Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

by Heidi Ashworth

  “Did he?” Alex asked. Might there yet be some hope of ending this excursion?

  “Oddly enough, he said the opposite. He told me he trusted Father’s judgment, and that Lady Eleanora was not just any marquis’s daughter; he found her to be singular—extraordinary.”

  Alex snorted at this just as he’d begun to sip his ale again and inhaled instead of swallowing. This resulted in a loud coughing spell that lasted several seconds and drew the attention of the others in the tavern.

  Looking somewhat amused, Lord Benton raised his eyebrows. “I take it you disagree.”

  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough,” Alex managed.

  But Lord Benton’s curiosity did not appear to be satisfied. “So she felt little regard for my brother and did not express any sort of gratitude at the opportunity for a Season?”

  Alex shrugged and tried to shove off the guilt he felt regarding the way his visit with Lady Eleanora had concluded. “We didn’t really discuss that she would be coming to London with the intent to prepare for the Season. Henry’s letter mentioned only the Duke of Salisbury’s ball.”

  “You didn’t tell her?” Gregory set his tankard on the table rather harder than necessary. “She has no idea she’s to be gone for the next several months? That beyond this initial stay in London, she is to join us for the holiday and then return for the Season she never had?”

  “She hardly let me get a word in edgewise,” Alex said, hating the defensive tone in his voice. He hadn’t asked for this assignment. “When I did have opportunity to speak, I had to be brief—and blunt.”

  Gregory cringed. “Knowing how sharp your tongue can be, I pity Lady Eleanora already.”

  “You should,” Alex said, a wry smile twisting his lips. “I predict that it will take someone who pities her a great deal for her to secure any sort of offer by the end of the Season. Her lineage is well enough—at least on her mother’s side; there are rumors about her father’s mental state at present. If your solicitor Mr. Hobbs is correct, he cares little for her, as evidenced by his gallivanting about the world. Her manners are severely lacking, and little wonder, given that she has had no guidance these many years.”

  “Regardless of her current circumstance, we must do right by her,” Lord Benton said, fixing Alex with a look that said all too clearly that there would be no backing out of this arrangement. “We owe it to Henry.”

  “I know.” Alex frowned into his cup. It should have been me who challenged Sir Crayton, he thought for at least the thousandth time. But Henry had gone in his place, and nothing could be done to call that disastrous night back. The best he could do was to follow his friend’s wishes.

  Alex looked up to find Lord Benton studying him with a curious expression.

  “No one is to say we cannot have a bit of sport while we are helping launch Lady Eleanora Whitticomb into society. Perhaps that will make this situation more palatable to you.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you are up to no good?” But Alex smiled. A bit of sport was exactly the thing Henry would have proposed in a situation such as this.

  “Would you care to wager on Lady Eleanora’s success in the marriage mart? Clearly, you do not believe she shall be able to procure a husband. While I—with her sight unseen, I remind you—am willing to wager that she shall find herself betrothed by the first of May.” Gregory leaned forward, his hand outstretched, ready to make the bet.

  “Six and a half months is a long time,” Alex said. “Anything could happen.”

  “So you are not confident in your initial assessment?” Lord Benton withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps the lady does have some virtues.”

  She has pretty eyes. But that is not enough to make up for her other faults. “I am confident,” Alex said, recalling again the moment Lady Eleanora had burst into the room in complete dishevel. “What is it you wish to wager for?”

  “Stoutheart.”

  “My horse! Are you mad?” Alex pushed his chair back and stood so abruptly that he startled the older man at the table beside theirs, causing him to leap from his stool as well.

  “Pardon me, mate,” Alex apologized. The man appeared to be well into his cups. Noting his spilled drink and generally poor state of dress, Alex fumbled in his coat pocket, then withdrew a coin, leaned over, and set it on the man’s table.

  Returning his attention to Lord Benton, Alex lowered his voice. “A man in my position has very little to recommend him and hardly anything that satisfies, but at least I have and am able to ride my own horse—an animal you’ll recall I saved long and searched far for. Not to mention the amount of time I spent in training Stoutheart to my specific circumstance. Would you have me lose that as well?”

  “I thought you said you were confident in Lady Eleanora’s failure.” Lord Benton smirked, then at once held up his hand when Alex made to speak again. “But you did not hear me out. I would like to borrow Stoutheart, particularly to mate with the mare I bought last year. It would not be for long, and no doubt your horse would be returned to you in good health and fine spirits.”

  “No doubt,” Alex said, his tone surly. These days everyone seemed to be in good spirits but him. Many of his peers had married in recent years, and by and far marriage had agreed with all of them, changing each—for the better. Lord Benton was no exception.

  While I continue on in this miserable, guilt-ridden existence. From the corner of his eye, he noted that the older man at the nearby table was leaving the pub without procuring a drink to replace the spilled one. Alex watched his shuffling gait until he had exited the room.

  Is that to be me with time? Would his discontent with life and his inability to fit into society as he once had lead him to drowning his sorrows, alone in a sorry tavern? No. One night of drink has already cost me—and others—dearly.

  “No wager is needed for you to be able to make use of Stoutheart,” Alex said to Gregory, feeling contrite. His temper was ever short lately; he must learn to control it.

  “Ah, but a wager makes it more amusing,” Lord Benton said. “If I win, you must bring Stoutheart to my estate. If you win, I will bring my mares to visit at yours. Either way, you shall be the recipient of one of the foals sired.”

  “A generous offer,” Alex acknowledged, feeling worse by the minute for his behavior. He leaned forward, his left hand extended. “To Lady Eleanora’s prospects this Season.”

  “Lady Eleanora’s prospects,” Gregory agreed, the smile still upon his face as he clasped Alex’s hand firmly.

  “There’s to be no meddling,” Alex said, wishing he had specified that before agreeing to their wager. Though, in truth, losing would not be bad. He never minded an excuse to visit his sister and her husband. In the last five years, since the duel that had cost them all so much, he and Gregory had become close friends. Nearly as close as Henry and I used to be.

  “I give you my word that I shall not do a single thing to invite the attention of any male member of the ton toward Lady Eleanora.”

  “Good,” Alex said. “And see that you keep my sister from playing matchmaker too.”

  “Easier said than done, my man,” Gregory said as he shrugged on his coat. “Someday you shall see for yourself that women have minds of their own, and there is very little that can actually be done to curb them.”

  Alex said nothing, but knew Lord Benton’s words to be true. He suspected he would discover just how true, sooner rather than later, as he escorted Lady Eleanora to London.

  Chapter Three

  “Lord Benton’s letter is the most romantic thing that I have ever heard.” By lantern light, Lucy removed another gown from the dressing room and laid it across the bed. “Most girls go to London with the intent of finding a husband. But you shall have an entirely different experience. You merely have to discover where yours is.” She and the other maid assisting her exchanged a look, and the latter burst into a fit of giggles.

  Ella took no offense. As the servants were her only company, she wa
s used to such conversations and even encouraged them. Her mother would have disapproved, but Ella thought it the better path than insanity—a point she was sure to have arrived at by now, if not for the friendship of Lucy and the others working at her father’s estate these past four years. Conversing with the servants is surely better than talking to oneself.

  “I know where my fiancé is.” Ella selected a string of pearls from her jewelry box, thinking how odd it felt to be up so early and not dressing to go riding. “Unfortunately, Lord Benton is far removed from London, from this world.” He is dead, isn’t he? The past four days she’d had frightening dreams in which a faceless man rose from his grave and chased her through a ballroom.

  Ella scowled at the letter upon her dressing table. Mr. Darling would soon be here to collect her. After nearly four days of debating the course she should take, she’d risen before the sun was up so she would be prepared to leave as he had suggested—not because she feared his threat of abduction, but because she’d grown angry and impatient with her father. Instead of a ticket for her passage, yesterday she had received a letter detailing his visit to Cairo and the excursion down the Nile he was planning next. It seemed he had forgotten all about her birthday and his promise.

  He has forgotten me.

  A trip to London then, a little adventure of her own, seemed just the thing. Perhaps, when Papa realized she had gone, he would both regret his neglectfulness and see that she was old enough to be his traveling companion.

  “Will you be wanting this gown as well, milady?” Lucy held up a white Grecian ball gown, silk with an organza overlay and a ruffle of gold and lace trailing from the shoulders to the low bustline. Gold beading and lace edged the puffed sleeves, crossed beneath the bodice, and continued down the front of the gown. It had been a gift from Papa this past spring. He had sent it to her while on one of his many trips to Paris.

  When Eleanora had first seen it, she’d felt much like her seven-year-old self receiving an unwanted doll. Simpler dresses were more to her liking, and this one seemed particularly impractical.

  “Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous?” She crossed the room to Lucy and fingered the gold ruffle along the shoulder. “Itchy. It would seem impossible to wear a gown such as this and not scratch oneself half to death during dinner.”

  “Leave it then?” Lucy asked.

  Ella sighed. “Bring it. It is the nicest gown I own, and perhaps I shall have to endure an evening of itching if I am to be properly attired. I’ve not the faintest notion what current fashions are. Mother’s subscriptions to Ackerman’s Repository ceased long ago.”

  “Very well.” Lucy gave a quick curtsy and hurried off with the gown to have it wrapped. Ella stared at the empty dressing room. It hadn’t been very full to begin with—what did she need many clothes for way out here on her own? Before Mother died, Ella had owned plenty of gowns, all very fine and fashionable. But that had been four years ago, and most of that wardrobe no longer fit. Father’s neglect of all things at home had included her clothing, and she had not minded—too much. But as close to empty as her dressing room had been, seeing it entirely vacant felt strange—a little exhilarating and the tiniest bit frightening as well.

  I am really leaving. Going somewhere at last. Even if it was only London for a week or two. She did not know exactly when the Duke of Salisbury’s ball was, and it was possible she might even find herself home again before the week was out.

  “Funny thing how your father sent you that gown,” Lucy said upon her return to the room.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” Ella quite agreed. “Did he expect I should wear it to church?” She laughed at the ridiculous thought. Their parish was largely made up of farmers and townsfolk. Only a few estates dotted the landscape this far from Canterbury. To appear in such a dress at church would feel positively sinful.

  “It’s almost as if your father knew you would be attending a ball.” Lucy began packing the meager contents of Ella’s dressing table.

  As if he knew . . . Ella whirled to face her maid. “You don’t think my father planned this? He wouldn’t have sent Mr. Darling to fetch me to London as some sort of surprise—or test?”

  Lucy’s eyes had grown large. “I wouldn’t be knowing. I didn’t mean to suggest such a thing. Though Mr. Darling did arrive just after your birthday, and your father had said he would send for you then.”

  “Yes.” Ella began pacing back and forth in front of the bed. “He said he would, and then he didn’t, unless he really did and my conduct with Mr. Darling is just a test to see how I’ll fare in polite society, with new people and new experiences.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s just like Papa to do something unconventional like that.” In the next second, her face fell. “And then I went and behaved so dreadfully to Mr. Darling.” She groaned and flung herself back on the bed.

  “Your hair,” Lucy cried. “You’ll muss it.” She grabbed Ella’s arms and pulled her to a sitting position. “It will be all right. You’ll see,” Lucy said reassuringly. “If your father did arrange this, all the better. It may be that he is waiting to surprise you. Now all you’ve got to do is go to London and prove yourself.”

  “How shall I?” Ella felt suddenly forlorn. Perhaps it was the early hour, the dark still covering the grounds outside. But she could not entirely blame her discomfort on that. She had acted badly—childishly—when Mr. Darling had called on her. And if Papa somehow learns of that . . . She should never be allowed to join him on his travels.

  Lady Eleanora Whitticomb was consistent in her eagerness, at least. At their first meeting, she had bounded up to him almost as a puppy might, when greeting its master. This morning, as Alex arrived in the Benton carriage that was to convey them to London, Lady Eleanora and her maid were seated together on a trunk at the top of the drive.

  “We are ready as you requested,” Lady Eleanora called out, rising from the trunk and walking toward the coach before he’d even fully alighted from it.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely. At the end of their previous visit, he’d been uncertain whether or not he would even find her at home today. That she was ready to go and seemed to bear him no malice seemed as good a start as any.

  She came forward and held her hand out to him. This was much more than he had expected, but after a brief hesitation, he took her hand, leaned over, and kissed it—an action which earned him the oddest of stares.

  “Will you help me up, please?” she asked. “It is customary for a gentleman to help a lady into a carriage, is it not?”

  He was more accustomed to having the servants do such, but Lord Benton’s had not yet descended their perch and none of Lady Eleanora’s household appeared available. It is fortunate I am on this side, he thought and kept hold of her hand, turned toward the carriage, and helped her inside—without appearing too awkward, he hoped. He assisted her maid as well, then glanced over at Lady Eleanora’s trunk, quite small by most standards, and felt a pang of unease. Leaning into the carriage, he spoke again.

  “Where might we find the remainder of your luggage, Lady Eleanora?”

  “Oh, that is all there is.” She blushed as if embarrassed. “I assure you I’ve everything I require for the duke’s ball. Lucy’s belongings are there as well.” She glanced at her maid.

  “Very well.” Alex nodded to the coachmen—standing behind him now—to load the trunk. He wasn’t entirely certain, but it seemed most women traveled with a great deal more than Lady Eleanora, even when their visits were quite short. What would she do when she discovered she was to stay longer?

  He leaned into the carriage once more. “It is possible . . . that your stay in London may be extended. Parliament is to convene this week, and there will be many in town for the special session. Often one’s attendance at one ball leads to an invitation to attend another, or a dinner party, or . . .” His voice trailed off. She was not looking at him with alarm, but with what appeared to be keen interest, even hope perhaps.

  Is this the same woman I
spoke with a few days ago?

  “And, of course, it is considered impolite to turn down invitations, so it may well be that you could remain in London for quite some time.”

  “I see,” she said. “Thank you for telling me. I shall write to my father and advise him of that possibility.”

  She did not seem at all upset by this, which puzzled Alex further. What changed her mind? “Would you not like to take a few minutes more, another half hour even, to pack additional gowns and underclothes.” Underclothes? Now he was the one blushing. What kind of idiot would she take him for, discussing such matters with a lady?

  “Nearly all that I have, I have brought with me,” Lady Eleanora looked at the carriage floor as she spoke, no doubt embarrassed over such a delicate subject matter. “If I require additional garments, I shall simply have to purchase them in London. I will advise my father of that as well.”

  “It will not be necessary.” Alex climbed into the carriage, and the door was shut behind him as he took the seat across from the ladies. “Lord Benton wishes to purchase and provide anything that you may be lacking or even desiring.”

  Lady Eleanora looked up at him. “I could not allow that.”

  “Did your fiancé ever buy you anything previously?”

  “Yes.” She tilted her chin up, and a wistful smile lit her face. “He sent me a fishing rod once.”

  Alex could tell she was serious, and he had no response. Whoever heard of a man sending a woman a fishing rod? Were not jewelry, love letters, or forget-me-nots the sort of things that women desired?

  “And did you like this gift?” he couldn’t help asking.

  “Oh, yes.” Lady Eleanora’s smile reached her eyes. “I still have it.”

  She is singular indeed, Alex thought, finding himself suddenly intrigued by his traveling companion. He had dreaded the hours ahead of them today, but possibly they would not be so unendurable as he’d believed.