by Viola Morne
The shops in the Palais Royal were crowded. Her chaperon, Lady Fletcher, had taken the major's instructions to heart, and they were in the midst of purchasing Elinor a whole new wardrobe. It was exciting at first. The dressmakers here were even more elegant than their customers. And the fabric--yards of silk, muslin, and finely woven woolens. She had selected dresses, pelisses, riding habits, and hats to match every ensemble.
Truth to tell, she was exhausted. After pleading a headache, Elinor retreated to a table outside a cafe on the square, with a cup of chocolate steaming gently beside her. She took a sip, luxuriating in the pungent sweetness. She loosened her boots, wiggled her toes, and sighed in relief. Lady Fletcher had left her here while she sailed off into the breach once more. Dear Lord, that woman loved to shop. The footman, laded with parcels, occupied another table where he could keep an eye on her. Drat the woman. Would she never be able to find a moment alone?
"Deux eclairs, mademoiselle." The waiter placed the dessert in front of her with a flourish. A decadent duo of choux pastry, filled with pastry cream and glazed with chocolate, sat on the plate. She smiled her thanks, and dug in with a fork. Sheer bliss cascaded over her tongue. Vive la France.
"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle." The speaker, an Englishman judging by his accent, was a young man, with light brown hair and kind blue eyes.
"I do speak English," she said.
He broke into a smile that transformed a pleasant countenance into a handsome one.
"I'm dashed glad to hear it. My French is somewhat limited."
"Your accent is atrocious." Elinor smiled in return, to soften the insult.
"I know. You dropped your parcel." He held out a box tied with blue ribbon.
"Thank you. We've done so much shopping, I didn't even notice."
He hesitated for a moment. So English, so proper. "We haven't been formally introduced. I do beg your pardon."
She waved her hand. "Permit me to introduce Miss Elinor Kendall, an English student visiting in France."
He grinned. "Certainly, if you allow me to introduce Mr. Thomas Bancroft, of the East India Company. Here in Paris on business."
Elinor extended a hand. "Charmed, I'm sure."
He took her hand and pressed a light kiss on her gloved hand. "Enchantée, Miss Kendall. May I join you?"
Lady Fletcher might not approve, but the young man was presentable, well-spoken and respectably employed. She waved him to a chair.
"Lovely to meet someone who speaks English. You're here to attend school, which one?"
Elinor grimaced. "L'Académie Marie-France. I'm sure it will be fine, but frankly, I'm sick of attending school."
Thomas laughed. "I would feel the same in your place. Thankfully, my school days are behind me. But where are you from, Miss Kendall? Who are your people?"
The usual social dance ensued, while they attempted to place each other in the appropriate slot.
"Major Caine Winter? I've heard of him, of course. He was a hero during the war."
"Was he? How intriguing. He never speaks of it."
"A modest man. He headed a special intelligence unit in Spain. Their nickname was the Cold Hearts, because they were a ruthless bunch who'd do anything, no matter the cost." Thomas stopped abruptly, and blushed. "I beg your pardon, Miss Kendall. You won't want to hear that about your guardian."
"On the contrary, I would enjoy hearing all about him."
They passed the next hour in eager conversation, exchanging their impressions of Paris, finding mutual acquaintances, and simply enjoying each other.
A shadow fell across the table. It was Lady Fletcher, her color high, and her expression stony.
"Who is this young man, Elinor and what is he doing here, with you, in public?" The last few words came out as a hiss. Trust the major to select a dragon as her chaperon.
"Lady Fletcher, may I introduce Mr. Thomas Bancroft, of the East India Company."
Lady Fletcher paused in full flight. She frowned. "Bancroft? Of the Hampshire Bancrofts?"
Thomas had stood up, and now he bowed. "Sir Edward Bancroft is my great-uncle."
A smile transformed Lady Fletcher's formidable features. "Dear Teddy. He is one of my husband's oldest friends." She threw her reticule on the table. "Good heavens, my feet hurt. It is fortunate your dear guardian is so wealthy, or else we would have beggared him today with all our shopping!"
Elinor rolled her eyes. Now that Lady Fletcher had decided Mr. Bancroft was an eligible connection, she had no compunction in puffing off Elinor's monetary position. Not every young woman was obsessed with getting married.
"Well, Mr. Bancroft, we are well met. Elinor and I must be on our way. We are staying at the Hôtel d'Allard in the Marais. You may call upon us on the morrow." She nodded to the footman, who hastened to assist her. Elinor curtsied to Thomas, and he bowed. As he straightened, his smile revealed an appealing set of dimples.
"Until tomorrow, Miss Kendall."
Elinor smiled and nodded. Lady Fletcher herded her to the waiting carriage, and Elinor sat down in a cloud of happiness. Paris was wonderful.
#
Luxembourg Gardens, Paris, 1820
Elinor hadn't been on the Left Bank since she'd lived in Paris with her parents as a child. Her companion, Mr. Bancroft, was assiduous in his attentions. He took her elbow when they crossed paths, unfurled her parasol to protect her from the sun, and ensured that she wasn't jostled by the crowds. She couldn't help feeling amused. When she'd lived in Paris, she was the one taking care of the family. Her father was a struggling artist who was incapable of providing for his family, and her mother spent her days readings novels and dreaming of the life she left behind in England. It had been Elinor who essentially ran their household. She had paid the bills, eking out their meager income, shopped for food and prepared the meals.
In sharp contrast, Thomas treated her like a delicate piece of glass, beautiful but purely decorative. It made for a delightful change, though Elinor couldn't help wondering how long that would last. And how soon she would tire of it.
But for now, a handsome young man had sought her out, plying her with attention and compliments, and she was entranced. Thomas was clad in the kick of Parisian fashion. He wore white trousers that ended at the ankle, to reveal pristine stockings and black pumps. His coattails swept below his knees, the extravagant lapels of black velvet contrasted with the green wool of his jacket. He was immaculate.
Elinor wondered what the major would think of him. He'd despise his tendency to dandyism. Winter had no patience with that. The major didn't need the loving attention of a valet to coax him into skin-tight coat. He was untidy, and careless of his appearance. And yet, he was very dear, for all that.
"When do you leave for India?" Mr. Bancroft was absorbed in picking his way along the graveled path. She hid a smile. The poor man couldn't bear to scuff his new shoes.
"I've received new orders. I'm to head back to London first, where my superiors require my assistance. I'm to leave by the end of the week."
"So soon? Lady Fletcher will miss you at the card table."
He looked at her. "And you, Miss Kendall, will you miss me too?"
Elinor twirled her parasol. "You are very direct, sir."
"My time here is limited, or else I would be more circumspect. You mentioned a guardian. Does he spend much time in London?"
"Hardly any. He prefers his home in Hampshire Somerset ."
"Then I may have to add a few days to my journey." Mr. Bancroft took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "If you give me your permission to speak to him."
Elinor felt giddy. Mr. Bancroft's hair was burnished bronze in the sun. He was so very handsome.
"What did you wish to speak to him about?"
He cleared his throat. "You must be aware that since we met, my regard for you has grown with each meeting, each word which passed your lips. When I imagine my future, I see you, beside me, as my companion and my helpmeet."
"You wish to hire me as a c
ompanion?" Elinor's allowed a puzzled frown to mar her countenance.
"Hire you? No, of course not!" he said, indignant. "I wish to court you, with a view to a betrothal when our futures are more settled."
"My dear Mr. Bancroft, I was teasing you. You have my permission to speak to Major Winter, and to court me." Elinor touched his hand. "And I promise to listen to any other...suggestions concerning my person."
"Miss Kendall! You are, that is, you have...you have made me the happiest man in Paris." He seized her hand and pressed a kiss to her glove. Elinor raised her chin, expecting another kiss, but instead he drew her hand through his arm and started walking again. She kept pace, in a dream of happiness. To be sought after by a handsome young man in Paris was nothing but bliss. But poor Mr. Bancroft. The thought of him braving her guardian made her shiver. The dear man wouldn't know what hit him.
#
Boodles Club, London, 1820
"There's a young gentleman to see you, major." The servant proffered a salver which held an engraved card.
Winter didn't bother looking up from the newspaper. "I don't want to talk to anyone, Matthew." He kept on reading.
Matthew cleared his throat. "He said it was urgent."
The major sighed. "Good Christ almighty. Can't a man have a drink in his club, without being bothered?" The servant remained in front of him, the salver still extended.
"Very well. You're a stubborn man, Matthew." He picked up the card. Heavy stock, engraved with the name of Thomas Bancroft and an address in London. "You can send him in, but I've never heard of him."
The young man in question was well-dressed and undeniably handsome, even to such an uninterested party as the major. "Thank you for seeing me, sir."
The major stood to shake hands. "I don't know you, do I?"
Mr. Bancroft blushed. "I apologize if I have been too forward in seeking an audience." He paused. "I am a friend of your ward, Miss Kendall."
This Adonis was a friend of Elinor's? He frowned. "How do you know Elinor?"
"We met in Paris, when I was there on business. She was with her chaperon, Lady Fletcher."
"And?"
That flustered the pompous snot a little.
"And I wanted to speak with you, sir, about Miss Kendall." Bancroft jerked at his collar, as if it had suddenly grown too tight.
"What about Elinor?" Fear tightened his gut. "Is she all right? Is she ill?"
Bancroft took a step back. "No, no sir. She is in excellent health. May we sit?"
"I suppose I can't stop you." He flung himself into a chair, with his usual lack of elegance. He looked around for the servant. "At least let me get a drink, for Christ's sake."
Bancroft blinked. It was clear the major was not what he'd expected. Like he gave a fuck what this young puppy thought about him. Matthew hurried over with a decanter of brandy, and poured out two generous measures. Winter drank half of it straight down.
"Well, out with it. What do you want with me, and more importantly, what do you want with Elinor?"
Bancroft swallowed. "Major, sir, I want to marry her."
Winter stared at him, incredulous. "You want to marry Elinor, my Elinor? She's only sixteen, for fuck's sake."
"Seventeen."
"What?" the major barked.
"Elinor is seventeen. I asked her to marry me, and she has agreed, should you consent to our union."
A red haze descended over his vision. This insolent whelp dared to aspire to Elinor's hand, his beautiful, perfect girl? He was damned if that was going to happen.
"No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you deaf as well as insolent? No, I don't consent. You aren't going to marry Elinor. I don't care if she's seventeen or seventy. It's not going to happen."
"If you would give me a moment to explain, to let me tell you of my love, my profound respect for Miss Kendall..."
"Shut up before I cast up my accounts right in front of you," the major growled, "Now get the fuck out of my sight."
Bancroft stood up. He was noticeably pale, but held his ground. "She said you might be difficult. At any rate, Miss Kendall asked me to give you this letter." He hesitated before placing an envelope on the table. "My address is on the card. I hope that after you read her letter, you will be in touch." He bowed. "Good day to you, sir."
"Oh, fuck off." The young man, stiff as a poker, turned on his heel and left. "Damned puppy."
Winter picked up the envelope reluctantly. His name, in Elinor's neat hand, was clearly inscribed on top. "Christ," he whispered and slit open the envelope.
Dear Major Winter,
This letter will serve as an introduction to Mr. Thomas Bancroft, a young gentleman employed by the East India Company, with whom I became acquainted during my stay in Paris. Mr. Bancroft resides in London, although he has just been posted to India for a two year term. After being thoroughly vetted by Lady Fletcher, Mr. Bancroft asked permission to pay his addresses, pending your approval.
He loves me, sir, and he wants to marry me. And I love him. We shan't be able marry before his term in India ends, but I hope you will grant permission for us to correspond.
I know you will think I am too young, but Thomas is a fine young man from a good family with a bright future. Please, sir, allow me to write him and receive him when he visits. I want to get to know him better, in order that I may judge if we will be suited to a life together. I won't ask you to accept an engagement at this time, merely for permission to pursue our friendship.
Knowing you, you have already been very rude to poor Thomas, so I beg you to trust me and allow Thomas to court me.
Your devoted ward,
Elinor Kendall
P.S. When can I come home?
Damn it to hell. The girl was in love with the puppy. He crushed the letter in one hand, and then pressed it his lips. That was what he wanted for her, wasn't it? An eligible connection, a husband and, one day, her own family? So why did the idea hurt so much?
#
Geneva, Switzerland, 1822
Winter had not seen Elinor for more than a year. He would not have come even now, except it seemed too cruel to let her mourn all by herself. The young man who'd captured her heart was dead, lost when his ship went down on his way back home. He had enough compassion to pity the young sod. Winter had met young Bancroft only the once, when he'd had refused to entertain Bancroft's offer for Elinor's hand. The girl had to finish her schooling. Finally, he had reluctantly given permission for them to write each other, and to see each other, if properly chaperoned by the school.
Christ, Elinor must be devastated. Still, she was young, she would get over the loss eventually. Then it would time for her first Season in London. His cousin Cecelia, who lived in his London house, had promised to be her chaperon. The old viper was at least respectable. Winter sighed and pulled out his timepiece. Time to go.
The school was housed on a quiet street, not far from the lake. It's rococo decoration was the fancy kind of thing he supposed most girls liked. It didn't compare to the solid comfort of Winterhill.
The major was ushered into the headmistress' office where he presented his credentials. He approved of the school's security policies. It was one of the reasons he'd entrusted Elinor to their care.
"Mademoiselle Kendall is an excellent student, Monsieur Winter. Of course, her work has suffered since the dreadful news. I am confident she will turn this about, and will graduate as one of our top students."
"It's Major Winter. I thought this was a finishing school. What the hell are you talking about?"
Madame Lebrun looked pained. "I mean, Major," she paused as though to give her words emphasis, "The arduous task of learning to become a lady, one capable of functioning in society and running a household. The girls study housekeeping, including economy and keeping household ledgers, how to supervise a staff, in addition to etiquette, needlework, painting music and modern languages."
Winter nodded, and pulled about his watch again. He wanted
to see his girl, not chat up this ancient harpy. He heard a soft knock at the door and Elinor slipped into the room.
His heart squeezed. She looked so pale and small in her black frock. Her fair hair was pulled back and braided tightly, and her usually bright hazel eyes were red with weeping.
"Elinor," he said, and held out his arms.
A sob broke from her and she ran into his embrace. He bent to kiss her cheek and held her close. He heard Madame Lebrun murmur her excuses before quietly leaving the room.
Winter found his seat and sat down, pulling Elinor with him to perch on his lap. She huddled into him like a little bird. He sat quietly until her sobbing wound down. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her face.
"Blow your nose."
The memory made her smile. He touched the tip of her straight little nose with a gentle finger.
"Better now?"
Elinor nodded. "Much better. Thank you for coming, sir. It's been...difficult. Thomas..." Her voice trailed away, and she took a shuddery breath.
"I was grieved to hear of his loss. He was a fine young man."
Elinor closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes, he was."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Sir? May I come home now?"
He inhaled slowly. "You are in mourning, Elinor. You are not thinking clearly."
Her smooth brow furrowed, and his heart ached.
"I must stay here, then?"
"Yes, Elinor, I wish you to stay until your studies are completed. The headmistress informs me that you are doing well."
She sighed. "I was, until Thomas..."
"And you will again. I plan to be in Geneva for some weeks, and I will spend as much time with you as I can. Does that help?"
She slumped against. "Yes, sir."
His good girl. "I am proud of you," he whispered.
A smile wobbled on her sad little face. "That is all I have ever wanted."
#
Winter stayed in Geneva for a month. He had meant to stay no longer than a week, but Elinor needed him. Her spirits, usually so lively and full of zest, were low. He was sorry for her, but resentful as well, a fact he concealed from her. She hadn't known young Bancroft all that long, after all. Not compared to how long Winter had taken care of her.