The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor

by Wendy Burdess

  ‘Blast,’ he cursed, as he sized up his second checkmate position of the evening. ‘Perhaps we should make it the best of five games, Lady Eleanor. Set the board up again.’

  Derek Lovell, now apparently bored with hanging around for his playmate, suddenly heaved his wiry frame out of the leather wing chair where he had been lounging with the newspaper. ‘Come on, old chap. Time to stop playing with little girls and go out and find ourselves some serious sport.’

  Eleanor shot him a revolted glare.

  James, on the other hand, did not even look at the man, but instead concentrated on setting up the chess pieces on his side of the board. ‘I think I shall give it a miss tonight, Lovell. You go on without me. Ask Stevens to order the carriage for you.’

  ‘Hmph,’ snorted Lovell, as he marched towards the door. ‘As you wish. But there’s, er, just one thing,’ he said, pausing with his hand on the brass knob and turning back to James.

  ‘What’s that?’ enquired James, still intent on the chess board.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t have a word in private, could I?’

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me, Mr Lovell,’ smiled Eleanor archly. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Lord Prestonville, I believe Mr Lovell is about to ask you to loan him some money. Now what was it I said earlier about gambling?’ She placed a finger on her lips and raised her eyes to the ceiling as if desperately trying to recall that particular piece of information.

  While Derek Lovell tossed her a glare that told her unequivocally that he could happily have strangled her, a bemused chortle escaped James.

  ‘I do believe you are right, Lady Eleanor. How much do you want, Lovell?’ he dug a hand into his breeches pocket. ‘Fifty enough?’

  ‘Couldn’t make it a hundred could you?’ asked Lovell, continuing to glare at Eleanor.

  James turned to look at his friend and shook his head in mock despair. ‘You don’t change do you, Lovell?’ he huffed, drawing out a roll of bills and handing one to the man. ‘Just make sure you have a bit more luck than last night,’ he added, as Lovell snatched the note from him, muttered some words of thanks and left the room, his face dark with fury.

  ‘If I’m not mistaken, I think you may have upset the man, Lady Eleanor,’ chuckled James.

  ‘Yes,’ mused Eleanor, as a sudden stab of foreboding pierced her. ‘I do believe I have.’

  As she moved the last chess piece of the fifth game, Eleanor was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

  ‘That is three games out of five, sir. I have won your challenge which means you must now retract your earlier derogatory statement.’

  James regarded her with a strange look in his eyes - a look which even she, as perspicacious as she was, could not read. ‘Hmm, I’m not sure.’

  ‘But that was the agreement,’ countered Eleanor indignantly.

  ‘Actually,’ said James, his twinkling eyes fixed on hers, ‘I have no recollection of that being the agreement.’

  Eleanor could not believe the arrogance of the man. How she could possibly have enjoyed playing chess with him for a single second, was now beyond her.

  ‘Forgive me then,’ she snapped, thrusting to her feet. ‘I mistook you for a gentleman who keeps his word.’

  A smile hovered around James’s lips as he continued to regard her strangely. ‘Or perhaps you just mistook me for a gentleman,’ he remarked, as Eleanor stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Four days later the weather changed dramatically – the sky swapping its menacing grey for brilliant blue, broken only by the occasional wisp of a lonely cloud. And the weather wasn’t the only thing that was showing an improvement. Thanks in no small part to Milly’s secret tuition, Eleanor was now able to perform a passable waltz, much to M. Aminieux’s delight.

  He puffed out his rounded chest, clad in a frilled orange shirt. ‘Ah, I am not one to do the blowing of the trumpet, but see how she is coming along,’ he boasted to the dowager.

  ‘Indeed, M. Aminieux. I must congratulate you on such a good job. There is a way to go yet, but I believe we will have her dancing around the ballrooms of London very soon.’

  Milly had jumped up and down with excitement when Eleanor had informed her of the dancing master’s praise.

  Not coming along quite so well were Eleanor’s musical accomplishments. Practising a mournful sonata on the pianoforte that evening, she started as she became aware of a noise in a darkened corner of the room and an eerie feeling of being watched.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she snapped, swivelling around on her stool.

  ‘Is that a hint of fear I detect, Lady Eleanor?’ came the nasally reply.

  A seed of apprehension took root as Eleanor recognized the voice. She instantly brushed it away. She refused to be bullied by the likes of Derek Lovell. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr Lovell,’ she replied, turning back to the pianoforte, ‘but there is very little of which I am afraid.’

  ‘Is that so?’ enquired Lovell, walking out of the shadows towards her. ‘Not even being alone in a room with a man about whom you know very little?’

  ‘I am more than capable of looking after myself, sir,’ she replied stoutly, flicking over the pages of her music.

  Lovell reached the pianoforte and rested his elbows upon it so that his face was level with hers and much too close for Eleanor’s comfort. Not giving him the satisfaction of appearing perturbed by this unwelcome proximity, Eleanor nonchalantly carried on leafing through the sheets.

  ‘You play quite … dreadfully,’ he remarked with his usual sneer.

  Eleanor flashed him her most gracious smile. ‘A fact of which I am well aware,’ she declared, before turning her attention back to the music.

  He did not reply, but Eleanor was aware of his eyes wandering over her body.

  ‘Your dreadful playing does fortunately not detract from your other charms, Lady Eleanor. I wondered perhaps if you would be interested in adding another much more worthwhile accomplishment to your bow … one which involves pleasing a gentleman.’

  Eleanor quailed inwardly as his gaze came to rest on her bosom. Still refusing to be intimidated, she merely uttered a distracted, ‘Hmm,’ as if giving the matter due consideration. Then she rose from her stool and, looking him directly in the eye, said, ‘I am afraid I shall have to decline your … kind invitation, Mr Lovell. Now if you will excuse me.’

  She took a few steps away from him, but Lovell was beside her in a flash. Grasping her tightly by the upper arms, he turned her towards him. With his face only inches from hers, Eleanor detected the strong smell of whisky on his breath.

  ‘I am quite unaccustomed to having my offers declined, Lady Eleanor. Perhaps if I were to oblige you with a little demonstration of what I had in mind, you would not dismiss the notion quite so readily.’ He pulled her closer to him, his eyes fixed on hers.

  Eleanor did not flinch. She met his gaze coolly. ‘I should inform you, Mr Lovell, that if you do not remove your hands from me this instant, I shall scream for all I am worth.’

  Lovell sneered insidiously. ‘Then perhaps that would suggest that you are afraid of something after all, Lady Eleanor.’

  ‘Not afraid, sir,’ replied Eleanor stoutly. ‘Merely repulsed.’

  Lovell sniggered and released his hold of her. ‘Oh, don’t flatter yourself,’ he puffed, digging his hands into his breeches pockets and sauntering over to the fireplace. ‘I was merely seeking to amuse myself in this draughty old castle. Not much else for a chap to do stuck out here.’

  Eleanor smoothed down her skirts and marched purposefully towards the door. She paused with her hand on the knob and turned back to him. ‘May I suggest, sir, that if the standard of accommodation is not to your liking, you consider making alternative arrangements.’

  And with that, she flounced out of the room, recoiling at the irritating sound of Derek Lovell’s laughter following her.

  FIVE

  ‘Eleanor, I am to take a trip into Richmond this afternoon and should like a little com
pany. We will leave immediately after luncheon,’ informed the dowager at breakfast that morning.

  Giving no thought at all to their destination, Eleanor, with a mouthful of toast, had immediately nodded her acquiescence, grateful for the chance to escape yet another afternoon with her wretched embroidery tambour. Her enthusiasm increased dramatically, however, as they approached the charming town. The dowager, relishing the opportunity to provide her goddaughter with a history lesson, instructed the coachman to include on their route the famous Richmond Palace – an old favourite of Elizabeth I; Ham House – an outstanding example of Stuart architecture; the stunning parkland - favoured by Charles I as a hunting ground; and Marble Hill House – the former residence of the late George II’s mistress, Henrietta Howard.

  In the town centre, full of imposing contemporary houses – the dowager made her purchases of shortbread and lace, before announcing that she should like to take coffee. Leading Eleanor to a beautiful coffee house on the banks of the river, they had just taken their seats on the terrace when a familiar unpleasant voice drifted over to them.

  ‘Coo-ee! Lady Ormiston.’

  They turned their heads simultaneously to find Cynthia Carmichael bustling towards them, followed by her equally bustling daughters, Felicity and Gertrude.

  A look of disbelief spread over the dowager’s countenance. ‘Heavens above,’ she muttered. ‘Is nowhere safe?’

  Eleanor bit back a smile.

  ‘Oh goodness,’ flustered a beaming Lady Carmichael as she reached their table, ‘I can scarce believe it. The girls and I so wanted to make the most of this beautiful day and where better than Richmond, I said to them this morning. It would appear that we were quite of the same mind, Lady Ormiston,’ she gushed before adding, as she flopped down into one of the wrought iron chairs, ‘You don’t mind if we join you do you?’

  The dowager’s lack of reply did not affect Lady Carmichael’s enthusing in the slightest. She gestured impatiently to her two daughters to sit down in the remaining seats.

  ‘I cannot tell you, Lady Ormiston,’ she continued, fiddling with the ribbons of her bonnet, ‘how much we are looking forward to the garden party at the weekend. Felicity has scarce been able to contain her excitement. I take it that … James will be present?’

  ‘Of course,’ sniffed the dowager impatiently, attempting to catch the eye of a waitress.

  Lady Carmichael beamed satisfactorily and flashed Felicity a knowing smile. ‘How very delightful.’

  By the end of the very long hour they had spent in the coffee house, Eleanor considered herself quite well-informed on the feeding habits of the swans which were dotted about the river banks. Indeed, she had been studying one of the birds quite intently the entire time. It had proved markedly more interesting than listening to the Carmichaels’ twittering.

  As Felicity and Gertrude ordered another cake, Eleanor and her godmother bade their farewells. They were in the process of making a hasty retreat when the honking of the swan she had been observing caught Eleanor’s attention. Hoping it wasn’t anything threatening that was exciting the bird so, she turned her head in the direction of the river, just as she reached the corner of the coffee house. What she did not foresee, was that someone else should be coming around the corner at exactly the same time.

  ‘Oops!’ grimaced Eleanor apologetically, as she found herself face-to-face with a beautiful dark-haired woman, dressed in a graceful gown of pure white with a matching crowned bonnet. Taking a step back, the woman looked disapprovingly down her button nose at Eleanor, before picking up her skirts and walking around her.

  ‘Really, Eleanor,’ tutted the dowager, ‘you simply must learn to look where you are going. I dread to think what the Duchess of Swinton would have said if she had landed on the grass in that gown.’

  The following week, the castle was a hive of activity, with the team of gardeners working night and day to ensure the extensive grounds looked their best. Eleanor, desperate to escape the tedium of her ‘accomplishments’ and engage in something much more enjoyable and worthwhile, was itching to help. But she did not, acutely aware that such unconventional behaviour would be classed as ‘unbecoming’ by her godmother.

  While the activity of the gardeners was of great interest to her, the forthcoming party was not. Indeed, she would have gone as far as to say that her feelings towards the event were those of complete indifference. Milly, on the other hand, was bursting with excitement and did not even attempt to hide her disappointment at Eleanor’s lack of enthusiasm – in particular her admission that ‘she really didn’t mind at all what she wore to the party’.

  ‘Don’t you know, miss, that Lady Ormiston’s garden party is one of the most top-lofty events of the Season? All them grand lords and ladies coming and you not giving so much as a by-your-leave about what to wear. I ain’t never heard the likes of it.’

  In the end, amidst much protesting from Eleanor, Milly had insisted on taking one of her old summer dresses so she could ‘do it up a bit’. So strongly had the girl felt about the matter, that Eleanor had not dared resist.

  The morning of the garden party dawned clear and bright, resulting in a collective sigh of relief from all those in the castle.

  As Milly dressed Eleanor’s hair she was practically dancing with excitement. ‘Ooh, miss, what a rare treat me being able to see it all. We don’t get to see nothing stuck down in them kitchens.’ With the last curl in place, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. ‘Now if you ain’t the prettiest one there,’ she declared, reaching over to pinch Eleanor’s cheeks, ‘then my name’s not Milly Maguire.’

  Eleanor gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit that she did look quite… well… pretty. Milly had dressed her hair in the fashionable Grecian style, threading the soft curls with a green silk ribbon. Her old round sprig muslin gown had undergone something of a transformation with a new green tiffany sash and green trimming around the puff sleeves. The shade accentuated Eleanor’s emerald eyes and complimented her peachy skin perfectly.

  ‘Gosh, Milly, you’ve done a marvellous job.’

  ‘Well off you go then, miss,’ beamed Milly, gesturing to the door.

  ‘Well … actually,’ said Eleanor, rising to her feet. ‘I thought we might just watch from the window for a while. I have no wish to stand around making hideous small talk for a moment longer than I have to.’

  Milly rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘What I wouldn’t give to go to such a fine affair and there’s you doing all you can to stay up here with me.’

  ‘Oh, believe me,’ giggled Eleanor, ‘it is much more fun up here with you, Milly.’

  The two of them hung out of the bedchamber window, observing the proceedings. A steady stream of town coaches, barouches, landaus and phaetons made their way up to the gates of the castle where their exquisitely dressed occupants disembarked and made their leisurely way into the grounds. On the lawns, an array of refreshments had been laid out on long trestle tables, covered with gleaming white cloths. A swarm of immaculately dressed, overheated waiters flitted about the rapidly increasing throng with trays of champagne.

  The first person Eleanor recognized as she surveyed the crowd was Derek Lovell, chatting animatedly to a pair of serious-looking gentlemen. Thankfully, she had seen little of the odious creature since the incident in the music-room. James was standing a little way from Lovell, dressed impeccably, as usual, in biscuit-coloured pantaloons, white shirt and stockings, gleaming Hessians and an exquisitely tailored dark-blue jacket. He was surrounded by a giggling group of debutantes, who were all obviously hanging, doe-eyed, on to his every word.

  ‘Heavens!’ exclaimed Eleanor. ‘If you ever see me acting like that in front of a man, Milly, you have my permission to shoot me. What on earth is it about him that seems to turn women into complete idiots?’

  ‘Oh, miss,’ whispered a blushing Milly. ‘He’s awful handsome and very charming, don’t you think?’

  Eleanor flashed her a disbelievin
g look. ‘Indeed I do not. He is the most rude, arrogant, conceited, pompous man I have ever had the displeasure to meet.’

  Milly giggled. ‘Well, that’s the first time I’ve heard that said about him. Oh, look, there’s them Carmichaels arriving. Could do with eating a few less macaroons if you ask me.’

  Eleanor looked over to where Milly was indicating and observed the plump forms of Cynthia and Felicity Carmichael alighting from their burgundy carriage. The older woman was dressed in a fussy turquoise gown, much too young for her advancing years. Felicity wore a similar creation in an unflattering shade of pink. They made their way to the crowds already gathered on the lawn.

  ‘My,’ sighed Milly, surveying the crowd, ‘ain’t it all grand, miss? I ain’t never seen such a sight in all my life.’

  Although devoid of any inclination to partake in the affair, even Eleanor had to admit that it was indeed grand. From the crests on the carriages she had observed, it appeared that all of the nobility from London and the surrounding area had travelled to Whitlock for the party.

  ‘Oh,’ gasped Milly suddenly, grasping Eleanor’s arm. ‘Did you ever see such a fine gown, miss?’

  Eleanor’s gaze followed the younger girl’s and came to rest on a tall, reed-slim woman, with exotically arranged ebony hair, wearing a white silk gown adorned only by the simple white netting of the sleeves. It was a dress so plain and so exquisite that it awarded its wearer an angelic air and made every other gown at the party appear brash and over-fussy. The woman was holding the arm of a much older but very distinguished-looking gentleman with silver-grey hair, dressed equally as stylishly. The two cut a most dashing pair.

  Something was nagging at Eleanor that she knew this woman from somewhere. Then, in a flash, she remembered. ‘That, Milly,’ she announced, ‘is the Duchess of Swinton.’

  Milly’s eyes almost popped out of her pretty head.

  The Duke and Duchess of Swinton threaded their way through the ever-increasing crowd, heading, it seemed, towards their hostess, the dowager, who was evidently in the process of dishing out a list of instructions to poor Giles, the butler. Having shed her mourning black, she was wearing an old-fashioned hooped gown in lilac, which made her appear slightly less intimidating than usual.