by Tessa Candle
“It does agree with me, even if my husband does not.”
Eleanor’s best sangfroid was called for. “Oh? Has he dared contradict you already?”
Rosamond rolled her eyes. “I suppose he is right, but I do not like it. I want to dress up as a commoner and go into the village to attend the wedding feast of John Pines and his new bride, Mary.”
Eleanor’s lips twitched. “Well, disguise is certainly not without precedent in your life.”
“I know. I miss it, and I want to stay in practice. This would be a perfectly harmless diversion. We are not attending the mass this morning—not that I mind that so much, but dinner and dancing would be a bit of fun.”
“And why does Frobisher disapprove?”
“To hear him tell it, propriety is a secondary concern to the possibility that I might be discovered and ruin their party. He says no one wants the lady of the manor hanging about.”
Eleanor lifted a brow. “It is astounding that he of all people has so little faith in your ability to deceive. I have not so quickly forgotten how you pulled the wool over our eyes, reading our palms while posing as Mr. Hatch. A very fine bit of trickery. You are an honour to the profession.” She said it humorously, but it was quite true. Rosamond’s work as a fraudster had been impressive.
Rosamond blushed girlishly at the praise, and to Eleanor’s astonishment, became even more beautiful as she replied, “Why thank you. I am glad you do not hold me a grudge for that.”
“Not at all. You are a marvellous fraud, and certainly deserve the noble title you attained by deceiving your husband into thinking you were a man.”
Rosamond laughed for several moments at this backhanded compliment. “My dear Eleanor, it is so charming to have you here with us.”
Eleanor smiled. “In truth, Rosamond, I have been meaning to thank you again for taking me in on such short notice. It is a boon to have your company, especially now that Lady Goodram has returned to London.”
“You have thanked me enough. Truly, you should think nothing of it. Frobisher and I were happy for an excuse to invite you.”
“Speaking of your husband, there is a little matter I should like to discuss with him. Shall he be joining us?”
“I am afraid we shall not see much of him today. He is off with one of his foreman discussing some business or other at the moment. Then he said he was planning to call on Rutherford at Blackwood.
“Ah. That is too bad.” Eleanor tried to sound as though it were of little consequence. Her instincts told her not to discuss the cave matter with Rosamond until she had spoken to Frobisher. “But I hope those two will be plotting some way they might effectively see Lord Auchdun off. I am conscious of the blight I have brought upon your serenity here, for it is clear now that Auchdun intends to make himself as irksome as possible. He approached me on my walk, if you can imagine.”
“The trespasser!” Rosamond almost spat. “Frobisher expressly forbid his ever returning here again.”
Eleanor was amused by the moral indignation of a woman who had spent a good deal of her young life embroiled with criminal enterprises, but checked her tongue from making some dry observation about this fact. “Yes, indeed. Very badly done. Only Auchdun assured me he had the best of excuses—his undying passion for me and his need to throw his heart at my feet and beg for my hand, or some such rubbish. I cannot quite recollect the precise arrangement of his idiocy.”
Rosamond huffed in disgust. “Oh, I know his kind. So violently in love that they cannot render the object of their affection the tiniest courtesy of respecting her wishes. You refused him, I hope.”
Eleanor kept her face completely straight. “Oh no, I accepted. We should like to have the wedding here tomorrow, if it is not too much of an imposition. But even if it is, Lord Auchdun—Dunny as I like to call him—is already making plans as to how we may insinuate ourselves and all our guests into your great room for the event.”
Rosamond collapsed onto a méridienne amid peals of laughter.
Thus encouraged, Eleanor continued. “You needn’t worry about the expense of wine and like refreshments. My future husband does not approve of strong drink. So temperate and charming is my Honey-Dunny. I have invited him to come over this evening so that he might entertain us all by reading from Fordyce’s Sermons.”
Rosamond was now gasping for air. “Stop! I beg of you!”
Eleanor smiled. It was so beguiling to have a friend who understood her sense of humour. Among the ladies of the ton she had been so generally greeted with misunderstanding, or even whispered disapprobation at her tendency to be odiously satirical, that she found herself avoiding female company almost entirely. Lady Goodram was a notable exception.
And the men were not much better. Those who were not making themselves nuisances by trying to marry her were often too stupid to be any kind of company. Except at the card table, of course. Stupidity was an ideal trait in any adversary at cards.
But no artifice was necessary with Rosamond. She was sharp witted and humorous—and more than a little irreverent.
“Rosamond,” she spoke seriously all of a sudden, “I know I keep repeating myself about how grateful I am...”
“You have already said so, many times. But truly, having you here is a treat.”
Eleanor so wanted Rosamond to understand what she was feeling. “But beyond mere gratitude, I am so happy to have found a new friend with whom I can be myself. I do not meet many such in society.”
Rosamond reached out and took both her hands, squeezing them. “I hope you will stay here a very long time—even after Auchdun clears out. And that is pure selfishness on my part, for I am charmed to have found someone with whom I share such sympathy. Our very different backgrounds do not seem to matter. Perhaps it is because but I too have felt myself an outsider in society.” She shrugged. “That is mostly my fault. It is hard to make meaningful connections with the people one is deceiving.”
Eleanor nodded. When Rosamond spoke of their differing backgrounds, she contrasted Eleanor’s situation as the daughter of a duke. But Eleanor’s mother… Well, if Rosamond knew of her mother’s circumstances, she never betrayed a hint of it. But so far as the ton was concerned, Eleanor was as tainted as Rosamond. They were only rescued from ruination by the titled men in their lives.
“And yet, your background makes you interesting. With your wit and beauty, and now your rank, you could be the toast of London, if you wanted.”
Rosamond snorted in that unladylike way that had charmed Eleanor even before she knew her very well. “But I would still have to listen to all the spiteful witches whispering behind their fans.”
Eleanor’s heart clenched in sympathy. Perhaps Rosamond did not realize how well Eleanor understood what she was talking about. No, she must not know about Eleanor’s parentage. But, as much as she adored the beautiful marchioness, Eleanor could not speak of that even with her.
Time to change the subject. “And what shall we do with our newfound mutual sympathy? Now that we are confidants, we should find some scheme to test our allegiance. Highway robbery, perhaps? Or what of smuggling? I have always wished to try my hand at that.”
Rosamond coughed in feigned embarrassment. “It is not all it is cracked up to be.”
It was Eleanor’s turn to laugh. “What wonderful stories you must have. I look forward to hearing them all.”
“I shall tell you a few while we ride in the carriage, for as we are all shirking church today, I should like to go call on our neighbour, my new tenant. She never goes to mass. Your company would be charming.”
“Your new tenant? You have evicted Lady Screwe, then.”
“Not at all. I said new tenant because I have only recently decided to let the place to her.”
Eleanor was taken aback. She knew how afraid of Lord Screwe Rosamond was. He may have disappeared for the moment, but Eleanor assumed that as soon as Rosamond inherited the property at Brookshire, she would eject his wife from the premises, lest he return. “L
ady Screwe? You are going to call on her? You are letting your property to her?”
Rosamond seemed to be enjoying the puzzlement she was causing. “And at a very favourable rate, for her husband has left her with almost nothing to live on.”
A spark of real admiration, beyond mere friendly sentiment, ignited in Eleanor’s breast. She could not keep the wonder from her voice. “And you have taken it upon yourself to assist her.”
“I suppose, but do not look at me like that. I am not a saint.”
Eleanor smirked. “Oh, I should never call you a saint. You are not hypocritical enough to be noticed by the church.”
Rosamond inclined her head comically. “Thank you.”
Eleanor was still puzzled. “But how did it come about?”
“Lady Screwe came to call on me shortly after Frobisher and I were wed. She was desperately straightened, and if I had turned her out of Brookshire, I do not know where she could have gone. Her husband has made himself odious to anyone remotely respectable in their acquaintance, and she is painted with the same brush. I admit, my heart was nonetheless pretty hard. But she did not come to ask for anything. Her sole purpose was to apologize on behalf of her husband for everything he had done to me.”
“That must have been humiliating for her.”
“Quite. I could see she was in agony over it. In that moment I believed that she was utterly innocent of aiding him in his evil plots. It is always the people who are blameless that most keenly feel the guilt of others. Scoundrels sleep soundly.”
Eleanor sighed. “All too true. And not everyone is fortunate enough to marry a person they love and respect, for the business of marriage is such an auction block. It is a great blessing to have a father who has no interest in marrying me off to his advantage—or at all, really. I may have to suffer the ambition of suitors, but at least I do not have the pain of enduring it in a father.”
“So is Lord Auchdun only after your fortune, then?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Auchdun is such a strange case. I know very well that my fortune is the main inducement, but he has convinced himself that he would be rescuing me, somehow.”
“Rescuing you? What nonsense. He is the principal person you need rescuing from.”
“True. But he thinks he will save me from wanton amusements like gambling and drink, and who knows what other evils.” Eleanor’s face did not betray a twitch of humour. “Perhaps even waltzing.”
The arrogant fool also flattered himself that his own good name would cleanse the tarnish of her mother’s reputation. But Eleanor did not mention this. The presumption was infuriating, but she never let it show.
“Sounds like being married to him would be a life sentence in an asylum of boredom.”
“Oh yes.” Eleanor pulled a face. “But at least my father has no use for him either. As I was saying, Lady Screwe may not have been so lucky. Things are arranged so tightly in the marriage market that your family might foist a man upon you before even you know his Christian name, so long as he is a lord. She may have had no more choice in her relation to Screwe than you did.”
“You see?” Rosamond pointed her finger up to testify to the heavens. “This is further evidence of our perfect sympathy. For that is precisely what I thought. But on a more practical note, I also needed someone to look after the property at Brookshire, as I have no plans to live there myself.”
“But I am sure you could have found a suitable tenant who would pay you well, and who did not have such unpleasant associations.”
Rosamond’s face darkened. “I admit I am still uneasy about the possibility of Screwe returning—even though Frobisher insists he is dead. Yet there has been no announcement, no obituary.”
Rosamond lapsed into silent thought for a few moments. She must be terribly fearful, though she concealed it well. Screwe had mercilessly hunted her and tried to kill her. One did not easily get over something like that.
Rosamond perked up again. “Anyway, I am pleased with the care Lady Screwe has taken of the property, even with so little help.”
Eleanor could not resist a quip. “And the wife of your enemy might be your friend—though you are far too new to the institution of marriage to have entertained such a jaded thought.”
“And this from the woman who has never been married. I admit that I once had ulterior motives, but I have since grown to like Lady Screwe for herself. I should be very pleased to assist her, where I can.”
Eleanor’s face assumed the straight demeanour it was accustomed to when she was at her most sarcastic. “Perhaps you are on your way to sainthood after all. But take care, for if you are canonized I may not be able to tolerate you.”
“But you will not be rid of me so easily. If you tire of me, I will only follow you around and plague you with my company like Lord Auchdun.”
“Oh, you could never be as bad as that.” Eleanor shuddered theatrically. “But let us depart before the devil hears his name spoken and appears before us.”
Rosamond tilted her head and gave Eleanor a suspicious look. “Is there more you have not told me about his latest imposition?”
How much of what happened this morning should she tell Rosamond? Perhaps she should speak with Frobisher first. There might be some innocent explanation for what happened in the pirate’s cave, and Rosamond should not be needlessly disturbed while she was still haunted by the memory of Screwe.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I shall tell you all about Honey-Dunny on the way. Or perhaps I shall wait until Lady Screwe may hear as well. Make a good story of it. I had a champion, you know…”
Chapter 6
Washed and dressed in borrowed clothes that were not meant for a lord, but certainly for a gentleman—and he had to admit that he was neither—Delville prepared himself to treat Frobisher to more deception. It was a little sooner than he had planned to reveal his presence, but Delville could be adaptable. Only his friend must know nothing about what Delville was doing on his property.
Frobisher met him at the bottom of the stairs, attempting to look stern and desperately trying not to grin. “Still alive I see. I was wondering what had happened to you, but I know you well enough by now not to worry too much. A man who can return from the dead with such facility must be under God’s protection.”
Delville cocked his head. “Or he has a deal with Satan.”
Frobisher scoffed. “I would expect a rogue like you to have arrangements with both, just to hedge your bets.”
“I shall never be the one to admit it.”
“Come to the parlour, for you have other things to confess to. I will ply you with drink while you tell me all about where you went and what you did when you fled from Blackwood.”
Delville followed Frobisher. “I wrote a letter, as you may recall.”
“But there was not much substance, and it made no mention of where you were staying. I have been looking for you all about the countryside, you know. I even made enquiries in town.”
Delville winced internally. This was precisely what the letter was meant to circumvent. “That was good of you, but I suppose it is too much to hope that you asked after one Mr. Dee, and made no mention of any chap named Delville.”
“Good Lord! Are you still on about that nonsense? Of course I went looking for Mr. Delville, though I did mention that you might be going by the name of Mr. Dee.”
Delville sighed. That was even worse. “You are utterly useless at preserving a subterfuge. No wonder your wife never let you in on any of her secrets. Speaking of which, where is my fair cousin?”
They entered the parlour, and Frobisher poured them two glasses of wine at the sideboard. “You just missed her. She has taken our guest out to go call on a neighbour. And I am due to pay Rutherford a call, though I am sure he will be glad to see you, too.”
Delville pursed his lips. It was inevitable that he would have to sit down with both of them, and then the questions would fly. But he ignored the invitation. He would prefer to chat about the lady who w
as visiting at Fenimore. Yet it was best to appear not to know too much. “Who is this guest?”
“The Duke of Grendleridge’s daughter.”
“Ah yes. The one who was visiting Rutherford and his wife with Lady Goodram. We never got the chance for an introduction. What was her name again?” Delville assumed a blasé attitude, but he knew very well who she was. What he really wanted to ask was what neighbour are they visiting? He suspected he already knew.
“Miss Dawling.”
“What, no Lady Aristotelia, or Hyacinth, or whatever?”
“I do not know why, but she refuses to be called by her courtesy title. But if you want to be her friend, stick to Miss Dawling until she permits you to call her Eleanor.” Frobisher paused as though reconsidering. “As it’s you, just stick to Miss Dawling.”
He gave his friend an amused look. “Very well.” She was an odd duck, this Miss-Dawling-not-Lady-Eleanor. “And who on earth could they have found to visit out here in the wilderness?” He had a bad feeling he would not like the answer.
“Well, I cannot fathom what drives Rosamond to be so kind to the wife of the man who tried to kill her, but it seems she has taken a shining to Lady Screwe. They have gone to call on her at Brookshire.”
Delville took the wine that Frobisher handed him and swilled it back in one gulp. It was just as he feared. This was shaping up to be a bad day.
Chapter 7
Lady Screwe truly seemed very glad to be introduced to Eleanor, but she did not burden her company with any gushing on about the condescension of the visit. She received them kindly and humbly, with a quiet dignity that put her at ease. Eleanor could not but contrast this in her mind with all reports of Lord Screwe’s character.
The lady’s eyes were haunted with worried shadows. She was a handsome woman, much younger than her husband, and despite the signs of care impressed upon her features, still bearing some of the bloom of her youth.
