The Women of Eden (70 page)

If only she would open her eyes.

The old physician said she might if the fever broke and some of the congestion cleared. He'd pronounced it pneumonia and had placed an oil of clove compress on her chest, had advised Burke to make her more comfortable by changing her to a nightdress, and had perhaps partially believed Burke's story that their luggage had been stolen in an inn outside Newcastle. Burke had removed her slippers and loosened the buttons around her throat and had sat for the last three hours with a cool linen pressed against her forehead.

But her silence was as deep as ever, her breathing as labored.

Weakened by fatigue and despair, Burke sat back in the chair at her bedside and thought of the first time he'd seen her.

The memory, instead of pleasing him, only punished him further and he looked up, recalling the ordeal which she had suffered at the hands of John Murrey Eden.

But hate was a poison he did not need and, because he was confident that there would be no more interruptions this night, Giffen having come and gone for the last time, he went down on his knees at bedside and, though a relative stranger to God and prayer, he asked the silence in the room to spare her on the logical basis that she could serve better here than in Heaven, where surely warm and loving spirits abounded.

It was while he was on his knees that he heard the door open behind him, heard a single step, which seemed to pause, then retreat, the door closing as quickly as it had opened.

Annoyed at this interruption, he looked over his shoulder and saw a neatly folded white muslin nightdress on the chair. A gift from old Giffen, he was certain, a man of infinite resources. He pushed to his feet, retrieved the nightdress and stood over her.

No, he wouldn't disturb her. If Death paid a visit during the night, she was more appropriately garbed in black than white.

In defense against the thought of death, he clasped her hand and held it tightly, and vowed that even so awesome a force as Death would have to wrestle him for possession of that hand.

January 15, 1871

To the best of her recollection, Lady Eleanor Forbes had never been happier. As she stood in the receiving line in the drawing room of Mr. Eden's Belgrave Square mansion, she knew better than anyone the meaning of her place there.

Though this grand reception was being given by Mr. Eden for the purpose of introducing his cousin Lord Richard to London society, her place between the t\vo men made a bold announcement without words. Lacking the presence of any other female bearing the name of Eden, she had been asked to fill the position as official hostess, and never had anyone rushed to fill a role more graciously. And her rewards were all around her, in the beautifully govmed ladies and elegant gentlemen, mostly from financial London but impressive all the same, in the self-satisfied smiles on her parents' faces as they reflected in her glory, and, most important of all, in her heart of hearts, for the man vvdth whom the secret marriage contract had been arranged had turned out to be a splendid man, gentle, considerate, thoughtful, all qualities she'd never known before in a man.

Wanting to confirm the reality and, as there was a pause in the line of well-wishers, she turned to her left and saw him in profile, looking ill at ease in his dress blacks, though striving valiantly to be everything that his cousin wanted him to be.

"Are you surviving?" she whispered playfully, engaging in a pleasant intimacy with him, though they'd never even kissed, but rather an intimacy based on companionship.

"Not surviving," he whispered back, "as much as enduring."

At that moment she heard music, the muscians in the second-floor

Ballroom tuning their instraments for the ball which would follow the reception. As she smiled at the guests of the moment, she wondered if at last Richard would dance with her. In the fortnight since their return from Eden they had attended a party or a ball almost nightly and, although occasion after occasion had presented itself, Richard had always demurred, claiming incompetence, claiming that he was a better witness than participant.

"Only a few minutes longer," she heard Mr. Eden whisper on her right. "Then I shall release you both, I promise."

She glanced in his direction and thought that he looked very tired. Indeed, that had been Richard's primary objection to this reception, which had first been suggested shortly after their return to London. Richard had claimed that it was not the time for a social function, less than a month after Lila's death. But Mr. Eden had insisted.

There were other mysteries as well. For one, the curious schism which had developed between Mr. Eden and Elizabeth. She had flatly refused to come. Yet the greater the opposition to the evening, the more determined Mr. Eden had been to see it through.

"It's a lovely party," Eleanor murmured, certain that he had his reasons for everything.

"It is, isn't it?" He smiled as though pleased with himself.

To her left she was aware of Richard leaning closer. Obviously he had heard their whispers and now joined them, in the process abandoning Aslam, who stood stiffly in formal dress to his left. "Who are they all?" Richard murmured, as though amazed that so many would be interested in greeting him.

"Friends," Mr. Eden replied expansively, "a few business associates." He paused, a heaviness in his voice. "Not everyone wishes us ill, Richard."

He was on the verge of saying something else, but Eleanor saw Alex Aldwell signaling him from the door. Mr. Eden excused himself, promising an immediate return whereupon they would lead all their guests up to the Ballroom.

Eleanor watched him as he made his way through the crowds, finding him as dramatic now as she had years ago when her father had first brought him as a guest to Forbes Hall. So many legends surrounded him that it was difficult to separate fact from fiction. But the general aura that went with him was that he was a man who could accomplish anything. While she was impressed with such power, she found that she preferred the humanity of Lord Richard

Eden. Again she glanced in that direction to see him in close huddle with Aslam. Not wanting to intrude on their conversation, she contented herself with standing erect, receiving many admiring glances— her dark green velvet gown was exquisite—and wondered how long she would have to wait before she became Lady Eleanor Eden.

"Speaking of survival," came a voice next to her, "you don't look too well yourself."

She lowered her head in an attempt to hide any revealing emotion. "I have never felt better, Richard," she said to the floor.

"I don't believe a word of it," he countered playfully. "Aslam and I were just plotting an escape. Would you care to join us?"

Shocked, she looked up at the two male faces before her. "You can't do that, Richard! John would never forgive you."

Aslam stepped forward, a willing accomplice. "Not now. Lady Eleanor," he said. "Later. A midnight supper somewhere. Just the three of us."

Still confused, she glanced from one to the other. "Of course. Why not?" she said, and wished that their numbers might be reduced by one. While she was fond of the young Indian and aware of his importance in this family, there had been times in the past when she would have preferred his absence. Quickly she scolded herself. Richard adored him and insisted that he go everyplace with them, and Eleanor understood. After all, the boy was his only connecting link with his old life at Cambridge.

Then she would endure him for Richard's sake. "A midnight supper it is"—she smiled—"on one condition."

"Name it," Richard invited.

"You must dance with me."

"Oh, no, please," he begged, lifting both hands as though to hold the suggestion at bay. "I've told you repeatedly, Eleanor, I'm really not very good."

"Didn't anyone teach you?" she asked.

"Who would have taught me?" Apparently he detected something in her face and moved away from it. "You go along, Eleanor," he suggested kindly. "John will dance v^dth you, as will every other gentleman, for you have captured all their hearts."

Retreating v^dth Aslam at his side, he called back, "We intend to pass the rest of the evening in the Game Room over a chessboard. But at the stroke of midnight we shall come and fetch you and spirit

you away to some exotic Soho restaurant and claim you as ours for the rest of the evening."

Her confusion mounting at the series of compHments, which somehow added up to a rejection, she tried to call him back. But they were gone, like two schoolboys, slipping rapidly through the guests, Richard's arm draped across Aslam's shoulders, their heads bent together in anticipation.

Alone, she suffered a painful deprivation and considered joining them. She was just starting after them when suddenly she heard Mr. Eden's voice. "Lady Eleanor, where did they go?"

She looked back, wishing she had left earlier. "They—didn't say," she lied, protecting them. "I'm sure they will be along—"

"Then, come," he commanded, taking her arm. "Someone must remember their social responsibilities."

She thought she detected anger in his voice and did not particularly enjoy the manner in which he was propelling her forward, as though she were the one who had been remiss. Still, she enjoyed the sensation of eyes upon her as they led the way up the staircase, the other guests following behind, the entire company moving toward the Ballroom and the strains of a Strauss waltz.

At the top of the stairs they looked down through the glittering chandeliers on the equally glittering company, every face upturned in varying expressions of admiration and envy.

It might have been a scene out of her dreams, with only one exception. The vwong man was at her arm, the wrong hand was clasping her waist, and the wrong voice was whispering, "You are so lovely. I demand a dance. . . ."

Three hours later, when it was approaching midnight, John looked out over the crowded Ballroom, feeling extremely pleased with himself. By God, it was a good evening, with only one or two exceptions, namely Richard's damnable shyness. The man had been sequestered in the Game Room all evening with Aslam. "A chess battle royale," according to the steward whom John had dispatched three times to fetch the recalcitrant Lord Richard and bring him back where he belonged.

But all three times the steward had returned alone, though Richard had sent his apologies. Damn his apologies, John thought, his good mood over, though he tried to mask his anger from Lady Eleanor, who sat in hurt silence beside him.

"Come," he invited, reaching for her hand. He'd lost count of the number of times they had danced together, and not just obligatory dances either, for he was certain that their enjoyment had been mutual.

To his surprise, she declined, and he saw fatigue on her face as well as disappointment, the overly warm room causing her hair to cling to her neck in becoming ringlets. She was so young. And innocent, he was convinced of that as well. Was Richard bhnd as well as shy? Could he not see the treasure that John had thoughtfully placed at his feet?

"Come," he repeated, not an invitation this time. He stood before her and observed that her breasts were so full that they pressed lightly against her inner arms and, feeling an old excitement and feeling as well that her objections had been token at best, he lifted her to her feet and guided her to the center of the crowded floor and, in the process of finding the rhythm of the music, allowed his knee to brush against the dark green velvet gown.

In an effort to cancel the startled look on her face, he softened the intimacy with an apology. "I can't account for my cousin's rudeness" —he smiled—"but I assure you I will speak to him about it."

"Please don't," she said. "He told me that he'd never had any instructions in the art of dance, and I—understand."

"Then why do you look so sad?"

"I'm not—sad," she countered, a blush on her cheeks.

"You're stiff."

"I'm tired, that's all."

"Then I shall escort you to the side immediately."

"No."

Her protest pleased him. Clearly she did not want to disappoint him. On the face of it, she owed him a great deal and, on the basis of this one-sided debt, he drew her yet closer, playing with her, enjoying the new blush on her face.

"Richard said—" she began, and did not finish, for at that moment he pressed his leg against hers, delighted at the current of excitement which raced through him, a deep-drawing sensation which he'd not felt for so long.

"Richard said what?" he asked, wondering how far he dare pursue it.

"My—parents," she murmured distractedly.

"Your parents left an hour ago," he said calmly. "I bid them goodnight and promised that I would see you home."

She looked up. "Then it seems I've been twice abandoned."

"Not abandoned," he countered. "I'm still here, and one day soon I hope that this will be your home."

"I'd like that," she confessed, a most becoming smile on her face.

For the duration of the dance nothing more was said, though John's entire consciousness was concentrated on those places where their bodies touched. To his extreme pleasure he felt his desire steadily increase, the curse of impotency beginning to lift, though the thought of taking action left him strangely motionless.

Not until the waltz came to an end did he release her and only then begrudgingly, wondering how willingly she would go to his fourth-floor chamber for a bottle of champagne. A brief respite. How could it hurt? If Richard came looking for her, perhaps jealousy would spur him into action of his own.

He reached for her hand in the same playful manner that had marked the entire evening and, knowing that she would not register serious protest with the guests milling about them, he led her without a word to the Ballroom door.

Not until they were in the privacy of the upper corridor did she pull free and grasp the banister. "Aren't we abandoning your guests?"

"They will manage vdthout us for a while."

Then it came, almost a whisper, as though she knew the answer even as she posed the question. "Where—are we going?"

"We're taking a brief respite, that's all," he said, trying to make light of her apprehension. "A comfortable chamber, a warm fire and a bottle of champagne. Is there anything to object to there?"