The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor

by Wendy Burdess

  Their conversation was interrupted by the nasally tones of Derek Lovell, hailing James from further down the corridor. He sounded out of breath. Eleanor recoiled. She had not seen him since the Carmichaels’ ball. He appeared rarely to be at the castle, a fact for which she was exceedingly grateful.

  ‘Prestonville, wait up, old chap. I couldn’t have a quick word could I?’ he puffed, obviously running to catch up with his host.

  James came to a halt directly outside the library door allowing Eleanor a perfect view of him. ‘I have a meeting with my solicitors, Lovell. Can’t it wait until later?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. It’s a bit … sensitive.’

  Eleanor could see all three men now. She watched as James rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Richard,’ he said to the bearded man, who nodded and walked on after his colleagues.

  James placed his hands on his hips. ‘Now what is it?’ he demanded irritably.

  ‘You couldn’t lend me some money, could you?’

  James sighed and ran a hand through his dark glossy hair. ‘I lent you money yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.’

  ‘I know. I know,’ replied Lovell, with a forced laugh. ‘It’s just that things haven’t been going very well, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, I know what you mean, all right. You’ve been losing hand over fist at the gaming tables. Well, I’m sorry, Lovell, but I’m not prepared to fund your gambling any longer. I refuse your request and would be grateful if you could refrain from asking me again.’

  Lovell’s face flushed puce. ‘But you can’t refuse me. What will I do?’

  ‘That is not my problem. Now, I have neither the time nor the inclination to continue this discussion. I have an important meeting, which will take some time. I bid you good day, sir.’

  James inclined his head, turned on his heel and continued his march down the corridor. Lovell stood, rooted to the spot, for several long seconds before spinning around and stalking off in the opposite direction. The look upon his face as he left was one of red-hot anger.

  Ever since Lady Ormiston’s garden party, the weather had continued on its glorious way to summer, the balmy days stretching to equally balmy evenings. The last two evenings Eleanor had slept with her bedroom windows open. This evening, however, she awoke shivering. Slipping out of bed, she padded over to the windows, noting from the timepiece on the mantel that it was a little after two o’clock. She secured the window catches, but left the shutters open.

  She had just climbed back into bed, when the sound of shuffling outside her door caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat. Convincing herself that it was probably mice, she closed her eyes tightly again and began furiously counting sheep. A minute later, there was a low moaning sound which could definitely not, however vivid one’s imagination, be attributed to any rodent.

  Eleanor sat bolt upright, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage. The sound was ominous and ghostly: exactly the sound one would associate with the Wailing Whitlock Widow. But it could not be a ghost, she reminded herself. Ghosts did not exist. She tip-toed to the door. Taking a deep breath in, she yanked it open and stepped out into the corridor. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. Nothing, that is, other than a grey-white chiffon scarf caught on the arm of a suit of armour, blowing in the draught of the cold corridor.

  TWELVE

  ‘Goodness, miss,’ puffed Milly as she arranged Eleanor’s hair for the Stanningtons’ picnic, ‘I ain’t never seen you looking so miserable. What I wouldn’t give to go to some lovely picnic and there’s you looking like you’ve just lost a leg and have crawled home only to find some beggar’s shot your dog.’

  Eleanor couldn’t resist a smile at Milly’s bleak scenario. ‘Sorry, Milly. I will try and cheer up.’

  But the truth was that she couldn’t think of one thing about the day looming ominously ahead of her that would cheer her up. She had not the slightest inclination to go to the Stanningtons’ picnic. Feigning some sort of debilitating illness had briefly crossed her mind, but it would have been pointless. Nothing short of death would prevent the dowager from presenting her goddaughter to Viscount Grayson. The notion of spending even a minute in the presence of the leering man filled her with dread. But there was one other person Eleanor had no desire to see. One who would certainly be attending the event: Felicity Carmichael. Whilst the thought of the viscount was unpleasant enough, the thought of Felicity caused Eleanor’s stomach to churn uncontrollably.

  After a hesitant start, the sun eventually broke through the wispy cloud, resulting in a glorious summer’s day – perfect for a picnic. Eleanor was grateful to Milly for insisting she wore her jonquil muslin; the girl appeared to have a sixth sense regarding the weather.

  What Eleanor had failed to sense, however, was that, as well as the viscount and Felicity Carmichael, another of her least favourite people would be attending the picnic. As she climbed into the carriage, she was amazed to find Derek Lovell already seated within, opposite James and Madeleine. She would have thought a picnic far too tame for his tastes, but then again, with no funds to indulge his gambling, perhaps he was tempering his amusements. Madeleine, most likely in an attempt not to have to look at the man, had turned in her seat to gaze out of the window.

  ‘Ah,’ he exclaimed sarcastically as Eleanor settled herself on the seat next to him, ‘the lovely Lady Eleanor.’

  Eleanor tossed him a frosty glare. Neither Madeleine nor James, who was engrossed in a study of his fingernails, paid her any attention at all.

  As the carriage rattled down the gravelled drive, it was Madeleine who broke the silence.

  ‘Do you know, James, I am sure I had a visit from the Whitlock Widow last night.’

  Eleanor’s heart stopped for a moment. James, though, was less impressed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Madeleine. You know I pay no attention to such nonsense.’

  ‘But it is not nonsense,’ asserted Madeleine. ‘I have a gift regarding the spirits. Wherever I go, they seek me out.’

  ‘Do they now?’ sneered Lovell. ‘And what do they do when they find you, Lady Madeleine?’

  ‘I was not aware that you were included in this conversation, Mr Lovell,’ snapped Madeleine. Surprisingly, she then turned her attention to Eleanor. ‘May I ask if you believe in ghosts, Lady Eleanor?’

  A shiver shot down Eleanor’s spine as an image of the piece of grey-white chiffon blowing eerily in the draughty corridor, flashed before her. She had been relieved when she had opened her bedchamber door that morning to find the offending item had disappeared. ‘I, er, confess I have not given the matter much consideration, ma’am,’ she muttered.

  Madeleine tutted. ‘Well, may I suggest you do, Lady Eleanor, particularly when one is residing in a building such as Whitlock. The place is crawling with spirits.’

  At this statement, Eleanor had the strange sensation of something crawling over her skin.

  ‘I must confess,’ continued Madeleine wistfully, ‘that I thought the Widow quite beautiful. One can imagine her the day she threw herself from the tower – her long black hair streaming behind her as she fell to her death in the same white chiffon nightdress she wore on her wedding night. I can think of nothing more romantic.’

  For one brief moment, Eleanor thought she was about to have a fit of the vapours until Derek Lovell piped up, ‘Well at least the chit had the pleasure of her wedding night. Can you imagine how upset she would have been if she’d been denied that treat? Not that you, Lady Eleanor, will have the slightest idea of the pleasures to which I am referring,’ he sniggered.

  ‘Leave her alone, Lovell,’ commanded James. His authoritative tone discouraged any argument.

  They travelled in silence for some ten minutes, Eleanor pondering the ghostly happenings, James pondering his fingernails and an obviously slighted Madeleine pondering James’s fervent protection of Eleanor.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ the Hungarian suddenly cried, clutching a hand t
o her left breast. ‘Stop the carriage immediately!’

  ‘Good God. What is it, Madeleine?’ demanded James anxiously. ‘Have you taken ill?’

  Madeleine gazed up at him with her ravishing blue eyes. ‘I am not ill,’ she bleated, wringing her hands. ‘But I do not feel very fine, James. In fact I feel quite … quite … ugly. I should like to return to Whitlock so that I may change my gown.’

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. If Madeleine did not look fine in her lovely high-waisted gown of soft apricot, then there was little hope for anyone else. The woman was, as usual, playing one of her attention-seeking games.

  ‘Come now, Madeleine,’ chided James, his tone ripe with impatience. ‘You look beautiful, as well you know.’

  Her large blue eyes conveniently filled with tears. ‘But I do not feel beautiful, James. And I want to feel beautiful - for you, my darling. It would not do at all for you to turn up at such an affair with an ugly woman.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Madeleine,’ snapped James, frustration colouring his features. ‘I am telling you, you look beautiful. You always look beautiful.’

  Taken aback at James’s abruptness, but obviously having achieved the reaction she was seeking, Madeleine beamed victoriously at Eleanor and, with a toss of her blonde head, resumed her gazing out of the window. Eleanor felt a stab of something she had never before experienced. Something she had a strong suspicion was that disturbing emotion known as jealousy. Indeed, it was all she could do not to reach across and slap Madeleine’s smug face.

  For all Lady Ormiston was not one of her favourite people, Eleanor wished the old lady was accompanying them in the carriage that morning, instead of travelling ahead. Had the dowager been present, Eleanor doubted they would have been subjected to Derek Lovell’s gutter monologue on his conquests with the fairer sex.

  ‘Do you really think, Mr Lovell,’ Madeleine enquired icily, ‘that we are remotely interested in your alleged conquests?’

  ‘Ooh. Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Lady Madeleine?’

  Madeleine fixed him with an ingenuous smile. ‘Alas no, sir. You are obviously confusing jealousy with sympathy. One can only hope that the vast amounts of money you paid these poor girls eased their suffering in some way.’

  Lovell snorted with laughter. ‘I can assure you that not one of the women was paid for the pleasure.’

  Madeleine lifted a suspicious eyebrow. ‘Really? Then I do hope you returned them safely to the institution from which they came.’

  Lovell opened his mouth to reply but, before he could utter a word, James cut in.

  ‘That’s enough, you two,’ he snapped - so vehemently that the pair immediately shut up.

  Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. But the peace lasted only a few minutes, until James lost himself in his thoughts again and Derek Lovell began another of his ‘interesting’ stories. Eleanor was not fooled. The man was obviously doing his utmost to embarrass her and Madeleine. Refusing to permit him the slightest hint of how uncomfortable his detailed descriptions were making her, she adopted a nonchalant air, staring out of the window.

  When the carriage eventually pulled up outside its destination, Eleanor wasted not a moment jumping out. Stannington Hall, she discovered, was a fashionable mansion house built by the present earl’s father. The long drive opened into a large unattractive but practical gravelled area at the front of the house. The most impressive scenes were at the rear of the building, where one could see nothing but undulating countryside and a wide flowing river. It was England at its most perfect – and put Eleanor immediately in mind of Merryoaks, as a pang of homesickness washed over her.

  It was a little after midday but, judging by the large number of people milling around, it appeared that Eleanor and her party were among the last to arrive. The grounds were dotted with colourful rugs, and guests dressed in light summer colours were swarming around, revelling in the beautiful setting and the glorious weather. The dowager was hovering at the front of the building impatiently awaiting their arrival and, for once, Eleanor was relieved to see her. Her relief was short-lived. As the first words boomed from the old lady’s mouth, Eleanor’s spirits immediately reverted back to their previous gloomy state.

  ‘Eleanor, do hurry up, girl. The viscount is here with Lord and Lady Grayson. They are most keen to meet you, although goodness knows where they’ve wandered off to now. I do declare the Stanningtons’ grounds are so large they are the very height of ostentation.’

  Before Eleanor had a chance to speak, James forestalled her. ‘You don’t mind if I walk with you, Aunt, while you seek out the Graysons? I feel the need to stretch my legs after the carriage ride.’ Then, directing his next comment to Lovell and Madeleine who were standing alongside him, ‘Madeleine why don’t you and Lovell go and collect our picnic hamper and find a good spot? I shall join you shortly.’

  At this ill-concealed dismissal, Madeleine pouted petulantly. ‘Hmph. Very well, James, but do not be too long. I shall be waiting for you.’

  James regarded her darkly for a moment before turning his attention to the dowager. ‘Come along then, Aunt. I thought you were keen to find the Graysons and they may take some finding amongst this crowd.’

  The dowager marched purposefully ahead of them, putting Eleanor in mind of a bloodhound sniffing out a scent. She wondered about voicing this opinion to James, but he appeared in such bad spirits again today, that she wiped the idea from her mind. Bad spirits or not, however, Eleanor found something paradoxically comforting and unsettling walking alongside him. Comforting, in that his person - tall, strong and overwhelmingly masculine– made her feel safe and protected. On the other hand, being so close to him again brought back memories of the Carmichaels’ ball and their kiss. Not that she wanted to repeat such a thing. Heaven forbid. Although she had to admit, it had been rather pleas–

  ‘I feel I must apologize to you, madam,’ declared James, interrupting Eleanor’s musings.

  Eleanor’s heart stopped for a second. Oh gracious. Had he sensed what she was thinking? Was he about to apologize for kissing her? If he did, then what on earth should she say in reply? Colour flooded her cheeks.

  ‘About, er, what, my lord?’ she stammered, not daring to look at him, but focussing on a section of the lawn several feet in front of her as they continued walking.

  ‘My friend’s behaviour. I’m afraid Lovell can be most … inconsiderate at times. His conversation in the carriage this morning was not fit for a lady’s ears.’

  Eleanor released a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you for the apology,’ she said politely, ‘however it is quite unnecessary. If anyone should apologize for his unseemly behaviour, it should be Mr Lovell himself.’

  James appeared on the verge of replying, but obviously changed his mind. They continued walking in silence with the dowager, still attempting to sniff out the Graysons, some way ahead. Their lack of conversation did not help Eleanor’s nerves and she was grateful when someone hailed James and he made his excuses and took his leave of her.

  Not only was Eleanor grateful to the person who had rid her of James’s overwhelming presence, but she was also much indebted to Lord and Lady Stannington - firstly for the extent of their estate, and secondly that they had invited so many guests to fill it. The grounds were so vast and bustling that not even the dowager was able to locate the Graysons. Under the heat of the unrelenting sun, Lady Ormiston eventually admitted defeat and concluded that they should partake of some refreshment and resume their search a little later. Eleanor had needed no further persuading.

  Eventually locating their own party, they found Madeleine and Lovell had opted to picnic on the edge of the crowd, in the shade of a group of oak trees. James was also present, having obviously spent as little time as was socially acceptable with the young man who had hailed him earlier. Madeleine was sitting on the outspread picnic blanket, propped up against a tree trunk. She held a glass of champagne in one hand and brushed away a persistent fly with the other. She flashed the dowager a welcomin
g smile and, as usual, completely ignored Eleanor. Having removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, James lay on his back alongside her, his eyes closed. He made no acknowledgement of their return. In contrast to the relaxed atmosphere, Derek Lovell appeared unable to settle. Eleanor concluded that, without the thrill of cards or dice to amuse him, the man was probably bored stiff. Huffing and puffing and pacing about like a caged animal, he suddenly announced that he was going for a stroll. No objections to this statement were forthcoming.

  ‘I think,’ began James, once Lovell had left, ‘that I will spend the entire afternoon lying here. I have no wish to engage in conversation with anyone today.’

  ‘Now James,’ tutted the dowager, as she rummaged in the wicker hamper, ‘do not be so grumpy. You know very well that I require your help in finding a husband for Eleanor.’

  James jerked upright. ‘Ah yes. And how were the Graysons, Aunt?’

  The dowager produced a champagne flute from the hamper. ‘Alas, we were unable to find them. But I am sure they will seek us out at some point.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they will,’ agreed Lady Madeleine. ‘They are undoubtedly most excited that someone has shown an interest in the viscount. He is not, after all, the most outwardly pleasing young man.’

  A bolt of anger pierced Eleanor. ‘Looks can be deceiving, Lady Madeleine. Some of the most beautiful people can also be the most odious.’

  Madeleine smiled beatifically. ‘I am sure you are right, dear,’ she said, condescension hanging off every word.

  James, meanwhile, said nothing. Instead, his smile disappeared and he shot Eleanor a questioning glance before resuming his horizontal position.

  Not only had the Stanningtons provided a marvellous setting for their guests, but they had also furnished them with a hamper of tempting treats. Accompanying the champagne was a delicious array of sandwiches, sweetmeats, patties and cake. Eleanor was aware of Madeleine watching her as she savoured a salmon sandwich.