A Yuletide Regency (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 21)
Page 17
That was before he’d made a respectable name for himself, rising well above the humble station she’d forever be compelled to remain in. Most days, she accepted her lot and enjoyed educating the Brunson girls in everything they needed to know, from literature to French and Latin to etiquette and even some arithmetic.
The latter wasn’t often seen as necessary for girls to learn, but Eleanor knew that many a lady served an important function in running her household and found far more success doing so if she understood how to count basic figures and manage money. Generally, Eleanor felt content enough, knowing that she performed an important work in raising little girls who would one day be women in need of the very skills they were learning from her.
Moments of discontent crept in, of course, but they were rare and quashed without much more than an intentional shift of thought or attention.
But not today. Not with Julian so near, not with so many hopes she’d once dreamed returning to the fore unbidden, many of which had been forgotten. They now showed themselves with greater clarity, as if a bright ray of sun lit them up and removed all shadows—shadows Eleanor had placed them in deliberately, to protect her heart.
At long last, the service ended, and the two Brunson pews emptied. Eleanor led the way with the girls, followed by Julian and the boys, then their parents and the Edgleys. The family servants who were working over the holiday descended the stairs from the gallery.
As Eleanor walked outside into the wet day, she wished she and the children had been able to take the other carriage instead of walking, no matter that they were so near the house. Rain had come down during the service, making the road little more than a winding ribbon of slippery mud. She took Kate’s hand on one side and Emma’s on the other and proceeded to pick her way through the worst of the mud, which ran along the road before the chapel.
When they reached the lesser-traveled road leading to the house, the way proved far less treacherous. And after preventing two falls from Kate and one from Emma on the muddier road, they emerged on the other side of a particularly bad area onto mostly wet gravel with the occasional divot and small puddle for the remainder of the way.
The boys had somehow convinced Julian to walk with them instead of taking the carriage back, and soon Eleanor discovered that the road was plenty wide for several adults. When Kate released her hand and skipped ahead with Emma toward home, Julian stepped to Eleanor’s side and walked with her.
“I hope Henry sends a buggy to fetch the goose,” Julian said suddenly.
For the slightest moment, Eleanor didn’t know what he meant—having him so near made thinking difficult. “Oh, Cook is on her way to fetch the goose.” ’Twas a rare kitchen, even at a fine estate, that possessed an oven large enough to fit a large goose for the Christmas feast. Some years, the family had other fowl, which didn’t necessitate a trip to buy a fully-cooked goose on Christmas Day.
Eleanor tried to find something to say in response but found her tongue firmly attached to the bottom of her mouth. A strange tension spread between her and Julian, and she didn’t know how to break through it. Then again, ten years was plenty of time to build a barrier. Removing such a barrier couldn’t be done in a matter of hours.
And if such a barrier and its accompanying tension were successfully removed, what would conversation be like then? Eleanor the Spinster would still be speaking with Captain Stephens. He wouldn’t see the young woman she’d once been. Perhaps breaking down the awkward barrier would not be worth the effort after all.
They walked along for a few moments in silence before hearing rapid footsteps behind them. Henry appeared, pink-cheeked and smiling widely.
Julian looked at him, puzzled. “Where’s Mrs. Brunson?” he asked Henry.
“She’s gone with Cook to fetch the goose.”
“Ah.” Julian said, and they continued walking. The girls had all but disappeared into the distance, and the boys were close on their heels. That left the three adults who’d once been young friends.
Why did growing up have to introduce complexities? A grown woman simply wasn’t a girl anymore. Societal rules were different about how men—even those she’d known all her life—spoke to and interacted with her. Add to that the fact that she was considerably lower in station than either of these two men, and it was no wonder she felt an awkward unease.
How, precisely, did one navigate uncharted waters such as these?
“Miss Hadfield, I’m glad you stayed through the holiday,” Henry said.
“You are?” she said, aware of her voice quaking. She swallowed to prevent it from cracking again.
This was her fifth year as governess at Willowsmeade, and not once had she ever left for the holiday. Why would she, when her only living relations were her cousins? She supposed she could request to not work during the Christmas holiday, but in that case, her presence at Willowsmeade would complicate matters. Was she then family or servant? Best to simply continue on as governess through the holiday season as if nothing had changed.
And nothing ever had. Not until this Christmas. Julian’s return changed everything.
“I’m very glad you’re here,” Henry continued, “because I’m concerned about our dear friend Julian.” He thumped a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You see, Miss Hadfield, I’m in need of your assistance.”
Eleanor and Julian exchanged befuddled glances. “You are?” she asked.
“Indeed, I am. You see, I’ve long said that Julian must find a good wife. I suspect he’s finally ready to abandon naval life, and the proper time has come for him to find a suitable lady.”
“I may need some time to lose my sea legs,” Julian said with a smile. A bit of color crept up his neck, though Eleanor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.
“Your sea legs will be gone soon enough,” Henry said, batting his hand as if the idea were a fly. “The difficult part is in finding the right lady.”
Henry leaned forward to look around Julian at Eleanor, who prayed he didn’t note her own pinked cheeks. A similar color continued to rise on Julian’s neck, though likely for different reasons. He probably did not enjoy being the subject of such a conversation.
For her part, Eleanor’s cheeks felt so hot that they were surely nearing crimson. Thinking of Julian with another woman as his wife set her heart racing and her throat tightening. She daren’t look up at Julian again to see if he approved of the idea, but he didn’t voice any protest, which was answer enough to her silent question.
And why wouldn’t Julian want a wife? He should want one, and she should be glad to see him happily married. Should. Instead, the idea felt like a brick in her middle.
Henry continued, clearly unaware of the awkwardness he’d created, “I need all the help I can get to marry off my sorry bachelor friend, and you, dear Miss Hadfield, are just the person to help.”
Eleanor wanted to say that seeking out and finding Julian a wife was the very last thing she was suited to do. Any Mrs. Stephens had to be worthy of him, which eliminated most women out of hand, including Eleanor herself. If her father hadn’t squandered his estate, lost her dowry, and died penniless, and she were several years younger, then things might have turned out differently. But they hadn’t.
“I’m considering hosting a ball,” Henry went on, “with the specific object of finding Julian a wife.”
“Please,” Julian began, “there’s no need—”
“I insist.” Henry clapped his hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You deserve the happiness of a wife and children. If you’re done exploring the world by ship, I can lead you to happiness on terra firma.”
“Can you, now?” Julian replied dryly. He clearly didn’t believe Henry could do any such thing, no matter how pure his intent. “We are very different men, you and I.”
“Why does a difference in character have any bearing whatsoever on your finding a suitable match?” Henry demanded. “Especially when I’m enlisting the help of the one other person who knew you as a boy and therefore knows your temperament
as well as I do.” They reached the drive leading up to the house. Henry stopped and turned to look at them. “So, what say you?”
Was he directing the question at her or Julian? She had no memory of walking the last several minutes, only of the hideous conversation. She must have traversed those yards under her own power, one foot after the other, all without conscious thought, her mind entirely preoccupied by Henry’s intent on finding a wife for Julian—and his insistence that she have a role in the venture.
“Hmm?” Henry murmured, brows raised. He clearly expected an answer. “Can I rely on you to help me find the perfect wife for Julian at a ball?”
“I’m standing not two feet from you,” Julian said. “I can hear every word, Henry.”
The corner of Henry’s mouth quirked with amusement. “I should hope so. You aren’t so old that you need a listening horn, but you are a pathetic old bachelor, and you’ll remain one unless those of us who care about you take action to prevent you from growing old and miserable all alone.”
“You’re daft.” Julian walked down the drive alone.
Henry folded his arms and watched their friend’s retreat. He raised his voice to Julian, calling down the drive. “Only the slightest of differences exists between daft and genius.”
In response, Julian waved Henry off and kept walking without another look back.
“He’ll come around,” Henry said to Eleanor.
“Will he, though?” she said, speaking without thinking.
“He will, if he’s not the one who’s daft.” Henry laughed at his own joke, clapped twice, and rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “I daresay this will be rather enjoyable. Come, Miss Hadfield. We have a ball to plan.”
“But what about my duties with the children?” This was the biggest and most obvious argument against giving her aid to Henry’s mission.
“They won’t fall behind in their studies. It’ll be just a few days, is all. If you’d taken the holiday season off, we’d have managed, wouldn’t we?”
“I suppose so.”
Eleanor looked down the drive after Julian, who was quickly growing smaller in the distance. She wanted to take his arm, walk with him, talk with him. Be with him. But not with Henry as witness. Not after being asked to help Julian find a wife. And he’d seemed more amused by the venture than opposed to it.
The one kiss they’d shared a decade hence, when he’d said goodbye on these very grounds, had lost its meaning. He no longer loved her. Naturally, he didn’t. They were barely more than children then. They’d both had life experience and lessons in the interim that had changed them. He was no more the man he’d been than she was the same girl. She could not begrudge him from growing in a different direction, away from her.
In somewhat of a daze, she headed inside with Henry, knowing that on Christmas, of all days, there would be precious little time to do any sort of thing like planning a ball at which Julian was to meet his future spouse.
Inside, as Eleanor took off her pelisse and hat, she dearly hoped Henry would abandon his plans. How long would Julian be at Willowsmeade? Through Twelfth Night? She could hardly bear the thought of him leaving, yet part of her hoped he’d depart soon so she didn’t have to plan her future misery.
Chapter Four
The Christmas meal was divine. After so many years spending the holiday in various ports or even aboard ship, Julian had nearly forgotten how lovely a true feast cooked by someone with a full kitchen and weeks to make it could truly be. The black butter alone—made of apples into a delicious spread—almost made him weep with pleasure.
The only flaw was that, though Eleanor had been seated on his left, the Edgleys’ daughter on his right latched on to every chance for conversation with him, scarcely taking a breath, it seemed, and certainly not pausing to eat. He had a suspicion that Henry had deliberately seated Miss Edgley beside him, and if the girl’s prattling was any indication, she was quite keen on the arrangement.
The few times someone else addressed Miss Edgley or a footman served her, Julian turned on the instant to Eleanor, but not once through the meal did she give him any notice or want to converse with him. At the very least, he wished to exchange looks of exasperation about the young Miss Edgley’s chatter, but he did not even find that in Eleanor. She quietly ate her meal, eyes fixed on her plate, almost as if she wished she could escape the room altogether.
Escape his presence altogether? Why was her manner so clearly uncomfortable near him? He thought back to Henry’s ridiculous proposal as they’d walked home from the morning service—and how quiet Eleanor had been even then. The fiery spirit he’d once known would have piped up in protest at what a silly notion such a ball would be.
But not if she is eager to find me another to wife.
Julian had to swallow a knot in his throat at that. He tried to cover the emotion by sipping his wine at the same time. Miss Edgley continued to prattle about something—dresses or the millinery in town or some such. He could not have said for certain what her subject matter had shifted to, even if he’d been faced with walking the plank unless he gave the correct answer. He could not have recalled so much as the color of her gown, because his attention was entirely diverted by the governess seated on the other side of him. Even so, he did his best to be a gentleman, for he would not offend Henry’s guests for the world.
After the feast, the men enjoyed their port while the women retired to the drawing room. Julian held his glass of expensive drink but had no stomach for it. As he watched the door close behind the women, he thought ’twas truly a pity that men and women separated after supper. He had no desire to talk about Parliament, or the navy, or international trade, or the prime minister, or anything else, unless such a conversation were with Eleanor.
What did she think of the current Parliament? He had no doubt that she had an opinion, and that opinion had been of her own creation through careful study and thoughtful consideration of the matters after thoroughly reading about them on her own. As a young woman, she’d eagerly read every newspaper and leaflet she could find, and he had no reason to think her curiosity about the world—or her tendency toward strong opinions—had changed.
Henry and Mr. Edgley sat across the room, discussing women they should be sure to invite to the upcoming ball, which apparently would be held for certain, Julian’s feelings on the matter being irrelevant. They added women to the list based on things like keen eyes, delicate features, and glossy hair. Having Mr. Edgley present felt uncomfortable at best, as the man added comments about how his daughter would make a good match.
None of the comments from any of the men ventured into anything about the women’s minds or hearts. He appreciated a pretty face as much as any man, but pretty faces did not endure, and a keen mind was far more attractive anyway. Eleanor had both.
Julian sipped his port and tried to ignore the discussion over whether Miss Merchant or Miss Pilcher had the more pleasing laugh. He’d hoped Christmas Day would end with some kind of other diversion—a game of whist, if nothing else. Did Henry’s household indulge in entertainment the likes of Snapdragon? The elder Mr. Brunson had been deeply spiritual and wouldn’t have approved, of course. If he hadn’t allowed a mistletoe bough, he most certainly would not have approved of raisins soaked in rum, floating in a sea of more rum, then set afire.
Julian prided himself on being quite adept at the game of Snapdragon: he could snatch several raisins in a row without getting burned. But perhaps that was the sailor in him, and proper folks like those at Willowsmeade didn’t lower themselves to such amusements. Then again, a mistletoe had been hung above the doorway into the ballroom. What other changes had Henry brought to Willowsmeade after his father’s death?
Perhaps I should propose a game of Snapdragon to test his reaction. Julian swirled his port around and around. Watching it spin, he tried to imagine Eleanor playing Snapdragon. He’d seen some women play it, including several ladies, and they always squealed and yelped like panicked birds.
And if she were singed, she’d calmly pat the spot to be sure it was extinguished, and then carry on as if nothing untoward had happened, as indeed, to her, nothing had. She would not squeal or yell over singed lace. That was the old Eleanor. He didn’t seem to know the current one. Would that he could test the theory, but amusements of that nature were not to be, as the entire household retired at a maddeningly proper hour. The men would be up early for the annual fox hunt, and the women would be up equally early to prepare the boxes for the Brunsons’ tenants for Boxing Day.
Julian hardly slept that night. For the first time in memory, he had no desire whatsoever to go on any hunt. And, for the first time in five years, he was home from the sea during Christmastide. Last time, the hunt had been a welcome distraction, something to do to keep him from thinking about how Eleanor, who had always been a fixture of Willowsmeade to him, wasn’t there.
He hadn’t visited since, and in the intervening years, as holidays came and went, he’d thought of the fox hunt with fondness. Standing on the helm of his ship as the weather grew cooler, he’d looked forward to one day participating in the annual hunt one day. Each year, something kept him away. Usually, the navy kept him away, but one year it was the death of his father and his burial at their family lot several days’ journey away. The year after that, he didn’t want to return right after Mr. Brunson’s death, during the mourning period.
But now he had returned. Eleanor had too, and he didn’t want to leave even for an hour. He couldn’t wait for daylight and a chance to see Eleanor again. He wanted to spend some proper time with her. Yes, even if that meant a day in the noisy and unruly nursery with Andrew and Thomas and three energetic little girls.