James and her father, on the other hand, had entered into the conversation very little. While her father appeared to be listening intently, no doubt forming his own opinions on the personalities involved, James seemed, once again, to have drifted off into that far-away space he inhabited frequently of late.
The inane chatter seemed, to Eleanor, to be interminable. Indeed the only positive thing to come out of the ridiculous situation was cook’s delicious spread, beautifully laid out on the ormolu table in front of the fireplace. Taking solace in the food, Eleanor reached for her third macaroon. No sooner had she done so, however, than she felt the reprimanding glares of her godmother and Hester burn right through her. Not wishing to give the pair yet another excuse to reproach what they would undoubtedly class as her ‘unbecoming behaviour’, she withdrew her empty hand and sank miserably back in her seat. The entire visit seemed to Eleanor to last three weeks but was actually little short of an hour. James, too, was obviously finding it difficult to conceal his boredom. After muttering something about needing to stretch out a twinge in his back, he had vacated his seat and taken up a position near the window. Eleanor was just wondering if she closed her eyes, how long it would take her to fall asleep, when she heard the words that made her blood run cold: ‘I wonder, sir,’ squeaked the viscount, addressing her father, ‘if I may have a word with you in priv-’
The knowing smiles on the dowager and Lady Grayson’s faces, swiftly changed to horror as James suddenly cried, ‘Good God, Grayson. Someone is running off with your carriage.’
In a flash, every one of the party was at the window just in time to see the burgundy crested coach disappearing down the gravelled drive and out of the wrought-iron gates.
‘Good lord,’ puffed the dowager. ‘I have never known-’
‘This is no time for talking, Aunt,’ interjected James authoritatively. ‘Come, Lord Grayson, Viscount. We must try and catch the culprits. If we waste a moment, they might get away.’
Muttering their agreement, the viscount and his father scurried after James as he strode purposefully out of the room. A few minutes later the rest of the party observed as the three of them, now mounted on horses, galloped furiously down the drive after the stolen coach.
‘How very odd,’ exclaimed the dowager, wrinkling her forehead.
‘Yes,’ murmured Lord Myers pensively. ‘How very odd indeed.’
Half an hour later, the three men returned to the castle with the stolen carriage. It had been found abandoned at the side of the road, half a mile or so away, with no harm done to it and no sign of the perpetrators. The incident had caused quite a stir and there was a deal of speculation flying around as to how the thieves had got into the grounds, and indeed the carriage, without being spotted. Eleanor, though, had no interest in how or why the thieves had stolen the carriage. Indeed, had she met the culprits she would have rewarded them for their impeccable timing.
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears when Milly handed her the carved box. ‘It’s a present, miss,’ she said proudly. ‘From all of us - for the picnic. Our Ed made it – it was his idea.’
‘Oh, Milly,’ gushed Eleanor, throwing her arms around the girl, ‘there is no need for any of you to go to any trouble on my behalf. The picnic was the least I could do.’
‘Not according to our Ed, miss. He thinks you’re a right one. Never seen the young ones as happy as that day they went home and all those rats had gone. Not a trace of them anywhere. Like a little palace it was.’
‘Yes, Mickey did us all proud,’ agreed Eleanor. ‘I paid him for his trouble yesterday. And I took some cheese and ham and some biscuits for the children.’
‘Oh, miss,’ beamed Milly. ‘You ain’t half a one.’
Eleanor returned the smile with one of her own. ‘Tell me, Milly,’ she enquired, her voice lilting with amusement, ‘is being “half a one” better than being a full one?’
‘Cor, miss,’ puzzled Milly, scratching her fair head. ‘Now you’re asking.’
As devastated as she was to see her father leave, Eleanor put on a brave face. She had wanted desperately to ask if she could travel home with him, but she had known all too well what Hester’s reply would have been. Instead, she had bitten her lip and not shed a single tear until she was in the privacy of her own rooms.
Regardless of Eleanor’s low spirits, the tiresome unrelenting round of social events continued. That evening they were all invited to Lady Illingsworth’s musical soirée. Eleanor remained unconvinced that attending the occasion would be, as Milly had put it, ‘better than moping round the house’.
Lady Ormiston, though, was in no mood for excuses and so, dressed in another of her new evening gowns – a flattering, high-waisted creation of purple-blue satin, Eleanor arrived at the Illingsworths’ Grosvenor Square mansion, accompanied by her godmother, James, Madeleine and the odious Derek Lovell.
Lord and Lady Illingsworth were two of the most enormous people Eleanor had ever set eyes upon. Evidently having a high opinion of their own importance, their attire was more regal than that worn by the King and Queen. Once greetings had been exchanged, the party made their way into the music-room, which was crammed with an astonishing array of ornaments, all undoubtedly intended to demonstrate the family’s evident great wealth. Eleanor’s eyes bobbed around the room, already milling with bodies. She recognized almost all of the faces: the same boring souls with their dreary topics of conversation and predictable witticisms. She really was feeling so out of sorts that she couldn’t even pretend to be interested. She spotted the Duke and Duchess of Swinton talking to Lord and Lady Stannington. Then, continuing her scan, her eyes suddenly met a pair of insipid blue ones, glaring at her menacingly – Felicity Carmichael. Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat and she quickly averted her gaze. Felicity and her mother were over the other side of the room, deep in conversation with Lady Lydia Armstrong – a renowned gossip. Eleanor hoped desperately that there would be no time for the pair to wind their way over to her party before the performances began. Thankfully there was not and, as the performances were announced, it was with a sigh of relief that Eleanor took her seat on one of the rows of blue gilt chairs, which had been laid out before the pianoforte. She found herself sandwiched between her godmother and James. She slanted a glance at him. He looked as though he would rather be anywhere other than the musical soirée or, more likely, anywhere where Felicity Carmichael was not. The same dark, angry expression he had borne for the last few days was still very much in evidence. Madeleine, meanwhile, was, as usual, oblivious to anyone’s needs but her own.
‘James, darling,’ she purred, just as they had taken their seats – Eleanor on James’s right and Madeleine on his left - ‘I am thirsty. Would you be a dear and bring me a glass of champagne?’
James didn’t look at her. ‘The performance is about to start, Madeleine,’ he replied impatiently.
‘Oh, but I am so thirsty, I shall die if I do not have my champagne.’
‘For God’s sake, Madeleine,’ snapped James, ‘I am not going to get you any champagne. Now kindly be quiet!’
Madeleine gasped at James’s outburst, which had been so loud, it had caused two rows of inquisitive, scandal-seeking heads to swing around.
Not wishing to create even more of a spectacle, Madeleine stuck out her bottom lip and folded her arms across her chest. Eleanor resisted a giggle. Perhaps, she thought, the Illingsworths’ soirée might not be so boring after all.
Eleanor’s optimism proved short-lived. She had endured a painful piece by Haydn played by a gentleman so old and frail she was afraid he might collapse at any point, and an Italian piece sung by a spotty young girl who was so nervous she was perspiring profusely. So jaded was Eleanor that at one stage she lost the fight with her eyelids and had nodded off only to wake by James nudging her in the ribs. She was grateful when the interval was called and they made their way to the supper-room. The gargantuan feast laid out there provided a hefty clue as to how the Illingsworths had acquired thei
r bulk.
‘Good evening, Lady Ormiston,’ came a high-pitched male voice, just as Eleanor reached for a lobster patty.
‘Ah, Viscount Grayson,’ gushed the dowager, spinning around to face the young man. ‘How very splendid. Eleanor was so hoping you would be here this evening, weren’t you, dear?’ She glared imploringly at her goddaughter.
Eleanor steeled herself before turning around to face the man. ‘Good evening, Viscount,’ she said, her tone and expression completely neutral as she dipped a curtsy.
‘Lady Eleanor,’ he leered, almost salivating as he drank in the low cut of her dress. ‘May I ask if you are enjoying the performances this evening?’
Eleanor looked at him blankly. ‘I must confess, sir, I have never spent an evening quite like it.’
A snort of laughter, transformed hastily into a cough, came from behind her. She spun around to find James there. He and the viscount exchanged pleasantries.
‘I trust, sir,’ squeaked the viscount, ‘that you have had no more trouble with thieves at Whitlock following the incident with our carriage?’
James adopted a very serious countenance. ‘Thankfully we have not. It would appear, Viscount, that the incident with your carriage was quite … unique.’
Just at that moment, the butler appeared. He held out a silver platter to James. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but an urgent note has just been delivered for you.’
‘For me? Who on earth-?’
James retrieved the envelope from the tray and tore it open. Unfolding the note, he read the contents, the furrows on his forehead deepening.
‘I’m afraid,’ he said, refolding the paper and slipping it into his pocket, ‘that you will have to excuse me. I have a little … personal matter to attend to.’
The dowager shook her head. ‘Hmph, I think the least we ladies know of your personal matters, James, the better, don’t you?’
James appeared not to have heard his aunt’s comment. Looking in equal part both worried and puzzled, he took his leave of them.
While the dowager continued her mutterings about young men today, Eleanor observed the other guests. Felicity Carmichael and her mother, both with plates piled high with food, were chatting to Lord Kennilworth; the Duke and Duchess of Swinton formed part of a group from which regular bursts of laughter were forthcoming; Lord Illingsworth had cornered pretty Penelope Hartly, who looked desperate to escape his overpowering attentions; while Lady Illingsworth appeared to be having a similar effect on a short young man who looked as though he were about to be suffocated by the woman’s enormous bosom levelled exactly with his head.
‘Where is James?’ demanded Madeleine, returning from her chat with Lydia Armstrong. ‘Do not tell me he has gone to the card-room with that hideous man Lovell.’
‘He has not,’ replied the dowager defensively. ‘He had a little business to attend to. He will be back shortly.’
‘Hmm,’ huffed Madeleine, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘He is not at all attentive to me this evening. In fact, he is so grumpy he has quite put me in a bad humour. I would wager, Viscount,’ she peered seductively at the man through a fan of dark lashes, ‘that you would not treat a lady so.’
While Madeleine flirted with the viscount, and the dowager exchanged pleasantries with another matronly figure, an uneasy feeling wriggled its way under Eleanor’s skin regarding James and the note. Whilst no one was paying her any attention, she put down her plate with the untouched lobster patty and walked nonchalantly towards the door.
Unfortunately, there was no sign of James in the entrance hall and she had no idea where he had intended to go. At a lack of any better ideas she decided to explore the ground floor first. She turned a corner and made her way down a brightly lit corridor in which it appeared their hosts had attempted to cram as many family portraits, side tables and artefacts as they possibly could.
Suddenly, from around the corner, Eleanor heard approaching footsteps and the swishing of skirts. Her blood ran cold and her heart began to race. Whoever it was, she had a strong presentiment that she did not wish to encounter them. The door to her left was slightly ajar. Without wasting a moment, she pushed it open and slipped into an ostentatious drawing-room crammed with yet more of the Illingsworths’ valuable possessions. She quickly assessed the best place to hide. A large armoire stood in a dimly lit corner, with a narrow space between it and the wall. Eleanor squeezed into the space at exactly the same time as the swishing skirts entered the room.
The skirts continued their swishing as their wearer paced the marble floor. Eleanor stood stock-still, hardly daring to breathe. She did not have long to wait before the woman’s identity was revealed – the moment a second person entered the room.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Felicity Carmichael.
‘You!’ spat an obviously surprised James.
Eleanor stifled a gasp. What on earth did Felicity Carmichael want with James now? Surely the girl hadn’t come up with yet more ridiculous threats.
‘But of course,’ tittered Felicity. ‘You didn’t actually believe your little duchess would dare to meet with you again, did you?’
James said nothing.
‘However, before we begin our discussion proper,’ continued Felicity imperiously, ‘I should point out that I do not care to be kept waiting.’
‘Well, I beg your pardon,’ replied James, his tone dripping with sarcasm, ‘but I am afraid that the call of nature comes before any of your wishes.’
Eleanor dared to sneak a peep at the scene. She watched as Felicity, in an unflattering amber gown, bustled over to the door and turned the key in the lock.
‘Why on earth are you locking the door?’ asked James, running a hand through his hair.
Felicity tossed her ringlets. ‘I do not want to be disturbed, sir,’ she replied, depositing the key down the deep cleft between her full breasts. ‘What I have to say is for our ears only.’
‘Oh, really?’ snorted James, placing his hands on his hips. ‘I think perhaps what you actually mean, madam, is that you do not wish anyone else to overhear your pathetic blackmailing attempts.’
‘There is no need to be facetious, sir,’ said Felicity, sauntering over to a sofa by the window with a row of neatly placed cushions. Eleanor watched as the girl randomly scattered the cushions about both the sofa and the floor. Then, turning to James, she said, ‘Please do forgive me, if I sit down. It is not recommended that a woman in my condition stands for long periods of time.’
An incredulous expression spread over James’s face. ‘A woman in your condit- What on earth are you-?’
Felicity lowered herself on to the sofa and smoothed down her skirts. ‘It would appear, sir, that you have forgotten our conversation at my come out ball. The conversation in which I informed you of my second plan.’
‘Ah, yes,’ smirked James, thrusting his hands into his pockets and regarding the ceiling as though deep in thought. ‘The plan where you claim to be carrying my child.’
Felicity flashed him a triumphant smile. ‘The very same. And this evening I merely wished to inform you that I have made impressive progress with that plan. So impressive, in fact, that we shall be in a position to announce our betrothal in a matter of weeks.’
James snorted incredulously.
Felicity ignored him and, still smoothing down her skirts, continued with her speech. ‘I have given the matter careful consideration. Events have occurred in such a timely fashion that we shall make our announcement at the masquerade ball at Almack’s at the end of the month. Just after the unmasking at midnight would be so romantic, don’t you agree?’
James gave a hollow laugh. ‘If you think for one moment that anyone will believe you, then you are gravely mistaken. Besides, even if you did get me down the aisle, I would not lay a finger on you and, within a few months, you would be exposed for the fraud that you are. Unless of course,’ he added, slapping a hand to his forehead, ‘you intend to say, after a reasonable amount of time, that you have simply lost
the child. Well, I can assure you, madam, that by that time there would be so much gossip flying around that no one would believe that story either.’
Felicity smiled serenely. ‘Oh, I am in complete agreement, sir. Which is why I actually am now with child. And, when it is born, everyone will assume it is yours – merely arrived a little earlier than expected.’
James’s mouth twisted into a contemptuous sneer. ‘If you expect me to believe that, then you must think I have windmills in my head.’
‘Oh, I can assure you, I do not think that at all,’ informed Felicity evenly. ‘I would not wish for a husband who was not exceedingly clever.’
‘To be honest, Miss Carmichael,’ snarled James, ‘I do not give a flying fig for your requirements of a husband. Now, if you will excuse me, I have nothing more to say on this absurd matter.’
Still holding her breath, Eleanor watched as he marched to the door and turned the brass knob. Realizing it was still locked, he swung around. ‘I should be grateful, madam, if you would unlock the door at once.’
‘Ah, yes. The door,’ mused Felicity, rising from her chair and sashaying over to him. Stopping directly in front of him, she raised a podgy finger to her lips. ‘Oh dear. I have quite forgotten where I put the key.’
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 17
