The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor (4 page)
‘
This woman walked right into me, Aunt,
’
announced the young man, glaring accusingly at Eleanor.
‘
I have had no apology and now she is snivelling like a child.
’
All at once, the
arrogance of his tone
caused a wave of
indignant
rage to pulse through Eleanor. She had done
nothing wrong
. She
was tired
. Her entire body ached. T
he bruise on her head
,
whi
ch had now developed into
a lar
ge lump, was throbbing terribly. S
he was hungry and grimy and, m
ost of all, she was in
no mood to be treated as though she were nothing more than a piece of unwelcome dirt.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she pulled herself up from the floor and, tilting
up
her chin defiantly
to face what she now realiz
ed was
a tall, broad-shouldered young man, she inhaled deeply.
‘
I beg your pardon, sir,
’
she countered
, looking directly
into a pair of large dark
eyes,
‘
but it was
you
that knocked
me
over. If you had but looked into the corridor before barging out like a wild animal, you would have seen me immediately and the entire incident would have been avoided.
’
The
man glowered at Eleanor, dark fury now colouring his features. Before he could reply
,
the
dowager
interjected.
‘
Well, Eleanor,
’
she
huff
ed, crossing her arms over her ample bosom,
‘
Giles had informed me you had arrived. By George, I knew that I was going to have my work cut out with you but I must say I didn’t expect you
to be causing trouble already
. Now let me have a proper look
at you.
’
She took a
step back and rais
ed
her lorgnette to her
small, black
eyes
,
in exactly the same way she had done six years previously.
Every remnant of Eleanor’s earlier resolve
evaporat
ed
as she instantly rev
erted back to a
self-conscious teenager at a complete loss as to what to do with her arms. Awkwardly, and in the absence of any better ideas, she let them hang loosely by her sides.
The
dowager
pursed her lips as she surveyed her goddaughter’s stunning crown of glos
sy auburn hair; her large emerald
eyes and her flawless, peachy skin. After what seemed to Eleanor like an eternity, she lowered her lorgnette and placed her hands on her expansive hips.
‘
Well,
’
she puffed
,
‘
I suppose we should be thankful that you have at least inherited your mother’s looks. You could do with a little more meat on your bones but at least you have a decent bosom and I’ve never known a man turn his nose up at one of those.
’
Eleanor
’s eyes widened as
colour flooded
her cheeks.
N
ever before
had she
been
spoken to
in such a frank and open manner
– and
in front of a gentleman
. As the gentleman in question
emitted a snort of laughter, Eleanor flashed him a reproving glare
.
His a
nger appeared to have
completely dissolved as he
now
leaned nonchalantly against the wall
,
one leg propped up behind him
,
his arms crossed over his broad chest.
From t
he
annoying smirk playing about
his lips
, he
was
obviously
finding the
spectacle very entertaining.
Eleanor c
ringed
again
as she realiz
ed that her humiliation was not yet over
. Lady Ormiston
was unreservedly continuing
her speech:
‘
… but as to your behaviour, my girl,
y
our step
mama informs me it is reprehensibly unbecoming and that your accomplishme
nts are gravely lacking. I
f I recall, I warned your father what would happen if you were not taken in hand
. A
nd
I am
rare
ly wrong in such matters. O
ne only has to look at the results of his child-rearing to see how right I was.
’
Criticism of her
self, Eleanor could
suffer
. C
riticism of her father
,
she could not.
She opened her mouth to protest
,
but her godmother raised an admonishing hand.
‘
I have neither the time nor the inclination to discuss the mat
t
er further, Eleanor
. N
ow return to your chambers and dress for dinn
er. We will eat at eight o’
clock sharp.
’
With her closing instructions, t
he old woman turned on her heel
and marched bris
kly back down the corridor,
skirts rustling
. Desperate not to be
alone with the repulsive young man
, Eleanor, her head high, spun
around and made to return to h
er chambers. Why the very nerve
of him sniggering at her like that. Call himself a gentleman? Eleano
r
, courtesy of
her time
spent
with Zach, the farmer
,
could think of
many words to call him. ‘Gentleman’ was not amongst
them.
Obviously he was
some annoying nephew of Lady Ormiston
’s. Who hopefully
wouldn’t be staying long. Indeed hopefully she wouldn’t have to have anything else to do with-
The sound of Lady Ormiston’s voice booming at her from the opposite end of the corridor
interrupted
her thoughts.
‘
Oh
,
and Eleanor …’
With some effort, Eleanor affected a pleasa
nt expression as she
swung around to face her godmother.
‘
… do watch wher
e you’re going in future
. The last thing I require is to hear of any of my servants being discomposed as a result of
your
antics.
’
Another irritating snort of laughter came from
the direction of the young man
who had not moved from his position against the
wall. Eleanor whisked
around again before he could see the colour returning to her cheeks with renewed heat. With the exception of Hester Scones, she did believe she had never disliked anyone more in her entire life.
TWO
T
he expedition to the dining-
room a half hour later was relatively uneventful with onl
y two wrong turns and
, thankfully,
no humiliating collisions.
Congratulating h
erself on locating her
destination well
ahead of time and
any other guests, Elea
nor was directed
by a footman
in
to a
square
, pale-
green
saloon, adjacent to the dining-
room
. Judging
by its modern, elegant décor,
this room, too, had
undergone
a recent redecoration
. Ag
ainst the back wall stood a
mahogany sideboard with two silver chandeliers, a
tray
of crystal decanters
,
and a vase
of
pink lilies. In front of the blazing fir
e stood an
ormolu table
and a
sofa and s
everal chairs all upholstered in invisible green silk
. With an
unladylike flounce, Eleanor slumped down into
a high-backed armchair
and accepted a glass of
ratafia
from the footman.
Completely exhausted, s
he would have liked nothing more than to have taken dinner alone in her room before retiring early. She had briefly contemplated proposing such an idea but, given the unfortunate incident
in the corridor
earlier, h
ad co
ncluded that the least fuss she made
,
the better
.
Summoning
every last scrap of energy, she had therefore changed into her o
nly evening gown – a very tired-
looking, creased garment in faded blue silk – and made her weary way back through the maze of corridors to the ground floor.
Now
,
sipping at the sweet almond-flavoured liqu
id in the comfort of the fireside chair
, she was aware of her body unwinding and her
heavy
eyelids
very slowly closing. All at once
, though, the door burst
open and her godmother’s vociferous voice signalled the end of her peace.
‘
Now, Eleanor,
allow me to introduce you to our guests for this evening: Lady Carmichael and her daughters Felicity and Gertru-
’
Rudely startled from her
doze, Eleanor leapt from her
seat and spun around to face the new arrivals. In the process,
the glass of ratafia slipped from her hand, dispensing its contents over
the front of her skirts
,
before landing with a small thu
d on the
Persian rug. Gasping in dismay as she watched the glass bounce and scatter its few remaining sticky drops over the carpet, Eleanor raised an appalled hand to her mouth.
‘
Oh,
’
she gush
ed, a rush of pink stain
ing
her cheeks,
‘
I am so sorry. I do believe I nodded off slightly and I-
’
Shifting her gaze from the glass to her godmother, she cringed as she noticed an expression of pure horro
r
-
intermingled with
something akin to disbelief -
spread across Lady Ormiston’s rou
nded countenance. The old lady
had come to an abrupt halt inside the doorway, her three plump guests bouncing off one another as they failed to stop quite so rapidly.
‘
Hmph,
’
sniffed the
dowager
.
‘
I thought it would be too much to ask that we have no more disasters before dinner. I do declare, Eleanor, that I have never met such a
clumsy
, unrefined y
oung woman in all my life.
I dare not think what your poor mother, my cousin, would have
made
of your behaviour,
’
she puff
ed, shaking her head so vehemently that the ribbons on her lace cap danced in exasperation. In sympathy with their hostess, the ugly trio behind her, all of a similar shape and heigh
t, and all dressed in
unflattering frilly pastel gowns, all shook their heads too.
‘
Stevens!
’
roared the
dowager
, causing the trio, Eleanor and indeed th
e summoned footman, to
jump.
‘
Clear up this mess
at once
.’
‘
Of course, your g
race,
’
simpered the
lanky young man,
scurrying over to the scene of the incident. Picking up the empty glass, he began da
bb
ing furiously at the stain with a white serving cloth.
‘
And as for you, Eleanor,
’
continued the
dowager
, turning he
r dark eyes to the
large wet patch decorating her goddaughter’s dress,
‘
I suggest you go upstairs and change your gown immediately.
’
‘Oh,’ muttered E
leanor
,
bit
ing
her lip.
‘
I’m, e
r
,
I’m
a
fraid I cannot
, Godmother
.
’
‘
Cannot?
’
echoed
Lady Ormiston.
‘
Why
on earth
not?
’
‘
Because this is the
, um,
only evening gown I have.’
An incredulous snort of laughter escaped the older of
the two girls, who were still standing behind their hostess.
Lady Ormiston’s brows knitted together
in confusion
.
‘
Are you telling me
,
Eleanor,
that you - the daughter of an e
arl – have only one evening gown to your name?
’
Desperate not to make a cake of herself yet again in front of her new guardian, Eleanor attempted to offer
a
logical explanation.
‘
I’m
afraid I am, your grace. But i
t’s not that my
father refused to buy me gowns. I
t’s rather that I never wished for any.
’
To her dismay, this confession
only served to make matters worse as the collective gas
p which followed
could not have been louder had she announced
that
she wished to remove all her clothes and ta
ke a stroll around the grounds.
‘
Never wished for any gowns
,
’
repeated Lady Ormiston, walking to the armchair opposite that of Eleanor’s and easing her large frame into it.
‘
I have never heard anything like it in my entire life.
’
Taking their cue to be seated from their hostess, the three stout guests bustled across the room and took their places on the green sofa directly in front of the fire: Lady Carmichael in the centre with one mousy, ringleted
-haired
daughter either side of her. Eleanor gingerly resumed her seat and
stared dolefully at
the damp patch on h
er dress as
four sets of eyes examined
her curiously.
A
high-pitched whine broke the uncomfortable silence.
‘
Why
,
I must confess,
’
announced Lady Carmichael, smoothing an imaginary crease from the skirt of her fussy, high-waisted yellow gown,
‘
that I have never before met a young lady who has no in
terest in gowns. W
e have done little else over the past few months than prepare a c
ollection for Felicity for her c
ome
o
ut
,
which, as you know, Lady Ormiston, is to take place in a little under three weeks.
’
‘
How could I possibly forget,
’
sniffe
d La
dy Ormiston
, accepting a glass of brandy from a second footman
.
‘
Y
ou must have told me the date in excess of one hundred times
, Cynthia
.
’
‘
Oh dear, have I really?
’
tittered Lady Carmichael
, reaching for a
g
lass of ratafia from the
footman’s silver
tray.
‘
It’s just that we are
so dreadfully excited about it, are we not
,
Felicity?
’
‘
Indeed we are, Mama,
’
replied
Felicity,
in a
n identical
whine.
‘
Naturally
we are hoping for a very
good offer following her come
o
ut,
’
continu
ed Lady Carmichael, taking a sip of her drink,
‘
which shouldn’t be too difficult,
given that Felicity will be the belle
of all the balls this Season.
’
Eleanor sneaked
a peep at
Felicity
. With the girl’s
dumpy frame
,
square
head
and distinct lack of neck,
s
he couldn’t help but feel that Lady Carmichael’s expectations were a tad optimistic.
Undeterred
by the
disbelieving looks cast her by both Eleanor and her h
ostess, Lady Carmichael
continue
d
her speech.
‘
Can you believe
, Lady Ormiston, that we have been planning Felicity’s
come
o
ut for almost two years now?
’
The
dowager
raised her brows in mock surprise.
‘
Really?
It seems so
very
much longer.
’
Detecting the
lilt of
sarcasm in her godmother’s tone, Eleanor bit back a smile.
‘
Exactly what I said this very morning,
’
carried on Lady Carmichael obliviously.
‘
I shall feel
quite bereft once the event is over. Although hopefully we will the
n move on to planning a
wedding
.
’
She flashed
Felicity a knowing smile.
‘
Heaven save us
,
’
muttered the
dowager
drily
, staring into her brandy glass as she swirled around the amber liquid.
‘
Is there to be no end to it?
’
At her godmother’s blatant rudeness and Lady Carmichael’s blatant disregard of it, Eleanor tried desperately to control he
r
twitching
lips. Her amusement, though, had
not gone unnoticed by the entire party
,
as she caught Fe
licity studying her
through narrowed porcine eyes.
‘
May I ask if you are yet betrothed, Lady Eleanor?
’
enquired the girl coldly.
Eleanor opened her mouth to reply
,
but before a word was forthcoming, Lady Ormiston intervened.
‘
Not yet
,’ she replied matter-of-factly.
‘Her stepmama has tasked me with finding
her a suitable husband
.
I can therefore assure you th
at Eleanor will
be married off by the end of the Season.
’