” she said.
“Mina!” Deirdre said with a horrified expression. “A girl should never, ever ask a gentleman for a dance.”
“Then how will he know I want one?” Mina replied and stuck out her bottom lip.
“Very sensible,” Shermont said. “I shall be honored to ask you to dance this evening.”
“And me,” Deirdre said.
“A promise gladly given to both of you,” he said. His gaze touched each face, but his look to Eleanor promised much more than a dance. “By your leave.” He stepped back and bowed before walking away.
Mina closed the door and sagged against it. “He is sooo handsome. He makes my knees weak.”
“Well, don’t faint now,” Deirdre said. She stood. “We have lots to do today. Change your shoes quickly. Mr. Foucalt is scheduled to start the dancing lesson in ten minutes.”
Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d just put on her walking boots to go outside. At least her day dress was appropriate. She changed into soft leather dancing shoes, and the three of them hurried downstairs to the ballroom, where the other women of the party waited. She was disappointed to note the Austen sisters were not in attendance.
“Excellent,” Mr. Foucalt said. “Now we begin.” The dancing master waved the late arrivals forward.
The tall, gaunt dancing master reminded Eleanor of an exotic bird with his large hooked nose, heavy-lidded dark eyes, bright yellow coat, and royal blue satin knee breeches. Sparse wisps of hair escaped his combed-forward hairdo and stuck straight up like the feathers on a parrot’s head. Red stockings covered his thin legs. Eleanor suspected his talented tailor had added strategic padding to his ensemble, even to supplement the calves of his hose. Although obvious to a seamstress who had been called upon more than once to perform costume magic to make an actor look better, a casual observer would assume the man was in fantastic physical shape.
Mr. Foucalt had them stand at arm’s-length in two lines six feet apart. Eleanor, Mina, Beatrix, and Fiona made one set of four, and Deirdre, Hazel, Countess Lazislov, and a mousy girl named Cecily made up the second group. Patience sat at the harpsichord in the corner, and the other chaperones sat in the chairs along the wall.
“Now take the hand of your imaginary partner,” Mr. Foucalt said, demonstrating by raising his left hand to almost shoulder height, elbow slightly bent.
“My partner is Raoul Santiago De Varga, aide to the Spanish Ambassador,” Mina said.
“Lieutenant Whitby,” Fiona said, batting her eyelashes to her left.
Beatrix didn’t have to announce, though she did, that her imaginary partner was Teddy.
“You are with Lord Shermont,” Mina said to Eleanor with a knowing smile.
“No, this dance belongs to Mr. Darcy,” Eleanor said.
“Your attention, please,” Mr. Foucalt said, pounding his tall walking stick on the floor. “Thank you. This dance is one I composed for the Prince Regent and is now all the rage in London. I call it “On a Midsummer Night,” and it is included in my new book of dances available next month from Corinthian Publishers on Fleet Street. Maintenant, salute your partner.” He demonstrated a half turn to his left and a curtsey.
All the dancers copied him.
“Now, all take two steps forward and clasp your hands behind your back. You will promenade to your right around the men in a lively step-close-step. Right foot first. Music please. Allez-vous.”
Eleanor followed Mina, imitating her footwork, while Patience pounded out a fairly fast pace.
Mr. Foucalt called, “Right, close, right, left, close, left. Non, non, non. Mademoiselle Maxwell. Do not lift your knees so high like the prancing horse.”
“How dare you,” Mrs. Maxwell said, jumping up with fisted hands. “My daughter—”
“It’s all right,” Fiona said to her mother. “He’s only trying to help me.”
Mrs. Maxwell sat down, but she glared at the dancing master.
“You are gliding … gliding,” he said. “Better.”
As the dancers returned to their original positions, Eleanor could see why the Regent would like the dance. She could just imagine him ogling the pretty girls parading in front of him.
“And salute your partner,” Mr. Foucalt said. “Très bien.” He rapped his stick on the
floor twice and the music stopped. “Then the gentlemen will have their turn, which we will, of course, skip over.”
“Perhaps you should have a gentleman demonstrate,” said a deep voice. Shermont entered the ballroom from the open French doors that led to the terrace. He took the spot next to Eleanor, usurping poor imaginary Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Foucalt bowed low. “Milord. Thank you for the offer—”
“But we do not condone mixed lessons,” Mrs. Maxwell said, stepping forward.
Eleanor could see her point. Who would want her daughter called a prancing horse in front of a potential husband?
“Are you French?” Shermont confronted Mr. Foucalt directly.
“I am from Belgium,” the dancing master said, raising his chin. He clicked his heels together and bowed.
“Same difference, isn’t it?”
“Just because that odious little Corsican annexed my country does not make me French. I have been in this country for twenty years, a political émigré.”
“Now, if you will excuse us,” Mrs. Maxwell said, a not-so-subtle hint for Shermont to skedaddle.
“There you are,” Teddy called to Shermont from the door. He was backed by the entire military contingent. “We wondered where you’d got to. Are we interrupting?” He looked around as if the gathering was a total surprise. His voice seemed hopeful rather than expressing regret.
Mrs. Holcum practically ran across the room as he spoke. She took his arm. “You are just in time,” she said, towing him toward her daughter. “I think having the gentlemen participate in the dancing lesson is a marvelous idea.”
The other men scrambled to take a place in the lines of dancers. Alanbrooke bowed and asked Deirdre for the honor of the dance. Parker and Whitby jockeyed for position next to Fiona, Whitby winning when she took his arm. Parker rushed down the line to partner Hazel. The countess snagged Rockingham’s arm as he made his way to the heiress Cecily’s side.
There was a moment of awkwardness when everyone realized Mina and Cecily stood alone.
“I think my imaginary partner Raoul is the best dancer here,” Mina said. She motioned Mr. Foucalt toward Cecily. He bowed and took her hand, and she sent Mina a grateful look. Seeing she was defeated, Mrs. Maxwell retreated to the sideline.
