James fisted his hands. ‘I can tell you exactly where you put it, but wild horses would not drag me there to retrieve it.’
Felicity smiled beatifically before adjusting the top of her gown so that it was askew and pulling several clips from her hair, causing sections of tight ringlets to hang disorderly. James watched in amazement as she then began banging frantically upon the door. ‘Help! Help!’ she shouted.
‘What on earth are you-?’
Felicity tossed him a disarming smile over her shoulder. ‘Oh, don’t worry. You will soon see.’
A minute or so later, after some scuffling outside, the door was whipped open and the Duke of Swinton appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Lydia Armstrong and Lady Illingsworth, who was clasping a bunch of keys in her hand.
Upon finding a dishevelled Felicity alone with James, the two ladies could not conceal their horror. The conclusion to which they immediately jumped, was written all over their rouged faces. It was the Duke of Swinton, however, who spoke first.
‘Miss Carmichael,’ he began, in a tone that gave little doubt that he was of the same opinion as the two tabbies, ‘what on earth has happened? I hope this man has not been forcing his attentions upon you.’
James’s expression grew dark. ‘I can assure, sir, that nothing at all has happened to her.’
The two women gawped disbelievingly at James. The Duke of Swinton narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, it certainly does not look like that to me, sir. The girl is obviously distressed.’
All eyes turned to Felicity who was pressing a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, forgive me,’ she fluttered. ‘I didn’t know … that is … I didn’t understand when he said that he wanted to … Oh,’ she rasped, ‘I have been such a silly innocent. I believe I feel quite faint. Would you assist me, your grace, in seeking out my mama? I think it best, given what has … occurred,’ she glanced accusingly at James, ‘that I return home immediately.’
All three new arrivals were now eyeing James suspiciously. Lydia Armstrong had produced a lace handkerchief, which she was holding to her mouth.
‘Hmm,’ muttered the duke, scratching his head as if wondering how to proceed with matters. ‘I think that a wise idea, madam.’
Felicity affected a grateful smile, which encompassed all three of her rescuers, before waltzing victoriously out of the room on the Duke of Swinton’s arm.
Lady Illingsworth and Lady Armstrong continued to stare at an astonished James for what seemed like an eternity, before both wheeling around and taking their leave. It seemed to Eleanor another eternity before James left the room and she could slip out of her hiding place and sink into one of the room’s armchairs, attempting to make some sense of the incredible scene she had just witnessed.
SIXTEEN
When Eleanor eventually returned to the supper-room, she found James already there. Despite his furious expression, Madeleine, who was standing alongside him, appeared not to have noticed anything untoward. Obviously doing her best to incite a reaction from him, she was waxing lyrical on what a fascinating character she considered Viscount Grayson to be. Eleanor was only grateful that the viscount, her godmother and indeed Felicity Carmichael were nowhere to be seen. What was very much in evidence, though, was the work of the gossipmongers. Lady Armstrong and Lady Illingsworth, one either side of the room, had each gathered around them a gaggle of middle-aged matrons. From the gasps and glances emanating from the two groups, they were obviously freely embellishing details of the scene they had just witnessed. The Duke of Swinton, meanwhile, looking deadly earnest, was deep in conversation with his wife. A sweep of horror crept over the duchess’s features as her eyes flitted back and forth from her husband to James. Eleanor observed a muscle ticking in James’s jaw as he, too, observed, the happenings.
Madeleine suddenly whipped open her fan and began fluttering it furiously. ‘I am in need of some air, James. Will you join me in a stroll around the garden? Or perhaps,’ she added coyly, ‘I should ask the viscount.’
James heaved a weary sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘There is no need for that, Madeleine. I feel in dire need of some fresh air myself.’
Madeleine’s beautiful face glowed with victory. ‘Oh, how splendid,’ she cooed, tossing Eleanor another of her triumphant smiles. ‘I will fix my hair a little, then I shall meet you beside the fountain.’ She tossed him a knowing look before whisking away in a whirl of emerald satin, leaving James and Eleanor alone. Eleanor’s head was spinning. She had no idea what she should do. James was obviously aware of the questioning looks being shot in his direction and of the gossip wafting around the room with every flutter of the ladies’ fans. She could put an end to it all by revealing what she had witnessed. But, given that Felicity would deny everything, would anyone believe her? Perhaps then, she should inform James that she knew of the girl’s scheming. But how would he react? Would he think she was meddling? Following him around? Stalking him even?
‘Would you care to accompany Lady Madeleine and myself in a stroll around the garden, Lady Eleanor?’ James suddenly asked. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you are looking a little peaked.’
Eleanor’s mind ground to a halt. She opened her mouth hoping that some meaningful semblance words would emanate from it. It didn’t.
James tugged at the sleeves of his coat. ‘Come along,’ he said impatiently, already striding over to the open French windows. ‘The atmosphere in this room is stifling.’
At a loss as to what else to do, Eleanor trotted meekly after him. Quite what Madeleine’s reaction to her tagging along would be, she did not dare imagine.
To her surprise James had obviously managed to curb his impatience somewhat and was waiting for her just outside the doors. They walked together in silence along the gravelled path that ran around the house.
‘I say, Prestonville, you couldn’t come and settle a wager for us could you?’
Eleanor and James stopped abruptly and spun around to find a group of men, which included Smithers – the drunken oaf who had attempted to kiss her at the Carmichaels’ ball – sitting around a garden table.
‘Come on, Prestonville,’ they all jeered. ‘It won’t take a minute.’
James closed his eyes for a moment, as if counting to ten. ‘Excuse me for a moment, Lady Eleanor,’ he muttered through clenched teeth.
Eleanor gave a brief nod, before he strode off towards the men. Having no desire to be within a mile of the hideous Smithers, she carried on following the path around the enormous house. As she turned a corner, she found that none of the lanterns on that side of the house appeared to be lit and she could barely see where she was walking. She could hear the fountain, though, and therefore assumed she had only a little further to walk before she would be in a much better illuminated part of the garden. She had only taken a few steps, however, when she found that the ground was no longer beneath her. She had stepped out into thin air. And she was falling. A dozen thoughts skittered through her mind – not least that these might be her last living moments. But then, out of the blue, two strong arms caught her as easily as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. Looking up, Eleanor found herself gazing into the face of a man who looked exactly like the Illingsworths’ butler.
‘Lord, miss,’ he puffed, ‘you’s lucky I were ’ere. Dread to think what state you’d be in otherwise.’
Eleanor glanced down at the floor where a pickaxe was embedded, point up, directly below the trap door.
An ice-cold shiver shot down her spine.
Lady Ormiston, unable to conceal her impatience with Eleanor’s calamitous exploits, had been more concerned with the embarrassment the incident might have caused their hosts, rather than the narrowly avoided skewering of her goddaughter.
‘My dear girl,’ she had chided, ‘you really must learn to look where you are going. I dare not even think of the embarrassment you would have caused Lord and Lady Illingsworth if something … dreadful had happened to you.’
Eleanor, weak with r
elief, had wanted to reply that causing embarrassment to their hosts was the last thing on her mind. She was so overcome with the thought of the fate that might have befallen her, that she had been robbed of her ability to speak for some thirty minutes afterwards. Mr Stanley Mortimer, the hero of the hour, and the butler’s younger brother, had spotted the open door only minutes before the incident and had ‘nipped down’ to make sure all was in order. Having completed a rapid search of the cellar, Mr Mortimer had informed that he had found nothing to arouse suspicion other than the position of the pickaxe, which was generally kept in a garden shed.
Milly, however, had her own view on the incident. ‘If I didn’t know better, miss,’ she’d remarked solemnly, as she’d prepared Eleanor for bed that evening, ‘I’d think someone were trying to do away with you. It ain’t normal all these so-called accidents happening every time you go out.’
Having immediately dismissed Milly’s theory as absurd, the girl’s words had continued to play on Eleanor’s mind. At two o’ clock, in the dead of the night, she allowed them serious consideration and concluded that Milly may well be correct. What she failed to comprehend, though, was why anyone would want to kill her. She was just an ordinary girl of no significance whatsoever and, as far as she was aware, there was no one who would benefit from her death.
She was still deliberating the matter a half hour later, when she heard footsteps on the stone floor of the corridor. Her blood ran cold. Was she about to receive another visit from the Wailing Whitlock Widow? But it didn’t take her long to realize that there was nothing ghostly about these footsteps. She ran quietly to the door and pressed her eye to the keyhole just in time to see a man, wearing a blue brocade dressing gown, march by. Eleanor’s stomach lurched, causing her to fall back on to the floor. There was only one reason James Prestonville would be visiting Lady Madeleine’s room at this hour of the morning. And that reason made her feel decidedly nauseous.
By breakfast time, Eleanor had had no sleep and had worked herself up into the foulest of humours. Downstairs, she found, to her vexation, James and Madeleine already at the breakfast table. Had they dared to come down together? Surely even Madeleine wouldn’t be that brazen. Beneath lowered lashes, Eleanor studied them as she slipped into her seat. The difference between their two appearances could not have been greater: while Madeleine looked as fresh as a daisy in an apple-green morning dress, James’s countenance was one of pure exhaustion. Eleanor had sympathized with his plight the evening before but now she was devoid of any compassion at all for the man. Evidently he was not sufficiently concerned about Felicity Carmichael’s threats to be distracted from other recreational pursuits. In no mood for pleasantries, she merely grunted in reply to the pair’s greetings and shook out her napkin.
In response to Eleanor’s grunt, Madeleine lifted her eyes from her plate of food and surveyed her critically. ‘My, my, Lady Eleanor, it would appear that you are quite out of sorts today. I would have thought that, having been the centre of attention again yesterday evening, you would have been feeling quite the thing this morning.’
In no mood to be toyed with, Eleanor’s hackles rose. She fixed Madeleine with an icy stare, adding no more warmth to her voice. ‘Are you implying, madam, that I would risk my own life in order to gain the attention of a set of people in whom I have not the slightest interest?’
‘I am merely saying, Lady Eleanor’ replied Madeleine smoothly, as she delicately dissected the slice of ham on her plate, ‘that you do appear to thrive on having everyone fuss about you so.’
James suddenly slammed down his knife and fork, causing Eleanor to jump and Madeleine to jerk up her head. ‘For God’s sake, Madeleine,’ he snapped, ‘what on earth are you talking about now?’
Madeleine gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence. ‘I was simply saying, James-’
‘Yes, well don’t. I am in no mood for your ridiculous theories. It’s enough that the girl can’t be let out on her own without some disaster or other befalling her, than you-’
‘I beg your pardon,’ cut in Eleanor, gazing at him defiantly, ‘but none of those disasters were actually of my doing.’
‘So you say,’ muttered Madeleine under her breath.
A surge of red-hot rage crashed through Eleanor. ‘Indeed, I do say. Although quite what any of it has to do with you is beyond-’
‘For God’s sake,’ cried James, his voice now several octaves higher, ‘will the two of you be quiet. I have a thumping headache and the last thing I need is two bickering women-’
‘Oh, so you have a thumping headache, do you?’ cut in Eleanor tartly. ‘I wonder what could possibly be the cause of that.’ She glared accusingly at Madeleine.
Madeleine’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. ‘I hope you are not implying, Lady Eleanor, that I am the cause of James’s headache.’
Eleanor stuck up her chin defiantly. ‘Well, perhaps, madam, if you did not accept gentlemen callers to your rooms in the middle of the night, then-’
Madeleine’s eyes grew wide. ‘How dare you,’ she gushed, a slight flush appearing on her cheeks.
‘Oh, I dare,’ retorted Eleanor, ‘because it is tru-’
‘That is enough!’ roared James.
Madeleine tilted up her chin. ‘It wasn’t I, sir, who began making wild accusations about-’
‘Be quiet, Madeleine,’ he bellowed. ‘I am far too tired to suffer any of your opinions today.’
A flabbergasted expression spread over Madeleine’s face. Eleanor, on the other hand, was unable to control her tongue.
‘Oh, I see,’ she declared mockingly. ‘So it is tiredness that is to blame for your bad humour, sir. Well, in that case, might I suggest that if you stayed in your own bed, you might save us all the unpleasantness of having to breakfast with you while you are in such a ghastly frame of mind.’
James regarded her incredulously. ‘And might I suggest, Lady Eleanor, that you take a little air after breakfast to clear your head, for I confess I have not the slightest idea to what you are referring.’
‘Hmph,’ huffed Eleanor, folding her arms over her chest. Mirroring her action, James did the same. There then followed a brief hiatus where each furiously regarded the other. Then James suddenly thrust to his feet, threw down his napkin and strode from the room muttering something which Eleanor could only vaguely make out but which most definitely included the words, ‘damned mad women’.
SEVENTEEN
Two things happened over the next few days for which Eleanor was extremely grateful. Firstly, she received a note from Viscount Grayson informing her that he had a matter of some import to attend to on his estate in the north and was unlikely to return for some time. While Eleanor had jumped up and down with joy at the news, the dowager had been extremely irked and had loudly speculated for several hours on what matter could possibly be of more import than taking a wife. Eventually tiring of that topic, the old lady had then resumed her cursing of the thieves who had stolen the viscount’s carriage at the very moment he had been about to offer for Eleanor. Were it not for them, she had grumbled, she would be in the throes of making wedding preparations now, and Eleanor would be off their hands in a matter of weeks.
But Lady Ormiston’s rantings did not last long, for, in the second noteworthy event that occurred, the old lady contracted influenza and took to her bed. The welcome consequence of this occurrence was that Eleanor was, at last, allowed some respite from the Season’s hectic social whirl and, more importantly, from all the gossip of Felicity Carmichael’s staged seduction scene. By now, of course, the incident would have been embellished with a generous dose of fictional detail and scandalous conjecture – exactly as Felicity had planned it.
Although capable of attending events without the company of his aunt, James, too, appeared to have temporarily stepped off the social merry-go-round. Eleanor considered this a wise decision and only hoped the gossips did not look upon his absence as an admission of guilt in all that they were surmising. Madeleine, though, seemi
ngly oblivious to recent events, was evidently unimpressed at James’s decision. Her constant moaning and whinging at having to stay at home was becoming increasingly tedious. Indeed, since the Illingsworths’ soirée, and the ensuing row at breakfast the following morning, relationships between the various members of the household had become increasingly strained. Eleanor and Madeleine spoke to one another only when necessary, or when one of them spotted an opportunity to snipe at the other; Eleanor had no wish at all to speak to James, who was so grumpy he had everyone within a twenty-yard radius of him walking on egg-shells; Eleanor was avoiding the odious Derek Lovell at all costs, while Madeleine refused to be in the same room as the man; and Madeleine’s relationship with James appeared to consist of nothing but arguments and bickering. With only a few more weeks of the Season remaining, Eleanor longed for some normality and found her thoughts turning, with increasing regularity, to her home at Merryoaks.
The end of the Season was not sufficiently in sight, however, for the dowager to allow Eleanor a reprieve from her dancing lessons. A viscount’s wife should be an accomplished dancer, she pointed out – a fact which did little to inspire her goddaughter.
This particular day, in an effort to relieve her boredom, Eleanor spotted an opportunity to make a little mischief. ‘May I ask, M. Aminieux, if Lady Madeleine has arranged a date to meet your good wife yet?’ she enquired innocently.
‘Alas, non, mademoiselle,’ replied the Frenchman, unable to hide his disappointment. ‘I am thinking that the Lady Madeleine is an extremely busy lady, non?’
‘Oh indeed, she is, monsieur,’ nodded Eleanor. ‘However, with my godmother still abed and James occupied with business matters, Lady Madeleine should certainly have at least one evening free this week.’
The dancing master’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘Then in that case, I will be writing a note to her this instant.’
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 18
