by Jenny Hambly
Eleanor was about to question this view of the situation when she heard herself being hailed. Turning, she saw two intelligent, dark eyes set in a sharp face, regarding her. She hurried up to the barouche.
“Good afternoon, Countess Lieven.”
“Oblige me, Miss Edgcott, by joining me for a turn about the park.”
There was no question of refusing. “Certainly, ma’am. I will just inform Lady Haverham of my intention.”
“You must certainly go,” Diana said. “I shall be perfectly safe with Eliza.”
Lady Langton pulled a face. “Rather you than me. She scares me to death.”
The three ladies began to amble along the path again, their heads together as they shared the latest tidbits of gossip. Eleanor returned to the barouche and swiftly climbed in.
Countess Lieven raised a fine eyebrow. “Perhaps I am being conceited, Miss Edgcott, but I feel sure that my company must be more interesting than that which you have left. Ninnyhammers, all of them!”
“You should not say so, ma’am, as one of them is related to me,” Eleanor said, but with a smile.
“Only through marriage,” the countess said, unabashed. “Haverham has far more between his ears, as do you, I think. I never met your father, but I have heard only good reports of him.”
“Yes, he was a fine man. I am, of course, pleased to bear you company for a short while. Indeed, I am glad of this opportunity to have some private conversation with you, for I can think of no one better to consult about a matter of propriety. Would it be wrong of me to set up an establishment of my own in Town?”
“Would you have an elder relative, perhaps an aunt, living with you?”
“No, but I would hire a companion.”
“I do not think that would do at all; you are far too young. Are you unhappy in your cousin’s house?”
Eleanor’s heart sank. She would not wish to act in a way that would cause anyone to think such a thing. “Oh no, but I have been used to a different life—”
“You have lived many years abroad and are feeling a little confined by the English ways. This I understand. It has come to my ears that you have turned down more than one offer of marriage, for which I do not blame you in the least. But have you considered that you will be granted a deal more freedom as a married lady if you choose wisely? Even the ladies in Constantinople – who, I believe, generally only mix with their own sex – probably have some influence over their husbands and sons.”
“Yes, that is true,” Eleanor admitted.
“You could do far worse than attaching yourself to someone involved in diplomacy, or who is likely to be in the future; it is a world you are familiar with after all. Come to my salon the day after tomorrow; there is someone I would like you to meet.”
Eleanor was fully aware of how honoured she was to receive this invitation and so accepted gracefully.
“By the way, where did you get that hat? It is something above the common.”
“Originally from Madame Lafayette’s in Bruton Street, but I have redesigned it in my own style.”
“You have a certain flair, Miss Edgcott. It is certainly far superior to Madame Lafayette’s designs, and she is no more French than I am English! There is a rumour going about that she is going to shut up shop. I am not surprised; she has not moved with the times and that, you know, is fatal in all matters of fashion.”
Two gentlemen on horseback passed the carriage. Countess Lieven smiled at the fairer of the two, but only nodded frostily at the other. Eleanor looked up quickly and nodded at Lord Carteret before allowing her eyes to quickly sweep over the other gentleman, but he was gone before she could form any firm impression apart from that he was dark. She felt a strange tingling at the base of her neck and an urge to turn around and look at him more closely. She firmly ignored it.
“Do you know Lord Carteret?” Countess Lieven asked.
“Yes. I have met him on a few occasions.”
“And what did you make of him?”
“What should I make of him?” Eleanor said, surprised. “He is all politeness, his manners are very polished, but he possesses a reserve that makes it difficult to know him.”
“That is true. From what Lady Jersey has told me, it is all Lady Haverham’s fault.”
“Diana’s? In what way?”
“He fell in love with her or thought he did; I still find it hard to believe that someone of his not inconsiderable understanding should fall for someone as bird-witted as she, but then more than one sensible gentleman has been blinded by a pretty face. She turned him down in favour of Haverham. I have nothing at all to say against Haverham; he feels just as he ought on a number of topics, but one cannot deny that he is rather dull. I am not at all surprised that his wife’s head might be turned a little by the Marquess of Sandford.”
Eleanor paled. “Has that rumour already begun to circulate? There is nothing serious between them, I assure you. In fact, there is nothing at all between them beyond a little gentle flirtation.”
“No rumour has yet reached my ears,” the countess conceded. “I speak only from my own observations. I believe I have a little more astuteness than most. If you tell me Lady Haverham has indulged in nothing more than a gentle flirtation, I choose to believe you. But you may believe me when I tell you that Sandford does nothing gently. In plain words, he is a rake. Any intentions he may have will certainly be dishonourable and he is far from discreet. For some reason, Miss Edgcott, I like you and would not wish you to suffer by association if Lady Haverham’s reputation becomes tarnished.”
“No! It will not come to that,” Eleanor said quickly. “I will ensure that it does not. Only today Diana snubbed him.”
“Good. Let us hope that she will continue to do so.”
Uncomfortable, Eleanor turned the subject.
“You seemed to disapprove of Lord Carteret’s companion.”
“You are very observant, but I would rather say that I have not yet approved of him. Lord Allerdale is the son of the Marquess of Brigham, a man who is certainly worthy of my esteem. Unfortunately, his son seems to take more after his mother; I hear she used to be extremely volatile. I believe there is an Italian somewhere on her side of the family which perhaps explains it. I do not say that Lord Allerdale is as bad as Lord Sandford, but he has acquired the reputation, however, of being rather wild. The latest on dit is that he is a reformed character, but as I am almost certain that it is his mother who put that rumour about, I do not set much store by it. She is no doubt hoping that he will choose a bride this season and is attempting to allay the fears of the mamas who still have daughters to dispose of.”
“I always like to judge people for myself,” Eleanor said. “I shall be at Lady Brigham’s ball next week and so have that opportunity.”
“Yes, so shall I,” Countess Lieven said. “I daresay it will be a sad crush, but everyone who is anyone will be there, as well, no doubt, as every girl of marriageable age.”
“Not every girl,” Eleanor said gently. “I know for a fact that Miss Farrow has not been invited.”
“That is something, I suppose,” the countess said dryly.
“Oh dear,” Lord Carteret said. “Judging by the Countess Lieven’s icy stare, I do not think you will be making an appearance at Almack’s any time soon, Allerdale.”
Miles laughed. “If only that were true. My mother is friends with Sally Jersey so I doubt there will be any difficulty.”
“Did you notice the other lady in the carriage?”
“I only had time to observe a dashing bonnet and a pair of large brown eyes.”
“That was Miss Edgcott.”
“Then if Countess Lieven has taken against me, I should think that any chance I may have had of fixing my interest with Miss Edgcott is already dashed.”
He did not seem overly concerned by this likelihood and his gaze became suddenly fixed on one of the paths that approached the carriageway. “Talking of dashing bonnets,” he said, “who is that delightful c
reature over there? She is a piece of perfection.”
“I have no idea, old chap, which leads me to suspect that she does not move in the first circles. And before you are carried away by her rosebud lips and guinea gold curls, might I suggest you look at her mother?”
“Why? It is not the mother that I am interested in.”
“Her vulgar appearance aside, you might consider that the beauty may well take after her when she is older, at least, that is the advice my mother gave me years ago.”
“Really? Then I am surprised you offered for Diana Ramshorn; her mama was quite stout as I recall.”
Lord Carteret’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I did not say I took her advice.”
As he spoke, the young lady stumbled, let out a screech, and clasped a shapely ankle.
“And this is yet another instance when I am not about to take yours, Carteret. A gentleman cannot ignore a lady in distress.”
But even as Miles moved into a trot, a curricle flashed by him causing his highly-strung thoroughbred to skitter across the road and rear. A phaeton coming in the other direction was forced to come to an abrupt halt in front of him.
By the time he had his mount under control and had appeased the temper of the driver of the phaeton, who did not hesitate to rain down curses upon him, the curricle had taken up both the unknown beauty and her mother and was disappearing off into the distance.
“Damn Sandford. He should know better than to drive at that pace through the park.”
“But he was coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress,” murmured Lord Carteret.
Miles’ dark brows snapped together. “If he has ever come to anyone’s rescue, it is the first I have heard of it! He is more likely to ruin her! Whatever was her mother thinking?”
A cynical gleam came into Lord Carteret’s eyes. “Is your temper up because you are concerned for the young lady’s virtue, or because Sandford has stolen a march on you, Allerdale?”
He did not wait for a reply.
“I can think of only two reasons why his escort was acceptable to her. The first is that she has no idea of his reputation and is merely grateful for his help in delivering her daughter safely home. The less charitable interpretation, but the one I think most likely to be true, is that she knows exactly who he is and hopes to turn him to advantage. She may, of course, hope he will offer marriage, but depending on her circumstances, may settle for something less honourable. As you are about to turn respectable, my friend, and would no more offer for the child than Sandford will, I cannot see that either scenario can be any concern of yours.”
Miles’ eyes flashed, but when his companion merely raised a challenging brow, he grinned ruefully.
“I do not know why I bear with you, Carteret!”
“Was I wrong?”
“No, damn you! You rarely are! But if that pretty little thing is to become someone’s mistress, she would do better to accept the protection of almost anyone but Sandford. I have heard that he does not treat his inamoratas at all well, either during their arrangement or when he severs it.”
“I expect the girl will have very little say in the matter. Her mother must have spent a great deal to turn her out in style and she will wish to recoup her investment. Now, Allerdale, might I suggest we pay a visit to Jackson’s or Angelo’s? You may then rid yourself of some of your spleen.”
“Angelo’s,” Miles said decisively. “I have a greater chance of bettering you with a sword than with my fists!”
“Not unless you keep a firm rein on your temper,” his friend said gently.
Chapter 5
Eleanor and Diana dined alone on the evening of the Countess Lieven’s salon. Lord Haverham had gone to Newmarket, excusing himself by pointing out that it would be the last meeting until July, but had promised to be back in time for Lady Brigham’s ball.
Diana picked at her food and had very little to say for herself. This strange mood of abstraction had been upon her since their walk in the park.
Sensing the impending storm, Eleanor eyed her warily. “I will stay if you wish. I can easily send a note of apology to Countess Lieven.”
Diana shook her head, unable to speak for the tears that welled in her eyes despite her efforts to blink them away.
Eleanor looked at the footman that hovered in the background.
“You may leave us, Stanley.”
When he had left the room, she said, “You have been in low spirits for the past two days, Diana. Come, tell me what is troubling you.”
The tears fell faster, and Diana buried her face in her napkin. Eleanor placed her fork on her plate and waited, hoping that a good cry might alleviate Diana’s melancholy. When she finally stemmed the flow, Diana said, “No, I am just being stupid. You cannot decline an invitation to one of the Countess Lieven’s salons; they are very much sought after this year, although not by me. From all I can gather, the talk is all about politics. Dull stuff. But then, you, I suppose, are used to talking of such things.”
“Not really. My role was rather to entertain my father’s fellow ambassadors, his staff, English merchants who traded out of Constantinople, or English visitors who were passing through. They did not generally talk of their work in my presence, although Papa did sometimes share some of his frustrations in dealing with the Turkish officials, and he often asked my opinion on the people we met. He always said that I had a good instinct where people were concerned.”
Diana sniffed and blew her nose. “At any rate, I am sure you will find the evening more stimulating than I would. And I dare say you will find it far more interesting than my company.”
The last words were uttered on a wail of self-pity, and Diana once again fell to a bout of weeping.
It was some time before Eleanor could calm her, and when she did, a tale of woe poured from Diana. The source of her unhappiness seemed to come from several quarters, but its chief cause appeared to be her husband’s inattention – she was sure he would not care if she lived or died, apart from the fact that she had not yet presented him with an heir – but even that could be easily remedied if she caught some fatal disease or was run over by a carriage, for then he could remarry and his new wife would in all likelihood be dutiful enough to present him with a son before they had been wed a year.
Eleanor patiently pointed out to her that Frederick had never, to her knowledge, expressed any dissatisfaction that Diana had not yet produced an heir, that he would be hard pressed to find anyone as beautiful, and that although he did not always show his affection, she was sure that in the event of her death he would sustain a blow from which he might never recover.
“Do you really think so?” Diana said hesitantly.
“I am sure of it.”
Diana crumpled the napkin that she still held into a ball and threw it onto the table. “But it is not just, Frederick. I am quite tired of the… the fickleness of people. I used to be very good friends with Lord Carteret, you know, but now he barely acknowledges me—”
“How can you expect him to remain friendly with you when you broke his heart?” Eleanor said gently.
It was not to her credit that for a moment Diana looked a little cheered by this thought. It was only a momentary lifting of her spirits, however.
“If he had truly loved me, he would still wish to be my friend. And then there is Sandford.”
Eleanor raised a brow. “Stealing a kiss was certainly a liberty, and to attempt it in such a public place showed a deplorable lack of consideration for your rep—”
“It is not only that,” Diana said peevishly. “He must have taken another turn around the park when you were with the countess because he passed us again, this time with that… that person whose hat you retrieved.”
“No!” Eleanor said, surprised. “Alone?”
“That vulgarly dressed creature was with her,” Diana acknowledged.
“Perhaps he knew them,” Eleanor suggested.
“Eliza said that she was probably his m-mistress and I thi
nk she was right,” she said on a sob. “If you could have seen the gloating look Eliza gave me, for she was quite jealous that Sandford was making up to me, you know. I had not thought her so spiteful. The only person who truly loves me is my little Lucinda, and I have not seen her for so long she will most likely have forgotten me when we return to Standon.”
Eleanor, who was by nature practical, said, “Then why don’t you send for her?”
“How can I? You know she had that horrid cough just before we came away, and Doctor Lampton said that on no account must I bring her to Town for the air would not be good for her.”
“Yes, of course, how silly of me,” Eleanor said, a little sharply. “Then perhaps we should return to Standon. I have no objection. We could go tomorrow if it pleases you.”
Diana seemed at a loss to know how to answer this doubler, but after a moment made a recovery.
“No, I do not think that is possible. I would like it of all things, of course, but it would not be fair on you or Frederick. And then there is Lady Brigham’s ball on Tuesday; I am sure none of us would wish to miss it. I at least have the consolation of knowing that Miss Ryder will take very good care of my little daughter.”
Eleanor knew Diana’s nature to be shallow and so was not surprised by this response, but any impatience she might have felt at this orgy of self-pity was ameliorated by the knowledge that Diana was genuinely suffering a crisis of confidence. Although she did not feel it was her place to interfere between her cousin and his wife, she could see that she was going to have to take a firmer hand with Frederick when he returned.
It was inevitable that she arrived late to the Countess Lieven’s salon. As she was announced she saw her hostess coming towards her with a man who had a pleasing, if serious, countenance. The dark shadows under his eyes made him look a little haggard and although his skin remained smooth, his hair was already well on the way to becoming grey.
He bowed to her and said, “It is unfortunate, Miss Edgcott, that my affairs prevent me from staying any longer, but I hope I shall have the opportunity to speak with you again. Your father is sadly missed, especially now when I have need of good men experienced in diplomacy.”
