To her dismay, this confession only served to make matters worse as the collective gasp which followed could not have been louder had she announced that she wished to remove all her clothes and take a stroll around the grounds.
‘Never wished for any gowns,’ repeated Lady Ormiston, walking to the armchair opposite that of Eleanor’s and easing her large frame into it. ‘I have never heard anything like it in my entire life.’
Taking their cue to be seated from their hostess, the three stout guests bustled across the room and took their places on the green sofa directly in front of the fire: Lady Carmichael in the centre with one mousy, ringleted-haired daughter either side of her. Eleanor gingerly resumed her seat and stared dolefully at the damp patch on her dress as four sets of eyes examined her curiously.
A high-pitched whine broke the uncomfortable silence. ‘Why, I must confess,’ announced Lady Carmichael, smoothing an imaginary crease from the skirt of her fussy, high-waisted yellow gown, ‘that I have never before met a young lady who has no interest in gowns. We have done little else over the past few months than prepare a collection for Felicity for her come out, which, as you know, Lady Ormiston, is to take place in a little under three weeks.’
‘How could I possibly forget,’ sniffed Lady Ormiston, accepting a glass of brandy from a second footman. ‘You must have told me the date in excess of one hundred times, Cynthia.’
‘Oh dear, have I really?’ tittered Lady Carmichael, reaching for a glass of ratafia from the footman’s silver tray. ‘It’s just that we are so dreadfully excited about it, are we not, Felicity?’
‘Indeed we are, Mama,’ replied Felicity, in an identical whine.
‘Naturally we are hoping for a very good offer following her come out,’ continued Lady Carmichael, taking a sip of her drink, ‘which shouldn’t be too difficult, given that Felicity will be the belle of all the balls this Season.’
Eleanor sneaked a peep at Felicity. With the girl’s dumpy frame, square head and distinct lack of neck, she couldn’t help but feel that Lady Carmichael’s expectations were a tad optimistic.
Undeterred by the disbelieving looks cast her by both Eleanor and her hostess, Lady Carmichael continued her speech. ‘Can you believe, Lady Ormiston, that we have been planning Felicity’s come out for almost two years now?’
The dowager raised her brows in mock surprise. ‘Really? It seems so very much longer.’
Detecting the lilt of sarcasm in her godmother’s tone, Eleanor bit back a smile.
‘Exactly what I said this very morning,’ carried on Lady Carmichael obliviously. ‘I shall feel quite bereft once the event is over. Although hopefully we will then move on to planning a wedding.’ She flashed Felicity a knowing smile.
‘Heaven save us,’ muttered the dowager drily, staring into her brandy glass as she swirled around the amber liquid. ‘Is there to be no end to it?’
At her godmother’s blatant rudeness and Lady Carmichael’s blatant disregard of it, Eleanor tried desperately to control her twitching lips. Her amusement, though, had not gone unnoticed by the entire party, as she caught Felicity studying her through narrowed porcine eyes.
‘May I ask if you are yet betrothed, Lady Eleanor?’ enquired the girl coldly.
Eleanor opened her mouth to reply, but before a word was forthcoming, Lady Ormiston intervened.
‘Not yet,’ she replied matter-of-factly. ‘Her stepmama has tasked me with finding her a suitable husband. I can therefore assure you that Eleanor will be married off by the end of the Season.’
Eleanor gasped loudly, completely taken aback at the old woman’s frankness. ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible, Godmother. You see, I have absolutely no wish to marry.’
‘No wish to marry?’ repeated Gertrude, wrinkling her large nose, with an angry pimple on the end of it. ‘But if you do not marry then what on earth will you do?’
‘I shall return to the country and carry on exactly as I was,’ replied Eleanor obdurately.
Felicity tossed back her ringlets. ‘Good lord. How very tedious. Why on earth one would wish to remain a spinster and bury oneself in the country when there are so many balls and parties to attend is quite beyond me. Personally I can think of nothing more boring,’ she continued, setting down her glass on the table in front of her. ‘I cannot wait to be married with a home of my own – a very large one of course.’
‘Oh yes,’ piped up Gertrude. ‘Felicity was saying only yesterday that Whitlock would suit her very well indeed, weren’t you, Felicity?’
Eleanor turned her head towards the trio just in time to see Lady Carmichael giving her youngest daughter an admonishing nudge in the ribs, while her older sister flashed her a censorious glare.
‘What I actually said, Gertrude,’ corrected Felicity, ‘is that something about the size of Whitlock would be ideal. I didn’t, of course, mean Whitlock itself, Lady Ormiston,’ she clarified with an affected laugh.
The dowager regarded her with a look of incredulity. ‘I should think not. For that would mean you would have to marry-’
She broke off as the door was thrust open and all four heads swung around in unison to see the young man Eleanor had ‘met’ earlier, strutting confidently towards them. Eleanor’s heart sank to her feet. As if the wretched evening wasn’t bad enough. The man came to stand in front of the fire, facing the small party.
‘Good evening, my ladies,’ he said, ignoring Eleanor and bowing deeply to Lady Carmichael and her daughters. ‘And may I say how beautiful you are all looking this evening.’
Eleanor rolled her eyes and began studying her fingernails, which were infinitely more interesting. Obviously not of the same opinion, Gertrude and Lady Carmichael both flushed an unattractive shade of crimson and giggled girlishly.
‘Good evening, Lord Prestonville,’ cooed Lady Carmichael. ‘I see you are looking as dashing as ever.’
Clasping his hands behind his back, James inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘How very good of you to say so, my lady,’ he replied - somewhat pompously, thought Eleanor. ‘And may I say how well that delightful shade of lemon suits you.’
Gertrude and Lady Carmichael commenced another bout of giggling. Amazed at their simpering behaviour in front of the affected specimen, Eleanor raised her eyes in order to examine him properly. He looked well enough, she thought, taking in his shiny black hair, dark brown eyes framed by long lashes, and immaculate evening attire topped off with an elaborately set neck-cloth. But how any woman could find someone so conceited and arrogant the least bit charming, was beyond her.
The man turned his attention to Lady Ormiston. ‘Please forgive the interruption, my dear Aunt,’ he drawled, in his deep, well-modulated voice, ‘however my plans for this evening have been changed rather abruptly. I wondered, therefore, if I might have the pleasure of joining you lovely ladies for dinner this evening?’
‘Of course, James,’ replied an obviously delighted Lady Ormiston. ‘Stevens!’ she roared, causing the entire party to jump again and Stevens to visibly quake in his buckled shoes. ‘Set another dinner place for my nephew immediately.’
‘So, James,’ twittered Lady Carmichael, whipping open her fan and fluttering it furiously, ‘to what do we owe this unforeseen but most welcome pleasure? Don’t tell me you are already bored with the Season? I should have thought there were any number of young ladies at functions across London this evening desperate to set eyes on the Marquis of Rothwell.’
A knowing smile spread across James’s face, as he raised his brows in mock innocence. ‘Why, Lady Carmichael,’ he replied, tugging down the ends of his cravat, ‘I have absolutely no idea from where this ridiculous preconception of my popularity with the fairer sex emanates.’
Lady Ormiston took a slug of brandy. ‘I would think, dear nephew, that it emanates from the fact that you are one of England’s most eligible, handsome bachelors and that there has already been a mountain of caps set at you this Season. Not just by the young chits, but by
their prowling, ambitious mothers who are desperately hoping you’ll be casting your eye in the direction of their simpering daughters. Am I correct, or am I not, Cynthia?’
‘Oh, I’m, er, sure you are, Lady Ormiston,’ flustered a blushing Lady Carmichael.
‘And let’s not forget, James,’ continued Lady Ormiston, ‘that once this dreadful ‘title’ business is sorted out, you will also be one of the richest bachelors in England.’
Lady Carmichael cleared her throat. ‘May I, um, ask what the latest situation is regarding the ‘title’ business, Lady Ormiston?’
‘Indeed you may not, Cynthia,’ replied the dowager stoutly. ‘Our solicitors have recommended we do not speak of the matter until it is concluded and I wholeheartedly agree with them. We all know only too well how much the gossips would love to find out all the intimate details and then twist and turn them for their own entertainment. Am I correct or am I not, Cynthia?’
The flush in Lady Carmichael’s cheeks deepened. ‘Well, I have no doubt you, um, are, Lady Ormiston,’ she muttered, shifting awkwardly in her seat.
‘Anyway,’ cut in James, lightening the tone, ‘enough of boring legal matters. Now tell me, what were you charming ladies discussing before I so rudely interrupted you?’
‘Oh,’ rasped Gertrude, ‘we were discussing marriage, my lord. Lady Eleanor was just telling us how she has no wish to marry.’
James lifted his brows as he turned to Eleanor. ‘Was she indeed?’ he remarked, with a sardonic glint in his eyes. ‘Then may I recommend we keep such devastating news to ourselves? After all,’ he continued, deliberately moving his dark gaze to the stains on the front of her gown, from which, thanks to the heat of the fire, a little steam was now rising, ‘we would not wish to disappoint the great number of gentlemen who have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of such a … sophisticated and … highly accomplished young lady.’
The sarcasm in his tone was lost on neither Felicity nor Eleanor as Felicity released a rude snort of laughter and Eleanor threw him a contemptuous glare.
Lady Carmichael’s fan fluttering increased in speed. ‘And what of you, James? How do you feel on the subject of marriage?’
James threw her a disarming smile. ‘I think it is a most delightful institution,’ he replied smoothly.
‘Oh,’ she cooed, her small blue eyes shining brightly. ‘So does that mean that you yourself may be considering entering into such a delightful institution soon? After all, James, I would consider eight-and-twenty to be the ideal age for a gentleman to marry.’
James pulled a rueful face. ‘Alas, my dear lady,’ he sighed wistfully, ‘as ideal as my age may be, I can state most definitively that I have no plans to become shackled for the foreseeable future.’
‘But perhaps,’ added Lady Carmichael optimistically, ‘should you meet the right young lady, then you may change-’
A sudden knock at the door caused her to break off as all attention was diverted towards Giles, entering the room bearing a silver salver upon which rested a single white envelope.
‘Forgive the interruption, my lord,’ said the butler, bowing his head, ‘but an urgent note has just been delivered for you.’
A faint smile hovered about James’s lips as he raised an expectant eyebrow. ‘Has it indeed?’
Retrieving the envelope from the tray, James dismissed the butler with a curt nod. Then, with his back to his over-attentive audience, he proceeded to rip open the envelope and quickly scan the missive. His reading complete, he tucked the note into his jacket pocket and turned back to face the party. The faint smile that had been playing on his lips a moment earlier had now developed into one of unabashed smugness. ‘I am afraid, dear ladies, that my plans for this evening have changed yet again. Do please forgive me but I shall not now be able to join you for dinner after all.’
A wave of disappointment spread over Lady Carmichael’s countenance.
‘Oh dear’ she sighed, her fan fluttering coming to a deflated end. ‘Felicity was so looking forward to your company, James. As indeed were we all,’ she added quickly, as Felicity’s foot sharply met her mother’s shin.
Nauseous with the pathetic adoration being poured upon such an obnoxious rake, Eleanor was unable to hold her tongue a second longer. ‘Indeed we were all so looking forward to it, my lord’ she added archly, ‘that upon hearing such devastating news, my appetite has quite deserted me.’
James turned to face her, the sardonic glint once again present in his dark eyes. ‘Deserted you has it, my lady? Then in that case, may I suggest you retrieve it immediately. After all, as my aunt has already pointed out, you could do with a little more meat on some of your bones.’
A rush of pink stained Eleanor’s cheeks as a surge of anger shot through her. Of all the rude, intolerable, impudent, arrogant- She opened her mouth to reply but in a flash James turned on his heel and disappeared through the door, leaving her seething.
Eleanor awoke the next morning feeling no more refreshed than when she had retired; every bit as furious as when she had retired; and even more despondent than when she had retired, which, in itself, was not insignificant given the evening she had endured with the unbearable Carmichaels. Not usually prone to melancholy, she attempted, as she lay in bed gazing at the delicate anthemions of the ceiling cornice, to find something positive in her situation. Other than the fact that she was in excellent health, she failed to think of a single thing. She was immured in a labyrinth of a castle in which she had little hope of ever finding her way around. She was surrounded by domineering (her godmother), arrogant (James) people. She was being forced to spend her evenings in the presence of insufferable guests (the Carmichaels) and her days engaging in ridiculously boring pursuits (too many to mention). She had no friends around her. And, as if all that were not bad enough, in a matter of months – or even worse, weeks - she was to be married off to the first man who showed the slightest interest in her. Feeling completely wretched, she pulled the coverlet over her head wishing to postpone the start of the day for as long as possible.
Completely absorbed in her self-pitying musings Eleanor failed to hear the timid knock on her bedchamber door. Indeed, she was so immersed in her depressing thoughts that she wasn’t even aware of the door being cracked open and a little head being put round it, followed shortly by a slim body. It was only the sound of a discreet little cough, which alerted her to the fact that someone was in the room. Hesitantly, she pulled back the cover from her face and found herself looking at a pretty girl, a couple of years younger than herself, with strawberry blonde curls and a sweet, heart-shaped face jam-packed with golden freckles. She was wearing a plain, navy-blue dress, much too large for her and looking, in equal measures, both nervous and awkward. She bobbed a curtsy and blushed furiously before saying, in a thick cockney accent, ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but her ladyship sent me up to help you dress, and I did knock like, but there weren’t no reply and I didn’t know what to do, miss, so I just came in like and I’m not sure if I should have done, miss, but that Lady Ormiston sent me up here and I don’t want to make no trouble with her ’cos she can be a bit of a tyrant when the mood takes her and -’
‘I see,’ interjected Eleanor, sensing that if she did not do something to bring the explanation to a halt, then the girl may carry on for some time. ‘What is your name, girl?’ she asked, propping herself up on her pillows.
‘Milly, miss,’ replied the girl, obviously relieved that she was not to be scolded for her uninvited entrance. ‘I’m your new lady’s-maid, miss. Come to help you get ready, I have.’ She beamed proudly, clasping her hands in front of her.
‘Well, Milly, that’s very good of you, I’m sure,’ replied Eleanor kindly, taking an instant liking to the young woman, ‘but I’m quite capable of dressing myself. I have no need of a lady’s-maid.’
A sweep of disappointment spread over Milly’s face as she assimilated this information. ‘Oh,’ she muttered, gazing at her feet and nervously nibbling her bottom lip. Then,
obviously having had an inspired thought, she raised her head and fixed Eleanor with her sparkling blue eyes. ‘Well, that’s all well and good, miss,’ she declared brightly, beaming once again, ‘but her ladyship says I’m to look after you so that’s what I’ll have to do.’
Eleanor bit back a smile at the girl’s enthusiasm. ‘I’m afraid, Milly,’ she said gently, ‘that whatever her ladyship says is of no consequence. I have never had a lady’s-maid in my life and, to be honest, I really wouldn’t know what to do with one.’
‘Oh.’ Milly dropped her gaze to the floor and began nibbling her lip again. ‘But that means, miss,’ she said, after a few seconds contemplation, ‘that I’ll be sent back to them kitchens. Not that I don’t like them kitchens, mind, but her ladyship had said that if I did a good job there, then if anything else came up like, she’d think about giving it to me. And I have done a good job, miss, honest I have. You can ask cook and everyone down there. Been working there nigh on two years now and this post came up and her ladyship said I could have a go at it like and my ma were dead proud and pleased it being a whole tanner a week more and now I’ll have to go back and tell her ladyship that you ain’t wanting no lady’s-maid and my ma’ll be dead disappointed what with our Tommy needing new shoes and Theresa needing a decent coat and- Oh, I’m sorry, miss,’ she gulped, as two plump tears rolled down her pretty face. ‘None of this ain’t any of your business. If you’re not wanting a lady’s-maid then that’s up to you and you’ve every right to say so, I’m sure. Now if you’ll excuse me, miss, I’ll be on my way and begging your pardon for disturbing you so.’ And with that, she pulled a large white handkerchief from her sleeve, turned around and made to leave the room.
Eleanor, completely taken aback by the devastating effect her news had had and the brief insight into the consequences of her refusal to accept Milly as her maid, suddenly leapt out of bed and blocked the girl’s path to the door.
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 3
