Romancing the Past

by Darcy Burke

She knew he was wrong about that, but he would not hear her exclamations, only shaking his head and saying that he would leave her to look about at her leisure.

  Every morning since then, they had breakfasted together and Thomas took the time to ask her what she was reading, and discuss it with her. He was well-read, Ellen had discovered; apparently he had attended the American university of Harvard, which Americans considered just as good as Oxford or Cambridge. Nor was he dismissive of her opinions just because of her gender, which was a first for her. Even her father had occasionally told her that she could not possibly understand something simply because she was female.

  Ellen hoped that they would be able to continue their morning routine in London. “Does the London house have a library?” she thought to ask as she and Thomas turned about on their walk to return to the Hall.

  “I should be very surprised if it does not, though perhaps it may not be quite as extensive as the one here at the Hall. Consider, though, the opportunities London offers for shopping! I have no doubt that there will be plenty of bookshops; if we find the library at the townhouse inadequate, we shall have plenty of opportunity to improve it.”

  Ellen smiled at his enthusiasm. “You shall be too busy, surely, joining gentleman’s clubs and giving speeches in the House of Lords.”

  “How shall I contribute sensibly in the House of Lords if I do not read the news and talk it over with you, Ellen?” Thomas laughed at her. “I am not too sure that English gentlemen will be interested in socialising with an uncouth American, besides.”

  He was nervous, Ellen realised with incredulity. “Of course they will,” she said robustly, “all of the neighbouring gentry who have come to meet you have been very friendly.”

  Havers Hall had been positively swarmed with everyone who could think of a good excuse to call, all eager to meet and curry favour with the new Earl. Thomas had insisted on presenting Ellen to everyone as well, even though many of them already knew her and looked askance at Thomas presenting her as his cousin, equally with Lady Louisa. None of them wanted to offend Thomas, though, so they were all polite, at least publicly, though she had seen a few sneers directed her way when Thomas’ attention was elsewhere.

  “The baggage carts are ready to depart, my lord, with your approval,” Allsopp met them on their re-entry into the Hall.

  “Of course, if everything my aunt wants has been packed,” Thomas nodded. The carts were being sent ahead so that everything would be already in London when they arrived; the family would not depart until the following morning and planned to spend two days travelling. Lady Clarice had already arranged for them to spend their nights with noble families who resided along their route; no roadside inns for the Havers family.

  Ellen was not particularly looking forward to spending two days in a carriage in company with Lady Clarice and Lady Louisa. Thomas had already announced his intention to ride his stallion for most of the journey, at least so long as the weather remained clement. Peering up at the sky as they entered the Hall, Ellen sent up a silent prayer for rain. Thomas’ presence in the carriage would make the journey a great deal more bearable. Clarice and Louisa did not criticise her directly, but she always felt as though she was being judged and found wanting when their cool blue eyes fell upon her.

  On the other hand, sitting in the carriage watching Thomas and Louisa making calf eyes at each other didn’t appeal all that much, either.

  She walked down to the village that afternoon to visit John and Demelza, to farewell them before her trip. A footman and her maid escorted her and waited to walk her back; despite Ellen’s laughing protests that she had been walking alone all over Haverford since she was let off leading strings, on this matter Thomas had sided with Lady Clarice, who threw up her hands in horror at the thought. So Ellen just did her best to pretend that the two servants weren’t there, walking ahead and humming softly under her breath, enjoying the crispness of the air on the pleasant September day.

  “Ellen!” Demelza exclaimed over her with all her customary warmth, but her sharp eyes could see that something was bothering her younger friend. Deflecting her children with promises of cake in half an hour if they would play quietly until then, she drew Ellen into the parlour and closed the door. “Darling, what’s the matter?

  Ellen tried to protest that everything was fine, but she crumbled under the pressure of Demelza’s genuine, gentle concern, and ended up confessing all her fears and worries about going to London.

  “… and I just know that everyone will look at me and see me for the poor country cousin I am,” Ellen ran down finally, and Demelza rose and took her in a warm, comforting embrace.

  “They will see you for the charming, caring, beautiful young woman that you are,” she reassured. “You will be a hit in London, Ellen; I don’t doubt that you will come back engaged to a duke or someone terribly important who has recognised you as a treasure beyond compare.”

  Ellen laughed through the lump in her throat. “I don’t think I’d make a very good duchess.”

  “You would be magnificent,” Demelza said loyally. “You will be magnificent. Promise that you will write and tell me all about it?”

  “I shall write so often you will spend all your allowance on paying for the postage and write back begging me to stop.” Ellen had to hold back tears as Demelza hugged her close.

  “Never,” Demelza promised. “John would never grudge me your letters, dearest. You shall write as much as you wish, and I will write back, though our dull lives will be of little interest.”

  “Oh, never say so,” Ellen smiled through her teary eyes. “Your recounting of the boys’ antics will keep me greatly entertained, I am sure!”

  A crash in the next room made them both wince. “Talking of which,” Demelza said with a sigh, “I knew it was too good to be true.”

  “Come, they are eager for their cake, and you have reassured me.” Ellen smiled bravely, and her friend took her hand, squeezed it.

  “You will be fine, dearest. Just be yourself, and you will soon make friends.”

  Ellen could only hope Demelza was correct.

  Chapter 8

  Demelza’s words came back to Ellen as she looked around the crowded ballroom, and she smiled ruefully. Her friend had never even been to London, had no idea of the ways of high society. Beauty, wealth and connections were the only coin the Ton recognised, and Ellen had none of the first two and little of the last. She had visited the fashionable modiste Lady Clarice patronised, allowed herself to be draped in silks and satins, measured and pinned for gowns more luxuriant than anything she had ever imagined. The first night wearing one of her new gowns, she had truly felt like a princess as she entered the ballroom just a step behind Louisa.

  By the end of the night, the scales had well and truly fallen from her eyes. Thomas was the only man who had asked Ellen to dance while Louisa was constantly surrounded by a crowd of gentlemen three deep clamouring for her attention. None of them had given Ellen more than a second glance. This was the third ball she had attended as part of the Havers family, and she had still only ever danced duty dances with Thomas.

  Sipping on a cup of punch she had been forced to ask a footman to procure for her, it occurred to Ellen that she was, in fact, a confirmed wallflower. Relegated to the fringes of the room where matrons sat on uncomfortable chairs and gossiped about the gathered throng, she might as well have been invisible.

  With a quiet sigh, Ellen found a seat for herself. Her new dancing slippers pinched her toes and she was glad to sit down and ease her feet.

  “Hello,” a friendly voice said, and she looked to her left, her eyes widening as she took in the beauty of the woman sitting beside her. Around the same age as Ellen herself, she guessed, the lady wore a gown in the first stare of fashion, a choker of impossibly large diamonds around her slender throat, a mass of red-gold curls artfully arranged atop her head.

  “Er, hello,” Ellen stuttered, a little awe-struck by the lady’s beauty. Why in the world was
someone who looked like that sitting alone at the side of the room engaging complete strangers in conversation? She should be on the dance floor, being fawned over by a horde of swains even larger than Louisa’s.

  A handsome young gentleman paused in front of them, making the lady an impeccable bow. “Might I implore you for a dance, Lady Creighton?”

  The lady’s smile vanished instantly. “Thank you, I do not care to dance,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

  “May I fetch you something? A glass of punch?”

  “I thank you, no.” Deliberately, Lady Creighton lifted her fan, snapped it open and turned her head to the side, looking at Ellen and hiding her face from the gentleman. He bowed, his expression melancholy, before backing away.

  “Did you know him?” Ellen asked impulsively.

  “Only slightly,” Lady Creighton said with a sigh, lowering her fan and checking that the gentleman had truly left them alone. Her foot was tapping along to the music, Ellen saw.

  “But you did not wish to dance with him?” Curiosity roused, Ellen quite realised that she was being rude, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “I am not permitted to dance with anyone except my husband,” Lady Creighton said with another sigh, “nor to converse with any gentleman when I am not in his presence.”

  Ellen’s eyes widened with shock. “I… see,” she said at last, thinking that the lady’s husband must be very jealous.

  “So I find events like this dreadfully tedious, since generally after the first dance my husband abandons me to my own devices and heads for the card room.”

  The lady was lonely, Ellen realised. She offered her a friendly smile. “He does not object to your conversing with other ladies, though?”

  “Fortunately, no. I am Marianne, by the way.”

  “Ellen Bentley... Lady Creighton?”

  “Countess of Creighton, for my sins.” Marianne’s smile was weary. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bentley. You do not dance tonight?”

  “I did dance,” Ellen said a little defensively. “The second dance, with my cousin, the Earl of Havers.”

  “How nice.”

  “…And since then, nobody has asked me,” Ellen confessed. “I’m a wallflower, I’m afraid.”

  “Which is quite ridiculous, for you’re very pretty, and cousin to an Earl.”

  “The poor relation, I’m afraid,” Ellen smiled, but she couldn’t quite hide her hurt. Thomas had promised, after all, that she would be treated equally to the rest of the Havers family. She could hardly blame him for the way other people treated her, though, and how was he to know? He was from America, and no more familiar with London society and its unspoken rules than she.

  Marianne tilted her head curiously. “What difference does that make?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Allow me to share a story with you,” Marianne said. “Once upon a time, there was a gentleman with an unfortunate habit of losing at the card tables. Without particular connections of his own, he had entrée into the higher circles of society through his wife’s family.”

  Spellbound and wondering who the gentleman in the story was, Ellen listened in silence.

  “One day, the gentleman sat down to a game of cards at his club which was particularly ill-fated. By the end of it, he had lost every possession he ever owned and his opponents held notes of debt he could never hope to meet. He was a pauper. Desperate, he approached the only connection he had who might offer him aid in his time of need; his late wife’s distant cousin, the Earl of Creighton.” Marianne’s lovely face was emotionless as she continued. “The gentleman had only one thing left to offer the Earl; his eighteen-year-old daughter, accounted a very pretty girl by all who saw her. Indeed, her first London season was turning out a smashing success. Miss Abingdon was courted by quite a number of eligible gentlemen, all of whom were willing to overlook her lack of dowry and her father’s well-known habits. Their suits all came to naught, however, when Mr Abingdon accepted the Earl of Creighton’s offer for her.”

  Marianne’s expression was remote as she finished her little story. Ellen did not quite know what to say. Miss Abingdon was evidently Marianne herself.

  “So, you see,” Marianne said after a few moments of silence, “wealth and connections are not required in order to catch a husband, even one among the wealthiest and most highly titled in the land. There are plenty of gentlemen out there with their own fortunes, in charge of their own destinies, and I cannot at all comprehend why some of them are not looking at you and seeing a lovely young woman who would make some lucky gentleman a fine wife.”

  Put like that, Ellen supposed it was a little odd that nobody at all approached her. There were plenty of plainer girls than she, of no greater wealth and in many cases lesser family, who regularly appeared on the dance floor on the arms of eligible young men.

  “Even Miss Brightling dances more than you, and she is afflicted with eyes that cross, protruding teeth and an insatiable appetite for sweets which has given her a girth similar to that of a horse,” Marianne said, accurately if a little cruelly. “Why does Lady Havers not introduce you to some of the young men buzzing about her daughter? There would not be enough dances for Lady Louisa to give them one each if this ball lasted until tomorrow night.”

  “I suppose… maybe Lady Havers does not want me distracting from Louisa’s limelight?” Ellen said uncertainly. Although she was uncertain why Louisa apparently needed suitors at all; her play for Thomas had been both obvious and apparently successful. Thomas stood glowering jealously at Louisa’s group even now. Poor Thomas; every time Louisa smiled at one of her swains he looked most distressed. Ellen wished that she might say or do something to comfort him.

  “The Earl needs to stop pining after Lady Louisa and start making acquaintances of his own social circle,” Marianne said. “I’m afraid that I may not speak to him to effect introductions, but there are some ladies I might introduce you to, if you would be willing? They have relatives near to your cousin’s age who are upstanding young men.”

  The slightly wistful tone in Marianne’s voice made Ellen wonder if the young men in question had been among her suitors before she was married off to Creighton. Grateful for her condescension, though, Ellen said honestly that she should be delighted to make any new acquaintances.

  “Excellent. Do come with me.” Rising gracefully to her feet, Marianne led Ellen along the wall to where a group of older society matrons were gathered. “Lady Jersey, Lady Sale, Mrs Peabody. May I introduce Miss Ellen Bentley to your notice? She is a cousin of the new Earl of Havers.”

  “An American?” Lady Sale said sharply. She had a long, narrow nose, and a way of looking down it that made Ellen feel very small.

  “No, my lady, I was born and raised in Haverford,” Ellen dipped a curtsy. “I am quite a distant cousin,” she said with devastating honesty, “my great-grandmother was sister to the Earl’s grandfather.”

  “Quite close enough,” Lady Jersey said with a hearty chuckle. “My great-grandmother was mistress to one of our former monarchs, and my family has never quite managed to live down the scandal!”

  “Sally!” Lady Sale shook her head, but a smile curved her thin lips upward as Mrs Peabody let out a high, girlish giggle.

  A little shocked, Ellen blushed, saw that Marianne was blushing too. Lady Jersey was examining her now with a critical eye.

  “You’re here with Clarice, I suppose?”

  “Lady Havers, yes, my lady,” Ellen nodded.

  “Never did like her. Why isn’t she introducing you about, hm? Worried you’ll be competition for her daughter, Laura is it?”

  “Lady Louisa,” Mrs Peabody corrected her.

  Lady Jersey waved a plump, beringed hand carelessly in the other woman’s direction. “Yes, yes, Lady Louisa, we all know the type. Diamond of the first water and all that. Why didn’t she find a husband in her first two seasons, hm?”

  “Holding out for
a bigger fish,” Lady Sale said knowledgeably.

  The other ladies hummed in acknowledgement before all looking back at Ellen.

  “You did well to bring her to us, Lady Creighton,” Lady Jersey nodded to Marianne.

  “I hoped. My situation means that I cannot be of much use, but you ladies… well, you were very kind to me at my debut.”

  “You quite broke poor Tristan’s heart when you married Creighton, my dear,” Lady Sale said, “but I never blamed you. We know what kind of man your father was.”

  Looking past them, Marianne paled suddenly. “Excuse me,” she said hastily, and walked briskly away to join a gentleman who had just entered the ballroom.

  “Poor girl,” Lady Sale and Mrs Peabody said almost in unison while Lady Jersey was not nearly so restrained.

  “Wasted!” she snapped.

  “Is that Lord Creighton?” Ellen asked shyly, a little horrified. The earl, if it were he, had to be at least seventy years old if not more, almost entirely bald, his face deeply wrinkled. He was a big man, though, tall and still powerfully built despite his age, and as Marianne hastened to his side he put out a large hand and clamped it tightly around her wrist, almost dragging her from the room.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Lady Jersey said, “and if Clarice has her way, you’ll probably end up married off to someone just as awful. Let us see to thwarting her plans, my dears. Regrettably, Almack's is closed until the Season proper or I should provide you with vouchers, but Town is not entirely devoid of suitable prospects at this time of year.” She gave Ellen a warm smile, raking her from head to foot with sharp eyes. “At least Clarice has seen fit to outfit you properly, although lavender isn’t quite your colour. Why are you still in mourning, if the previous earl was such a distant cousin?”

  “My parents both passed away last December,” Ellen said, once again having to swallow the painful lump in her throat. She did not think that she would ever stop missing them.

  “Oh, you poor dear!” Mrs Peabody said sympathetically. “I must introduce you to my godson. Now where is that boy…”