Eleanor decided to explore. She made her way across the lawn, through the archway, which was framed with sweet smelling jasmine, into the second section of the garden. This led out on to a much larger expanse. So large, in fact, that due to the diving wall blocking out most of the light from the house, she could not see all the way down to the bottom, but could only make out the outline of a copse. Trees also lined the walls along either side, amongst which were a number of stone benches.
Having walked almost to the bottom of the garden from where the sound of the orchestra could be heard only very faintly, Eleanor sat down on one of the benches, pulled off her slippers and wiggled her bare toes in the cool blades of grass. The refreshing feeling reminded her of home. Propping her elbows on her knees, she rested her chin in her hands and gazed up at the stars in the clear sky.
Suddenly a noise, which sounded exactly like a sob, caught her attention. It came from the copse, completely in darkness to the right of her. She twisted around but could see nothing. Someone must be in distress – hurt even. She should go and investigate. She bent down to pull on her slippers but had only re-shoed one foot when someone swept past her. Eleanor jerked up her head. The figure was running towards the house, her body shuddering with sobs. Eleanor stifled a gasp. For all she didn’t see the woman’s face, there was no doubting, from her gown, who she was.
She sat startled for a moment, an uneasy feeling wrapping itself around her. At the sound of voices coming from the same direction, she froze. She could make out the outline of two figures but could not see their faces.
‘Good evening, sir. I trust you are enjoying the ball?’
An ice-cold shiver flashed down Eleanor’s spine as she recognized the whining voice of Felicity Carmichael. She held her breath, not daring to move a single muscle.
‘Good lord. Where on earth did you-?’ spluttered James.
‘I was waiting for a chance to speak with you, my lord. You did imply earlier that you wished to speak to me, did you not?’ replied Felicity, in her usual composed tone.
‘Indeed I did, madam,’ confirmed James levelly. ‘I trust that now you have seen fit to inform the Duke of Swinton about my friendship with his wife, that this will be the end of your nonsense.’
‘Oh, believe me, sir,’ replied Felicity contritely, ‘I did not undertake such a task light-heartedly. I deliberated for quite some time over exactly which words to use to convey my message. It can be most difficult when one is doing so anonymously. The duchess, I take it from her little display just now, is quite distressed by the matter. I believe the duke, on the other hand, took the news quite … maturely. I did think the man might call you out, but he evidently prefers to let things lie. Still, quite what he would do if he were to discover that the two of you had been alone yet again - and right under his nose this time-’
‘Do not concern yourself, Miss Carmichael,’ cut in James, his voice dripping with disgust. ‘I can assure you that that is the last time the duchess and I shall ever meet alone.’
‘Oh what a pity,’ sighed Felicity. ‘Particularly when the two of you make such a … dashing couple.’
‘Your remorse is touching,’ pronounced James sardonically. ‘However, as you can see, I have no intention of giving in to your threats. May I suggest that next time you find a Johnny raw on whom to play your games.’
Felicity gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh no, sir. You underestimate me. I do not give up so easily. The Duke and Duchess of Swinton were only one of my many ideas. You would, for example, have little choice but to marry me if I chose to inform Society that you had compromised me. All it would take would be for me to tear a little lace here or there on my gown and claim you had accosted me.’
James gave a snort of repulsion. ‘And you think for one moment that anyone would believe you? It is well known that all my mistresses have been diamonds of the first water. Nobody would believe that I would even look at a bracket-faced dowdy such as yourself.’
‘Perhaps not. However, if I was to claim that I was carrying your child …’
‘That would be disproved within a few months.’
‘Only if I were not with child. If I were, on the other hand-’
‘Don’t be absurd, woman. How on earth would you-?’
‘Oh, where there is a will there is most definitely a way. Of course, we would both know that the child was not yours: the two of us and obviously, one other person, who would be paid a large amount of money to hold his silence.’
James gasped loudly. ‘I do believe, madam, that you have quite lost your mind. Can you not go and prey on some other unsuspecting victim?’
Felicity affected a hollow titter. ‘It seems you have forgotten, sir, that my greatest desire is to be the new Duchess of Ormiston and mistress of Whitlock Castle. And, I must confess, having seen the looks of envy awarded Lady Madeleine this evening, I am also desirous of being the centre of such attention and the wife of what was England’s most coveted bachelor. I think the position should suit me very well. Don’t you?’
James’s tone turned venomous as he took a step towards the girl, forcing her back against a tree. Eleanor could not make out the expression on his face, which was now only inches from Felicity’s. ‘I warn you, Miss Carmichael, that if you proceed with any of these ridiculous threats, I will kill you.’
Eleanor was sure she detected a thread of terror running through Felicity’s insidious laughter. ‘Oh, how very dramatic, sir,’ the girl replied, injecting her tone with a forced lightness. ‘Of course, I shall keep you abreast of my plans. When there is anything further to report, I can assure you that you will be the first to know.’
Forgetting herself for a moment, Eleanor’s hand shot to her mouth as James raised a clenched fist. His hand hovered in the air for a few tense seconds. Eleanor’s eyes widened as she awaited his next move. Would he really punch the girl? even though it was no more than she deserved. Obviously thinking better of it, James dropped his hand then, taking hold of Felicity’s upper arm, he cast her roughly aside.
‘Get out of my sight, madam, before I do something I will regret.’
Felicity swung around to face him. ‘Gladly, sir.’ She dipped a mocking curtsy. ‘But be assured that I shall see you again soon. Very soon.’
And with a toss of her ringlets, she turned on her heel and began strutting back to the house. Just as she was parallel with Eleanor, she came to a halt and slowly turned to face her. Eleanor shrank back further into the shadows, holding her breath. Felicity’s eyes lingered on hers for a brief moment, before she continued her route. Eleanor’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure even James, who was standing too far away for him to have seen her, could hear it. Thankfully, he, too, had taken his leave although she had not seen in which direction he had disappeared.
Having held her breath for what seemed like an eternity, Eleanor released it on a sigh of relief. Completely alone at last, she found she was shaking – a state which was most definitely not due to the night air. She sat for several minutes more, allowing Felicity ample time to return to the house. She couldn’t be sure if the girl had recognized her or not. If she had, Eleanor dared not think what she might do.
Confident that both Felicity and James had now sufficiently distanced themselves from the spot, Eleanor slipped on her second shoe and began wandering tentatively up the garden, keeping to the shadows of the trees.
‘Ah!’ She almost jumped out of her skin as she became aware of someone following her. Her immediate thought that it might be Felicity, caused her chest to constrict and the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on edge. She whipped around and was relieved to see that it was not Felicity, but a young man who, she realized immediately, had had significantly more glasses of champagne than the viscount.
‘So here you are,’ he leered. ‘The best-looking chit in the place and only that fool Grayson had the courage to face that gorgon shielding you. Come and dance with me now.’ He lurched at her.
Eleanor stepped away from him
but found herself hemmed between a tree and the wall.
‘I think perhaps it would be better if we went inside, sir,’ she said, attempting to maintain a sense of calm so as not to agitate the man. If she could just persuade him to move a little, she could make her escape. ‘After all, we can scarce hear the music out here.’
‘Pah,’ spat the man, waving a drunken arm in dismissal. ‘Who cares about music? Indeed who cares about dancing? I have something much more fun in mind; something that does not require music at all.’
He lunged towards her again, but this time she had nowhere to move to. He caught hold of her arms and pinned them against the wall. Seeking out her mouth with his, he began covering her face in slobbering drunken kisses. His breath, stale with a combination of alcohol and tobacco, made her want to vomit. Eleanor screwed up her face and turned her head quickly from side to side. Then, in one sudden movement, she brought up her knee sharply between his legs. He yelped in pain, releasing his hold of her and placing his hands over the affected area. Spotting her opportunity, Eleanor skipped nimbly to the side of him, but he was too quick for her. He caught her by the arm, dragged her back and pressed her once again up against the wall.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ he sneered. ‘I’m not finished with you yet. Not by a long-’
‘Oh, I think perhaps you are, sir,’ countered a deep, masculine voice. ‘Release the girl this instant, Smithers. Or I shall force you to do so.’
The man dropped Eleanor’s arm as if it had burnt him. Eleanor deemed it a wise choice given the anger that was colouring both James’s face and tone.
‘Come along, Prestonville,’ simpered the man. ‘Just having a bit of fun, that’s all.’
James did not look in the least amused. ‘Then may I suggest you find something else to entertain you. Something preferably away from this house.’
‘Of course. Of course,’ muttered Smithers, hastily taking his leave.
As the man staggered over the lawn, muttering fiercely to himself, Eleanor remained against the wall shaking.
James approached her slowly. ‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked, his tone low and soothing.
She managed a weak shake of her head.
Coming to stand directly before her, James reached out and tilted her face upward so that she was looking directly into his eyes. With his other hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. The feeling of his skin against hers and the intensity of his gaze caused Eleanor’s heart to skip a beat. Then, before she was aware of what was happening, he lowered his head to hers and kissed her.
Eleanor had never been kissed before. She had never wanted to be kissed before. Indeed, she had never even thought about being kissed before. But, as James pressed his lips to hers and his tongue expertly probed the inside of her welcoming mouth, her insides melted and a warm, fuzzy feeling suffused every one of her bones. Then, all at once, he pulled away from her, turned on his heel and marched briskly back to the house.
Eleanor remained against the wall, every one of her senses reeling.
Eleanor had no idea how long she had remained in the garden but when she did eventually regain a little equanimity, she returned to the house weak with exhaustion. As she entered the ballroom, she immediately bumped into James with Madeleine reattached to his arm. For a split second Eleanor’s heart stopped. What on earth should she say to him? She was vaguely aware that she had come to a sudden halt and was gawping at him, and that a deep flush was creeping over her neck and face. James, conversely, apart from a deep frown etched on his forehead, appeared calm and composed.
‘Ah, Lady Eleanor,’ he declared briskly, as though he had not set eyes – nor indeed anything else - on her all evening. ‘I have sent for the carriage. Lady Madeleine is a little peaked. Please collect my aunt and meet us in the reception hall. We shall be leaving in five minutes.’
Unable to speak, Eleanor nodded her compliance. She could think of nothing she wanted more than to go home, crawl into bed and to only come out again when the world around her had calmed down a little. She was unaccustomed to such strange happenings as seemed to occur in London. She was used to a quiet life in the country. Indeed she had liked her quiet life in the country very much. The people there were normal. Here in London, she was beginning to think they were all quite mad.
Returning to where she had left her, she was relieved to find the dowager still on her gilt chair, sipping yet another glass of champagne and chatting merrily to her fellow chaperon and new-found friend. With some coaxing, Eleanor managed to drag her away and lead her into the hall within her allotted five minutes - exactly as she had been instructed. James and Madeleine were already there. James pacing up and down impatiently.
‘Do hurry up, Lady Eleanor. I do not like to be kept waiting.’
Eleanor tossed him an infuriated glare. He was obviously in an extremely bad mood. She wondered in what part his encounter with Felicity had added to his humour and in what part their kiss. Whichever way it was, there was no need to be so rude. She couldn’t do anything about the Felicity incident and she had certainly not asked him to kiss her. He was no doubt regretting the whole ridiculous incident. Well, he had no one to blame but himself and she would not be shouted at when she had done nothing wrong. She opened her mouth to protest but then thought better of it. There had already been far too much drama for one evening.
All four of them descended the steps of the house. Due to the stream of coaches returning to collect the departing guests, their coachman had seen fit to turn their carriage around so it faced the direction in which they would be heading. This meant that they had to cross the street to reach it. They did so in complete silence. The coachman held open the door on the far side. Lady Madeleine was the first to climb in, followed by the dowager who needed a little help due, apparently, to her rheumatism.
Eleanor was next. She had placed one foot on the bottom step when Madeleine suddenly cried, ‘Oh no. I have forgotten my wrap. James, you wouldn’t be a darling and retrieve it for me, would you?’
From his place behind her, Eleanor heard James release an exasperated sigh. ‘Of course,’ he muttered coolly.
Interested to see his expression, Eleanor turned around to face him, but as she did so, she lost her balance slightly. Several of the loose threads of her reticule caught the carriage door and snapped, sending a shower of hastily sewn on pearls bouncing over the road.
Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth as she observed the scene in horror.
‘What is it, girl? What have you done now?’ muttered the dowager, shifting in her seat to gain a better view.
‘Nothing, Godmother,’ replied Eleanor with forced cheeriness. ‘There is a … kitten under the carriage. I am just going to coax it out.’
The dowager tutted. ‘Really, Eleanor. It does not do for young ladies to be seen cavorting with wild animals. It is quite unbecoming. Now do hurry up before anyone sees you.’
Squatting down, Eleanor began frantically scrabbling around to retrieve the pearls. If she hid the bag from her godmother this evening, she could stitch them back on again the morrow and the old lady would be none the wiser.
Intent on her mission, Eleanor was suddenly aware of the ground reverberating slightly. She looked up and saw a team of four jet-black horses galloping furiously down the street pulling a plain black carriage. They were fair hurtling but the sound of their hoofs was drowned out by the music and chatter from the ball and its departing guests. Eleanor looked back towards the house and saw James skipping down the steps, carrying Lady Madeleine’s shawl. A crowd of guests had now gathered on the steps, deafeningly bidding each other goodnight. No one but Eleanor appeared to have noticed the careering conveyance. She whipped her head back around to the galloping horses and then back to James. Completing a rapid mental assessment, she realized that if James did not stop before crossing the road, he would step out at exactly the moment the carriage hurtled by. She shouted a warning, but he did not hear, nor did he stop. Concluding that there was nothing e
lse for it, Eleanor straightened and lurched herself across the street and into James seconds before the carriage flew past. James toppled over and landed with a thud on his back on the road. Eleanor landed directly on top of him. As the dust from the carriage settled over them, James and the other guests realized what had happened.
‘Well, Lady Eleanor,’ he said, regarding her strangely as she lay atop him, ‘I do believe we may now cry quits.’
TEN
Eleanor was unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes a vision of either Felicity Carmichael or James Prestonville flashed through her mind, each of them having a strange, but very different, effect on her senses. She stared at the ceiling for a while, contemplating the events of the evening and, in particular, her kiss with James. Why on earth had he kissed her? The man had made it quite clear that he thought her completely unsophisticated and nothing more than a source of amusement. Well, if he had kissed her to prove that even she was not immune to his charms, he had another thing coming. Eleanor Myers had no desire at all to be added to his already over-large band of admirers.
After several more fitful hours, she was on the verge of nodding off when she became aware of a noise outside her room. Silently, she tip-toed to the door and rested her ear against the oak panel. She could hear a low mumbling. But who on earth was standing around in the corridor at this time of night? Squatting down, she pressed her eye against the cool brass of the keyhole. She could see nothing other than the stone wall opposite. Curiosity mounting, she straightened again and, slowly turning the brass handle, cracked the door open a little. It creaked. Gingerly, she poked her head out into the corridor and looked left and right. Moonlight penetrated the narrow windows of the passage, bathing its contents in a silvery hue. There was no sign of people though. Eleanor scratched her head. How strange. She had heard nothing to indicate that anyone was beating a hasty retreat. Nor, with the exception of her own, had she heard any doors opening or closing. It was as though she had imagined the whole thing. She glanced up and down the corridor again. The painted eyes of former members of the Ormiston family peered eerily at her from their framed portraits. A shiver of apprehension scuttled down her spine as an alternative thought occurred to her: perhaps she had not imagined the whispering at all. Perhaps what she had heard had been the moans of the infamous Wailing Whitlock Widow. Immediately, she snapped the door shut, ran back to bed and dived under the coverlet pulling it right over her head. There were no such things as ghosts. It must have been her imagination.
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 11
