Lord Dearborn's Destiny (14 page)

"Oh! Have you heard from Lord Kerrigan, then, Elinor?" asked her aunt, momentarily diverted from savouring her double triumph. Not only had the Earl all but declared himself just now, but he had offered to take her irksome niece off of her hands, too.

"Your grandfather is Lord Kerrigan, Miss O'Day?" interposed the Countess before Ellie could answer. "Lord Kerrigan of Kerribrooke? I knew him rather well in my youth. He was quite the charmer, as I recall. How does he go on these days?"

"He... he has been ill, my lady, but I believe he is mending now." Ellie prayed that this might be the truth, though she really had no idea, as the offer she had just alluded to was entirely fictitious. "His heir, Lord Clairmont, has been seeing after the estates."
 

"And Lady Kerrigan?" prompted the countess with a half smile. "He married Miss Alice Winchell, I remember. She and I were bosom rivals in those days." Her eyes took on a faraway look.

"I'm afraid Grandmama went to her reward nearly five years ago, Lady Dearborn," said Ellie quietly, reluctant to cause her hostess pain. She had never been as close to her grandmother as to Lord Kerrigan, but vividly recalled her father's grief at her passing.

"Poor Alice. She always was a sickly thing —the die-away, delicate sort that some gentlemen prefer. As for me, I could dance till dawn and still be up for a gallop before breakfast. Then, of course. I don't say I could do so now." Her tone clearly indicated that she believed she could, however, and Ellie saw no cause to doubt it. Lady Dearborn had shown herself to be possessed of remarkable energy for a woman of her years.

"So Kerrigan is on his own, is he?" the Countess continued. "I must send a letter of condolence about Alice, and tell him how much I like his granddaughter." She nodded decisively.

Ellie could not suppress a smile. "Thank you, my lady," she said warmly. "He will appreciate it, I know."

"As I was saying, ma'am," broke in Mrs. Winston-Fitts at this point, apparently deciding that she had been ignored long enough, "Rosalind was the wonder of the county for her singing. Perhaps we might open your instrument tonight after dinner if any of the young ladies —or gentlemen —play."

Lady Dearborn allowed that she was not averse to such a scheme and the conversation turned to more general topics, to Ellie's relief. She silently thanked the Countess for her inquisitiveness about Lord Kerrigan, which had prevented her from being forced to reply to her aunt's query about his supposed letter.
 

Perhaps
some
good would come of her little deception, she mused. If Lady Dearborn actually wrote to him, and mentioned her in her letter, the longed-for invitation might finally come. She hoped so, for she would sooner live without a roof over her head than under the same one that sheltered a newly —and undoubtedly happily— married Lord Dearborn and Rosalind.
 

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That evening, after a dinner of surpassing excellence, the company assembled in the drawing room. The gentlemen had lingered only briefly over their port, eager, no doubt, to discover what the countess had planned for their evening's entertainment.

"Forrest said something earlier about a few tables of whist," she began, "and as there are sixteen of us, we can just fill four. However, we may do that another evening just as well." Lady Dearborn glanced about, gauging the reactions of her guests to this suggestion. She dearly loved a game of whist herself, and had even been known to prevail on the Hutchinses to make up a table when Forrest was at home.

"Did you not earlier mention the possibility of music, my lady?" Mrs. Winston-Fitts ventured when no one else seemed likely to suggest an alternative to a vulgar evening at cards. "Perhaps one of the young people could be prevailed upon to play for us, and Rosalind, I know, would be delighted to sing." She was determined to display her daughter to advantage, and singing was Rosalind's one real talent, apart from embroidery.

"Oh, very well, I suppose I did," replied the Countess, thinly concealing her disappointment. "As I said, we may play at whist just as well tomorrow night. Prudence, would you care to play?"

Lady Emma nudged Miss Childs forward, nearly as eager to show her daughter off before Lord Dearborn as was Mrs. Winston-Fitts. She had been trying to bring Prudence to the Earl's notice for years and had nearly given it up, but he was not betrothed yet. And, of course, there were the two young Mr. Willoughbys, both respectable husband material, to consider.

Ellie watched the two young ladies with sympathy, for it was perfectly obvious, to her, at least, that neither had the least desire to perform. Rosalind, she thought, should be used to it by now, for her mother had been putting her forward like this since she had discovered her daughter's singing voice at the age of fifteen. Judging by Miss Childs's resigned expression, she had been similarly prodded by her ambitious mama on frequent occasions.

The performance was pleasing, if not spectacular, and after listening awhile, Ellie was able to conclude that her aunt had better cause for encouraging her daughter's exhibition than did Lady Emma. Rosalind's voice was sweet and true, as always, but poor Prudence's playing was scarcely above average and served mainly as a vehicle for Miss Winston-Fitts's singing. That Miss Childs knew it as well became obvious when, after only two or three songs, she stood and declared herself fatigued.

"Someone else, surely, can play for a bit so that I may more fully enjoy Miss Winston-Fitts's performance," she suggested. It was apparent that she shared none of her mother's aspirations and preferred to end her own part in the proceedings as soon as possible. Ellie warmed to the girl instantly and went to sit beside her.

"You did very well," she said in an undertone as Timothy Willoughby took over at the pianoforte.

"You are most kind, Miss O'Day," replied Prudence, pushing her mousy brown hair away from her rather plain face. "I don't know why Mother always insists that I play, for she cannot reasonably believe others will be impressed by it."

Mr. Willoughby's playing was, if anything, inferior to Miss Childs's, but he continued gamely for a song or two, until Mrs. Winston-Fitts, apparently feeling that her daughter would appear to better advantage with a more skilled accompanist, applied to Lord Dearborn.

"My lord, surely you play?" she asked. "I vow, there is no better way to pass quiet evenings at home than in music, one partner playing and the other singing."

Lord Dearborn was obliged to shatter this picture of domestic bliss by replying, "I fear I never developed my skill beyond the most elementary level, ma'am. My voice is better suited to display than are my fingers, I fear."

"Then you and Rosalind must sing a duet," suggested Rosalind's fond mama instantly. "Elinor, perhaps you would take a turn at the instrument." Her reluctance to allow her niece to put herself forward was clearly overshadowed by her desire to place Rosalind and the Earl in such close, and potentially romantic, proximity.

Ellie reluctantly advanced to the pianoforte. She had no doubt that she would perform creditably, for she had excelled in music before her parents' death, though she had had few occasions to play since. But she hated to cast poor Prudence Childs in the shade, especially so soon after befriending the girl.

As the three of them launched into a lively country air, the surprise of the assembled company was apparent. Ellie was surprised herself, not only that she had remembered the tune so well, but also that Lord Dearborn proved to possess an exceptionally fine baritone singing voice, which he used to great advantage in the rollicking tune.
 

Ellie listened to him with delight, scarcely noticing the approving look he cast her way. Rosalind's voice blended sweetly with the Earl's, Ellie noticed, but she refused to let jealousy interfere with her delight in the music.

Spurred on by the excellence of the singers, Ellie felt that she had never before played so easily or so well. At the end of the song, the other guests, along with Lady Dearborn, broke into spontaneous applause.

"That was marvellous!" exclaimed the Countess. "What a good idea this was, Mrs. Winston-Fitts. Come, let us have another! "

The trio obliged, Ellie varying the tempo from brisk to slow and sweet, and then back again to a country reel that set everyone's toes to tapping. At the end of the third song, Rosalind shyly declared herself to be out of breath, looking to her mother for permission to stop.

"Very well, I suppose that is enough for one evening, sweetheart," answered her proud parent. Her plans were moving along well and she was in charity with the world at the moment. "You might stop as well if you like, Elinor," she said almost kindly to her niece.

"Are you fatigued, Miss O'Day?" asked Lord Dearborn, looking down at her with raised eyebrows. "I confess, I was just beginning to enjoy myself."

"I am perfectly willing to continue if you are, my lord," she said readily. "Rosie began before either of us, so she has some excuse for retiring." Her intention was to turn the Earl's attention back to her cousin, for she was finding his steady regard unsettling, but she failed of her object.

"Do you know any Irish airs?" he asked, continuing to gaze at her face. Ellie nodded and launched immediately into one of her favourites so that he would be forced to sing before her colour could rise any further and perhaps excite the suspicions of her aunt.

The two of them continued at the instrument until the tea tray was brought in, in spite of several attempts by Mrs. Winston-Fitts to lure Lord Dearborn back to her daughter's side. Nor could she prevail on Rosalind to sing again, but was forced to watch the very tableau she had envisaged at the pianoforte, only with different characters.

To increase her chagrin, Lady Dearborn commented at one point, "How well they perform together! Why did you not tell us at once how well your niece plays, Mrs. Winston-Fitts?"

She was forced to make a vague disclaimer about letting the other young people participate, realizing that Elinor was in danger of eclipsing Rosalind yet again, this time without opening her mouth. The knowledge that she herself had suggested the evening's entertainment, and Elinor's playing in particular, did nothing to soothe her temper.
 

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"It was quite selfish of you to monopolize the instrument all evening, Elinor," said Mrs. Winston-Fitts to her niece as they retired to their rooms for the night an hour or two later. "I daresay Miss Childs would have been happy of another chance to perform."

Her hand already on the doorknob to her chamber, Ellie started and turned at this unexpected attack. "Lady Emma might have been, but Prudence most certainly would not," she informed her aunt with more honesty than wisdom. "She told me herself how she detests being forced to play before company. At any rate, it was at your request that I began, and at Lord Dearborn's and his mother's that I remained. Would you have had me refuse?"

Ellie was still exhilarated by the experience of accompanying the Earl, and even more so by the approving —and at times, something more than approving —looks he had cast her way during their recital. She had not yet had time to analyse her feelings, but knew that she felt more alive than she had in years. Thus, she was more than usually willing to defend herself against her aunt's unjust accusations. Her uncle nodded at her encouragingly.

"No, of course you could not refuse," replied Aunt Mabel ill-naturedly. "But you might have feigned fatigue rather than show off, as dear Rosalind did."

Ellie shot a glance at her cousin, wondering if she would refute her mother's assumption; but Rosalind, though looking somewhat nettled, said nothing.

"Very well, ma'am," Ellie finally said, her high spirits fading. "I will attempt to take your advice in future. Must I also feign ignorance of whist, if we are to play tomorrow night, as Lady Dearborn suggested?" She could not quite keep the note of bitterness from her voice, but her aunt seemed not to notice.

"Whist! That reminds me," said Mrs. Winston- Fitts, diverted. "You must spend tomorrow morning teaching Rosalind to play, for it will never do for Dearborn to discover that she is ignorant of the game. He appears quite fond of it, and she will doubtless be expected to play occasionally after their marriage."
 

Ellie felt her spirits sink further at this reminder. "Of course, Aunt Mabel. Shall we meet just after breakfast, Rosie?"

Rosalind agreed with a show of enthusiasm that put the finishing touch to her cousin's sudden depression. It was obvious to Ellie that Rosalind wished to please the Earl by learning the game, which could only speak of her growing affection for him.

"I'll see you in the morning, then. Good night, Aunt Mabel, Uncle Emmett. Good night, Rosie." With an effort, she kept a smile on her face.
 

Gone was her pleasant plan of reliving her musical evening as she drifted off to sleep, recalling every glance, every word, that the Earl had directed her way. She now wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep, preferably without dreams.
 

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R
OSALIND
'
S
INSTRUCTION
at whist had to be put off the next morning when the Countess suggested a tour of some other parts of the estate. Ellie, along with Rosalind and her parents, had just served themselves from the ample selection on the sideboard when their hostess breezed in, turquoise scarves and orange feathers flying, to acquaint them with her plans.

"The grounds on the western side of the house are well worth seeing," she informed them, "and there is a very pretty duck pond that I am persuaded you will like, Miss Winston-Fitts. I have been meaning to walk over that way myself, in any event, for I must have a look at the dower house before ordering its refurbishing." This was said with a suggestive look at Rosalind, which she missed entirely as her eyes were on her plate. The significance was by no means lost on her mother, however, who smiled complacently.