by Darcy Burke
“In a little while,” Clarice looked about with a discerning eye. “Most of the eligible gentlemen have had their fill for the night and are departing. Louisa is engaged for this dance, I believe, and then I think we shall depart. Our hostess has allowed her servants to serve the wine a little too liberally and a few of the guests are becoming rowdy.” She wrinkled her nose in aristocratic distaste as a young lady ran past, hotly pursued by a much older gentleman.
Ellen was shocked too, and determined that she would not accept any more dances that evening, though Mrs Peabody suggested the son of a friend who happened to be passing. “Thank you, but I have danced far more than I am accustomed to this evening,” she said with a shy smile. “I should be most honoured to make your friend’s acquaintance on another occasion, though.”
Mrs Peabody beamed at her, and Ellen thought privately that she seemed to be a perpetually cheerful lady. She was also dressed by far the most opulently of the three dowagers, which was really saying something since all of them were in the first stare of fashion. Ellen knew little of jewels, but the multiple long strands of large, creamy pearls draped around Mrs Peabody’s neck and the diamond bracelets on her wrists seemed to bespeak extreme wealth.
Louisa danced past just then on the arm of a short, rotund young man with several chins wobbling above his shirt points, and Lady Jersey snorted loudly.
“Don’t think your girl will suit Ormiston, Clarice. She’s not fond enough of her food!”
All three of the Dauntless Dowagers, as Ellen mentally christened them, cackled merrily at Lady Jersey’s remark, and Clarice turned red again. Ellen bit back laughter too, knowing she would pay for it later if she permitted herself to be amused at Louisa’s expense.
“Good evening, ladies,” Clarice said frostily. “We will await the end of the dance by the stairs, Ellen.” Her hand locked around Ellen’s wrist like a manacle and she set off briskly, towing Ellen behind her. With no opportunity to do anything else, Ellen had to settle for bowing her head to the dowagers and saying a quick thank you for their kindnesses. They smiled benignly on her in return, so she was reassured they did not take offence at her rapid departure in Clarice’s wake.
The carriage ride back to the Havers townhouse seemed endless to a weary Ellen, obliged to sit and listen to Louisa chattering excitedly about how many gentlemen had asked her to dance, and how highly titled they were. Her last partner had been a duke, about whom Clarice was particularly enthused, despite Lady Jersey’s remarks.
Both the Havers ladies ignored Ellen’s existence, which she had become entirely used to. They made every effort to include her in front of Thomas, Louisa going so far as to pretend they were bosom friends, but as soon as Thomas left the room the masks of civility came down.
In truth, Ellen didn’t care. She had known Clarice and Louisa her entire life, had known of her relationship to them, and they had treated her as a nobody. It had taken a direct order from Thomas to even get them to acknowledge her existence, but she was quite certain they would be perfectly happy for her to disappear back into obscurity as soon as possible.
They were but a few minutes from the townhouse when Clarice at last turned her attention upon Ellen.
“And you, miss, what have you to say for yourself?”
Startled, Ellen dragged her attention away from her pensive study of the quiet, dark streets passing by outside the coach’s window. “I beg your pardon, Aunt Clarice?”
“It was not well done of you at all to impose yourself upon your betters, Ellen. Why ever did you bring yourself to the notice of Lady Jersey and her friends?”
“I did not, ma’am. I was sitting quietly at the side of the room when a lady sitting in a nearby chair spoke to me. She was the one who made the introductions.”
“And who was this lady?” Clarice said sharply.
“The Countess of Creighton, ma’am.”
Louisa gasped at that, and Clarice’s lips tightened further. “I see,” she said coldly.
“Is there some reason I should not have spoken to the Countess, ma’am? She seemed perfectly respectable, and Lady Jersey and Lady Sale greeted her warmly…”
“Yes,” Clarice said, “she is quite respectable. I suppose there is no reason you should have known, but Creighton was quite close to offering for Louisa at one point during her first season. He pulled back quite unexpectedly and the next thing we knew, his engagement to Miss Abingdon, as she was then, was announced.”
“Well,” Ellen said frankly, “I think you had a lucky escape, Cousin Louisa.”
“How so?” Louisa looked quite startled.
“Lady Creighton does not appear happy in her marriage. It seems the Earl is very jealous; he does not permit her to dance with other men, nor even to speak with them if he is not present.”
Louisa looked quite shocked at Ellen’s revelations, looking to her mother as though asking for confirmation. Clarice shrugged a little pettishly.
“How should I have known he would behave so? Perhaps he is that way with Lady Creighton with just cause.”
Both girls looked at her in confusion. Clarice pursed her lips before leaning forward and saying “Perhaps he has good reason to be jealous.”
“Well, Lady Creighton is quite remarkably beautiful,” Ellen said. “No doubt she will always attract attention.”
Clarice sighed impatiently. “Perhaps she encourages it. Perhaps she likes the attention. Perhaps she even disrespects her marriage vows. It is not for us to question why the Earl of Creighton chooses to keep a close watch on his wife.”
“Well,” Louisa said pettishly, “I am very glad I didn’t marry him after all, then. I shall certainly not give up dancing and having a good time when I marry.”
Thomas would never ask you to, Ellen thought, turning her head away. I only hope that I may find someone who will permit me my small enjoyments, too.
Chapter 11
Despite the lateness of the hour, Ellen could not sleep. She lay in bed gazing at the ceiling, her room well-lit by the moonlight flooding in through the open curtains. London was never quiet, and even at this hour in the exclusive streets of Belgravia she could hear the hooves of horses and the wheels of carriages outside, though more infrequently than during the daytime.
Was one of those carriages carrying Thomas home? Would he even return home? Perhaps he would spend the night at the club, with his new friends. How nice it must be, to be able to make friends and go with them on a whim, to enjoy oneself without having to answer to anyone else! Ellen had thought Lady Creighton might be a friend she could talk to, but Clarice’s disapproval meant she would not be able to spend time with the lady openly. There would be no visits or outings to the shops, away from Clarice’s eagle eye and Louisa’s unconcealed sneers.
It was too warm in her room; with a sigh, Ellen flipped her pillow over, seeking coolness. Within five minutes her head felt hot again, though, and she sat up impatiently. She would go to the kitchen and seek a cup of milk from the pantry. Perhaps that might help her rest.
She tugged her robe on over her plain flannel nightgown. Even though her room was warm, there had been a fire blazing in there all evening to make it so, and the rest of the house would likely be quite cool. Pushing her feet into slippers, she opened her door and crept quietly to the head of the stairs.
Ellen was almost at the foot, her hand on the newel post, when the front door suddenly swung open. She froze, mouth open on a half-shriek, even though intellectually she knew Thomas must be the one coming in.
“Ellen!” Thomas seemed, if anything, more startled than she when he saw her. Placing a hand over his heart, he closed the front door, shaking his head. “You gave me a start. Whatever are you doing out of bed at this hour?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she replied, feeling inexplicably argumentative. “Why is it only men who may go out to have a good time, and young ladies cannot even go to the kitchen for a cup of hot milk without being questioned?”
Typical for Thomas
, he chuckled good-naturedly and came forward to offer her his arm. “A cup of hot milk sounds just the thing. Do you think we might find some bread and cheese as well? I’m starving.”
Unable to stay annoyed with him, Ellen smiled. “What, do they not feed you at those fine gentlemens’ clubs?”
“They have dining-rooms, I believe, but I did not see them. The gentlemen I went there with preferred to drink and gamble.”
“And you?” He did not smell of strong drink, though the woodsy aroma of cigars was rising to her nose as they walked to the kitchen.
“They have very good brandy and port,” Thomas admitted, “but gambling when one is in his cups is a good way to get parted from one’s money. I have seen too many good men make such mistakes in America, and have no wish to fall into the same trap myself.”
The kitchen was quiet, the stove banked. Ellen set her candle down on the table and headed unerringly for the pantry.
“How did you know where to find everything?” Thomas asked curiously when she set a cup of milk, half a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese and a pat of butter wrapped in muslin in front of him.
Ellen hesitated before she took a plate from the dresser and set that down too. “Please don’t tell Aunt Clarice?”
“Your secrets are safe with me, always.” He smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back.
“Well, Aunt Clarice and cousin Louisa always sleep in, and sometimes I feel a little bored in the mornings, if you are gone to meet with your man of business. I asked Susan to show me the servants’ areas of the house. I know about the improvements you wish to make to the servants’ quarters at Haverford Hall,” she continued in a babbling rush when Thomas said nothing, “but you have been dreadfully busy since we came to London and I thought you might not have had time to observe here and see if there is anything that needs to be done… I am so sorry if I have overstepped my place…”
Chuckling gently and shaking his head, Thomas held up a hand to stop her. “Ellen. Ellen! Thank you.”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“I’m grateful. You must tell me what you’ve observed. It’s obvious Aunt Clarice does not think of such things, and neither did my uncle, or the servants at Haverford would not be so ill-served. Why would things be any different here? It was something I hoped to look at in the next week or two, certainly before the cold weather begins in earnest, but I am more than happy to have your advice on the matter.”
Pleased by his approval, Ellen blushed a little, casting her eyes down to the scarred, pitted surface of the scrubbed pine table. “Well—I think things are a little better here than at Haverford, in some ways. Perhaps because the house butler is not quite so intimidatingly severe as Allsopp, and for the most part the house is largely unstaffed while the family is not in residence.”
Not understanding, Thomas frowned. “I don’t see why that would make a difference, Ellen?”
“I talked with Dolly, the under-housekeeper,” Ellen admitted. “She was just lately promoted from upstairs maid, and she talked to me about how last winter, for example, because the family did not visit, the servants were able to share all the blankets among just a few of them, rather than having to divide them between a full complement. Mr. Henry, the butler, had no objection if the blanket cupboard in the servants’ area was empty, you see.”
“I see,” Thomas said, nodding. “This winter will be different though, won’t it? Since we now have a houseful.”
“Quite. And while the household budget has been increased to account for the meals the family eats, the kitchen budget for the servants has not, even though they have twice as many mouths to feed.” Animated by the subject, Ellen leaned across the table to enumerate the points she wished to make, unaware that with every word she spoke, Thomas became more and more entranced by her passion.
She was, Thomas thought, quite magnificent as the words poured forth, her anger over the injustice and inequities suffered by the lower classes animating her usually still features and making her suddenly, spectacularly beautiful. She was right, too, in every point she made, and he made a mental note to have her present when he spoke with his steward, in case he forgot anything she had said.
Ellen deserved, he realised, to be mistress of a great estate. She would do far better at the task than Louisa, supposedly bred and raised for such a purpose, or any of the brainless Society misses who had been thrust under his nose thus far. How many of them would even think of the comfort of the servants who saw to their every wish? Even his aunt, herself the daughter of an earl and the mistress of a great estate for many years, did not adequately do so.
With every day Thomas spent in England, he found himself more disillusioned with the members of the aristocratic class who were supposedly his equals. The young men of his own age he had spent the evening with, while pleasant enough, thought of little beyond their own pleasures and pastimes, and the women seemed to speak of nothing but fashion and gossip. He had already decided not to take up the membership at Boodle’s he had been offered, but to seek admittance to Brooks or White’s instead, where the more serious business seemed to take place.
The truth was, he considered as he watched Ellen talk, her blue-grey eyes flashing in the candlelight as she spoke, her hands moving gracefully with her animation and excitement, Ellen was the only person he had met since his arrival in England with whom he really felt he had significant interests in common.
Seeming to finally notice his intent scrutiny, Ellen stopped mid-sentence before dropping her gaze and blushing. “I am so sorry, here I am rattling on and you must be exhausted!”
“Not at all,” Thomas said firmly. “I am just thinking, though, that I may not remember tomorrow—later today, that is—everything you are saying. Can I ask you to attend the meeting I have scheduled with my steward at two this afternoon? He can take notes and we can discuss how best to address the issues you have observed.”
Ellen looked delighted to be asked, but she wrinkled her nose and tapped her finger on her lower lip. “We are supposed to be at home to callers this afternoon—though I daresay Aunt Clarice and Louisa will hardly notice if I am not present. I am sure I can slip away.”
“Absolutely,” Thomas agreed. “I shall see you at two, then. Now off to bed with you, and get some rest.” He tempered the order with a warm smile, and she flashed one of her own in return.
“Good night, Thomas,” her voice floated across the darkened kitchen as she left him alone, and for a long time Thomas sat in silence, lost in thought.
Chapter 12
As Ellen had expected, even before the clock struck two, Mr. Henry was admitting the first of a stream of gentlemen callers eager to pay court to Louisa. None of them gave her a second glance, and when she quietly whispered a request to be excused to her aunt a few minutes later, Clarice didn’t even look at her before waving her hand in dismissal.
The study door stood open, and Thomas looked up with a smile of welcome when she hesitated outside, wondering if she should knock. “Ellen! Come on in. Please, allow me to introduce my steward, Mr. Gallagher.”
Ellen froze for a moment, unsure whether she should curtsy. The steward offered a deep bow, she decided not, and settled for a little dip of her head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“The honour is mine, Miss Bentley. Please, Lord Havers has been telling me that you have assessed the servants’ quarters here and have some recommendations?”
Pleased by the businesslike way he addressed her, Ellen accepted the chair Thomas held for her to sit, and soon the three of them had their heads together over a thick sheaf of papers, Mr. Gallagher taking copious notes.
“Excuse me, my lord,” Mr. Henry interrupted them about a quarter hour later. “Lady Havers is requesting Miss Bentley’s presence in the Chinese Drawing Room.”
Thomas looked up with a frown. “Why?” he asked bluntly.
Mr. Henry coughed delicately. “Two of the callers who are lately arrived, are here specifically to see Mis
s Bentley, my lord.” He paused. “They have brought flowers.”
Thomas was on his feet before he knew what he was about. “Gentlemen callers for Ellen—I mean Miss Bentley? Who are they?” he rapped out.
It was only after he had spoken that it occurred to him, he did not care a whit who had come to call for Louisa.
“Lord Bellmere and Major Trevithick, my lord,” Mr. Henry answered him with a hint of something in his expression that might have been approval. The staff appreciated his concern for Ellen’s welfare, he supposed; after all, she showed concern for theirs. They would want to see her happy and well settled.
“I shall escort you, Ellen,” Thomas decided. “I think we’ve left Gallagher enough to be going on with for now, hm?”
“Indeed, my lord, I shall get to work straight away,” the steward agreed.
“Shall we?” Thomas invited, offering his arm for Ellen. She looked at him queerly.
“I thought you did not care for Aunt Clarice’s At Homes?” she queried softly as they left the study.
“I wished for a break,” he fibbed smoothly, “and some of Cook’s delicious lemon tarts, which I happen to know she made this morning. And, of course, to meet your suitors, Ellen.”
“They are not my suitors,” Ellen said at once, too quickly for Thomas’ liking.
The lady doth protest too much, he thought as he watched the blush colour her cheeks. Did she already have a preference for one of the gentlemen, after a single evening in his company? Silently, he cursed himself for leaving the ball last night. Clearly, one or other of the two men had taken the opportunity to get to know Ellen, and had made a favourable impression.
The Chinese Drawing Room was packed to capacity, it seemed, as Mr. Henry opened the door for them with a bow. Faces turned in their direction, mostly gentlemen though a few had brought their mothers and sisters along. Several female faces brightened notably at the sight of Thomas, but he ignored them all, watching with narrowed eyes as two gentlemen approached with broad smiles.
