The Disgraced Marchioness

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘No. I realise that you have Eleanor’s best interests at heart. I have not given you sufficient credit for that in the past, have I?’ She gave him a considering look ‘Perhaps I—’ She broke off, redefining her thoughts. ‘But no matter.’

  She turned on her heel to precede them up the stairs.

  Eleanor’s eyes met Hal’s in lively astonishment.

  ‘Now that must be a first,’ he murmured, when Mrs Stamford was out of hearing. ‘Your mama’s approval is a state that I had never hoped to achieve.’

  ‘I advise you to treasure it,’ was Eleanor’s dry reply. ‘In all probability it will never happen again.’

  Before the Faringdon family could embark on their own social event, they were committed, the following evening, to the small soirée at the elegant London home of the Earl and Countess of Sefton.

  ‘I would rather not go,’ Eleanor stated, with every intention of following her statement with action, making a graceful withdrawal from the invitation. Taking the air in Hyde Park was one thing. So was an intimate family gathering. Even a private visit to the theatre. But appearing in public at so splendid an occasion, with the haut ton present, when she would draw the attention of, and need to converse with, any number of people without means of escape, was quite another matter.

  ‘If you will take my advice…’ Henry leaned heavily on the words, but with a bland expression ‘…you will present yourself with all the consequence you can muster as Marchioness of Burford and carry it off with the utmost assurance. I suggest you wear the diamond set, complete with tiara.’

  ‘But I don’t like the diamond set.’ Eleanor was momentarily distracted. ‘It is far too heavy, and the setting is very clumsy—it makes me feel like a Dowager of advanced years. And the stones need cleaning.’

  ‘You are a Dowager—so wear it.’ She silently dared him to mention her age, the glint of a challenge in her eyes. His lips twitched a little, but he desisted. ‘If you are carrying a fortune of badly cut diamonds on your person, personally designed by my grandmother, no one will dare treat you with anything less than supreme respect!’

  ‘But not the tiara!’ She might be prepared to compromise, but only to a degree.

  ‘Definitely the tiara!.’

  ‘It is not my choice of an evening’s entertainment either.’ Nicholas also would gladly have cried off. ‘Readings from somebody’s recent masterpiece. One of Lady Sefton’s protégés, I expect. A poet? Have mercy, Hal.’

  But Henry took Nicholas aside when Eleanor had left the room with more than a suspicion of a revolt in her step. ‘You should attend with the rest of us, Nick. It might not be the easiest of evenings for her—we cannot know—and Eleanor needs all our support if any of Lady Sefton’s acquaintances takes it into her head to play the grande dame and turn the shoulder. Besides, it will be good to see the Faringdons out in force.’ His lips curved a little as he anticipated his brother’s reply. ‘It is not necessary for you to stay for the whole evening. I give you permission to leave before the poet takes centre stage!’

  ‘Very well.’ Nicholas laughed. ‘Whilst you, for your sins, can stay to the bitter end, to wallow in sentimentality and bad verse. Tell me, Hal. You seem to have come to some accord with Nell.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. Since your visit to Whitchurch.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And you intend to tell me nothing.’ Had Nick really expected his brother’s confidence on this issue?

  ‘Something like that.’ There was nothing to be learned from the bland reply.

  ‘Treat her gently, Hal.’ Nicholas was suddenly serious. ‘She has had an unenviable time since Thomas’s death. And now all this…’

  ‘I have every intention of doing so.’ Nicholas flinched a little at Henry’s fierce response. ‘Do you consider me to be so insensitive?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Nick decided to take a step on forbidden ground. ‘It’s just that—you will be leaving soon—and…’ He found it difficult to continue under his brother’s intense stare, but then Henry shrugged and allowed himself a smile.

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, Nick. I will treat her gently.’

  ‘Don’t break her heart, Hal. She is very vulnerable.’

  ‘I am aware.’ An icy reply. There was no chance. No chance at all of that.

  Nick changed the subject with ease when it became clear that his brother would say no more. ‘I have discovered that you have a pronounced aptitude for management, Hal. I did not realise it—and must beware in future.’

  ‘I can only hope it pays off.’ But doubts crowded in. And not least that he was finding it increasingly difficult to disguise his emotions in his dealings with Nell. If Nick had his suspicions, he must be more circumspect. After all, who knew better than he just how very vulnerable she was? No, whatever was to come in the future, he must heed Nick’s warning and ensure that her heart remain intact.

  Eleanor chose to wear a stylish evening gown of amethyst silk. She knew it was beautiful and could not but enjoy the sensation of restrained good taste in the silk shell with its muslin overskirt, patterned with tiny flowers, falling in soft folds. The low scoop of the neckline served as a frame for the diamond necklace and she clipped matching bracelets over her long gloves. She even pinned the heavy ring brooch to the lace on the bodice. But wear the tiara she would not, the corners of her mouth lifting a little as she contemplated Henry’s probable reaction. A lavender fan with silver sticks completed the ensemble. At the same time she cloaked herself in a veil of calm confidence, determined to smile and find enjoyment in the occasion since her family were so equally determined to support her. There would also be friends there, kind and supportive, as well as Lady Sefton’s warm compassion. Nothing to fear, nothing to make her heart beat in her breast like a trapped bird.

  They gathered in the front parlour, Henry and Nicholas splendid and austere in black satin evening coats and breeches, white linen and subdued waistcoats. The Countess of Sefton might promise a small soirée, but they knew her of old.

  Eleanor thought that they looked stunning together. Tall, broad shouldered, lean and well muscled, their physical power and attraction enhanced rather than disguised by the formal clothing, she knew that they would take every eye in the room. They looked, she decided, dark and smooth and dangerous. How could she be nervous? They were quite magnificent.

  Quietly elegant in deep blue brocade with a heavy lace overslip, Mrs Stamford ran a critical eye over her daughter. ‘Very nice,’ she admitted. ‘Although, I have to agree, I have rarely seen so ugly a setting for fine stones. And so old-fashioned. What can your grandmama have been thinking of?’ She frowned at Lord Henry as if he were in some indefinable way to blame for his grandmother’s taste for the heavy and vulgarly ostentatious.

  ‘Impressive!’ was Henry’s only comment as Eleanor innocently arranged an embroidered stole around her shoulders, refusing to meet his eye. His brows arched at the lack of the tiara and knew that she was waiting. So he said nothing. But privately thought that she would outshine every lady present that evening. Her eyes glowed, reflecting the tint of her gown and her nerves gave her cheeks a delicate colour, with or without the careful and subtle application of cosmetics. She was lovely. He raised her fingers to his lips and bowed his silent appreciation, since he was in a position to do no other.

  Lady Sefton’s town house in Berkeley Square, large, palatial and expensively furnished, and at the best of fashionable addresses, had been sumptuously decorated for the occasion with banks of flowers and silk swags. And as expected, the cream of society was present to hear the lady’s fledgling poet.

  The Earl and Countess welcomed the Faringdon party, the Countess with a warm handclasp and particularly understanding smile for Eleanor. ‘Relax here tonight, my dear, and enjoy the company. I am well aware of what is being said. But you must not be embarrassed…’ She tightened her hold in warm affection and leaned closer for a private word. ‘I knew Thomas well. An estimable young man, of gre
at integrity. As are all the Faringdons.’ She cast an admiring glance to where the gentlemen were still in conversation with her husband. ‘So attractive… My guests will respect your position, of course. I think you need fear no ill will here tonight.’

  ‘You are very kind.’ Eleanor felt her colour deepen as emotion welled. ‘It has not been the easiest of weeks.’

  ‘No. But you are here to enjoy the evening. A little conversation. Some music. A poetry reading, no less, by a remarkable young man. And here—’ she beckoned a passing footman ‘—a glass of champagne. Permit me to tell you, dear Eleanor, your gown is quite beautiful. You must be sure to tell me who made it for you—later, when we have a little time.’

  Eleanor felt a gentle warmth creep through her iced veins with the bubbles of the champagne, bringing her alive again. How valuable good friends were. She need not have been so concerned. Across the room she could see Lady Beatrice Faringdon, as well as the Earl and Countess of Painscastle. She wondered idly if Henry had once again exerted some influence on this show of support. He must certainly have bribed Nick to guarantee his reluctant presence.

  ‘You must find your family most supportive.’ Lady Sefton picked up Eleanor’s thoughts before she moved away to greet more guests.

  ‘I do indeed.’

  ‘And I am interested to note a predatory look in Lord Henry’s eye for anyone he suspects of showing you less than good manners.’

  ‘Do you?’ Eleanor looked across the room to Henry in some confusion.

  ‘Of course. He is most attentive. And so very handsome. I am quite jealous.’ She tapped Eleanor’s wrist playfully with a pretty ivory-sticked fan and laughed. ‘Perhaps you should try to persuade him to remain in London. There are so few very attractive men in comparison. And certainly none, I suggest, in the marriage market!’ On a little laugh, seeing Eleanor’s deepening colour, Lady Sefton made her departure.

  Does she suspect me of flirting with Henry? With my husband dead little more than four months? Eleanor was horrified as she turned to look to where Henry was in conversation with his aunt, Lady Beatrice Faringdon, a stout Dowager of considerable presence in sumptuous maroon satin and nodding ostrich feathers. Formidable indeed, as her mother had intimated. Then his lordship looked up as if he sensed her questioning gaze on him and, unsmiling, very grave, raised a hand in tacit recognition before bending an ear back to the Dowager, who was holding forth on some subject. Yes. He is attractive. And he cares. No matter what was between us in the past, he cares. Whatever happens, I am not alone in this.

  And Nick watched the silent exchange. And understood. The flash of recognition, the almost intimate connection between them. Hal might as well have kissed her! The fierce heat, the intense possession in Hal’s eyes were unmistakable. He had set himself up as Nell’s protector, but there was far more involved here than family support in a potentially stressful situation. Just as there was no mistaking the delicate flush on Nell’s cheeks as she turned away. They might deny it, as he was sure they would. They might succeed in hiding it from the fashionable world, as was doubtless their intent, but Nick could read the love between them as clearly as if they had shouted it from the rooftops. He swallowed against the dismay as he contemplated the terrible uncertainty of the future.

  With a lighter heart, unaware of Nick’s concern, Eleanor turned her thoughts back to the pleasures of the evening. Behind her a familiar voice took her attention and she soon found herself deep in conversation about the prevailing fashion for silk-edged bonnets with Cousin Judith and Miss Hestlerton, a pretty girl related to the Seftons and in her first Season. Perhaps the polite world was not so quick to judge after all.

  But her renewed confidence was to be short lived. Lady Sefton requested in her gentle voice that her guests take a seat to listen to a poem, an ‘Ode to Love and Romance’, which was to be read by its author, a young man very much in the Byronic mode with ruffled dark locks and pale features.

  There was some manoeuvring and much comment in the salon as guests took their places or attempted to withdraw to a little side salon, which had been set aside for those whose taste ran to a hand of whist.

  ‘Eleanor.’ Judith drew her notice with a hand on her arm. ‘Can I introduce you to Lady Firth? I am not sure that you are acquainted. She has been out of town for some months with her husband who is a keen traveller.’

  Before them stood a thin, fair lady of her mother’s generation. Eleanor noticed that she had the coldest grey eyes. And for the first time there was no polite or welcoming smile, no exchange of light talk, nothing but contempt, barely concealed.

  The thought flitted across Eleanor’s mind. Lady Firth. No, she did not know the lady, but she knew of her. An associate of the Princess Lieven, which would explain much. The lady looked at Eleanor with a frown. She raised a pearl-handled lorgnette, with thin-lipped superiority. There was a world of distaste imprinted on her haughty features and in her gesture as she raked Eleanor from head to foot with condemnation in her eyes.

  ‘No, my dear.’ Lady Firth addressed herself to Judith. ‘I do not think that I wish to be introduced to this person.’ Her smile could have cut through glass, all edges sharp. ‘I believe that she is here under false pretences and has no right to the title that she claims as hers through marriage. Lady Sefton really should have chosen with more discrimination for her guest list—but I suppose it is difficult to believe the depths to which some people will descend to be noticed.’ The lady’s voice had an unfortunate carrying quality that drifted across the elegant room, slicing through the conversations. Heads turned in their direction. Silence fell. All attention was drawn away from the budding poet.

  Judith rose to the occasion without hesitation, eyes fierce, her red curls aflame with indignation. ‘I am certain, Lady Firth, that it is no such thing. The Marchioness of Burford is my dear cousin and worthy of all respect.’

  Eleanor drew herself together, all dignity and pride and glittering diamonds. She had expected to be overwhelmed with shame, but it was anger that surged through her veins in a veritable tidal wave. She would not bow her head before idle gossip and common innuendo. How dare this woman snub her in so public a manner! How dare she presume intimate knowledge on so delicate and private a matter! If Judith’s eyes sparkled with indignation, Eleanor’s flashed fury, entirely at odds with their beautiful, soft-violet hue. ‘It is no matter, Judith. Do not allow yourself to be disturbed.’ She bent her cold regard on the lady with a curl of derision to her soft mouth, spine held rigid. ‘If Lady Firth is sufficiently ill mannered as to discuss my private affairs in Lady Sefton’s salon, she does not deserve any word of explanation or apology from our lips. If she chooses not to recognise me, then—’

  A cold voice, frigid and lethal as the wind from arctic snows, interrupted and finished the sentiment, ‘—then it is her loss.’ A strong arm was placed beneath Eleanor’s and a long-fingered hand closed around her wrist in a firm embrace. At the same time she was aware of Nicholas, unusually stern and forbidding, standing to her other side.

  ‘Forgive me, Lady Firth.’ Lord Henry bowed with impeccable grace and deliberate intent. ‘Considering your ill-bred comment, it is not suitable that my sister remain in your presence. Come, Eleanor. You should not remain with one who listens to scurrilous gossip from the gutters and would give credence to it.’ The silence in the room increased, positively crackling with tension as ears strained to grasp Henry Faringdon’s words. He bowed again. ‘Since the Countess of Sefton has made us welcome here tonight in her home, may I suggest that your own presence, Lady Firth, is suspect indeed if you would choose to be discourteous to one of her guests.’ He turned his back on the astonished lady with deliberate and graceful arrogance and led Eleanor away towards a chair beside Lady Beatrice.

  ‘An excellent response, my dear Eleanor,’ he murmured through gritted teeth. ‘There is no need for you to feel in any way discomfited by such ill manners. Just think of what is due to the fortune in stones around your pretty neck!’<
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  ‘Of course.’ And she smiled, a little startled at his barely repressed temper. ‘Thank you for rescuing me, Hal.’

  ‘I do not deserve your thanks! You should not have had to suffer such crude indignities. Permit me to say that you handled the whole affair magnificently. You have my total admiration, my lady.’

  Eleanor made no reply, unless it might be the hot colour in her cheeks, unwilling to exacerbate the rigid tension in the muscles and tendons of Henry’s arm beneath her hand, masked by the softness of the satin. Conversation flowed on around them. Everyone keen to gloss over the slight to one of their number—for the moment at least. She took her seat beside Aunt Beatrice, who patted her hand whilst scowling at the distant figure and flushed face of Lady Firth. For the rest of the evening, Eleanor rose to the occasion superbly, with grace and assurance and humour, a residue of anger sending ripples of energy and exhilaration through her bloodstream. No one watching her would know the fear that lurked below the surface. But Lord Henry saw and understood.

  ‘I know that you do not want my gratitude, but indeed, Hal, I—’

  ‘I did nothing.’ Henry interrupted, more than a little curt. ‘You seemed to be perfectly capable of conducting your own affairs. Your demeanour and response to Lady Firth were both incomparable, sufficient to quell the most arrogant comment. A positive rout, I would wager, without any real need for intervention on my part.’

  ‘Why will you not accept my thanks?’ He saw hurt and confusion in her face, which strengthened his resolve further. He knew without doubt that this was the wrong time and certainly the wrong place for an intimate exchange of views between them. He had delivered Eleanor home to Park Lane and would now make himself scarce, for both their sakes. It would be too easy for emotions to run high.

  ‘Any man of honour would have acted as I did.’ His reply was thus even more brusque.