The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor

by Wendy Burdess

  Upon making her aware of their presence, the dowager turned around to greet the duchess, as did the man who was now standing alongside her – James Prestonville.

  ‘Oh, my word,’ muttered Milly nervously, her eyes now as wide as saucers.

  The duchess sank into an elegant curtsy while the dowager and the gentlemen inclined their heads in greeting. A few pleasantries passed between the two couples before the duke and duchess smiled graciously and moved away in order to circulate. Milly emitted a loud sigh of relief.

  At a sharp knock on the door, both girls spun around.

  ‘Lady Ormiston requests that you come downstairs immediately, my lady,’ announced a very serious Giles. ‘She was quite insistent.’

  Eleanor groaned and pulled a rueful face. ‘Oh well, Milly, wish me luck.’

  ‘You’re not needing no luck, miss,’ grinned Milly reassuringly. ‘You’re as good as any of them down there.’

  Much to Eleanor’s dismay, no sooner had she set foot in the garden, than the dowager made a beeline for her.

  ‘Where have you been, girl?’ she chided, cupping her goddaughter firmly by the elbow and steering her towards the throng. ‘How I am expected to find a man to take you when you lock yourself away upstairs is quite beyond me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ muttered Eleanor dolefully.

  ‘Nevertheless, you are here now and you look quite … presentable, thank the Lord.’

  Eleanor almost toppled over at the reluctant compliment.

  ‘Ah, Lady Ormiston,’ came a high-pitched whine from behind.

  Lady Ormiston rolled her eyes and came to an abrupt halt. ‘Cynthia Carmichael,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, before affecting a more pleasant expression and whisking around to face Lady Carmichael and her daughter. ‘Looking quite … decorative, I see.’

  ‘Well, one must make an effort for such a grand event,’ tittered Lady Carmichael. ‘Dear Felicity has spent days deliberating over which gown to wear.’

  ‘Has she indeed?’ sniffed the dowager, casting an incredulous eye over Felicity’s hideous frilly pink creation dripping with lace and ribbons.

  ‘This gown was purchased from Madame du Faut, one of the most celebrated modistes in Conduit Street,’ informed Felicity haughtily. Her eyes roved over Eleanor’s gown. ‘I don’t suppose you will be acquainted with her, Lady Eleanor?’

  Eleanor flashed her an ingenuous smile. ‘Thankfully, I am not, Miss Carmichael.’

  Felicity’s pale-blue eyes narrowed spitefully. But, before the girl had a chance to reply, James appeared at her side.

  ‘Ah, the beautiful Carmichaels,’ he beamed, bowing courteously. ‘And dressed, yet again, in the most exquisite gowns, I see.’

  As Lady Carmichael giggled girlishly, Felicity flashed Eleanor a very discomfiting look. Thankfully, her godmother, keen to progress her search for a prospective husband, quickly whisked her away. The round of incessant introductions that followed, however, was not quite so welcoming. Despite the huge crowd, Eleanor was amazed to discover that their conversation consisted of only three topics: the weather, the latest fashions, and past or future social events. She stifled a yawn as a girl of around her own age with a dreadful stutter, by the name of Cecily or Celia - she could no longer remember - was trying to ascertain her opinion on the recent level of rainfall. Lady Ormiston had been commandeered by the girl’s mother – a woman equally as formidable as the dowager herself.

  Never one to miss an opportunity, Eleanor chose her time well. Making an excuse to the girl that she had an instruction to pass to a member of the staff, she slipped away unnoticed by her guardian.

  Desperate to escape the tedious crowd and unable to bear one more prosaic conversation, she headed towards the wood which ran along one side of the grounds. Almost upon her destination, she noticed a group of ten or so men gathered there. As she got nearer, her spirits soared as she saw that they had with them a number of bows and arrows and appeared to be in the throes of arranging an archery competition – something she often engaged in at home with Zach, the farmer and his sons. A short, stout man with a black beard seemed to be the organizer. He started slightly as he spotted Eleanor.

  ‘We ain’t doing nothing wrong, miss,’ he explained. ‘Just a bit of fun for the gamekeepers and us farmers. Lady Ormiston knows all about it.’

  ‘I see,’ beamed Eleanor. ‘Well, it certainly looks a deal more fun than the wretched garden party. Would you allow me to join in?’

  The man raised his eyebrows in astonishment. ‘You her ladyship’s goddaughter, miss?’

  ‘That’s right,’ nodded Eleanor. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Mickey Humphreys, miss. Local farmer.’

  ‘Well, Mickey Humphreys local farmer, do you think I could take part in your competition?’

  Mickey removed his cloth cap and scratched his head, which, in contrast to the hair on his chin, was completely bald. ‘I don’t know, miss. Archery ain’t no sport for young ladies.’

  Eleanor’s eyes widened with pleading. ‘Oh, please, Mickey. I am going out of my mind with boredom.’

  Mickey’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. ‘Oh, all right then, miss, but just make sure you don’t hurt yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t. I promise.’

  Mickey introduced Eleanor to the rest of the men, all of whom were shocked and amused at the unexpected addition. Of the group, only three of the farmers and three of the gamekeepers were to take part in the competition. Straws were drawn to decide names. A target was then carved into the trunk of a large oak tree. A line of twigs placed some way from the tree marked the shooting line. Each participant was allowed two shots. The four participants nearest to the target would then proceed to the next round.

  Eleanor soon discovered that all the men were expert shots. She was the last to go. She was used to being observed by Zach and his sons but, under the scrutiny of ten strange men, all watching her in amused silence, she was extremely self-conscious. Still, she resolved, she had insisted they let her take part. She could not very well back down now. Taking a deep reassuring breath in, she pulled back her bow and released the string. The arrow flew through the air, landing with a thud bang in the centre of the circle.

  A collective gasp of surprise rose from her audience, followed by a raucous round of applause and much head scratching.

  ‘Well, miss,’ puffed an astounded Mickey. ‘That’s you good and proper through to the next round.’

  Eleanor flashed him a relieved smile.

  The next round involved a handkerchief with a hole in the middle. The shooting line was moved back a foot. This time only the best two participants would proceed to the next - and final - round. And this time they were allowed only one shot.

  Two of the men missed the handkerchief completely, resulting in much guffawing and name-calling from their audience, although Eleanor suspected the name-calling had been tempered somewhat due to her presence. Again she was the last to go. She took her time in lining up the target and held her breath as she released the arrow. She could scarce believe it when it found its target and another round of disbelieving but respectful applause rose from the men. Now there were only two participants remaining: a large stocky gamekeeper by the name of Will, and Eleanor. For the final target, Mickey produced an apple. Tying it to the tree with a piece of string, Will gestured to Eleanor to go first. Eleanor’s heart was hammering furiously against her ribcage. Taking her time again, she released the arrow and to her utter amazement it shot right through the apple slicing it clean in half. Turning around to look at her stunned audience, she couldn’t help but giggle at their amazed expressions. Will went next and his arrow just clipped the side of the apple. A hearty round of applause and a loud cheer came from the group, followed by a lot of complimentary back slapping as they all agreed that Eleanor was the winner.

  ‘Well, miss,’ declared Mickey, removing his cap and scratching his head again, ‘the prize goes to you. That’s a couple of brace of rabbits caught fresh this morni
ng.’

  ‘Please do forgive me for interrupting, Mickey,’ suddenly interjected a deep voice from behind her, ‘but I require an urgent word with Lady Eleanor.’

  A startled Eleanor gasped as James Prestonville grasped her upper arm and steered her roughly away from the bemused men.

  Lowering his voice so as not to draw attention to them, he said, as he led her back towards the lawned area, ‘My aunt has been somewhat concerned over your whereabouts, Lady Eleanor. She asked that I come and find you.’

  Eleanor flushed guiltily. ‘I, er-’

  ‘-have been demonstrating another of your alternative accomplishments, I see,’ he interjected drily, as they came to a halt on the edge of the manicured grass.

  Eleanor felt the now familiar swell of anger, which always seemed to fill her whenever she was in this man’s presence. ‘Well I was bored. And I like archery and I-’

  ‘Save your excuses for my aunt, madam,’ cut in James, his eyes sparkling with that thing Eleanor couldn’t identify. ‘I have no idea what she will say when she learns of your behaviour.’

  Eleanor stuck out her chin. ‘Oh, I have a very good idea, sir. But please do not let that detract from your pleasure in telling her’.

  Thankfully for Eleanor, just at that moment, a couple of gentlemen approached James and, after greeting him with much bowing and hand shaking, began quizzing him about the fishing rights to the land.

  Eleanor slipped away.

  In no mood to return to the party, she wandered around to the stable block at the back of the house. Spotting a bale of hay in a quiet corner of the yard bathed in glorious sunshine, she climbed on to it and made herself comfortable.

  She must have dozed off because when she awoke it was to the sound of voices coming from around the corner – one of a male and one of a female. She recognized them immediately.

  ‘Ah, what a surprise to see you here, my lord,’ said Felicity Carmichael. ‘I would have thought your admiring little group of debutantes would not have let you out of their sight for a moment.’

  James Prestonville gave a polite chuckle. ‘Oh, I can assure you, Miss Carmichael, that any debutante’s interest in me is purely fleeting. Now, if you will excuse me, I was just looking for someone.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Felicity graciously. ‘However I am grateful for the chance to have a word with you in private, my lord.’

  ‘Oh?’ said James, obviously surprised. ‘And may I ask why?’

  ‘It is regarding my come out which, as you know, is to take place next week.’

  ‘So I have been informed,’ said James, his voice now tinged with amusement. ‘On several occasions.’

  ‘Quite,’ sniffed Felicity. ‘If I am not mistaken, I believe my mama’s excitement to be a source of humour to you and your friend, Mr Lovell, my lord.’

  James gave a snort of laughter. ‘I think it is fair to say, Miss Carmichael, that your mother makes little disguise of her desire to have me as her son-in-law.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Felicity, tartly. ‘Well, perhaps you may find it not quite so amusing, sir, to note that I shall be expecting a proposal of marriage shortly after my come out.’

  ‘That does not surprise me in the least, madam. Is that not the usual way one goes about things?’

  ‘Oh indeed it is, sir. But what you are most likely not aware of, is that the offer I am expecting is from yourself.’

  James emitted a snort of incredulous laughter. ‘Forgive me, Miss Carmichael, but I think you must be all about in your head.’

  Felicity gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, I hold no illusions that it would be a love match. That does not interest me in the slightest. What does interest me is becoming the next Duchess of Ormiston and mistress of Whitlock.’

  ‘I see,’ mused James. ‘Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but as you know, I have no plans to marry for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘Perhaps you did not, sir. But, as we all know, plans can quite easily be changed.’

  ‘Indeed they can. But only if one wishes to change them. And I do not. I’m afraid, Miss Carmichael, that I have no desire to marry you or anyone else.’

  ‘Hmm,’ pondered Felicity. ‘Well, perhaps you would feel a little differently if you had a … reason to marry.’

  ‘Perhaps I would,’ replied James, impatience now colouring his tone. ‘But I can assure you I have no such reason.’

  ‘At the moment,’ remarked Felicity matter-of-factly. ‘However, you might change your mind if you discussed the advantages of marriage with someone who is already engaged in the institution. Someone like … the Duke of Swinton.’

  ‘The Duke of Swin-? What on earth-?’ stammered an obviously bewildered James.

  ‘Is the duke aware, I wonder, that his wife is playing him false?’ enquired Felicity innocently.

  James quickly regained his composure. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, madam.’

  ‘Oh, but I think you do. Does not the address 24 Wimpole Street mean anything to you?’

  James gasped loudly. ‘How on earth do you-?’

  ‘Oh, I have my ways,’ tittered Felicity. ‘One can glean a host of information from servants and drivers, should one be prepared to pay for it. Information such as what happens in your little love-nest in Wimpole Street whenever the duke heads off to his club – which, I believe, he does quite spontaneously, resulting in a hastily delivered note to yourself, informing you of the duchess’s … availability.’

  ‘Why you little-’

  ‘Oh, do not misunderstand me, sir,’ she continued serenely. ‘I would be quite happy for you to continue your … liaison, should you comply with my wishes. However, should you see fit not to, then I think it is only fair that the duke is made aware of the duplicitous nature of his spouse.’

  James’s voice now took on a dark edge. ‘Are you telling me, madam, that unless I offer you marriage, you will inform the Duke of Swinton of my –?’

  ‘Indeed I am, sir. And I hear the man is a first-class shot. He was, I believe, awarded a medal for bravery in the battle of Vittoria.’

  ‘Good lord,’ hissed James. ‘I always had you down as a cold fish, Miss Carmichael, but I never imagined you could be so … so-’

  ‘I think calculating is the word you are looking for, sir.’

  ‘That, I can assure you, is only one of many, madam.’

  ‘Of course, there is no need to rush your decision,’ informed Felicity brightly. ‘Please do take a little time to consider my proposal.’

  James’s voice reverberated with anger. ‘I do not need a single second to consider it, madam. You may play your little games, but I will have no part in them. I would not marry you if you were the last woman on earth. And do not flatter yourself that you are the only one with a calculating mind, Miss Carmichael. Should I wish to, I could spread a rumour about you that would ruin you forever.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I? I think perhaps you underestimate me, madam.’

  Eleanor heard the crunching of feet on gravel. James was evidently taking his leave of Felicity. She shivered as she heard Felicity hissing to his retreating back, her tone dripping with loathing, ‘And I think, perhaps, you underestimate me, sir.’

  Eleanor’s head was spinning. She could not believe what she had just heard. Felicity Carmichael had attempted to blackmail James into marrying her. She had disliked the girl the instant she had made her acquaintance, but she never would have dreamed she was so-

  Her musings were cut short as she became aware of footsteps walking around the corner towards her, accompanied by a series of shocking imprecations. Before she had a chance to move, Felicity Carmichael was standing before her.

  Desperately attempting to rearrange her countenance from one of pure horror into something resembling normal, Eleanor tried to speak, but no words were forthcoming. It was too late anyway. Felicity’s ugly features twisted into an evil expression, before she turned on her heel and marched back from whence she ha
d come.

  SIX

  ‘Are you sickening for something, miss? You’re not yourself and you’re awful pale.’

  Eleanor glanced at her reflection as Milly pinned up her hair the following day. She had contemplated telling Milly about what she’d overheard yesterday, but decided against it. She had also contemplated talking to James, but thought that would probably be pointless. Besides, he’d probably have sniggered about it with the odious Mr Lovell by now and brushed the whole thing off. Despite being unable to wipe the evil parting look Felicity had given her from her mind, she tried convincing herself that she was reading too much into the matter. The best thing she could do was forget the entire incident. After all, James’s vehement refusal of Felicity’s request should have put an end to it.

  She smiled weakly at Milly’s concerned face. ‘No, I’m fine, Milly, honestly. I just didn’t sleep very well.’

  Eleanor found the dowager already at the breakfast table, engrossed in the contents of a letter she was reading. Her dark eyes grew narrower and the furrows on her forehead deeper, as she evidently tried to make sense of the script.

  ‘Hmph,’ she huffed at length, folding up the letter and slipping it back into its envelope before booming out, ‘Stevens!’

  ‘Yes, your grace?’ muttered the footman, appearing alongside her.

  ‘We are to receive another visitor today. See to it that the lilac room at the end of Lady Eleanor’s corridor is made up immediately.’

  ‘Another visitor, ma’am? May I ask who?’ enquired Eleanor, as the footman took his leave of the room

  ‘Indeed you may, Eleanor. It is a young widow from Hungary, who is keen to participate in the Season here. She is a protégée of a very old friend of mine, who, I confess, I have not heard from for quite some time.’