“Debutantes do not speak unless spoken to.”
Frustrated beyond all bearing, she’d demanded to know what a debutante could do. And she’d gotten a very unwelcome glimpse at the future that awaited her when her mother had promptly replied, ‘Marry well, Ellie. A debutante can marry well.’
Well, she didn’t want to marry well. In fact, she didn’t want to marry at all!
“What do you think, Henny?” Lifting the hedgehog up to her face, she kissed the tip of Henny’s twitchy nose. “Do you think my life should be defined by a man? Because I don’t. Men are useless, dimwitted clods who–”
“ELLIE!” Lady Ward’s shrill voice rang through the entire downstairs. With a heavy sigh, Eleanor slipped Henny back into her pocket and prepared herself to face the music. Or in this case, the disappointment of a loving mother who genuinely wanted the best for her daughter…but was going about it in a very convoluted way.
“Yes, Mother?” she said when Lady Ward marched into the drawing room and regarded her only daughter with an expression torn between affection and exasperation. A kind-faced woman with hair several shades darker and straighter than Eleanor’s fiery red curls, Helena Ward had been regarded as a Great Beauty during her debut and time had done little to detract from her loveliness. An opinionated daughter who refused to adhere to the rules of Society, however, had begun to take a noticeable toll.
There were more lines around the corners of her mouth than there had been six months ago. Lines from frowning when Eleanor said something particularly outlandish. Lines from wincing when she tripped over something. Lines from shouting out in surprise when a little hedgehog went scurrying across the hall. Lines from staying awake at night with her mouth pinched in a tight line of worry as she fretted over Eleanor’s future prospects. For who would possibly want an outspoken girl who defied convention at every turn? A girl who would rather have her head in the stars than her feet planted firmly on the ground. A girl who had more pets than friends – she knew all about the garden shed – and who didn’t know a waltz from a quadrille?
“I am sorry to say that Mrs. Ascot cannot offer her support at this time.” With a loud, somewhat dramatic sigh Lady Ward collapsed into the nearest chair and brought the back of her hand to her temple. “She wanted me to extend her regrets, and to let you know that she is simply too busy.”
“Oh, she isn’t busy.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “She simply doesn’t want her name attached to a complete and utter disaster.”
“You’re not a disaster!” Lady Ward protested. “Well, not a complete one anyways.”
“Thank you.”
“But I do wish you would try, Ellie,” said Lady Ward, gazing up at her daughter beseechingly. “I realize coordination is not your strong suit, but surely you can manage a simple waltz without doing yourself bodily harm.”
Seeing the strain in the corners of her mother’s eyes, Eleanor felt a twinge of guilt. “Maybe I could have tried a little harder,” she admitted. “But I fail to see how dancing is an accurate reflection of one’s character. Instead of balls, wouldn’t it be better if potential couples sat around a library and discussed famous literary works or current events or the most recent scientific discoveries?”
“Why ever would they do that?” Lady Ward asked, sounding genuinely confused.
“Because those are real things that effect our real lives. Dancing is…dancing is superfluous.”
Lady Ward gasped. “Eleanor Rose, watch your tongue!”
“I’m sorry Mother, but it’s true. Furthermore–”
“Please,” her mother grimaced. “No more lectures on the inequality of women and their inferior status in Society. I feel a headache coming on.”
“I wasn’t going to lecture,” Eleanor lied. “I was just going to ask why men are allowed, even encouraged, to show off their mental and physical prowess in a variety of ways while women are expected to be silent and well behaved? We’re not vases meant to sit up on a shelf and be admired from afar. I don’t want to collect dust, Mother. I want to do what makes me happy. Life is far too short to be miserable.”
“I fail to see why you could not be perfectly happy as a viscount’s wife,” Lady Ward sniffed. “Mayhap even an earl if you really apply yourself. I’m happy, aren’t I? And I’ve been married to your father for twenty-four years.”
“Yes,” Eleanor conceded. “You are very happy, and it pleases me to see you so. But I’m not you, Mother.”
“Don’t I know it,” Lady Ward muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Eleanor said suspiciously.
“Nothing, dear.” She smiled fondly at her daughter. “Look at you. You’re a vision, Ellie. Any man would be lucky to have you. We simply have to find one willing to overlook your…quirks. There are dozens of eligible men this Season. How hard could it possibly be?”
Chapter One
Five Failed Seasons Later…
“If you tread on my foot one more time,” Eleanor said pleasantly, “my hedgehog is going to bite you.”
His eyes widening, Lord Stanhope, an earl of considerably good wealth and breeding, stopped abruptly in his tracks. “I’m sorry, I fear I must have misheard you. Did you say – did you say hedgehog?”
“I am happy to report that your hearing is much better than your dancing, my lord. I did indeed say ‘my hedgehog’.” Taking advantage of Lord Stanhope’s temporary paralysis due to the absurdity of his partner claiming she had a pest in her pocket, Eleanor wrenched her hands free of his sweaty grasp and carefully pulled Henny out of the pocket she’d had fashioned in her ball gown specifically for her tiny little friend.
“This is Henny,” she said, holding the hedgehog aloft. “She’s curled in a ball right now because she is sleeping, but I can assure you that when she is awake her teeth are quite sharp and capable of doing considerable damage, as are her quills.”
“You – you have a rodent in your dress,” Lord Stanhope said, looking positively aghast. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
“Henny is not a rodent, she is an insectivore. It’s a common mistake, however if you look closely at the tip of her nose–”
“You’re mad. Absolutely barmy.” Lord Stanhope backed so quickly away that he bumped into another couple. “She has a rat!” he yelled, jabbing his finger at Eleanor and poor Henny, who had been roused by all the noise and was blinking drowsily in confusion. “She has a rat in her pocket!”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Eleanor said crossly. “I just told you, Henny is not a rodent, she’s an insectivore.”
“Is that a mouse?” a woman in green muslin screeched.
“Don’t be silly. Why on earth would I bring a mouse to a ball? Henny is a hedgehog. Can’t you see her quills?” But the damage had already been done, and as every head within twenty feet of Eleanor swiveled, she quickly slipped Henny back into her pocket and made a mad dash for the nearest exit, not caring who she had to shove out of her way to get there. She vaguely heard her mother calling her name, but not wanting to linger among the close-minded flock of arrogant pigeons a second longer she opened the first door she came across and immediately shut it behind her.
Red-faced and perspiring, Eleanor dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief as she walked swiftly down a carpeted hallway and into an empty parlor. The fireplace was dormant and only a single candle glowed in the window, making it the perfect shadowy hideout. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, revealing she hadn’t been the first person to find a quiet reprieve in the room, but that did not matter as long as she was the last. Exhaling a long, deep breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, she sat down on a plush velvet settee and, after a bit of coaxing, managed to draw a rather disgruntled Henny back out into the open.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized as she sat the hedgehog on her lap. “I know you don’t like loud noises, but I was afraid to leave you in my room. Not with that mean old tomcat lurking about.”
Eleanor and her mother were currently gues
ts of Lord and Lady Hanover at their estate just outside of London. They’d arrived two days ago with plans to stay for a fortnight, but once Henny’s presence became widely known Eleanor would not be surprised if their invitation was revoked before the night was out.
“Blast and damn,” she muttered, borrowing one of her father’s favorite curses. As ill at ease with social gatherings as his daughter, Lord Ward had remained at home, citing ‘business meetings’ that he needed to attend. Which was complete balderdash, of course, but since he was a man – and head of the household – he got to do what he wished while she, a lowly woman and daughter, had to obey whatever directive she was given.
It simply wasn’t fair. But then nothing ever was, particularly if you were female.
“I don’t understand why the lot of us don’t revolt, Henny.” Absently stroking a hand down the hedgehog’s prickly back – being mindful to pat in the direction of the quills – she stared hard at a painting above the mantle. “We bear the children, don’t we? Without us men would quite literally be nonexistent. And yet they control the money, and the politics, and the titles, and the laws. It’s absurd. Don’t you think?”
It was impossible to decipher the mind of a hedgehog, of course, but she took Henny’s quiet snuffle as a sign of concurrence.
“I knew you would agree with me. No one else does. They think I’m strange and my ideas eccentric.” Her gaze fell to her lap as an odd tightness overcame her throat. “And Mother wonders why no one has offered for my hand,” she muttered.
This time Henny purred, and the contented sound made Eleanor smile. No matter what the circumstances, her animals could always be counted on to lift her spirits. Which was why she planned to take the entire lot of them and move to the country when her third Season came to the same disappointing conclusion as all the rest.
She’d recently struck up a correspondence with an elderly aunt in Hampshire whose husband had passed over the winter. Aunt Biddy was in desperate need of a strong, able-bodied person to help care for her cottage and the surrounding land. Lady Ward had been trying to coax Aunt Biddy to London, but the old woman was stubborn and set in her ways. She refused to leave the place she’d called home for nearly six decades, and eventually Lady Ward had thrown up her hands.
‘If she won’t come to us, then there’s nothing else we can do’.
But that wasn’t precisely true, was it? As it turned out, Aunt Biddy’s stubbornness wasn’t the only trait she and her niece had in common. They both loved animals, and Aunt Biddy had agreed to house Eleanor and her menagerie in exchange for help around the farm. It would be hard work, she’d warned, but Eleanor wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. What scared her more was keeping them pristinely clean.
All she needed to do was get through one more Season with her sanity intact. If the little incident with Lord Stanhope was any indication it was going to be a challenge, but with an end in sight Eleanor was more than ready to rise to the occasion.
“I’ll be a spinster living in the country,” she told Henny happily. “Can you think of anything more divine?” For most women a reclusive life far from the glittering ballrooms of London would have been their worst nightmare, but for Eleanor it was a dream come true.
Now the only thing she needed to do was tell her mother.
“But that can wait, can’t it?” Setting Henny down on the sofa when the little hedgehog began to wiggle, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, a light smile gracing her lips as she imagined all of the ways her life would change for the better once she was free from the constraints of High Society.
There would be no more balls. Or ball gowns, for that matter. No more dancing. No more struggling to make polite conversation when all she wanted to do was discuss Sir William Horrocks’ latest invention, a variable speed batton that was going to revolutionize the power loom. No more hiding Henny in her pocket. Speaking of which…
“Ouch!” she exclaimed when she felt a sharp tug at the top of her head. Blindly reaching up to her hair, she gave a very unladylike curse when her fingers accidentally brushed against Henny’s prickly quills. With an alarmed squeal the hedgehog scurried down the side of the sofa and plopped onto the floor.
A beam of moonlight reflected off the shiny object Henny carried in her mouth as she scooted under a table and disappeared from sight. A shiny object that looked suspiciously like one of Eleanor’s diamond encrusted hairpins.
“Not another one!” she moaned. If she lost one more hairpin her mother would never let her go live with Aunt Biddy. “Henny, you damned thief, get back here this instant!”
Dropping to her hands and knees she tried to follow the hedgehog under the table, but of course she didn’t fit. Derriere in the air and face pressed to the ground, she squinted one eye closed as she searched for Henny underneath a chaise longue. The parlor was well appointed and there were dozens of places a hedgehog could hide, which meant if she was going to retrieve her beloved pet she needed to do it quickly. Once Henny found a soft place to burrow into there was no telling when she would come out. Last year at Lady Markham’s dinner party she’d disappeared for nearly five hours!
Lady Ward had been thrilled when Eleanor had requested to stay longer. She’d thought her daughter wanted to spend more time with a viscount, but in reality Eleanor had needed the extra time to look for Henny. She’d eventually found her in the kitchens stuffed inside a bread box happily munching on day old crumpets, but there was no telling where she’d gotten off to this time.
“Henny! Oh Henny, please come back. I’m not cross with you. I promise.” Eleanor started to back out from underneath the table, but with a gasp of dismay she realized her dress was caught. She pulled a bit harder and was met with a sharp tearing sound. Oh dear. A lost hairpin was nothing compared to a ruined gown, particularly one that had cost as much as this.
Balancing crookedly on one elbow, she tried to peer behind her to see what she was snagged on, but her awkward position made it impossible to see past her voluminous skirts. Suffice it to say she was stuck. Stuck with her rump up in the air and her head under a table.
“Well this is a fine pickle. Henny, I’ve changed my mind. I am cross with you. Very cross.” But if the mischievous hedgehog heard – or cared – she gave no indication, and Eleanor struck her fist against the floor in frustration.
What was she going to do? Wait until someone found her, she supposed. And pray that someone was a maid and not a gossipy old hen who would gleefully spread the news of her embarrassing predicament far and wide. There was always the possibility her mother would come looking for her. All things considered, that was probably the best scenario. At least she knew Lady Ward would never whisper a word of this to anyone. In fact, she would probably demand the entire thing be stricken from both of their memories, just like the time Eleanor had jumped into a pond at Hyde Park in an attempt to rescue a floundering gosling.
‘We will never speak of this again,’ Lady Ward had furiously hissed as she’d draped her cloak around her daughter’s shoulders before quickly ushering her into their carriage.
And they hadn’t.
But it wasn’t Lady Ward who stepped into the parlor.
Nor was it Lady Ward’s voice that sent shivers of alarm rippling down Eleanor’s spine.
“Well, well, well,” a deep, husky masculine tone drawled. “What do we have here?”
Chapter Two
Derek despised balls.
Not his own, of course. He was quite fond of his own. But the balls that required a man to truss himself up like a stuffed goose and parade about the room like a preening peacock looking for a mate…those he hated. Which begged the question why the devil he was standing in the middle of a ball room. But as the answer was too convoluted to dissect without an entire bottle of brandy at the ready – and sadly no such brandy was available – he was instead possessed of a single-minded focus to do his duty and get the hell out as quickly as possible.
Sweeping his dance partner effortlessly a
cross the marble floor, he turned a deaf ear to her endless prattle – why were women under the impression that waltzing required a steady flow of conversation? – and kept one eye on the massive long-case clock in the corner of the room.
In just a few short minutes it would strike midnight, and when it did his evening promised to become much more titillating. For somewhere in the Hanover’s massive estate his mistress was waiting…and she wasn’t wearing any drawers.
Their little game of cat and mouse was one of the only reasons Derek had bothered to attend tonight. Well, that and he needed to keep up the pretense of looking for a wife to satisfy the terms of his grandfather’s last will and testament. The scheming old bastard had enjoyed making his heir jump through hoops when he’d been alive, and nothing had changed after his death. To say their relationship had been tumultuous would have been like saying England had had a tiny little spat with France. In short, they’d despised one another. And the late Duke of Hawkridge had done everything in his power to ensure Derek would be miserable long after he was gone.
When the music dwindled and the waltz ended, Derek bowed neatly in front of his partner before excusing himself. Ignoring the volley of longing stares aimed at his back, he moved swiftly through the crowd, stopping only to select two glasses of champagne before abandoning the loud, sweltering ball room for the blessed quiet of a long hallway.
Lord Hanover’s thick browed ancestors peered down at him from gilt framed paintings as he strolled through the palatial estate, occasionally stopping to open a door and peer inside. His anticipation built with every empty room he encountered until his loins were all but throbbing with need, and when he came across a parlor – and the curvy little arse sticking straight up in the air like a red flag in front of a very randy bull – he wasted no time in locking the door behind him and setting the champagne down so he could unbutton his jacket.
A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection Page 11
