Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Be open to new experiences, no matter how shocking.
Chapter 12
“Where have you been?” Olivia demanded as soon as Eleanor and Cotswold walked inside. Ida rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.
Well, she couldn’t very well answer that, could she?
“At the bookshop,” she said. She could partially answer it, at least.
Cotswold removed her wrap and walked upstairs, folding it as she went. Eleanor glanced up as her maid ascended to the second floor, wishing she had the freedom to just walk away whenever she wanted.
Then again, Cotswold also had to stay up to help Eleanor out of her gowns after parties, meaning she was often up until two or three o’clock in the morning. And then up again at ten o’clock to bring Eleanor her chocolate.
So there was something to be said for being a duke’s dowered daughter—she would have to marry someone she didn’t know, but she wouldn’t have to lose sleep or bring hot beverages to anyone.
Unless her husband demanded she do so.
And there she was, back again in her conundrum. At least a maid wouldn’t have to promise to honor and obey until death did them part.
“Lord Carson was here. He was surprised to learn you were out. He left you flowers—look!” And Olivia pointed grandly to where Eleanor could see a large bouquet of flowers—lovely yellow roses with a few random white flowers joining the group sat in a vase on one of the hallway’s side tables.
“He was here?” Eleanor said, withdrawing her spectacles from her purse. Because wasn’t he too busy to be bothered trying to get to know her? Wasn’t that why his brother had taken on the duties of courtship by proxy?
Did that mean he was no longer busy, and her adventure, her translation, and all of her frankly inappropriate feelings would be cut short?
Please don’t let him be less busy, she thought selfishly.
“He was on his way to some business meeting or another, he said, and he just had time enough to stop by and ask after you and leave the flowers.” Ida recited the facts as though they had come from one of her books. Flatly, without emotion.
Perhaps that was why Eleanor always found Ida’s monologues—they couldn’t be called conversations, there was no conversing—so trying. She didn’t modulate her tone at all, unlike Olivia. Maybe she was overcompensating for their other sister’s exuberant spirit?
But now wasn’t the time to try to untangle the dynamics of sisters.
“Ah, so I was a convenient stop for him on the way to somewhere else,” Eleanor said, knowing she was being unfair—after all, she didn’t want him to stop going somewhere else, if possible, she’d like him to go far, far away—but unable to stop the piqued tone that crept into her voice.
“It is not as though you were here,” Olivia pointed out. Correctly, if annoyingly. “And he wouldn’t take tea, even though Mother asked.” She grinned. “I wonder if Mother would get Lord Carson’s tea correct? Perhaps we should have another bet.”
“That presumes Lord Carson will return for tea at some point in the future,” Eleanor replied. She walked over to the bouquet and leaned in close so she could smell the roses. They were beautiful up close, each bloom in the prime of its growth.
Only to be cut and placed in a vase, not allowed to continue to survive in nature.
And would she be seeing everything now through the lens of impending marital shackles? When even the sight of beautiful flowers made her throat close over and her eyes prickle?
Maybe she was just allergic.
Or maybe she was just lying to herself.
“Are you all right, Eleanor?”
She heard Ida’s voice from a distance, muted through the rushing of thoughts in her head. She noted that Ida sounded, for once, as though she was concerned. She must look terrible if her pedantic sister was worried about her.
“Eleanor?”
Olivia’s voice reached her through that same hum of emotion. Her sister stood directly in front of her, hands on her shoulders shaking her gently.
“It’s fine. Thank you,” she replied, looking at both Olivia and Ida. “Where is Pearl, anyway?”
Not that she was concerned that Pearl would follow Della’s lead and elope, but since that time Eleanor had found herself constantly checking her sisters’ whereabouts to make certain they were safe. That they hadn’t done anything foolish, that they wouldn’t bring even more scandal to the Howlett family.
That would take more than just Eleanor marrying Lord Carson. They’d have to find an unmarried royal personage or three just to right the balance.
“She is practicing playing cricket in the garden,” Ida said with a sniff. A return to her normal condescending tone.
“Ah,” Eleanor said. She took a deep breath, swallowing against the lump in her throat, then took Ida’s and Olivia’s arms. “Let’s go find her.”
Eleanor resisted the urge to squeeze her sisters’ arms, to remind herself why she was going to do what she was going to do.
Because she was going to do it. It didn’t matter that she’d rather be in prison, or a maid, or be forced to wear white for the rest of her life. Her family needed her, her sisters deserved their own chance at happiness, and it didn’t matter how stifling Eleanor found the prospect of marriage. Even to Lord Carson, who seemed like an honorable man with a staunchly supportive brother, a man who’d taken time out of his very busy schedule to bring her flowers.
If she didn’t anchor the family in respectability, there was no telling what would happen to her younger sisters. She didn’t want to think about it, but her father could die at any moment, leaving the four unwed Howlett sisters with nowhere to go and nobody who wanted them.
So she would do it.
If she could just prolong the moment until she had finished the translation, gone to a gambling house, perhaps seen Lord Alexander play cricket again. If she could just do a few of those things, the things on her precious list, those memories would have to suffice for the rest of her life.
That was all there was to it. She was going to savor this time, jump into the moments—however few there were—with enthusiasm and interest.
She felt a half smile on her lips as she thought about it. The next time she saw Lord Alexander, she would tell him that not only was she going to continue, but that she wanted more.
More wasn’t so much to ask, was it?
Damn it, he had never had to resist temptation so—so thoroughly before. He’d watched her from across the wooden table, her spectacles perched precariously on her nose, her tongue darting out to lick at the corner of her mouth as she was writing.
He wanted to lick at the corner of her mouth too.
He had returned home from the bookshop and stalked immediately to his father’s study—it wouldn’t be occupied. His father left everything to Bennett, and Bennett conducted all his business in the library.
The study had become Alex’s refuge, although what he was refuging from was something he shouldn’t be thinking about.
But he was. He absolutely was. About her and the past few hours, watching her translate the poetry as he tried very hard not to stare at the accompanying illustrations and wish he could enact them with her.
But then she had made some comment or another about marriage, and being female, and her lost tone made him feel something he’d never felt before. Sympathy? Or even empathy? Far more than just lust. Which he had also, but she was an attractive female, after all. He wasn’t the one with poor eyesight; he could see plenty of her and his vivid imagination could make up the rest.
Whatever the emotion was, he felt it, and he didn’t like it. It was too complicated, and he didn’t like complications. Simplicity was the best way to operate—one wanted something and one took it. Or took her.
This, this discovering that she was a person, a person with concerns and desires and a fierce intelligence he’d seriously doubted only days before—that was all bad. He was
supposed to be persuading the lady to enter into marriage with his brother, a simple equation of one lady plus one gentleman equaled a beneficial relationship for both families. Perhaps even for the parties involved.
Not this wanting to learn more about her, to discover just how complicated she could be. That she was far more than the sum of her white dresses and her poor eyesight and her delight in puns.
“Alex?”
He heard Bennett’s voice from far away, and he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts.
Bennett stood directly in front of where he was seated, his brother’s clothing indicating he’d just come from some business meeting or another. As though he didn’t know that already simply because Bennett was always coming from some business meeting or another.
Sacrificing his time, agreeing to make the ultimate sacrifice, joining his life with a person he didn’t have the luxury of choosing for himself.
And then suddenly he had an inkling of how she must feel, moved about the marriage chessboard like a pawn. A pawn dressed in white, stepping where she was told to go.
“I hate chess,” he muttered as he rose. “Were you saying something to me? I was thinking about—” her, he wanted to say, he very nearly did say, but he couldn’t do that to Bennett, not when so much was riding on the union.
“Thinking about whatever you please, I daresay,” Bennett replied, his tone envious as well as amused.
“Yes, that,” Alex replied.
“I was. You must have been thinking very intently on something, I said your name a few times.”
Complicated emotions could certainly clog up one’s brain.
“What is it?”
Bennett’s expression turned odd. Was he in the throes of complicated emotions as well?
“I stopped by the duke’s house today.”
Oh.
“Oh?”
“And Lady Eleanor was out. I was—that is, I was wondering if she was with you?”
Well, you did ask me to keep company with her in order to convince her to marry you. Where else did you think she was?
“Uh, well.”
“Because I’ve been thinking about it, and I shouldn’t have asked you to persuade her to marry me. I should be the one doing that.” He let out a chuckle devoid of humor. “I mean, she is to be married to me, after all, if you are successful. How odd would it seem if you were the one she spent this time with?”
No odder than having her translate frankly obscene poetry in clandestine meetings.
“Of course.” He should feel relieved. He did feel relieved. That was relief he felt, wasn’t it?
Perhaps he shouldn’t answer that, not even to himself.
“Only,” he began, not sure he knew himself what he was going to say, just that he was going to say it, “I don’t believe she is quite ready for you to approach her yet. I want more time”—to spend with her—“to persuade her as to your character.”
“My character?” Bennett said, sounding surprised.
And of course he would, since nobody had ever seen fit to question Bennett’s character before.
“Lady Eleanor is, well, there is more to her than meets the eye,” Alex continued, knowing at this moment he was speaking the truth. “She requires delicate handling.” And he nearly winced as he said that, hoping Bennett wouldn’t get the right idea about what he was saying. “And I think she needs more time to adjust to the idea of you as a husband. And you said yourself,” Alex said, spreading his hands out in explanation, “that I am the brother most accustomed to getting ladies to do what I want.” And then he did wince, but turned his head away so his brother couldn’t see.
“More time,” Bennett repeated. He paused as Alex nearly held his breath. What if Bennett didn’t believe him? What if he decided to forge ahead with his own courtship?
Then he’d have lied for nothing, and he wouldn’t get to help her find her joy. Or overwhelm her.
Or kiss her again.
Bennett shrugged, his expression relieved. “That is fine, then. I’ve got enough to deal with now anyway. Of course I will continue to dance with her and such, but I will leave the convincing to you.” He raised an eyebrow at Alex. “Unless you’re going to be taking her to more cricket matches.”
“No, of course not.” Yes, of course he would. He hadn’t missed her expression when she’d seen him shirtless. He had replayed that look many times in his mind as he thought about what it might look like if she got to see even more of him.
“Thank you. I do appreciate what you’ve taken on,” Bennett said in a sincere tone, nearly making Alex confess his lie. Nearly.
But the thought of her, of her expression, of how he felt when he was with her, made him bite his tongue.
What was the worst that would happen? He would spend more time with her, and eventually she would be married to his brother and all would be right with their respective families. Money, reputation, and honor, all assuaged.
It was perfectly fine, he assured himself.
Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Wear a color other than white, off-white, ecru, cream, or bone.
Chapter 13
“You will make certain you speak to Lord Carson and beg his pardon for being out when he paid a call.”
Olivia rolled her eyes behind their mother’s back as she spoke. The duchess was fussing with Eleanor’s hair, which was making Cotswold nearly dance with anxiety.
They were in Eleanor’s room, preparing to go to yet another party. Eleanor wanted to roll her eyes at herself now; when had going to parties become such an onerous chore?
Perhaps when she realized she was being sold off to the highest bidder? Or when she felt as though she was unremarkable except for her family name and the scandal attached to it?
Or when she had more questions than answers?
But it was her duty to attend the parties, no less a responsibility than Cotswold having to keep Eleanor’s clothes tidy, or the scullery maid to light the fires.
At least she didn’t have to iron or kneel in front of sooty fireplaces.
Pearl was still playing cricket, thank goodness, and Ida was off lecturing the mice on proper cheese etiquette or something, so at least two of the Howlett ladies (and their maids) weren’t completely miserable.
Eleanor glanced down at her gown, wishing it were any other color.
Although that would mean she was married. Or had joined a convent, neither of which she particularly wanted to do.
She had enough female companionship now, thank you very much. She didn’t want to squirrel herself away with even more women.
What she wanted sounded so simple, and yet was so complicated—she wanted to be able to wear colors other than white, she wanted to feel joy, and she wanted to know what it felt to be free to make her own decisions. Not even the important decisions. She just wanted to be able to decide on a lemon ice rather than a chocolate one. To take a stroll in the afternoon to the bookshop without having to clear it with anybody. Without having to have accompaniment at all times.
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” her mother demanded as she undid a curl that had taken Cotswold ten minutes to arrange.
“Yes, Mother. I should tell Lord Carson I am sorry I wasn’t here to greet him, even though he had given me no indication that he would be visiting, and it seemed as though he was just stopping by on his way to another appointment.”
Olivia clapped her hand to her mouth and uttered a quickly stifled snort. Even Cotswold allowed herself to smile, but it was tight, since her focus was still on that dratted piece of hair.
“Precisely,” her mother replied in satisfaction.
Eleanor should add another item to her list: Have her mother actually listen to her when she was speaking.
“Olivia, do go and tell your father Eleanor and I will be down in a minute,” their mother said over her shoulder.
Olivia darted another amused glance at Eleanor, then left the room.
“I don’t under
stand why you told Lord Carson you needed more time anyway,” her mother continued. Eleanor tried to edge away from her mother’s fingers, which were still creeping toward her hair, before Cotswold exploded in a fit of lady’s maid frustration.
“We know it is going to happen. Why delay the inevitable?” she said, not waiting for an answer from her daughter. Which she never did. Hence the listening to her daughter unattainable goal she’d added.
Why not delay the inevitable? Eleanor wanted to respond. Not that her mother would listen to her, but that was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? To experience something that wasn’t bland and merely tolerable. To do something good in the world, even if the good she was doing was highly salacious and entirely inappropriate.
To spend more time with Lord Alexander, who had the same feelings of uselessness she had, but the freedom she lacked. But who could allow her to share in his freedom, at least for a little while. Taking her to a cricket match, driving with her in the park, maybe eventually allowing her to choose her own flavor of ice.
To escort her to a gambling den.
When he’d first said it, she had thought it was merely something he was dangling in front of her, like a shiny toy. Not anything to actually play with, mind you, but something to tempt her with.
But why not? Why not do these things, all of these things, since she would never get the chance again? Since it was all, as her mother said, entirely inevitable?
“We’re all ready,” her mother said, nodding to Cotswold to open the door for them. Eleanor swept ahead of her mother eagerly, knowing that when she saw Lord Carson at the ball tonight that she would also see Lord Alexander. And she was going to insist that he fulfill his promises to her.
Before the inevitable happened.
“Alexander.”
Alex paused as he was about to accept his hat from their butler. His father seldom addressed him, and when he did, it was always to convey how deeply disappointed he was in his second son. He turned to see the marquis standing at the doorway to his study, his face set into its normal dour lines.
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