‘Come now, my dear Lady Carmichael,’ announced James, his eyes sparkling mischievously. ‘Now that you are here would you not do us the pleasure of joining us for luncheon?’
Felicity, Eleanor noticed with surprise, shot James a look overflowing with contempt. Lady Carmichael, on the other hand, seemed quite at sixes and sevens that her plan had obviously been rumbled. ‘Well,’ she stuttered, shuffling her feet awkwardly, ‘I really do think perhaps that we should be on our way. After all, it was very improper of us to call so unexpec-’
‘Oh, do stop twittering and sit down, Cynthia,’ boomed Lady Ormiston. ‘I cannot abide dithering.’
Lady Carmichael, visibly delighted she had finally achieved her desired result, produced a tremulous smile. ‘Well if you insist, then we would be delighted to join you. Particularly as we missed out on the pleasure of James’s company yesterday evening.’
‘Well, now you shall have the pleasure of not only my company but also that of an old university friend of mine,’ announced James with a winsome smile. ‘This, my dear Lady Carmichael, is Mr Derek Lovell.’
Mr Lovell bowed his head graciously.
‘Oh, how delightful,’ twittered Lady Carmichael, as she unbuttoned her pelisse. ‘Is that not delightful, Felicity dear?’
Felicity handed over her bonnet to a waiting Stevens and smoothed down her hair. ‘If you say so, Mama,’ she replied coolly, evidently unimpressed with her mother’s scheming.
Lady Carmichael, oblivious to her daughter’s indifferent response, continued unabashed. ‘And may I ask if you are here to partake in the Season, Mr Lovell?’ she enquired, relinquishing her bonnet to the footman and sashaying over to the table.
‘Indeed I am, madam,’ replied Derek Lovell soberly.
‘Oh, how absolutely splendid,’ trilled Lady Carmichael, slipping into the chair next to Eleanor. ‘In that case we must extend you an invitation to Felicity’s come out ball. We are most excited about it.’
‘And rightly so, Lady Carmichael,’ affirmed James archly. ‘I have no doubt the event will be the success of the Season.’
Derek Lovell, holding his napkin to his mouth, gave another sly snigger.
‘Oh, do you really think so, James?’ enthused Lady Carmichael, unaware of the pair’s amusement. ‘We do so hope that you will be able to attend. Without you it would not be at all the thing.’
James smiled reassuringly. ‘My dear Lady Carmichael, I can assure you that wild horses would not keep me from the event.’
Lady Carmichael sighed satisfactorily. Eleanor, on the other hand, in her usual percipient way, had not failed to note the thread of sarcasm running through his tone. And, judging by the menacing look Felicity shot him, she was not the only one.
Eleanor arrived back in her chambers a little after six o’clock having spent the entire day under her godmother’s watchful eye.
‘Ooh, miss,’ exclaimed Milly, who had just finished supervising the filling of Eleanor’s bath. ‘You look fit to drop.’
Eleanor dragged herself over to the bed and flopped down on to her back. ‘That, Milly,’ she sighed, gazing dolefully at the ceiling, ‘sums up exactly how I am feeling. Not, I hasten to add, that I have been doing anything remotely useful. Unless, like my godmother, you, too, consider it essential that I learn how to embroider pearl daisies on to a ridiculously useless reticule, or that I am fully instructed in all the complicated steps of several, quite torturous dances.’
Milly’s eyes lit up. ‘Dancing, miss? Oh, I do love dancing, I do,’ she sighed dreamily, hugging the towel she was carrying to her chest. ‘We’re always dancing in my house.’
‘Really?’ asked Eleanor, propping herself up on her elbows. ‘What kind of dancing, Milly?’
‘Oh, all kinds, miss. That quadrille one is good fun but my favourite is the waltz. Even though I’ve heard that some of them grand ladies are refusing to do it, on account of it being a bit daring and all.’
‘But … how on earth did you learn all those dances, Milly? My head was fit to burst having to concentrate on only one of them today.’
‘My brother, Herbert, miss. He’s worked in some grand houses. And he don’t miss much. Picks up all the steps while he’s standing around, then comes home and learns them all to us.’
‘Really?’ asked Eleanor, beaming broadly as an idea occurred to her. ‘Do you think you could teach me, Milly?’
‘Of course, miss,’ confirmed Milly, dipping her elbow into the bath water to check the temperature. ‘Ain’t much to it really.’
‘Can we start now?’
‘But what about your bath, miss?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Eleanor, leaping off the bed. ‘I can have a cold one later.’
Eleanor’s second dancing lesson of the day turned out to be much more enjoyable than the first. Indeed, with Milly’s no-nonsense approach and overriding sense of fun, Eleanor had not laughed so much in what felt like a very long time.
As delighted as Milly so obviously was with both her new post and her new mistress, the girl was unable to conceal her disappointment at the state of Eleanor’s wardrobe.
‘I’ve cleaned your frock as best I could, miss,’ she said, holding up the old blue evening gown for Eleanor to inspect before she went down for dinner that evening. ‘There’s still a few marks, but I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed and there ain’t no shifting them.’
Eleanor took the gown from her. ‘Don’t worry, Milly. You’ve done an excellent job. Thank you for trying so hard. It looks just fine.’
Milly flushed at the praise and began helping Eleanor into the garment. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn or anything, miss,’ she ventured shyly, as she did up the buttons at the back, ‘but I did think a grand lady like you would be having some fine gowns.’
Eleanor, standing in front of the full-length mirror, regarded Milly’s face in the glass. ‘Oh, Milly,’ she chuckled, ‘I’m afraid fine gowns don’t interest me in the slightest. And besides, I’m no grand lady - I’m just me.’
Milly stopped buttoning and stared at her mistress’s reflection. ‘My, miss, there’s all them out there pretending they’re grand and titled when they’re not. And then there’s you who is grand and titled, but who’s pretending you isn’t. I ain’t never heard the likes of it.’
Eleanor giggled. ‘Talking of titles, Milly,’ she said pensively, as the maid resumed her buttoning, ‘do you know anything about this so-called ‘title’ business with James Prestonville?’
‘Oh, yes miss,’ declared the girl matter-of-factly. ‘It’s been the talk of the place for ages. Ever since the old master died, and that’s nigh on nine months now. There we all was expecting Master James to inherit the title and all, and glad of it we was too, him being so kind and clever and all. I don’t mind telling you, miss, the place was in a right state before he came along. Sorted it all out good and proper he has.’
‘So the refurbishment was all down to James then?’
‘Aye, miss, he’s done a grand job and we was all just waiting for him to take over the title, but then we learn that some other blighter has put their claim in for it and no one knows who they are or nothing. And so poor Master James, miss, he can’t be calling himself the duke ’til the whole thing is cleared up. Dragging on and on so it is and them solicitors are forever here trying to sort it out. Here for three hours yesterday, they were. And you can always tell when they’ve been, miss, ’cos the Master, well, it puts him in a right bad humour.’
‘Hmm,’ mused Eleanor, recalling the obvious bad humour James had been in at their first encounter yesterday. ‘I suppose if it’s been going on for as long as you say, it’s hardly surprising he’s finding it wearing. He must feel like he is just kicking his heels until it’s all sorted out.’
Milly ceased her buttoning and regarded Eleanor in the mirror with a cheeky grin. ‘Oh no, miss. He’s doing more than kicking his heels, if you gets my meaning.’
Eleanor wrinkled her brow. ‘
I’m not sure I do actually, Milly.’
‘Oh, miss, you are such an innocent,’ chided the girl playfully, tapping Eleanor’s arm. Then, lowering her voice, ‘Not that I’m one to gossip nor nothing, but rumour has it that Master James is having one of them relationships with the Duchess of Swinton.’
‘Really?’ exclaimed Eleanor, her eyes widening. ‘And do you think he will seek to marry her once this business is sorted out?’
Milly collapsed into a fit of giggles. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be thinking so, miss. You see she’s already married.’
‘So, Mr Lovell,’ began the dowager at dinner that evening. ‘James has told us you were friends at Oxford.’
‘That is correct, ma’am,’ replied Lovell graciously.
‘And what, may I ask, have you been doing since you left there?’ she enquired, cutting into a large slice of game pie.
‘Mostly travelling,’ informed Lovell, helping himself to the dish of boiled potatoes. ‘I have spent several years in Europe.’
‘Have you indeed? And what are your intentions now that you have returned to England?’
‘I am not yet sure, ma’am. I am toying with the idea of entering into politics.’
‘Really,’ sniffed the dowager, with just a hint of disapproval. ‘And which party are you inclined towards, Mr Lovell?’
‘I feel a particular affinity with the Tory party. I am extremely interested in the measures they are taking to control the wretched Luddites.’
Eleanor almost dropped her knife and fork in horror. ‘You do not mean, sir, that you actually agree with the bill declaring machine-breaking a capital offence? Surely one cannot equate the value of a machine to the value of a man’s life?’
‘On the contrary, Lady Eleanor,’ puffed Lovell, not looking at her, but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his plate of food. ‘These men have no right to stand in the way of progress. They should be made to suffer for their ac-’
‘Oh, I think these men are suffering enough already, Mr Lovell,’ countered Eleanor. ‘Can you tell me how you would like to provide for a wife and family on only milk and potatoes? I cannot even begin to think how those poor people-’
‘That is enough, Eleanor,’ interjected the dowager, setting down her own knife and fork. ‘I am sure Mr Lovell will agree with me when I say that gentlemen find it most unbecoming when a young lady engages in political conversation.’
‘I wholeheartedly agree, ma’am,’ declared Lovell, tossing Eleanor a desultory glare. ‘There are some topics which are quite beyond the understanding of the female mind and politics is most definitely one of them.’
‘Thank you, Mr Lovell,’ pronounced the dowager with an appreciative smile, as she raised her glass of claret to her lips. ‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘Actually, Aunt,’ piped up James, holding a forkful of pie before his mouth. ‘I must disagree with you. I would be most interested to learn if Lady Eleanor has an opinion regarding the current war with the French.’
‘Indeed I do, sir,’ admitted Eleanor enthusiastically, her passion for political discussion causing her cheeks to flush and her eyes to shine. ‘I believe that the Emperor Napoleon is an astonishingly clever man, but the Duke of Wellington is far more-’
‘Good gracious, girl,’ puffed a visibly appalled Lady Ormiston. ‘That is quite enough. James, please do refrain from encouraging her. The next thing she will be telling us is that she is a blue stocking and I really cannot think of anything more unbecoming than that. It is going to be difficult enough to find a man to take her without any added complications. Now let us move on to much more genteel subjects. Tell me, Mr Lovell, what do you think of the appalling weather we are having for this time of year?’
The baleful look that Derek Lovell shot Eleanor before turning his attention to the dowager, was returned with one equally as defiant. An exchange which firmly established that there was to be no love lost between Lady Eleanor Myers and Mr Derek Lovell.
FOUR
During Eleanor’s first two weeks at Whitlock, a routine began to establish, with the assorted residents of the castle involved in a diverse mix of activities – some more gratifying than others. Whilst Eleanor was forced to spend her days in the instruction of the boring accomplishments Lady Ormiston deemed ‘necessary’, Derek Lovell appeared to be having a much more pleasurable time. The man had settled into the habit of leaving the castle dressed to the nines every evening and not returning until after breakfast the following day. Then, he would take to his bed and not be seen again until the following evening when the same sequence of events would be repeated. James, too, appeared to have quite a hectic social life, accompanying Lovell on several occasions or, just as he had done on Eleanor’s first evening at Whitlock, flying out of the castle at short notice, following the receipt of yet another mysterious note.
This particular evening, the pair had obviously adapted their routine somewhat and, to Eleanor’s chagrin, were present in the dining-room when she entered. As if that unpleasant surprise wasn’t bad enough, Giles then made an announcement that caused her heart to sink a shade further.
‘Lady Ormiston will not be joining you for dinner this evening, my lord. She is feeling somewhat … drained after … recent activities.’ This last statement was followed by an accusing glare at Eleanor.
James gave a snort of laughter. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ he chuckled, regarding Eleanor with twinkling eyes. ‘After all she’s had to put up with of late.’
As Eleanor took her seat, Lovell gave another of his odious sneers. Although this filled her with an overwhelming urge to slap his smug face, she did her utmost to ignore him. Instead, furiously shaking out her napkin, she addressed herself to James. ‘And what, sir, do you mean by that precisely?’
James regarded her with a superior smile. ‘Only that I think anyone forced to spend a day in your company, Lady Eleanor, would find themselves a little … sapped of energy. Particularly as you seem devoid of the most basic accomplishments.’
Another disparaging snigger from Derek Lovell caused a bubble of indignant rage to swell in Eleanor’s stomach. She speared him with a contemptuous glower before turning her eyes once more to James.
‘Well, that would depend, would it not, on what one defines as an accomplishment?’
‘Indeed it would, Lady Eleanor. And may I take it from that statement that you do not class the subjects in which you are currently undergoing instruction as accomplishments?’
‘No, I do not, sir. I would class those subjects as frivolous entertainment.’
James gave a languorous smile and tilted his head to one side. ‘Then pray do enlighten us, Lady Eleanor, as to your accomplishments.’
‘I have a great many,’ replied Eleanor resolutely, as she reached for a bread roll.
Derek Lovell sniggered lasciviously, as he raised a glass of claret to his pale, thin lips. ‘None that would be of any interest to a gentleman though, I’d wager.’
James, ignoring his friend, raised a dubious eyebrow to Eleanor. ‘Do you indeed?’ he asked, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. ‘Then name me one.’
‘Very well,’ replied Eleanor coolly, breaking open her roll. ‘Chess.’
Derek Lovell almost choked on his wine.
‘Chess?’ echoed James incredulously. ‘Forgive me, Lady Eleanor, but chess is a game of some intelligence; a game requiring skill and concentration. It is certainly not a game for young ladies.’
Eleanor shrugged nonchalantly. ‘While it is obvious from your friend’s comments, sir,’ - she flashed Lovell a disgusted glare - ‘that chess is not the usual game in which you indulge with young ladies, I can assure you that it is quite within our capabilities.’
Another titter from Lovell caused her flesh to crawl. ‘Oh I can assure you, Lady Eleanor, that the games in which we indulge with young ladies, most certainly do not involve chess. But tell me, how are you at something much more … entertaining?’ His eyes roved over her, coming to rest on her bosom. ‘How are
you at, for example … Faro or … Hazard? Are such games also within your capabilities?’
Eleanor resisted the urge to cover her chest with her hands. ‘Indeed they are, sir, however I do not partake in such dissipating pursuits. Gambling is for fools.’
His eyes jerked up to meet hers. ‘Are you calling me a fool, Lady Eleanor?’
Eleanor met his gaze with equal coolness. ‘I have no idea, sir. Am I?’
‘That’s enough, Lovell,’ cut in James, his eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘What I am most interested in is for Lady Eleanor to prove her chess theory to me. Will you do me the pleasure in joining me in a game after dinner, Lady Eleanor?’
Eleanor began spreading her broken roll with butter. ‘If you wish,’ she replied prosaically.
‘Oh, I do,’ replied James fervently. ‘I wish very much indeed.’
James Prestonville, current Marquis of Rothwell, scratched his head. He was flummoxed. How on earth had this chit of a girl managed to achieve checkmate in so few moves? It wasn’t even that he was a bad chess player. He was one of the best at Brooks’s, having beaten all of the members there at one time or another. But he had never been beaten quite so quickly himself. He scanned the board: with his queen surrendered long ago, and a bishop and a castle ready to pounce on his king whichever way he moved, he was well and truly beaten.
‘Well, Lady Eleanor,’ he sighed, a bemused smile playing about his lips. ‘I believe that is checkmate.’
‘It would appear so,’ smiled Eleanor sweetly. ‘So does that mean that you would now like to retract your earlier statement regarding inferior female intelligence?’
James snorted with laughter. ‘It was one game, dear girl.’
‘Then perhaps you would like me to demonstrate my point again?’
‘Perhaps I would. Set up the board.’
There was nothing more pleasing, pondered Eleanor, as she positioned her queen in the final move of the game, than beating such an arrogant opponent as the Marquis of Rothwell.
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 5
