“I am glad of it,” he said. “But you will find that such an article will do you little good in London. And it still stands that Lord Benton will provide for you anything you find yourself in need of for the Season.” He added the term casually at the end of the sentence, as if assuming she would be in the city come spring. But if Lady Eleanora took note of his not-so-subtle hint, she did not reveal herself.
“My father is capable of providing for me,” she said politely, but with a tone that suggested their conversation on the subject was closed.
Alex recalled Gregory’s advice about women having minds of their own and decided he was not wont to press the issue of who should purchase the many items Lady Eleanora would, no doubt, require for a successful Season.
It is not my concern, Alex told himself and settled in for a long ride as the carriage lurched forward and started down the drive. Both Lady Eleanora and her maid turned their faces to the glass on either side. Alex watched as Lady Eleanora’s gaze remained not on the house but strayed to the woods surrounding it.
“Have you ever been far from home?” he thought to ask, worried that he might soon be seated across from a pair of overly emotional females.
“Not since my mother died,” Lady Eleanora said, offering no further explanation.
“Never, sir,” her maid added forlornly, further surprising Alex, as he had not been addressing her.
“It will be all right, Lucy.” Lady Eleanora reached for her maid’s hand. “Just think of the grand adventure you’ll have to tell the others of when we return.”
Alex watched this exchange with growing discomfort. Surely Lady Eleanora knew that a lady did not treat her servants as equals. Doing so would only draw unwanted attention and gossip to herself. He would have to speak with his sister about this. She would know what to do.
Still, another part of him felt a twinge of admiration for Lady Eleanora. She has not become accustomed to the snobbish ways of the ton. Not yet at least. He wondered how a few months in London would change her and found himself hoping they did not—too much. The idea of a woman who preferred fishing rods over flowers as a gift rather intrigued him.
The carriage reached the end of the drive and turned onto the lane. Lady Eleanora hadn’t ceased staring from the window, craning her neck in what had to be a most uncomfortable position. Alex decided now was the opportune time to put on the appearance of napping, so as to avoid having to converse with either female—especially if either was inclined to be sad.
He leaned back into the seat, closed his eyes, and carefully crossed his arms before him, holding the right on his lap by placing the left over it, in what he hoped to be a casual manner. He’d become good at disguising his deficiency in the previous years, though it was not often that he found himself seated in a coach across from a lady, and her nearness made him more conscious of all he lacked.
I am here. Henry is not. I should feel grateful. But as always, he could not summon gratitude to the forefront of his mind. The layers of guilt and anger burying it ran too deep.
“Please stop the carriage. I must look back at home once more and make a last wish.” Lady Eleanora leaned forward, as if to grasp the door handle. Only his hand on hers stopped her, but his other hand, left unsupported, slid from his lap and hung awkwardly at his side. Alex turned his body quickly, angling his leg to hide the abnormality. It was fortunate that Lady Eleanora’s attention was focused out the window. Her maid’s, however, was not, and Alex caught her questioning stare before she looked away.
“Please stop the carriage,” Lady Eleanora pled.
“We are going over a bridge,” Alex said exasperatedly, having not the faintest notion what she was talking about. “Can you wait but a moment?”
“This bridge is the spot I must wish from.” Her cheeks grew flush as she withdrew her hand from beneath his, but he did not think the color had anything to do with embarrassment. Clearly, she was excited about something.
“I must smell autumn once more and have a last look upon home. If I am to be in London for weeks, possibly, then winter will be here before I return.”
Spring will be here before you return, he ought to have amended but did not. First wishes and now smells. Nothing she said made any sense. He’d never thought of the seasons as having a particular scent, and he didn’t imagine that he was the only one who had missed this. Rather, she was possibly the only individual who discovered or believed they did. Nevertheless, Alex banged on the top of the carriage and called for the driver to halt just the other side of the bridge.
The second the wheels had stopped rolling, he jumped up and hurried ahead of her outside, worried that her timely appearance and seeming good humor at their departure had been nothing but a ruse. He did not trust her to be outside by herself. Who knew but that she had planned this all along and would make her escape and cause him to make good on his promise to abduct her if necessary?
She clambered down behind him, the skirt of her gown scrunched carelessly in her hand as she marched toward the bridge they’d barely crossed. He followed close behind, never allowing her to get more than an arm’s length away.
At the center of the bridge, Lady Eleanora stopped, braced her hands on the rail, and leaned forward, tilting her face back, and drew in a deep breath. This she did twice before her shoulders relaxed, and she released a blissful sigh.
“Isn’t it glorious? All clean and crisp and fresh.” She continued on without giving him a chance to speak, which was well enough, as Alex had no response. “Pine and earth and rain, with a hint of wood smoke.” She stared down at the water rushing over the rocks below them. “The river flows quickly here, but just a mile or so farther down, it becomes much slower.”
The perfect place for fishing, he wondered, recalling Henry’s unusual gift. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to be here all day.
“And there, if you look between the trees, you can see Father’s estate.”
He followed her gaze and saw that her home did make a pretty picture, framed as it was by the golden leaves with the colorful hills sloping upward behind. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply look and enjoy the serenity the view offered.
For the first time, he felt badly for taking her from it. But then he reminded himself that he and Lord Benton were about to do Lady Eleanora Whitticomb a very good turn—or so they hoped. Surely marrying well would be better than continuing to dwell here in isolation—no matter how beautiful a spot it was.
“Lady Eleanora.” He spoke quietly, almost hating to break the silence and peace surrounding them.
“Ella,” she reminded him. “Please.”
“Lady Ella.” What does it matter? he wanted to ask but didn’t. Ella did suit her better. It sounded far less fussy, and in the short time of their acquaintance he had already realized she was a woman less fussy than most. “We should be going. As it is, we shall already be arriving after dark.”
“Let me make a leaf wish, and then we may go.” She leaned her head back and studied the trees over the river. “That one, I think.” She pointed to a field maple and stared at it intently.
“A leaf wish?” He regretted his question immediately. Its answer would only delay them further.
She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Surely you’ve made a leaf wish before.”
Certainly I haven’t. “I’m afraid not,” he said stiffly, with a hint of irritation.
“It’s quite simple,” she said, her attention on the great tree once more. “You’ve only to watch for a leaf to begin to fall then follow its progress downward. Just before it touches the river, you make your wish. The leaf will carry your wish with it downstream.”
Absurd. Alex wondered if all women believed such ridiculous nonsense. The next thing, she’d be telling him she believed in fairies.
“And what good does that do?” He’d done it again. Why, he wondered, is it so difficult to refrain from engaging in conversation with this woman?
“The leaves continue downstream until they
reach the still water where the fairies go to admire their reflections.” She spoke as if this were a fact she’d learned in a school book.
“If a leaf is blocking a fairy’s view,” Lady Ella continued, “she’ll pick it up to move it. And if she touches a leaf with a wish upon it, she is obligated to use her magic to make that wish come true.”
“Ahh . . .” He nodded his head as if a great mystery had just been revealed. In a way, it had. Her mind is addled. Little wonder Lady Eleanora’s father kept her at home instead of taking her with him on his travels.
“It is all right if you don’t believe me,” she said without a trace of reproach in her voice. “Fortunately for you, you do not have to believe to have your wish come true.”
“I only have to have a fairy discover it.” Alex rolled his eyes at such nonsense.
“That is why you should choose a large leaf—like that one.” Of their own volition, his eyes followed her outstretched hand, pointing to an oversized crimson leaf as it relinquished its grasp on the tree branch and began to float downward, toward the rushing river below.
“Quickly, make your wish before it touches the water,” she urged.
I wish to be done with this errand. That was no good. They might well be halfway to London before the leaf made its way downstream.
I wish I could go back in time to the night Henry faced Sir Crayton. Another impossibility. Simple wishes might come true—only through coincidence, of course—but no power on earth could turn back time.
The leaf had nearly reached the water.
I wish I could do all that a man should.
“I wish Papa would come home, and I wouldn’t be alone anymore.” Lady Eleanora whispered her wish at the same instant he thought his.
The leaf seemed to pause midair, as if caught on some invisible breeze. It twirled once, then touched the water where it was quickly swept beneath the bridge and on its way downstream.
“Was that not my leaf?” he asked, exasperated that she had spoken over his wish, after encouraging him to participate in such nonsense.
“No one owns the leaves.” She spoke as if he were daft. “So of course two people can wish on one together.”
Of course. She was like a child, making up the rules of a game as she went along. “May I suggest that the same two people also make use of the same carriage.” He held out his good arm to her.
She accepted, placing her hand gently upon it, and they left the scenic bridge. At the carriage, they paused, and she removed her hand from his arm to gather her skirt. Alex stepped aside, to allow her to enter first. But he was unable to assist her, standing to her left as he was. She looked at him expectantly.
“Must I beseech you for assistance every time?” she asked after a few seconds had passed in awkward silence.
“Must you make a continued mockery of my arm that is lame?” She had to have noted his awkwardness and inability the day he delivered her letter. Did she continue to taunt him about it in the hope he would leave her behind? Would that I might.
“You have two hands and arms, do you not?” Lady Ella asked, meeting his gaze directly instead of staring down at the useless limb. “And you are a gentleman, are you not? I am not mocking anything but would greatly appreciate your assistance. This gown and my cloak are rather cumbersome and more than I am used to wearing.”
Considering her state of undress at their previous meeting, Alex could not argue with her statement. Silently, he walked around to the other side of her and offered his hand.
“Thank you, sir.” He heard only sincerity in her tone and felt strange comfort in the pressure of her hand on his as she climbed into the carriage. It was a simple thing, helping a woman into a carriage, but he felt oddly better for having done it.
He climbed in himself, gripping the side with his left hand while the right hung uselessly. Lady Ella’s attention was focused outside once more, and her maid sleeping. His embarrassment ebbed slightly, and he felt grateful for Lady Ella’s casual dismissal of his condition. But that did not change it, or the difficulties such a circumstance continued to present.
What a fool he was, wishing on a leaf for a miracle. There had been and would be none. And forevermore he would find himself in awkward situations such as this, save for the time he spent at home by himself. Forever alone.
Perhaps the only similarity he and Lady Eleanora Whitticomb shared.
Chapter Four
“Lord Benton has invited you to lodge at his townhome during your stay,” Mr. Darling explained as the coach drew to a stop before the steps of the appointed home.
Ella raised her head from where she had been resting it against the side of the coach and peered through the window and the dark at the tall, imposing grey building.
The carriage door opened, and Mr. Darling indicated that she should alight first. Ella rose from her seat and stepped forward, ducking as she exited the carriage and took the hand of the servant waiting outside. Lucy followed close behind, and Mr. Darling came last. Though it was full dark, a half dozen servants, their faces shining pale in the lamplight, stood on the steps to greet them.
A matronly woman with grey hair and a no-nonsense expression on her face stepped forward. “Welcome to London, Lady Eleanora, Mr. Darling.” She inclined her head toward each of them, then turned her full attention on Ella. “I am Mrs. Prichard, Lord Benton’s housekeeper. Lord Benton will not be arriving until next week, but he has been expecting you and has asked that I help you get all in readiness for the Duke of Salisbury’s ball. Follow me please, and I will show you to your room.”
No one had said anything to Lucy, and Ella floundered a moment, wondering where she should direct her maid, when another servant came forward and indicated that Lucy was to come with her.
Ella felt both relieved and panicked at the thought of being alone, but obediently she followed Mrs. Prichard up the steps and into the marble foyer. They paused just inside the doors, and Ella had a moment to appreciate the striking decor. Outside may have appeared drab, but the inside was completely opposite. A colorful stained glass sunburst headed the doorway of whatever room lay to her left. Gilded tables lined the hall, with vases on each, some overflowing with late autumn cuttings, while others stood empty but were no less pretty of their own accord. Jeweled boxes and other trinkets—each of which she would have liked to stop and examine—stood beside the vases, and elegantly framed portraits and paintings lined the walls.
Treasure. She had a brief vision of the items Father must see on his travels and wondered what it would be like if he ever brought even one or two of them home. It would have been a pleasure to display such things of beauty and interest in their home as well. Most of the items her mother had collected had disappeared in recent years. Seeing them made her father sad. And so they had been packed away.
Like me. What reminded her father most of his loss could not be wrapped in paper and shut up in a box in the attic. And so he had taken to traveling far and wide, where he did not have to look upon the daughter who reminded him of the woman he had loved.
“The drawing room is to your left,” Mrs. Prichard said, pulling Ella from her unhappy thoughts. “The dining room is behind it.” She walked swiftly, and Ella hurried to keep up. “The library is farther down the hall to the right, as is the music room.”
Ella longed to go in each of these, to see what wonders lay behind the doors.
“And there is the ballroom.” Mrs. Prichard indicated a far set of doors, also topped with a stained glass header.
Without waiting to be invited, Ella continued past her to the double doors and then boldly turned the handle on one and peered inside at the elegant, but empty ballroom. A shiver passed over her. A premonition? She had not allowed herself to think overmuch on Lord Benton. Yet here she truly was, a guest at his house in London. What was she to think? Was she somehow mistaken about his death, and he would arrive and take her in his arms to dance in this very ballroom? If so, would she find him the same as his letter described
?
“Your room is above, on the third floor.” Mrs. Prichard pulled Ella from her fantasy.
Something about the housekeeper’s tone seemed to suggest that this arrangement put Ella firmly in her place. A girl from Bishopbourne did not merit a second floor bedroom but should be placed farther upstairs, perhaps near the nursery.
I am no child, Ella thought as she squared her shoulders and followed Mrs. Prichard across the foyer.
With a last glance behind her at Mr. Darling, still standing in the open doorway, his outline silhouetted in the light from the gas lamp shining outside, Ella began ascending the stairs of Lord Benton’s townhouse. Halfway up, they turned and went the other direction. She took this opportunity to search for either Lucy or Mr. Darling below, but both had disappeared—Lucy to the servants’ quarters and Mr. Darling to his own residence, she supposed. She was surprised at the twinge of regret and discomfort she felt knowing that he was gone and wished she hadn’t been so entranced by her surroundings that she had neglected to thank him for accompanying her.
While she had not been overly fond of Mr. Darling at their first meeting, she had found him more amiable today and had found herself more curious about him during the long hours of their drive. More curious and sympathetic when she’d realized that what she had supposed was a great reluctance to hand her the letter last week had been inability. She had not noted, until today, that his right arm did not function as it should.
Upon realizing that, when they stood together at the bridge, she had done what she supposed any lady would—she had expected him to act the gentleman, regardless of the state of his arm. To assume any less would have seemed as if she were treating him as less than any other man, which she did not believe he was.
They reached the third floor. “This is to be your room.” Mrs. Prichard opened the door ahead of her, and Ella followed her inside. The chamber was lovely by any standard, but she felt especially warmed and welcomed by the tones of green in the bedding, wallpaper, and curtains. It was as close to home as she was likely to get in London, and it did her heart good.
Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball Page 19
