by Fanny Finch
“Sometimes, that is the problem,” Lord Verhampton said. “It feels too much like a bondage. One must constantly remember sworn vows.”
He sighed. “I miss the days of being a bachelor. The days when I was free to roam and taste, to satisfy my thirst.”
Charles shrugged his shoulders. “You have a wife for that now, Verhampton. You must do well to remember that. You have no idea how lucky you are to be married to women who are faithful to you, and to your vows.”
He tried hard for the edge of wistfulness not to enter his voice.
He was not willing to betray anything. He had kept the truth a secret for three years. The only ones who knew of it were Gaius, his mother, his sister and Thomas. No one else.
And it would remain that way until they all went to their graves.
Lord Burrough grunted. “I suppose you are right. You and your high regard for marriage. It is a thing of bafflement why you are yet to consider remarriage. You are a man and Elise has been dead for two years.”
Charles grimaced at the mention of her name. No matter how long it had been, it still hurt to hear that name said aloud.
“He doesn’t seem like he is willing to consider anytime soon, either,” Lord Verhampton said, and then went on.
“I bet he is enjoying his freedom. And he preaches to us to savour our marriages.”
Grunts of agreement went around the table at Verhampton’s words and again, Charles shook his head.
Men would always be men. These men were not bad men… They were just men tied down by responsibilities, men who desperately wished for a different life.
Charles wished they knew all that they had.
“Enough sad talk,” said Lord Deighton. “The night gets darker and like it or not, we do have families to return to. Even Charles here has his mother. I say we have one hand of cards, and call it a night. Place your bets, winner takes all.”
Charles looked at Lord Deighton, wondering if he knew how grateful Charles felt to have had the conversation changed.
Of course, everyone agreed to this suggestion and a hand of cards was quickly shuffled after bets had been placed.
Amongst themselves, they hardly ever placed large bets. Their bets were often things that they could easily part with and not feel their loss. They simply betted to add an edge to the game.
As the game commenced, Charles decided to seize the opportunity and asked the questions that plagued him.
In a place such as the club, it was always easy to get needed information, for everyone knew someone who knew something.
He wanted to learn more about Lady Grenshire. He was happy that he had finally seen her face, and learned her name.
So happy, in fact, that the thought scared him instead of giving him comfort. Yet, he remained curious about her.
He had been right to believe that she would be beautiful, for she was indeed. So beautiful that she had taken his breath away.
That he had had several glimpses into her heart and mind, endeared her to him all the more. She was as much a beauty on the inside as she was on the outside.
He wanted to learn more about this woman. He was too impatient to wait until when he could ask her himself. She looked young, but not terribly young.
If her husband had been dead for three years, and she had no child - Rachel had offered that information - she could not be more than twenty-four summers, at the most.
Not that her age mattered, not in the very least.
He waited until the game was well underway before speaking.
“What do you know of the Ashford name?”
“Ashford?” Lord Burrough asked. “There happens to be one too many Ashfords in London. Which do you seek?”
“Ashford of Grenshire. Has anyone heard of the family?”
There was a moment of silence as every man seemed to be in thoughts. It was Lord Westwell who eventually spoke.
“I believe I have. Ashford is the family that has lorded over Grenshire for the past two centuries. The title of earl has been passed down from generation to generation. A direct lineage, as they have always been known to produce heirs.”
He frowned in contemplation. “Although, I am afraid the case has changed. The last Ashford died with no heir and now, his widow handles Grenshire’s matters as countess.”
“Have you any idea what killed him?”
“Of course, it was made no secret. He had been called away to attend to an urgent matter that had risen, concerning one of his foreign investments. Sadly, a wicked storm hit the ship he had boarded, and had ripped it apart.”
Lord Westwell shook his head wistfully. “The wreck had been terrible. There were very few survivors. The late Earl of Grenshire had not been one of them. He had only been married for a year before his demise, and in that year, he had not been able to sire a child.”
This, Rachel had not told him. He had been wary to ask, lest she read meanings to his interest in her new friend.
He heaved a deep sigh and since it was his turn, he played the card he had chosen.
“And his widow, do you know anything about her?”
“I believe I had the privilege of meeting her once,” Lord Westwell said. “My grandfather was a good friend of her grandfather.
“This friendship extended to our parents, and it was only given that we were polite with one another. She struck me as a woman of beauty, strength and wit.”
Lord Westwell placed his card on the table as it was his turn. “I was unmarried at the time and I remember thinking that Lord Grenshire was a lucky man. I hear she has been doing great work in Grenshire. The people love her.
“Although, she has not re-entered society since his demise. Some say she is hiding away, but I can hardly fault her.”
“How so?”
“Ugly rumors arose after Lord Grenshire’s death. I never believed them though. I am not one given to listening to the words of an idle tongue and a wicked mind.”
Charles wanted to ask more but he was aware of the looks the people at the table were beginning to give to him.
Surely, they were curious about his sudden interest in Lord Grenshire’s widow. He was not ready to give answers to their questions. The best thing to do was to keep those questions to himself.
“Thank you, Westwell. An old acquaintance I ran into mentioned wanting to do business with her. It piqued my curiosity. Business with a woman… I only wanted to be certain.”
“You are welcome, Your Grace. The widow trades well. Your friend is in good hands.”
“Hm,” was his simple reply.
The more he learned about her, the more questions arose.
What were the rumors, and why did Lord Westwell not know that she had re-entered society, and had been in London for a while now?
To these questions, he knew, he would have to seek answers later.
For now, he further wondered about this woman. She had been described so much like his mother. A lady who handled politics and business.
Yet, she had appeared so meek and lovely. As though, she did not do more than give commands and take walks in the gardens.
Lord Westwell had spoken of her with such respect. His friend was not one who was known to hold women in such high regard. Though, he was known to give honor to whom it was due.
The game of cards ended soon enough, with Charles emerging as the winner.
He told his friends they could keep their fortune, claiming that he had simply gotten lucky as the man with the least alcohol in his system, and he would feel as though he was robbing them if he took their money.
Everyone saw the silly excuse for what it was, but no one cared to dispute it. They were more than happy to disperse with no material losses.
As his carriage bore him home, Charles finally came to accept that he wanted to know more about Lady Grenshire.
For the first time in a long while, he was truly besotted by a woman. He did not know which to feel: fear or happiness.
Chapter 14
Eleano
r was with her brother, buying tickets just outside the theatre two weeks later, when she heard a familiar voice call out her name cheerfully.
"Eleanor, is that you?"
Eleanor turned to see who it was that had called her name. As her gaze settled upon Rachel, she made a mental note that she had not frozen out of fear that someone who she did not wish to run into, had seen her.
Rachel beamed as she came to her, her arms opened for an embrace. It was one which Eleanor gladly accepted and returned.
"It is you! I had thought so. It has been quite a while, I must say. I began to worry. I feared that you had taken ill.”
“No, I am quite alright.”
“I have not seen you at any of the balls either. I know, because I was actively searching. How have you been?"
Touched by her concern, Eleanor have her a reassuring smile.
“I have been well, Rachel. I am sorry I caused you to worry. I have simply been occupied with Grenshire’s affairs. It is why we have not run into each other lately."
"Oh. I do hope all is well?"
"Certainly. All has been taken care of, and in the meantime, I am free to enjoy my stay here in London again."
Guilt gnawed at her, for she had lied to her friend. She tried to ignore it.
How could she have told Rachel that she had stayed away from public on purpose, simply because she had been avoiding running into her own parents?
News of their arrival in town had reached her not long after that day at the park and Eleanor had decided that she needed to prepare herself for another meeting.
Those two always seemed to have a way of draining the joy out of her. She had been in such high spirits lately, and was not willing to have anyone ruin that.
Alas, she had grown weary from staying indoors, and tonight, she had begged Edwin to accompany her to the theatre to see a play. She desperately needed the distraction and entertainment.
"Oh well, I am glad to hear that. You have come to see The Healer's Potion?"
"Yes, I have.”
It was a play from a book she had read, one she had enjoyed immensely, as it had been written by one of her favourite authors, Davis Monroe.
“I reckoned it would be a good way to spend the evening."
She paused as she looked behind Rachel and found Charles, and another man whom she guessed to be Thomas, for he bore a striking resemblance to Rachel’s son, Brighton.
There was also an elderly woman. Eleanor needed no sorcerer to tell her that this was their mother.
"I see that the entire family is here."
Rachel nodded, smiling happily.
"Indeed. It is tradition. We often have a night out together, every fortnight. It is always either the opera house or the theatre.
“Tonight, we chose the theatre. I am glad, for I would not have run into you, had we chosen the former. Is that your brother?"
Eleanor peered behind her to see Edwin, paying for the tickets.
"Yes, it is. He is not a lover of plays. He would rather spend the night doing something else, but I had begged him to come with me. Well, in all honesty, I had told him I was going to come either way, whether he chose to escort me or not.”
She smiled. “It was an easy choice. He is so protective of me. I knew there was no way he would leave me to come out here all on my own."
Eleanor felt a familiar presence by her side and looked up to see her brother.
"Ah, Edwin, you must meet my friend, Mrs. Wentworth. I told you about her, did I not?"
"You did. You two seem to have grown so close. Gossiping about me behind my back already?"
“Oh brother, it would hardly be considered as gossip if it was done in your presence now, would it? Rachel, it is an honor to introduce you to my brother. This, is His Lordship, Viscount of Humshire, Edwin Wimbledon. Edwin, this is the new friend I have recently made."
Rachel dropped into a curtsy as Edwin bowed. "She speaks fondly of you, Madam. An honor to finally put a face to the name."
Rachel rose, a warm smile on her face. "My lord, I too have heard good things about you.”
“Of course. I would expect no less,” Edwin replied smugly, howbeit, teasing.
They all laughed, and as they recovered, Rachel’s party joined them. It was the older lady who spoke first.
“I see you have met friends, Rachel.”
Rachel turned to look at her mother. Eleanor watched as she easily slipped her arm into her mother’s, and drew her forward.
It seemed so natural and not once did the lovely smile on the Dowager Duchess’ face falter.
It made Eleanor’s heart ache. For a fleeting moment, she wondered. If that terrible illness had not taken her mother, would she be here, at this moment, with her? Or would her life have gone entirely differently?
She chased the thought away and forced a bright smile upon her face.
“Yes, I have, Mother,” Rachel was saying. “I would like you to meet the Countess of Grenshire. Eleanor Ashford, Lady Grenshire.”
Rachel went on to explain. “I made her lovely acquaintance the last time I visited the park with the children. She proved great company. Eleanor, this is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Finchester, Lady Emily Duncan.”
Eleanor sunk into a deep curtsy, pleased to show the woman proper respect.
“Oh, child. Please rise. There is no need for such formality around family and friends.”
Her words made Eleanor’s heart swell. As she rose, she found her smile spreading wider.
“You are truly gracious, Your Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess’s eyes moved to Eleanor’s side.
“Is this your husband?”
Edwin spoke for her, stepping forward.
“I am afraid not. Nevertheless, I hold a position quite as important in her life. I am her brother, Edwin Wimbledon. Viscount of Humshire. An honor to meet you, Your Grace.”
Eleanor watched the Dowager Duchess’s eyes twinkle as Edwin bowed, to kiss her hand. Her pleasure reflected in her voice when she spoke.
“Charmed, my dear. How lovely of you to accompany your sister on an evening out. Charles here does the same for his sister when my son-in-law is occupied with other matters.”
Edwin had a proud smile on his face as he came to stand by Eleanor’s side once more. Their eyes held for a moment as she looked up at him.
“Since my sister is widowed, I take my duties as her brother and escort very seriously. And very gladly, if I might add.”
Eleanor heard the Dowager Duchess gasp slightly, and she gained her attention.
The woman’s smile was gone, replaced with empathy.
“Oh, child, forgive me. I had no idea. As a widow myself, I do understand. The Lord blessed me with my sweet son and daughter. I am happy that she blessed you with such a wonderful brother.”
“As am I, Your Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess reached for her hand, and Eleanor let her hold it. When she gave her a small squeeze, Eleanor felt strength fill her.
She held the Dowager Duchess’s gaze and, in that moment, a silent communication passed between them.
Her eyes threatened to well up, but she struggled to keep her walls strong. This woman, so simply, had just shared her pain, and offered her comfort.
She had not received such motherly kindness in a long while. Twelve years, to be exact.
The moment was cut short by Rachel who pushed the other man forward, in their midst. Like she had with her mother, she linked her arm with the man’s.
“This is the man who owns my heart, Eleanor. Mr. Thomas Wentworth. The father of my children.”
Eleanor made to curtsy, but Thomas stopped her, bowing instead. “My lady, you mustn’t. I hold no title. By every right, you are above me.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened in incredulity. Quickly, she curtsied.
“Nonsense!” she said as she rose. “As I told your wife, my lord, I consider a man noble by the content of his heart, not the title of his blood.”
Th
omas gave her the warmest smile she had seen tonight.
“My wife had said you were indeed lovely. Now, I see why. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“I am just as honored.”
He too was introduced to Edwin and after they had exchanged pleasantries, Charles finally stepped forward.
