The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor

by Wendy Burdess

  All the Maguires and Eleanor stared wide-eyed as James Prestonville slowly approached them from the bottom of the meadow. He was wearing brown riding breeches and a white shirt which, due to the heat of the day, was unbuttoned at the neck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Leading his horse by the reins, he rubbed a spot on the side of his head with his free hand. Noting the foreboding way in which he was regarding her, Eleanor quailed inwardly. She was sorry that the ball had hit him of course, but, damn him, why did he have to be out riding today? He was now about to spoil what had so far been a perfect afternoon.

  The full complement of Maguire eyes were also staring at James, but, one by one, as he approached her, they turned to regard Eleanor. For the first time in a very long while, Eleanor could imagine, every member of the Maguire family was silent.

  As if unaware of his audience, James strode towards Eleanor, his eyes glued to hers. As he came to a halt directly before her, her heart thundered and all the air seemed to rush from her lungs. His expression was stony as he regarded her with that same unfathomable expression she had witnessed regularly of late.

  He slid a hand into his pocket and retrieved the ball. He held it out to her. Eleanor gulped. At a loss as to what to say, she took it from him and muttered her thanks.

  ‘I’m glad to see that you have recovered from your accident yesterday, Lady Eleanor,’ he said, in the same intimate tone he had used before their kiss at the Carmichaels’ ball.

  As the memory of that kiss slammed into her head, Eleanor’s stomach somersaulted and a flush rose in her cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘I am quite well today.’

  With his eyes still fixed on hers, James nodded his head. Eleanor gulped under the heat of his gaze. He was so close to her that she could smell the light fragrance of his soap, intermingled with his own masculine scent. Her head began to swim and her lips to tingle.

  It was five-year-old Tom, the youngest of the Maguires, who eventually broke the silence. ‘Here, sir, will you be in my team?’

  James’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. He whipped around to face the boy who was oblivious to the reprimanding glares of his older siblings, all of whom were in complete and utter awe of the man. ‘We could do with a good bowler, sir,’ continued the child innocently. ‘We’re losing and our Ed is rubbish.’

  ‘Really?’ asked James solemnly.

  There followed a brief hiatus when nobody dared move, then James suddenly strode over to a tree, tethered up his horse and returned to the group. ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘if you’re losing, young man, then we had better see what we can do to rectify that situation. Now, who is up next?’

  Eleanor could not recall ever seeing James so relaxed. When not laughing at her unbecoming antics, he generally had a concerned air about him: tired and troubled - like a man with a deal of worries on his shoulders. But then that was hardly surprising. With the combination of the ‘title business’, Felicity Carmichael’s threats, and the uncertainty of the Duke of Swinton’s actions following the discovery of his wife’s affair, James Prestonville did indeed have a great many troubles at the moment.

  With the game of rounders finished, they returned to the picnic blankets and finished off what was left of the food.

  ‘Well, I must say,’ remarked James, ‘that is the most delicious apple pie I have ever tasted. My compliments, Mrs Maguire.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t make it, sir,’ chuckled Mrs Maguire, who was sitting alongside him. ‘Lady Eleanor baked it - fresh this morning - and with her own fair hands. She ain’t half a one that girl.’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured James pensively, watching Eleanor run around the field with Tom on her shoulders. ‘She is a one indeed.’

  Some hours later, as evening – and the younger Maguires – began to fall, the group was disbanded and everyone headed home.

  ‘I do hope all the rats have gone, Mrs Maguire,’ said Eleanor, as they bid their farewells.

  ‘Oh, whether they have or not, miss,’ replied the older woman, ‘we’ve all had a wonderful day. We can’t thank you enough, really we can’t.’

  Then, with tears in her eyes, she pulled Eleanor to her and embraced her tightly.

  Eleanor had instructed Milly to take the gig back to the Maguires’ house in order that she could transport the younger children, who were now fit to drop, and the remainder of the food. This meant, she had noted nervously after she had waved them all off, that only she and James were to return to the castle. They walked along the country lanes in silence, James leading his horse by the reins. The air was still warm, scented with the sweet smell of pollen. Alone with James, Eleanor found herself experiencing a bewildering mixture of emotions: anticipation and excitement, but, above all, an overwhelming sense of longing. Her eyes insisted on straying to the strong, masculine hand that was clutching the horse’s rein. The thought of the same hand touching her resulted in a strange swirling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Well, Lady Eleanor,’ began James, breaking the charged silence, ‘of the two picnics we have attended recently, I can honestly say that this one wins hands down. It has been a marvellous day.’

  Startled out of her outrageous musings, Eleanor blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘Well, at least I did not end up atop of you this time, sir.’ No sooner had she uttered the words, than she blushed to the roots of her hair as another shocking image flashed through her mind.

  James regarded her strangely for a moment. Then said smoothly, ‘Indeed, Lady Eleanor. However I did not say it was a perfect day.’

  No other words were spoken as they continued their route, Eleanor burning with embarrassment and James seemingly reverting back to his distant, withdrawn state. Upon reaching Whitlock, James handed over his horse to a groom before they made their way up the steps into the entrance hall. Giles greeted them there.

  ‘Her grace is in the drawing-room, sir,’ the butler informed James solemnly. ‘She has requested that both you and Lady Eleanor join her the moment you arrive. Although she was not aware,’ he sniffed, as his eyes travelling disapprovingly over Eleanor’s bedraggled appearance, ‘that you had been out together.’

  ‘Nor could she have been,’ replied James brusquely. ‘Lady Eleanor and I stumbled upon one another quite by chance this afternoon. Now, Lady Eleanor, I suggest we obey my aunt’s command and go to her at once.’

  Eleanor grimaced. She was undoubtedly going to be scolded for leaving the house so soon after her riding accident and for being absent for most of the day. She had no wish to make matters worse by appearing before her godmother looking like a scarecrow. ‘I really think I should go upstairs and make myself presentable,’ she explained.

  ‘You did say, Giles, that my aunt wished to see us the moment we arrived back, did you not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then come along, Lady Eleanor,’ ordered James, strutting towards the drawing- room.

  Eleanor heaved a weary sigh, which drew another critical look from Giles. Well, she might as well get it over with. After all, it couldn’t possibly be any worse than she was imagining it to be. Could it?

  It was worse.

  Not only was Lady Ormiston waiting to pounce on her for her ‘irresponsible conduct’ but so, too, was Hester Myers. Upon spotting her father, standing in front of the fireplace, however, Eleanor’s heart leapt with joy.

  ‘Papa!’ she cried, throwing herself into his warm embrace. ‘This is the most wonderful surprise. But what on earth are you doing here? And how long are you staying?’

  Lord Myers laughed at his daughter’s effusive greeting. Releasing his hold of her, he took a step back and taking both of her hands in his, gazed at her affectionately.

  ‘We have been to visit Hester’s great aunt in Bath and thought we would make a detour to see you on our return journey. We shall be staying for three nights. If,’ he added hastily, shifting his gaze to the dowager, ‘that meets with Lady Ormiston’s approval.’

  ‘Of course,’ confirmed the
dowager matter-of-factly. ‘I will have a room made up for you at once.’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful, Papa,’ beamed Eleanor. ‘I have had the most marvellous day and now you are here, it is quite perfect.’

  ‘Well, I must say, I am very glad to hear that you have had a good day, Eleanor,’ huffed the dowager from her chair. ‘I, on the other hand, have spent the entire time worrying in case another accident had befallen you. Would you mind, pray, telling us where you have been all day?’

  Releasing her hold of her father’s hands, Eleanor turned to face her godmother. ‘At a picnic, ma’am,’ she muttered sheepishly.

  The dowager’s face adopted an incredulous expression. ‘A picnic?’ she repeated, holding up her lorgnette. ‘And what kind of picnic results in a young lady arriving home in such a …. dishevelled state of dress?’

  ‘Um, well,’ stammered Eleanor, aware of Hester’s eyes boring into her, ‘it wasn’t a picnic like the, er, Stanningtons’, ma’am. It was more of a fun occasion. One where we played … games.’

  ‘Games?’ echoed Lady Ormiston, casting her eyes skyward. ‘Stevens!’ she then roared, so loudly that Hester Myers jumped several inches from the red velvet sofa. ‘A tray of large brandies - at once, man.’

  As a quivering Stevens scurried off to the drinks cabinet, Hester Myers eyed her stepdaughter disparagingly. ‘Well, I must say, Lady Ormiston, I had hoped for some improvement in the girl’s conduct. However, I can see that absolutely none has been made. It would appear that she is still far too unruly and wilful. Indeed,’ she continued with just a hint of hysteria as she dabbed at her forehead with her handkerchief, ‘I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that we shall never find a man to take her.’

  The dowager whipped a glass of brandy from the tray Stevens was now proffering and took a large slug from it. ‘Now, now, Hester,’ she replied briskly, ‘there is no need for us to despair so soon. There is a young man who appears, for reasons known only to himself, to have quite a tendre for the girl. I have it on good authority that he will be making an offer for her in the next few days.’

  At this revelation, Eleanor’s heart plummeted, while a strange choking sound came from James.

  ‘An – an offer?’ he spluttered incredulously. ‘Viscount Grayson is making an offer for Lady Eleanor?’

  Eleanor, tired of being spoken of as though she were not present, felt a large stab of indignation. ‘Are you implying, sir, that it is quite inconceivable that someone should wish to marry me?’

  James regarded her for a moment with a very odd look in his eyes. Before he could reply, however, Hester Myers cut in.

  ‘Well, I must say, Eleanor, that the news is somewhat surprising. Given that you display none of the characteristics present in … normal young ladies, I have no idea what kind of man would wish to shackle himself to an oddity who is so … so-’

  ‘Rambunctious,’ interjected the dowager.

  Lady Myers smiled gratefully. ‘Exactly, Lady Ormiston. I cannot believe that the man is quite right in the head.’

  At such blatant insults, Eleanor’s temper flared. ‘I can assure you,’ she spluttered, placing her hands on her slim hips, ‘that Viscount Grayson is quite normal. In fact, he is quite the most normal man I have ever met. And one of the most ….charming. He certainly does not think me an oddity. In fact,’ she continued, crossing her arms victoriously over her chest, ‘I do believe the man is quite in love with me.’

  Hester Myers gave a snort of incredulous laughter. ‘In love with you? How one earth can he be-?’

  ‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating, is it not, Stepmama?’ confirmed Eleanor defiantly. ‘If the viscount does offer for me, then we shall soon see who is right.’

  And with her parting comment, she whisked out of the room, leaving a stunned audience gaping after her, and James Prestonville taking another large slug of brandy.

  In her bedchamber Eleanor changed for dinner and, having calmed down somewhat, made her way downstairs to seek out her father. She found him, thankfully alone, in the rose garden. Linking her arm through his, she joined him in his early evening stroll.

  ‘So,’ said Lord Myers, after he had imparted all the news from home, ‘it looks like you will be a married woman soon. Indeed, I had the impression earlier that you are quite keen on this viscount and hopeful of an offer from him.’

  Eleanor gave a derisory snort. ‘That, dear Father,’ she said, hugging his arm tightly to her, ‘was for the benefit of the others in the room. Viscount Grayson does not interest me in the slightest. The man is quite repulsive and I can assure you that if he were to make an offer, I would turn it down in an instant.’

  ‘I see,’ mused her father; then, after a brief silence, ‘And there is no other man whom you would like to marry?’

  ‘None at all. I have no intentions of marrying anyone.’

  Lord Myers nodded pensively. ‘I see.’

  They wandered around the gardens for another half an hour, enjoying the last of the day’s sunlight. When they returned to the castle a little before dinner, they found Hester Myers in the saloon, looking as dour as ever, cradling a small glass of sherry. She cast Eleanor a disapproving look as the girl entered the room, giggling at one of her father’s jokes.

  ‘What is for dinner this evening, Stevens?’ asked Eleanor, still smiling as she accepted a glass of ratafia from his silver tray.

  ‘I’m not sure, ma’am,’ mumbled the servant apologetically. ‘Although I do believe cook mentioned something about ham and pea soup.’

  Eleanor stifled a giggle as she caught her stepmother’s eye. ‘Ham and pea soup, eh? How very tempting.’

  FIFTEEN

  Although a great many things were conspiring to do so, Eleanor did not allow a single one of them to detract from the pleasure of having her father’s company for a few days. Not even the fact that Madeleine appeared to have worked her charm on Hester and the two of them were seemingly in cahoots to make as many disparaging remarks as possible to Eleanor each day.

  Eleanor had ignored the spiteful pair and, for once, had been grateful for Derek Lovell’s brief appearances. The man incensed Madeleine to such a point that Eleanor was temporarily forgotten and all insults directed to him. James’s behaviour, too, had the potential to distract her. There was no doubt, as he stomped around the castle, slamming doors and barking orders, that he was not in the best of humours. He had apparently spent the previous day in prolonged meetings with the solicitors over the ‘title’ business, which, from his behaviour, Eleanor could only assume had not gone as well as he had hoped.

  Perhaps the largest distraction, though, which Eleanor was doing her utmost to ignore, was the visit by the Graysons later that day. The dowager, as expected, was in a flurry over the occasion and had worked the poor servants up into a veritable frenzy. Everywhere Eleanor looked that morning, she found one of them frantically washing, polishing, scrubbing, plumping or brushing. And, by the delicious smells of baking wafting around the corridors, the kitchen staff were working just as hard as their colleagues upstairs.

  ‘Good lord, Aunt,’ snapped James, as he entered the drawing-room and almost tripped over a maid dusting the skirting board, ‘is there really any need for all of this? One would think it was the King himself who was coming to tea.’

  ‘Now James,’ tutted the dowager, ‘you know as well as I that this visit could be far more important than one from the King. We must do all we can to further Eleanor’s chances of an offer. God only knows, it could be the only one we ever receive.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said James, casting a look at Eleanor, curled up with a book in a chair by the window and choosing to ignore the fact that she was, once again, being spoken of as though she were not in the room. ‘But perhaps Lady Eleanor does not wish for an offer. Perhaps, as she has informed us on several occasions, she still has no wish to marry.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ boomed the dowager, causing both Eleanor and James to start. ‘Of course the girl wishes to marry.
And she should be grateful that we have found someone of such consequence as the viscount who is willing to take her. I can think of a hundred chits who would welcome an offer from such a man. Now what we must do is encourage the man without allowing him a glimpse of our desperation. Come along now, Eleanor,’ she instructed, turning her attention to her goddaughter. ‘It is time for you to prepare yourself. Milly has strict instructions on what you are to wear.’

  A wave of despair crashed over Eleanor. ‘But the Graysons are not due for another two hours, Godmother. And anyway, what is wrong with the gown I am wear-?’

  ‘Your yellow gown is much more becoming. Now, go upstairs and change into it immediately. I have it on good authority,’ she sniffed disapprovingly, ‘that the Graysons have been known, on one or two occasions, to arrive a few minutes … prematurely. It would not do at all for them to arrive when you are half-dressed. Now hurry along, girl, and do put a smile on your face.’

  Milly followed the dowager’s detailed instructions to the letter, dressing Eleanor in her new yellow muslin day dress and arranging her hair in a fashionable braided chignon.

  ‘Aren’t you excited, miss?’ she asked, as she stuck in the final hairpin.

  ‘If you want the truth, Milly,’ replied Eleanor soberly, ‘I should prefer to chew off my own toes than marry Viscount Grayson.’

  Then, just when Eleanor had thought her spirits couldn’t possibly sink any lower, the much-awaited guests arrived: Lady Grayson in puce-coloured silk, dripping with jewels; Lord Grayson in fine military attire and the viscount in another ridiculously tight pair of black breeches.

  The dowager, as usual, had spent an inordinate amount of time planning the seating arrangements and had ensured everyone was in their allotted place well in advance of the visitors’ arrival.

  Once Eleanor had reluctantly exchanged the usual courtesies with the Graysons and the guests had taken their seats, she slumped back in her chair, having no inclination to partake in the tedious ensuing conversation. The dowager, Hester and Madeleine, meanwhile, were all evidently doing their utmost to impress the Graysons all hoping the viscount would offer for Eleanor for their own selfish reasons. Chattering ten-to-the-dozen, the three women could not have been more nauseatingly charming if their lives had depended upon it. They tittered politely at the viscount’s feeble attempts at humour; cooed obsequiously over Lady Grayson’s ostentatious jewels; and agreed wholeheartedly with everything Lord Grayson advocated. Eleanor had had to stifle a giggle when the man had been effusive on Lord Byron’s work. Hester had nodded her head as if in complete agreement, while Eleanor knew for a fact that the last time she had mentioned Byron, Hester had dismissed the man as ‘a crippled little rake’ and his works as ‘nothing but licentious rubbish’.