‘Are you coming to bed, Eleanor? Or has my mother given you something to memorise?’ Ben called from where he lay in the large four-poster bed. He had moved in here after Alice’s death. The room did not have as good an aspect, but it had the advantage of not being infused with memories. He had planned on making some more memories with Ellie, but she seemed preoccupied with his mother’s list.
‘Mother Whittonstall has kindly written out a programme for me. I am amazed that your mother took the time before she went off to Almack’s.’
‘My mother is an amazing woman. And she is determined to mould you. If you are not careful she will have you dripping with fripperies in the name of fashion.’
He waited for Eleanor to bristle at the suggestion.
‘We are going for a drive in Hyde Park tomorrow morning, before visiting several milliners, modistes and mantua-makers. We want to find a woman who can accentuate my assets.’
She gave a little laugh, inviting him to join in the joke. Ben frowned as his disquiet increased. He wanted Ellie to return to the strong woman she’d been before the miscarriage, rather than be reduced to a quivering lump of jelly by a succession of tyrants. His mother meant well, but she had certain ideas and was unafraid to express them in forthright terms. He had seen it happen before with Alice and had ignored it. It remained one of his deepest regrets. He had learnt from his mistakes. He intended to protect Eleanor—if she’d allow him to. He wanted to demonstrate to her that he was no longer a monster.
‘Your assets look fine to me.’ Ben patted the empty pillow.
‘You are a man.’ Ellie waved her hand. ‘Hopefully the experience will be more pleasant than shopping with my mother. We always quarrelled. She had a love of jonquil-yellow which makes me look bilious.’
‘I like you in aquamarine. The dress you had on at dinner tonight was pretty.’
‘Mother Whittonstall did not like the neckline. It fails to reflect the current thinking in fashion and is strictly for dining en famille.’
‘My mother is not the person wearing the clothes.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Or the person paying for them. Trust your judgement, Ellie. You don’t have to go along with my mother’s wishes if they clash with your own. My mother doesn’t mean to be forceful. She just is. She respects people who know their own mind.’
Eleanor slammed the paper down on the dressing table, picked up a brush and started brushing her hair with fierce strokes.
‘I shall,’ she said with crushing dignity. ‘I have done so for more than fifteen years. Your mother seeks to help me. She wants me to be a success...as your wife.’
‘Funny—I thought you already were.’
‘You know what I mean. In society.’
‘Did my mother include your appointment with the Bow Street Runners? You shall need to speak to them as soon as practicable. Johnson is keen to know the verdict.’
‘I can work around that. I shall send a note in the morning and arrange a time.’ Eleanor brushed her hair with a few more strokes. ‘Apparently your mother has a new carriage.’
Ben frowned inwardly. Eleanor had decided to shift the subject away from her schedule. His unease grew. What was she trying to hide?
‘I knew it was threatened,’ he carefully. ‘It is a landau. She wants to cut a dash as she is driven along the Rotten Row. My mother enjoys being seen. My own personal feelings on the trim count for nothing.’
Eleanor’s hand paused in mid-brush. Her eyes met his through the mirror. ‘What quarrel do you have with your mother?’
‘What quarrel? Not a quarrel, merely an observation. She swore she needed my advice before she purchased the landau. I declined and now she has shown what I suspected—my mother will do as she wishes. Her request for advice was a feint. Remember that.’
‘When was this?’
‘Is it important?’
‘I had the distinct feeling that there was a strained air between you two when she left after the wedding.’
Ben ran his hand through his hair. With Eleanor in this mood he hardly wanted to go over the past. He wished he hadn’t mentioned the point. ‘It is in the past.’
‘But it matters. What did your mother do? Does it have to do with Alice?’
‘You have had a long day.’
She put the brush down with a trembling hand and reached for her beribboned nightcap. ‘You think I am going to fail. You are ashamed of me. You should have said earlier. It is hardly as if I have two heads, and I know not to be forward. I won’t need your mother hovering at my elbow like she has to with Miss Martyn.’
‘Did I say that?’ Ben stared at Eleanor in astonishment. Her words cut through him. ‘Did I ever say that? Would I ever be so cruel?’
‘But you thought it. You don’t think I shall conquer London. You are trying to be kind but you don’t think I can do it. Mother Whittonstall will get me the required voucher and I will show you.’
‘I don’t think you need to. There is a subtle difference, Ellie, which I am sure you can appreciate.’
‘I have no plans to fail. I have plans to conquer.’
‘I thought we were here for Moles.’
‘We are here for a number of reasons.’ She came over and knelt on the bed. Her dark hair was under her nightcap and he could see the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. An air of vulnerability remained in her eyes.
‘I wanted to remind you of the important one.’
‘You needn’t have bothered. I know where my duty lies. I’ve known that since I was fifteen.’ Her voice held a wistful note.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
He ran a hand down her delicate skin and wondered if he’d done the right thing in bringing her to this place. He wanted the woman he thought he’d married back, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her struggling in society. He wanted to protect her, but he also wanted her to experience the magical world that she’d glimpsed as a young girl. He could remember how her eyes had shone as she’d described it during their first picnic. He’d made a vow then and he intended to keep it.
‘Just remember where home is.’ He straightened her nightcap so it sat squarely on her head.
She moved away from him, turning her back to him. ‘I won’t forget. I could never forget.’
Chapter Fourteen
The morning sunlight streamed into Lady Whittonstall’s new landau. Two footmen were perched behind, while the driver rode one of the lead horses, thus giving Eleanor and Lady Whittonstall a clear view of the proceedings. Ben had declined a place in the carriage, preferring to ride alongside.
Eleanor watched all the great and the good mingle along Rotten Row while Lady Whittonstall kept up a running commentary about who was who and how they fitted into the wider world of London society. She explained about what had happened at Almack’s, and how poor sweet Hero still had a chance to bring the Earl of Rothbury up to snuff before the season finished, despite her faux-pas in the second reel.
Ben, looking splendid in chestnut-brown breeches and riding coat, snorted. He seemed less convinced than Lady Whittonstall about Miss Martyn’s chances, but it was the ease with which he discussed everything that impressed Eleanor. She was painfully aware that these people were known to Ben but not to her, and some of them, like the Earl of Rothbury, appeared to be intimate acquaintances. These were the people he had been afraid of judging him a monster.
More and more carriages entered Rotten Row, and Eleanor realised, as she saw the various fashionables, that her dress was hopelessly out of date and quaint.
‘Do you sing, Eleanor?’ Lady Whittonstall asked, having exhausted the topic of Miss Martyn’s matrimonial prospects.
‘I find it difficult to keep a tune, and I stopped playing the spinet after my father died.’ Eleanor felt her cheeks begin to burn. ‘But I do like hearing music. It is infli
cting my voice on others that troubles me.’
Lady Whittonstall frowned.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Nothing, dear. I am merely attempting to figure out how we shall introduce you to Lady Sefton. What accomplishments we should highlight. Lady Sefton prefers the ladies on her list to be ladies of true accomplishment.’
‘As your son’s wife?’ Ben called down from his horse. ‘Surely that will be recommendation enough?’
‘I want something more—something that shows Lady Sefton what an asset you are. I overheard her complaining recently that far too many of the younger set lack a distinguishing feature and will have to be ruthlessly culled next season.’
‘You are trying to over-complicate matters, Mother. Eleanor is more than able to hold her own in any conversation. She is far from dull, and she most definitely does not chatter like some of your protégées have had a tendency to do.’
‘It is not that simple, Ben. I dare say that viscountesses are two a penny at Almack’s.’ Eleanor gave him a hard look. Didn’t he understand that she was doing this for him? She wanted to do it right. She wanted to demonstrate that she was worthy of taking her place at his side. ‘Even I know the potential problems of getting vouchers at Almack’s. It is what gives it its cachet.’
‘You are making a mountain out of a molehill,’ Ben said with a twist to his mouth. ‘Relax, Ellie. It will happen. No one would dare be that insulting. This family has a certain standing.’
‘A few years ago it might have been that simple, but Brummell does stalk the corridors,’ Lady Whittonstall said in a musing tone. ‘How is your dancing, my dear? A pretty dancer always impresses.’
‘I occasionally dance, but generally there has not been time. I do run a business.’ A heavy weight settled on Eleanor’s shoulders. Back in Shotley Bridge it had seemed straightforward. All she needed was a new wardrobe and perhaps a different hairstyle. But Lady Whittonstall seemed to imply that it took much more.
‘We shall get you to a dancing master—someone who knows what he is about. We might introduce you at a few gaieties, or perhaps at Gunnersbury, Cremorne, or even Vauxhall. I hear there is an old gypsy who tells fortunes in the grotto.’ Lady Whittonstall’s smile increased. ‘That might be the best way to do it. Introduce you gently to society and save Almack’s for next season. I do so hate a full-frontal assault. These things should evolve naturally, when the girl is ready. At least a full season is required.’
Ben’s mouth twisted. ‘Eleanor is my wife, not a naive debutante, Mother. She runs a business and does not have a full season to devote to the dubious pleasures of Almack’s and society.’
‘Who said anything about pleasure?’ Lady Whittonstall exclaimed. ‘Almack’s has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with being seen. You matter to the people who matter. Should dear Eleanor be blackballed for some trivial and preventable reason the word will get out and all the lovely invitations will dry up.’
‘Precisely,’ Eleanor agreed. Ben surely had to understand what was at stake? He might have been born with an entrée to society clasped in his infant fist but she was an outsider. The last thing she wanted was to be blamed for his exclusion from the world where he belonged. ‘If it takes longer than first anticipated, then so be it. Mr Johnson is quite able to look after Moles.’
Ben gave her a look of utter disgust, spurred his horse and rode off. Eleanor’s insides twisted. Between last night’s quarrel and today’s contretemps her relationship with Ben did not appear to improving. If anything, it was rapidly unravelling. He refused to understand how important this was.
Eleanor raised her chin and glared at his disapproving back as he rode away. Everything would change once she had acquired the voucher, made her entrance and proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could compete with the best. She would demonstrate that she was worthy of being loved.
Lady Whittonstall put a hand on Eleanor’s knee. ‘Follow my lead, dear girl. We are in luck. Mrs Branson, who is one of Lady Sefton’s dearest friends, rides out today. With her backing Lady Sefton is certain to approve your request for a voucher.’
Eleanor sat up straighter as Lady Whittonstall effusively greeted Mrs Branson.
‘And this must be your new daughter-in-law.’ Mrs Branson’s gaze travelled over Eleanor, making Eleanor more aware than ever of the deficiencies of her dress. ‘She is quite the country mouse. No doubt you will soon have her in hand. The wonders you have done with the Martyn girl this year are more than astonishing. And last year it was the Shaw chit, and the year before...’
‘Thankfully Benjamin has shown the good sense to finally marry.’
‘I and the rest of the ton shall be agog to see what you accomplish.’ Mrs Branson lent forward and said, sotto voce, ‘Her hair is very old-fashioned. It needs more curls, and it should be shorter.’
Eleanor could not decide if it would be better to sink down upon the cushions in embarrassment or cut the woman dead. Mrs Branson might hold the key to her getting a voucher, but she was also incredibly rude.
‘This is one of Eleanor’s first visits to London. It is hard to find a decent dressmaker north of London, and Eleanor requires the very best. And I have plans for her hair. Eleanor will emerge from the cocoon of Whittonstall House a veritable butterfly.’
‘Take your mother-in-law’s advice to heart.’ Mrs Branson gave a tremendous sigh. ‘Lady Whittonstall is known to all as a transformer. I still remember what she did for sweet Alice.’
‘I have found her advice invaluable thus far.’ Eleanor made sure that she lowered her head modestly. ‘I have much to learn, and I have been told that Lady Whittonstall is an excellent teacher.’
Mrs Branson’s gaze sharpened. ‘Then you were not a debutante?’
‘I didn’t have time. I was far too busy running the family business.’ Eleanor practised deep breaths. She could get through this.
‘You are in commerce?’
Lady Whittonstall covered her hand with her mouth and shook her head vigorously. Eleanor ignored her. There was nothing wrong or immoral in what she did.
‘My company manufactures swords.’ Eleanor tilted her chin in the air. ‘We are, I am happy to say, the best sword manufacturer in England. Moles enjoys an unparalleled reputation for its excellence and I am proud to play my part.’
Lady Whittonstall gave a faint moan.
‘You make swords? You are a businesswoman?’ Mrs Branson’s lip curled. ‘How on earth do you manage?’
‘Manage? It is quite simple. I use my brain, rather than saving it for tittle-tattle and other bits of gossip,’ Eleanor retorted. She curled her fists. ‘Thanks to me, over a hundred men and their families have food in their bellies and a roof over their head.’
‘Do they?’
‘It is hard but honest work.’
‘So I understand. Thankfully I have never had to sully my hands.’ Mrs Branson gave a nod to Lady Whittonstall. ‘Good day to you both.’
‘We must return home.’ Lady Whittonstall gestured towards the driver, who turned the carriage around, and they quickly started back towards the house.
‘Is something wrong?’ Eleanor asked when they had left Hyde Park and the Rotten Row behind. Lady Whittonstall had gone pale and a faint sheen of sweat shone on her forehead.
Lady Whittonstall turned and clutched Eleanor’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t risk another incident. Putting food into the bellies of men, indeed. How do you think that remark will play with the Lady Patronesses?’
‘Incident?’
‘I shall have to find another Lady Patroness for you. Mrs Branson is sure to fill Lady Sefton’s ears with this tale. They are bosom friends and Lady Sefton will do as she suggests. I know this in my bones. I fail to see how you can recover from this faux pas.’
‘Are you certain of this?’ Eleanor loo
ked up at the blue sky and struggled to control her temper. ‘I merely sought to explain why I wasn’t a debutante. I am not ashamed of how I have lived my life, Mother Whittonstall. Far from it.’
‘But is Benjamin?’
‘He did marry me.’
‘You should have let me speak. You should have allowed her to assume, rather than being forthright.
Subtlety is all. Nuance.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Mrs Branson is a snob of the highest water. She can’t abide anyone in commerce. And you manufacture swords.’
‘Which a great many people purchase.’
‘I don’t see them lining up to get you vouchers to Almack’s.’ Lady Whittonstall put her hand over her eyes. ‘Forgive me. It has been a trying season with one thing and another. I had such hopes, Eleanor, and despite everything those hopes remain. It will happen. But you must follow my lead rather than going off on your own tangent and causing a scandal.’
Eleanor’s stomach knotted. She should have kept her mouth shut—but the woman had baited her. And she wasn’t ashamed of what she did. ‘If I have to lie to get a voucher where is the pleasure in that?’
Lady Whittonstall gave her an agonised look.
Eleanor bit her lip. She’d have to find another way to return Ben to that state of perfect happiness and make him love her. She pressed her hands against her eyes and tried to think.
‘It will be fine, Eleanor. Something will come to me.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Ben said as he strode out of the stables.
‘Mrs Branson exchanged greetings. I failed to hold my tongue,’ Eleanor confessed, before Lady Whittonstall had a chance to say anything. ‘Mrs Branson fears I’m tainted with commerce and therefore beyond redemption. I merely sought to defend Moles. Your mother believes I may have ruined my chances.’
She waited for Ben to look disapproving, but his eyes danced with hidden mischief. ‘A pity—and more than shocking. How does Mrs Branson think this country makes its money? The ignorance of some people never ceases to amaze me.’
His Unsuitable Viscountess Page 21