‘York House, home to the late Duke of York,’ Alexander informed her. ‘Next to it is St James’s Palace and next to that is Marlborough House.’
‘Heavens, it is like driving through a history book. Where is Fearnoch House from here?’
‘In Mayfair, just north. Have you seen enough?’
‘For now, I think I have. Thank you, Alexander. If you had asked me, this is exactly how I’d have wanted to spend this afternoon. I think you must be a mind reader. Will we dine at our hotel? Is it nearby?’
‘Not far, but if you don’t mind, we’re actually almost at Whitehall, and I have a small bit of business I have to attend to at the Admiralty first.’
‘No, I don’t mind. I’d like to see the place where you work.’
The barouche swung round past Horse Guards Parade on to Whitehall, and drew to a stop outside a large building, the pedimented entranceway flanked by two projecting wings, the whole fronted by a pillared screen with an archway at the centre.
‘The Admiralty,’ Alexander said. ‘Though strictly speaking, we’re headed for Admiralty House.’
‘We?’
‘I am hardly going to leave my wife sitting alone in the carriage, am I?’ He jumped out, pulling the steps down behind him. ‘Come along, Lady Fearnoch.’
She did as he bid her, bemused, a little nervous for fear of being introduced to any of his colleagues, and a little infected by the air of suppressed excitement which she thought she detected in him. Alexander took her arm, leading her through the archway into a courtyard, but instead of heading for the massive portico, he turned left. ‘This is the official residence of the First Lord of the Admiralty.’
‘Prince William, the Duke of Clarence,’ Eloise said, eyeing him in some confusion now. ‘We are surely not paying him a bridal call. You said...’ She hesitated, trying to recall what he had said earlier.
‘You assumed I hadn’t met him.’
‘You’re going to tell me that you and he are best friends now, are you? That we are going to dinner with him, a royal duke, without even changing into evening clothes? I know you are teasing me, but...’
‘We are not dining with the Duke, I promise.’
The house had four storeys, and was built of yellow brick. As they approached, the door was thrown open, the servant in black livery bowing low as Alexander led Eloise up the stairs. ‘Welcome, my lord,’ he said. ‘If you will follow me.’
‘I know my way, thank you, Soames.’
‘Everything is as you ordered, my lord, but if there is anything else...’
‘I know how to reach you.’ Alexander ushered Eloise towards the central staircase, which split into two halfway up. ‘This way,’ he said, taking the left-hand side to the first floor, where he threw open the double doors.
Eloise stood in the doorway, her mouth open in astonishment. A table with chairs for—she counted—twenty people—dominated the room. The ceiling was double height, decorated with white cornicing in the baroque style. At the far end, two tall bookcases supported a pediment which was adorned by a clock, and between the two sat an enormous globe. Maps and charts were hung on the longest wall, the opposite consisting of five bay windows. ‘What is this place?’
Alexander gently nudged her over the threshold and closed the doors behind him. ‘It is used for meetings of the Admiralty board, and sometimes for banquets. Today, it is our dining room.’
She turned to him, searching for the telltale gleam of amusement in his eyes. ‘You are teasing me. Why are we really here?’
‘Our first dinner as man and wife. I thought it should be memorable.’
‘Alexander, you must be teasing me. We probably shouldn’t even be here...’ But they were expected, she remembered now. ‘How did you—I know you work at the Admiralty, but surely—did you hire this place—can this place be hired?’
He laughed. ‘No.’
‘Then how...?’
He shrugged. ‘A favour. You’re not supposed to ask how I managed it, you’re supposed to be delighted that I did. Did I get it wrong? Would you rather...?’
‘No! I am simply astounded, to be perfectly honest. And delighted, I promise you.’
‘Good. Now, I expect you’ll want to take off your bonnet, tidy yourself up before dinner. There is a room, just here, set aside for you. Take your time.’
The door opened out of the panelling. The room was small, but there was a washstand, a mirror, and even a set of brushes. ‘Thank you,’ Eloise said, grateful, as she guessed he knew she would be, for the breathing space.
* * *
Alexander took off his hat and gloves, summoned the servant to light the candles and the fire, for the light was fading, and made sure that the champagne was chilling with the glasses on the side table by the fire before making for one of the tall windows, gazing sightlessly out at the familiar view of Whitehall. He was married. He was actually married. Earlier, in the church, he had listened to the vicar recite the words of the marriage ceremony with a growing sense of disbelief. The fact that the man repeatedly referred to him as the Earl of Fearnoch only added to the notion that it was not really him standing here, about to make his vows. Then the vicar had joined their hands, and he’d placed the ring on Eloise’s finger and calm had flooded him. He was doing the right thing. With a woman who was as perfect as any woman could be for the role. As his wife. Who would not be his wife.
She had enjoyed her carriage ride, just as her sisters had predicted. He was extremely glad he’d had the idea of consulting them, for aside from a determination to mark the day somehow, and to make it less of an ordeal and more of a pleasure, he had been at a loss. He smiled, remembering Eloise’s face as she stood on the threshold of this room. It was a risk, for it was ludicrous to imagine that a Victualling Commissioner could commandeer not only the room but the kitchens of Admiralty House, but he had gambled on Eloise being blissfully unaware of the extent of the favour he had called in, and being too astonished to question him closely. He was pretty certain he’d been right about both, and it was worth it. He only hoped she wasn’t hiding in that room, expecting at any moment that someone might come along and demand to know why she was trespassing.
The door in the panelling opened, and Eloise peered in. Alexander strode over to meet her. ‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ she said, ‘I’ve been—I’ve been fretting about tomorrow.’
Alexander had been too intent on today to think much about tomorrow. ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ he said blithely, steering her over to the sofa. ‘We’ll be introduced to the servants. The housekeeper will give you the grand tour.’
‘The grand tour.’ Eloise looked rather daunted. ‘Will she be expecting to take her orders from me?’
He shrugged. ‘Only if you wish her to. I assume she is perfectly capable of running the place without your intervention since she has been doing so for my brother since his wife died.’
‘The housekeeper will think I’m a—a usurper.’
‘Fearnoch House will be your home now, I thought I’d made that clear. You can do exactly what you want with the place—or you can leave it exactly as it is.’
‘Is it very large?’
‘I believe it is one of the larger of London’s town houses. Robertson gave me the inventory and a floor plan. They are at our hotel—do you wish to see them?’
‘I wish—Alexander, to be perfectly honest, I am somewhat daunted by the prospect.’
Cursing himself for a fool, he sat down on the sofa beside her. ‘I will let you into a secret. I know as little, maybe even less, of how the household operates as you do.’
‘You don’t have to exaggerate just to make me feel better.’
‘No, it’s the truth.’ His childhood was a distant country he avoided visiting, but Eloise was his wife, and even if it was in name only, he was responsible for her. It struck him then, the courage it mus
t have taken her to come here alone, to entrust herself to his safekeeping, for in the eyes of the law she now belonged to him. She needed to be reassured. Sharing a little of his pathetic history was a small price to pay.
‘I have only very faint memories of my early years which were, I believe, spent in Fearnoch House.’ In actual fact they were not memories as such, more a series of vague impressions of emotional states, one segueing into the other. Early happiness, a sort of peaceful calm? Then something like dread. Fear. And pain. There was definitely pain. None of which he could conjure into tangible recollections, or perhaps had chosen not to.
‘My first real memories are of school,’ he continued, which was near enough the truth. ‘I was packed off to boarding school when I was five. After that, my holidays were spent in the country in the charge of a tutor. I was left to my own devices from an early age. It was sink or swim. I chose to swim. When I was sixteen I joined the Admiralty and moved into lodgings, first shared, and then my own. I spend a great deal of my time abroad. When I am in London, I have my own rooms and am quite content in my own company. My family excluded me from their lives, so I created my own. If they did anything for me it was to engender a strong streak of self-sufficiency. For that I am grateful.’ He recognised that a tinge of bitterness had crept into his tone. He squared his shoulders. ‘Fearnoch House was their domain, never mine. So you see I truly am as much a stranger to it as you.’
Eloise took his hand in hers, clasping it tightly. ‘To favour one child, that I can understand, I’ve experienced that myself, but to ostracise you from such a young age—’
‘Made me the man I am today,’ he said curtly, cutting short her nascent pity. ‘One cannot miss what one never had.’ Though ghostly images from his childhood visited him unbidden sometimes, in the half-awake hours when he couldn’t sleep. Memories or dreams, of those childhood holidays in the countryside. Seeing his brother in the distance, playing with friends. His mother swooping down on him to embrace him frantically. An encounter with the Earl, staring at him in disgust. Knowing what he did now, he was sure that one was real enough.
‘I am happy with my life,’ Alexander said more firmly. ‘Those early lessons in independence, learning how to rely only on myself, they were invaluable to my success in my chosen career. Besides, I’ve never wished to walk in my brother’s shoes.’
‘Though now you must.’
He laughed shortly. ‘I have no intentions of living Walter’s life.’
She tightened her fingers around his. ‘So we will make Fearnoch House our own, then?’
‘We shall banish the memories and conventions of the old guard. We shall stand on as many toes, tear up as many customs and traditions as we see fit.’
Eloise giggled. ‘But I think we’ll draw the line at inviting a horse into the household. Our neighbour in the country, Squire Mytton, gives his favourite horse the run of the house,’ she explained, seeing his confusion. ‘He is reputed to sleep curled up next to it by the fireside.’
‘You are making that up.’
‘No, I assure you, but I think we’ll stop short of that.’
‘Agreed. But seriously, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable living there, Eloise.’
‘I am sure I’ll very quickly become accustomed to playing lady of the manor. Shall I be expected to sit round idly all day twiddling my thumbs?’
‘I expect there will be trees in the garden you could climb if you get bored.’
‘I think I’ll confine my climbing to the stairs. Though the Climbing Countess does have a certain ring to it. Thank you, Alexander.’
‘What for?’
‘You know what for. I will do my best not to be overwhelmed.’
‘And I will do my best to help you if you are. That’s what husbands are for, after all.’
‘Thank you.’
Her smile was wholly unconvincing. ‘There’s something else worrying you?’
‘It’s just—at the hotel, will there be a maid? Kate says I will have a dresser at Fearnoch House, and to expect a maid to undress me at the hotel tonight. But I don’t want a complete stranger to help me undress. I’m perfectly capable of taking off my own clothes, for heaven’s sake.’
‘It’s your wedding night. If anyone is undressing you, it should be your husband.’
‘Alexander!’
What the devil had possessed him to say such a thing! Appalled, he jumped to his feet.
He wished that it had not occurred to him, for now his mind was picturing what it would be like to be slowly undressing his bride, each layer of clothing revealing more of her body. Would he discover freckles, as there were on her nose, or would her skin be flawless and creamy white? And would the fire of her hair be echoed...?
‘Champagne,’ he said hurriedly, picking up the bottle, banishing the image of Eloise in her underclothes, allowing him to unwrap her like a present.
He attacked the bottle, fumbling with the wire, yanking the cork free with too much force so that it made a loud crack and wine bubbled out over his hands. Turn the bottle, not the cork, he remembered someone in the dim and distant past telling him. He poured two glasses.
‘I know you were teasing,’ Eloise said.
‘It was a wholly inappropriate...’
‘We’re both nervous. When you’re nervous, you say the first thing in your head without thinking. Though actually I do that all the time, but you don’t, I’ve noticed. You are always careful with words, you think before you speak, and so you only say what you mean. Oh.’ Her eyes widened.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ Alexander said, handing her a glass. ‘I was teasing, as you said.’ Touching her glass to his own, he smiled at her. ‘A toast,’ he said, ‘to us, and our own very particular form of married bliss.’
* * *
‘To us.’ Eloise sipped the ice-cold wine, hiccupping as the bubbles burst on her tongue. ‘I’ve never tasted champagne before.’ She sipped again. ‘I rather think I like it.’ She drained the glass. ‘I like it very much. Now that I am a countess, perhaps I shall drink champagne every night. May I have some more?’
Alexander obliged her, smiling. ‘Take it slowly. What have you eaten today?’
‘Breakfast. Phoebe made me a special breakfast. Scrambled eggs with cream. My favourite oatmeal bread, which none of the others like because they say it tastes of horse food, but I love it.’ Eloise laughed softly to herself. ‘I always say to them, how do you know it tastes of horse food, unless you’ve actually tasted horse food? Phoebe, being Phoebe, said she has, mind you. Oh, yes, and there were strawberries, the first of the year, from the succession house. To be honest, they were a little tart, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?
He smiled. ‘And it was a very thoughtful gesture.’
‘You really do have the most attractive smile,’ Eloise said, ‘do you know that? You must know that. I’ll wager you’ve been told a hundred, a thousand times. It does strange things to my tummy. Though that is probably the champagne.’
‘Or the lack of food coupled with the excitement of the day.’ He got up to push the bell by the fireplace. ‘You are tired. It’s been a long day. You’re hungry.’
‘You’re thinking the champagne has gone to my head, but I meant what I said, I just didn’t mean to say it aloud.’
Alexander burst out laughing. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’ Taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips. ‘Truly, I’m flattered. Contrary to what you think, no one has ever told me that my smile did strange things to their tummy. I owe Daniel a huge favour for introducing me to you.’ He moved closer on the sofa, putting her hand on his knee. ‘I have been remiss too, in not complimenting you on how lovely you look. I’m sure the fashion plates would say that a redhead should avoid red, but I think it a striking combination.’
‘My mother agreed with the fashion plates. But since I make my own dresses I am
free to make them whatever colour I choose.’
‘The green dress you were wearing the first time I met you, that was another of your own creations, you told me. You are a great deal more talented than a mere seamstress. And your mother was wrong, red really does suit you. Not that your hair is red. At the risk of sounding clichéd, I think it is the colour of fire.’
She was blushing. ‘There is no need to pay me compliments, there’s no one around to hear.’
‘I think I told you once that I always say what I mean, Eloise. You look very lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ Their eyes met. He really did have the most ridiculously long lashes. And then there was his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Alexander. Her husband. On their wedding night.
A gentle tap at the door made her jump, pulling her hands free, shuffling away from him on the sofa. He was frowning as he opened the door to several servants bearing trays. Had he read her mind, was he embarrassed by her thoughts? For a moment, she’d been convinced that he’d been wanting to kiss her too. There had been something in his eyes. And she was sure he’d moved, just a fraction towards her. But she must have been imagining it. Thank heavens that dinner had arrived. It was the champagne that was at fault. She would never drink champagne again. At least, not on an empty stomach.
* * *
‘Dinner is served, my lady.’ Alexander, having dismissed the servants, held her chair out for her. ‘What may I help you to?’
Eloise’s mouth watered. ‘Oysters! One of my favourite foods. I’ll start with those, please. It’s very late in the year to be eating fresh oysters. Phoebe says that you shouldn’t eat them unless there is an r in the month.’
She surveyed the table, lifting the lids of several covered tureens. ‘Duck with peas. Asparagus with a cheese sauce. Is this Dover sole in burnt butter? And pickled radishes! All my favourite dishes. And this...’ She picked up the dish, taking a fragrant sniff. ‘Butter-bean puree with garlic. I thought that was one of Phoebe’s own unique receipts?’
The Earl's Countess of Convenience Page 7