When Eleanor eventually awoke from what little sleep she had managed, it was to find Milly hovering around the room, desperate to know every detail of the happenings at the ball. The minute Eleanor opened her eyes, the girl skipped over to the bed and sank down on the edge of it.
‘Oh, miss, how was it? Did anything exciting happen?’
Quickly gathering her wits, Eleanor mentally ran through the evening’s events: she could not tell Milly about Felicity Carmichael - that would be far too dangerous; she could not tell her about the drunken Smithers - that was far too embarrassing; nor could she tell her about the kiss with James - that was even more embarrassing. What on earth then, could she tell her?
Milly regarded her expectantly. ‘Come on, miss, I’m dying to know how it went. Did you do your dancing? I’ll bet they were queueing up to ask you.’
Eleanor pulled a rueful face. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, they weren’t, Milly.’
A wave of disappointment washed over Milly’s features. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute, miss. Someone must’ve asked you.’
‘Well actually, two people did,’ grimaced Eleanor.
‘Ooh. Were they handsome, miss? Do you want to marry either of them?’
Eleanor giggled as she considered the contrast between her two dance partners. ‘Well, Milly,’ she declared truthfully, ‘one of them was very handsome indeed, but I can assure you I have no wish to marry either of them.’
To Eleanor’s enormous relief, there was no evidence of any ghostly happenings when she tentatively opened her bedchamber door some thirty minutes later. She had considered telling Milly about the nocturnal muttering but decided against it. The girl would most likely think her mad. Indeed, with all the hullabaloo of the evening before, even she was beginning to doubt her sanity. Perhaps she had dreamt the entire thing.
She was almost as relieved to find no mortal beings in the breakfast-room when she arrived downstairs. She had not expected to see the dowager. The old lady had imbibed so much champagne that she would no doubt remain in her bed until well after lunchtime. But, noting the untouched place settings, it appeared no one had breakfasted that morning.
Wasting no time, Eleanor helped herself to some ham and scrambled eggs from the silver dishes on the sideboard. If she ate quickly, she might avoid seeing anyone at all. She had no idea if Derek Lovell had returned to the castle but if he had, she had no desire to see the odious man. Equally, she had no wish to see James. In fact, if he were in the same strange mood as yesterday evening, she would go out of her way to avoid him. Her negative feelings also stretched to Lady Madeleine who had been decidedly put out yesterday evening by all the attention Eleanor had received following the carriage incident. The woman had made no attempt to disguise her annoyance. While other witnesses had awarded her with praise and pats on the back, Madeleine had pouted her perfect mouth and moaned about travelling back in the carriage with Eleanor who had most likely picked up fleas from the kitten she had supposedly been coaxing out from under the carriage. Someone had replied that perhaps, had she been wearing a little more clothing, then the fleas would not have had so much bare flesh with which to amuse themselves. The comment had merely resulted in more pouting and a jibe at Eleanor for being decidedly indelicate. The dowager who, up until that point, had been amongst those on the praising side, had suddenly jumped ship and agreed with Madeleine that yes, Eleanor was indeed indelicate and it was quite unbecoming.
The person who had reacted most strangely following the incident, though, had been James. Once the two of them were back on their feet and had assured their witnesses that they were unharmed, James had merely stood by watching the proceedings like a complete outsider. He had not even had the courtesy to thank Eleanor for her efforts. Back in the carriage, the two of them had spent the return journey in exactly the same humour as they had spent the outward one: Eleanor seething - this time at both James and Madeleine - and James, oblivious to all around him, resuming his silent staring out of the window.
Fortunately for Eleanor, she managed to pass the entire day peacefully, without encountering the dowager or any of her fellow guests. Lady Ormiston, Giles had informed her, had taken to her bed with a severe attack of her rheumatism. Lady Madeleine also appeared to be spending the day in bed. There was no sign at all of Derek Lovell and James had, early that afternoon, gone off somewhere in the carriage.
Eleanor had hoped that the lack of people around the house would mean that she would be the only one taking dinner that evening. Having been deeply engrossed in her book all day, she made a leisurely toilette and wandered down to the dining-room just as the last gong was sounded. Contrary to her expectations, she found the dowager and James already at their places. Her heart sank.
‘Ah, Eleanor. The last to arrive as usual,’ remarked the dowager tartly.
Eleanor rolled her eyes as she slipped into her chair, opposite that of James who was, she couldn’t help but notice, looking tired, with dark smudges under each of his eyes.
‘Good evening, Godmother,’ she said sweetly. ‘How is your rheumatism?’
‘Quite dreadful. I have felt quite out of frame all day.’
‘Oh what a pity. I do believe an onion poultice is an excellent cure for rheumatism. Or was that the cure for taking too much champagne? Hmm. I appear to have quite confused the two.’
While Lady Ormiston flashed Eleanor a suspicious glare, James regarded her strangely.
‘Is medicine another of your alternative accomplishments, Lady Eleanor?’ he asked, lifting a questioning eyebrow.
‘It is, sir,’ replied Eleanor, meeting his gaze defiantly.
James nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see. And how many more of these alternative accomplishments are we still to discover?’
Eleanor reached for her glass of water. ‘There are many more, sir,’ she replied matter-of-factly.
The heat of James’s gaze burned into her as he said, in a tone that sent a frisson of excitement slithering down her spine, ‘Now why, Lady Eleanor, does that not surprise me?’
Attempting to control the deep flush flooding her cheeks, Eleanor raised the glass of water to her lips. What on earth did he mean by that? Was he referring to-?
‘Now Eleanor,’ piped up the dowager, oblivious to the undercurrent running between the pair, ‘I have sent a note today to Viscount Grayson inviting him to call on us. We must encourage the man after he showed so much interest in you yesterday evening. After all, he was the only one.’
Eleanor almost choked on her water.
‘Viscount Grayson, Godmother. But he is - That is I don’t- I have no wish to-’
‘And if you persist with this ridiculous notion about not marrying, Eleanor, then I shall send you back to your stepmama this instant. The purpose of you being here is to find a man to take you and Viscount Grayson is quite the catch, is he not, James?’
James had covered his mouth with his napkin to disguise the fact that he was choking with laughter. Evidently, under the close scrutiny of both his aunt and Eleanor, he could contain it no longer. He collapsed in a fit of hysteria.
Eleanor glared at him. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad being sent home and facing the wrath of Hester Scones. Could it be any worse than a visit from Viscount Grayson?
She didn’t have long to wait to find out.
ELEVEN
‘Viscount Grayson, your grace,’ announced Giles, as Eleanor, Lady Ormiston, James and Madeleine were sitting in the long, red drawing-room early the following afternoon.
At this unwelcome news, Eleanor’s spirits sank to the floor and a wave of dread swept over her. The dowager, obviously delighted at the news, beamed broadly.
‘Now, just a moment, Giles,’ she instructed, laying down her tambour-frame and striding over to her goddaughter. ‘Really, Eleanor,’ she tutted, wrenching the book out of her hands, ‘I did hope you would be wearing your lemon day dress when the man called. It is much more becoming than the lilac you have on. However, there is no time to change. Go
and sit over by the window, girl, and smile. There is nothing more unbecoming than surliness.’
Aware that any protestation would be useless, Eleanor heaved a heavy sigh and moved over to the window where she flopped down on to the green cushioned seat. The dowager scurried over to the doorway and regarded her through her lorgnette.
‘No, no, no. The light is too much. The poor man will have to squint the entire time he is looking at you. No, I think perhaps over by the fireplace would be better. Come now, Eleanor, don’t dawdle. The man is waiting to see you. We must not keep him longer than is acceptable.’
With another sigh, Eleanor dragged herself over to the fireplace and slumped down into the wing chair there. From her position at the doorway, the dowager nodded her approval. ‘Much better. Much, much better. Now do sit up straight, Eleanor. There’s nothing more unbecoming than poor posture.’
Doing as she was bid, Eleanor blew out her breath in a huff. The dowager, completely embroiled in her seating arrangements, failed – or more likely ignored – her goddaughter’s blatant lack of enthusiasm.
Standing with her hands on her broad hips, she stood on the threshold surveying the room. ‘Now, where on earth shall I sit?’
James and Madeleine who were seated by the pianoforte at the far end of the room, had now set aside their books and were watching the proceedings with obvious amusement. James was lounging in a brown leather wing chair, his long legs, clad in tight beige breeches, dangling carelessly over the side. Eleanor hoped desperately that the dowager would banish the pair to the library. Her glimmer of hope did not last long.
‘You don’t mind if we join you, do you, Aunt?’ enquired James, his tone rich with amusement. ‘It is a long time since I have had a chat with the viscount.’
Eleanor flashed him a baleful glare. It was returned with a beatific smile.
The dowager was now pinning up several stray locks of Eleanor’s hair. ‘Of course not, James. We must make the man as welcome as possible. Lord knows he is our only hope at the moment.’
‘Indeed, Aunt,’ agreed James, his lips twitching. ‘Come now, Madeleine. We, too, will need to be seated.’
‘Oh goodness, James,’ flustered the dowager. ‘You and Madeleine take the sofa. Yes, definitely the sofa. I will sit in my usual chair and the viscount can sit alongside me, facing Eleanor. Now come along everyone,’ she boomed, satisfied with Eleanor’s hair and scurrying to her own seat. ‘We have kept the man waiting long enough.’
Eleanor rolled her eyes. She was exhausted already and the viscount hadn’t even set foot in the room yet. She wondered if things could possibly get any worse, but knew instinctively that they could.
‘Ah, Viscount Grayson. How delightful of you to come. And so soon,’ enthused Lady Ormiston as Giles showed the man into the room. ‘Giles, we will require tea and cake.’
As the viscount walked – or rather, waddled - towards them, Eleanor’s spirits plummeted. The man was even more hideous than she remembered, his tight black pantaloons straining against his wide girth.
They all stood up to greet him.
‘You already know my nephew, I believe,’ continued the dowager, gesturing to James. ‘And this is Lady Madeleine Bouvray who is visiting us from Hungary for the Season.’
When the usual courtesies of bowing and curtsying had been observed, Lady Ormiston gestured to them all to be seated.
‘Do please sit down, Viscount, and tell us how you enjoyed the Carmichaels’ ball. Eleanor has not stopped talking of you since the event, have you, my dear?’ She threw Eleanor an imploring smile. It was returned with a dampening glower.
‘Indeed she hasn’t,’ beamed James. ‘I believe she described you as the most charming of all her dance partners that evening.’
Eleanor’s eyes widened in disbelief as she regarded James: how dare he throw that back in her face?
The viscount opened his mouth to speak revealing his revolting set of teeth. ‘Really?’ he sniffed incredulously. ‘Then I hope to have the pleasure of dancing with her again soon.’
His voice was much more high-pitched than Eleanor recalled. Indeed, it was so high-pitched that it could more accurately be described as a squeak. Alongside James’s deep, masculine voice, it appeared even more ridiculous. He offered Eleanor a broad smile, revealing the full extent of his lack of oral care. Eleanor recoiled inwardly.
‘Ah, yes,’ added Madeleine, obviously spotting yet another opportunity to embarrass Eleanor. ‘She was just telling me how she hopes to have the pleasure of your company at the Stanningtons’ picnic on Saturday, Viscount.’
The viscount flushed with pride and gazed expectantly at Eleanor through his colourless eyes. This really was the outside of enough, concluded Eleanor. Whilst James and Madeleine were evidently finding the meeting highly amusing, their remarks were encouraging the viscount to such an extent that Eleanor could no longer hold her tongue.
‘Actually, Lady Madeleine, I have not yet decided if I am to attend the Stanningtons’ picnic.’
The dowager waved a dismissive hand, indicating that Eleanor’s statement was not worthy of a second’s consideration. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, girl,’ she countered, casting her goddaughter a reprimanding glare. ‘Of course you are to attend.’ Her admonishing tone melted into one of pure sugar as she then turned to the viscount. ‘May I take it that we shall have the pleasure of your company at the Stanningtons’ picnic, Viscount?’
‘Oh, of course, ma’am,’ trilled the viscount, a little piece of spittle dangling from the corner of his mouth. ‘I shall look forward to it. Very much.’
A muffled snort of laughter came from the direction of James, which Eleanor chose to ignore.
The viscount’s visit lasted a total of twenty-eight minutes. Eleanor knew this so precisely because she watched the hands of the gilt timepiece move through every single interminable second of them.
Although the dowager was obviously of the opinion that she was now well on her way to successfully completing her project and marrying Eleanor off to Viscount Grayson, there was, unfortunately, no reprieve for Eleanor on the learning of her wretched ‘accomplishments’. Consequently, M. Aminieux’s daily visits to the castle continued. While Eleanor would not go as far as to say that she enjoyed these lessons, they were certainly becoming much easier thanks, in no small part, to Milly’s extra tuition.
As they walked into the hall after this morning’s lesson and bumped straight into Lady Madeleine, the Frenchman could hardly contain his delight. Wearing a pale-blue carriage gown and on her way to the main door, the woman started as the colourful dancing master minced towards her.
‘Ah, the lovely Lady Madeleine,’ he gushed, taking hold of her hand. ‘Madame Aminieux is doing the nagging of me. She is anxious to meet you, madame.’
A fleeting look of panic washed over Lady Madeleine’s face, before being replaced with a charming smile.
‘You are too kind, M. Aminieux,’ she said, snatching her hand from his, ‘however I am so busy I do not have a free evening for the next two weeks at least.’
‘Well then,’ asserted the dowager, ‘why not plan for after that? I must say, Madeleine, that if I had not spoken my own language for several weeks, I would be positively bursting for a good chat.’
‘Oh, of course I am, ma’m,’ blustered Lady Madeleine. ‘But I really have no idea of my plans. If I may, M. Aminieux, I will inform you of my arrangements as and when I have made them.’
‘Of course,’ beamed M. Aminieux. ‘But do not leave it too long. Madame Aminieux will be most upset if I do not arrange something very soon.’
Madeleine tossed him another winning smile and inclined her head before making a dart for the door, which Giles was holding open. She disappeared through it like a shot.
Having deemed Viscount Grayson’s visit a complete success, the dowager talked of little else. Did Eleanor know, for example, that the Graysons were one of the most respected families in all England? Was she aware that they were one of the largest
landowners? Could she believe that the viscount’s great-great-great-great-grandfather had personally rescued Queen Elizabeth when she had been attacked by a band of marauders whilst out hawking? Unable to suffer her godmother’s enthusings a second longer, Eleanor escaped to the library with a copy of Lord Byron’s latest poem, The Corsair. She made herself comfortable in a damask high-backed chair there, tucking her legs under her. She had been there for over an hour, enjoying the poem and the solitude, when her peace was rudely interrupted by the sound of footsteps making their way briskly along the corridor. All too aware of the dowager’s opinion on Lord Byron’s work, she had, in preparation of an unexpected visit from her godmother, left the library door slightly ajar in order that she could hear the old lady approaching and quickly exchange her book for another. A copy of One Hundred Essential Etiquette Tips for Young Ladies lay on the drum table in front of her for this very purpose. It quickly became apparent, however, that it wasn’t her godmother approaching, but several men, all dressed in black, and all bearing large bundles of papers. They marched briskly in the direction of the drawing-room. James walked behind them, deep in conversation with a man sporting a greying beard.
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 12
