Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

by Heidi Ashworth

  “Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “It will do nicely.” She recalled her mother telling her that one could not be too personable with servants. It seemed an absurd rule to Ella, but Mrs. Prichard seemed to approve of and perhaps even prefer this, as she inclined her head in acknowledgment and a brief flash of admiration shown in her eyes.

  “I’ve arranged for your dinner to be brought up tonight. Breakfast tomorrow will be in the dining room, unless you wish otherwise.”

  “The dining room will be fine,” Ella said, eager for any excuse to come downstairs and explore the house.

  Mrs. Prichard left, and when the door had closed softly behind her, Ella hugged herself in a state of disbelief.

  “I’ve done it,” she whispered triumphantly. “I am in London.” It wasn’t Paris or the Taj Mahal, but it was a start. Either Father had summoned her here, or he would soon realize she had gone without him. Both possibilities held promise for her wish to come true. Soon she would be with her father, and she would not be alone anymore.

  Chapter Five

  London, November 1819

  Ella flopped backward on the bed, disturbing the deep green coverlet and the mountain of pillows the maid who’d left had just finished straightening for the third time today.

  “Your hair!” Lucy wailed, leaving the gown she’d been about to hang in the clothes press and running around to the other side of the bed. “You’ll muss it, and I’ve no time to redo it before supper.”

  “It’s already mussed,” Ella said crossly, “after having had no fewer than two dozen hats placed upon it at the milliners this morning.”

  “Those’ll be arriving soon too, I suppose,” Lucy said, a note of frustration in her own voice. “Being a lady’s maid in London is a far sight more work than in the country. I’m going to be in the basket if Mrs. Prichard finds this room a mess again. But all this changing of clothes three or more times a day is wearying.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Ella rolled onto her stomach, braced her chin on her hands, and watched Lucy. “If this is Papa’s idea of a splendid birthday present, then he is even less aware of me than I believed. For all the money that has been spent on new clothes, he could have bought me another horse.”

  “Have you not written and told him as much?” Lucy asked, sounding hopeful.

  Ella shook her head. “No. If he is behind all this, it must be so I will be prepared for whatever voyage we are to take next. This time in London is merely to make me ready.” Unless it truly is Lord Benton who has summoned me here. She pushed the thought aside, both because it frightened and excited her. “A short while here and I will have full trunks and adequate practice with society for wherever it is Papa and I are off to.”

  Lucy peeked around the door of the clothes press. “And will I be going with you?”

  “That depends,” Ella said, “on whether you wish to or not.”

  “Mmm.” Lucy pressed her lips together and said no more. Had they been at home, Ella would have asked her feelings. And she would have helped with the work as well. Of course, had they been at home, Lucy would not be overwhelmed with the volume of clothing—stays and shifts, morning gowns and day frocks, stockings and shoes and bonnets—that had been arriving all week. But, of course, she must behave differently here than at home.

  Ella scowled. There was nothing for a lady to do in London as far as she could tell—no horses to ride, it was not considered acceptable for her to go out walking alone, and she was not even free to roam about the house and visit with the servants as she had done at home. If anything, she felt lonelier in London than she had, isolated as she’d been, in the country.

  A scratch sounded upon the door, and Ella sat up quickly as Mrs. Prichard entered.

  “Mr. Darling has arrived and inquired after you. Shall I tell him you are at home?”

  “Yes, please.” Ella scooted from the bed, stood, and smoothed the front of her gown as she recalled her mother doing before greeting visitors.

  “He is in the parlor. I will let him know you are at home.”

  After nearly a week in this house, Ella knew that letting him know she was here entailed Mrs. Prichard telling one of the maids to summon the butler who would then take it upon himself to let Mr. Darling know that Ella would receive him. It would seem much simpler for her to greet him herself, but she had learned—through an unfortunate experience with a caller earlier in the week—that simply was not the way of things.

  As quickly as was acceptable, Ella hurried down the stairs. It seemed odd that Mr. Darling had been shown into the parlor when the other guests she’d received this week had waited in the drawing room. She wondered if it was being cleaned at present and when she reached the main floor, she peeked her head inside to find out. The drawing room sat as it always did—a perfect masterpiece of lovely, ornate furnishings and rugs, with interesting objects and fine art to admire.

  The parlor, on the other hand, was a smaller, more comfortable room—one she was told that Lord Benton frequented. She actually preferred it over the drawing room, but it seemed odd that a guest would not be shown to the finer of the two.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Darling.” Ella curtseyed slightly before crossing the room to him. He looked much as she remembered—far too solemn, giving the appearance of a man much older than he likely was.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Ella. I came to see if London is treating you well.”

  “London is boring me to tears,” she said, then seated herself on the opposite end of the sofa he had just risen from. “Please sit, and I’ll ring for some tea.”

  He looked suddenly uncomfortable, and his good hand rose, as if to stop her. “That won’t be necessary. Nothing for me, please.”

  She recalled how he had not eaten supper with her and Lucy at the inn the day they’d traveled to London. Does he never eat in the company of others? she wondered. The thought saddened her.

  “I would be a terrible hostess indeed not to offer you some refreshment,” she said, leaning back to the bell pull before he could object again. “As I have already played the part of a terrible hostess to you once, I feel I must do better this time.”

  The skin around his mouth seemed to tighten, but he said no more on the subject and retook his seat upon the sofa. “I see you have been relearning the ways of society.”

  “I have.” Ella nodded. “It is my hope that I am not entirely hopeless. After all, I was sixteen when my mother died. Up to that point in life, I had been taught the decorum expected of young ladies who are the daughters of a marquis. I cannot believe that a mere four years has wiped the previous sixteen away entirely.”

  “It has not,” Mr. Darling assured her. He leaned back against the sofa, seeming to relax a bit. “Only the more tedious parts have fled.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” She smiled at him and felt suddenly grateful for his visit. Did Lord Benton send him?

  “I hear you have had a visit to the modiste,” Mr. Darling remarked. “Has that not agreed with you?”

  “It has not,” Ella said. “And when I next speak to Papa, he is going to hear of it. He could have bought me a horse for all that has been spent on clothing since I arrived.”

  A corner of Mr. Darling’s mouth quirked up, and he gave a slight laugh. “Am I to understand that you would prefer a horse over having new gowns?”

  Ella considered a moment before answering. “Not entirely,” she said. “I think I would have preferred to have one new gown for the ball and a horse.”

  He laughed outright at that. “Spoken like a true woman.”

  “We do have a reputation for wanting it all.” She fluttered her fingers in the air as if she too were one of those vain, vapid women London was so reputed to promote.

  “Something tells me that your definition of all would not be what your peers would choose.” He spoke warmly, as if he appreciated her differences.

  “Perhaps not,” Ella said thoughtfully. All to her would be her family intact as it used to be. She’d had what s
he wanted for so many years and never fully appreciated it. She could not be the first person to have made that mistake, to have taken that which was precious for granted. “Perhaps that is because most people like us already have it all, and they do not stop to realize it. I believe that too often we presuppose what is given us, until it is no longer ours.”

  “An astute observation.” Mr. Darling’s ponderous look turned suddenly dark as a maid entered carrying the tea service. This was set upon the table, and Ella began to pour out.

  “May I ask you something direct?” she asked, looking up from her task.

  He visibly tensed, and his answer was slow in coming. “If you must.”

  “I do feel so.” She set the teapot down and caught his eye. “Where is Lord Benton? Is my fiancé living—or not?”

  Mr. Darling’s mouth opened, then closed as a flicker of relief crossed his face. This was followed almost immediately by what Ella would have sworn was a look of shame.

  That was not the question he was expecting. But neither does he wish to answer it.

  Mr. Darling leaned back against the sofa cushion and drew in a great breath, as if summoning courage before revealing something of importance. “Lord Gregory Benton is even at this very minute on his way to London with his wife, my sister Ann.”

  “Gregory is Lord Benton’s—Henry’s—younger brother,” Ella stated the genealogy as a matter of fact, but could not deny the disappointment she felt at gaining this knowledge. To hide her feelings, she looked down at the tray and busied herself arranging a plate of biscuits for her guest.

  If the title had passed to Gregory, there was no need for Mr. Darling to say anymore. Lord Benton—my Lord Benton—is dead. She had found herself hoping that he was not, that in spite of her memories of that long, hot summer spent wearing black and receiving callers bearing their condolences, there had somehow been a terrible mistake and he was very much alive and in fact even cared for her and they would soon be reunited.

  “You seem to know the Benton family history rather well, considering you claimed to have had little recollection of your fiancé.” Mr. Darling’s tone was not complimentary.

  “There is a family tree in the library here.” Ella handed him the plate of biscuits. “But it did not provide any death dates, so I was not certain about—Henry.” She swallowed thickly and tucked away her regret in a far corner of her heart. With her emotions firmly in check once more, she raised her head and met Mr. Darling’s eyes. “Will you please explain the letter you brought? Why am I here?” She held her hand in front of her, indicating the fine room, and all of London, for that matter.

  Mr. Darling balanced the plate upon his knee and took up a cookie in his left hand. “The letter was discovered recently by Lord Benton. He believes Henry wrote it the night he died, before he faced Sir Crayton in the duel that killed him.”

  “I see,” Ella said, though really he had not clarified as much as she wished. “Why did you lead me to believe otherwise?” She searched his gaze, knowing full well that evidence of hurt was still traceable in hers, but there was little that could be done about that. He had brought her hope, then dashed it almost as quickly.

  Mr. Darling shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, then leaned forward and set his plate on the table.

  “You may not leave without explaining yourself,” Ella said, assuming he was about to do just that.

  “I have no intention of running out of here like a coward.” His brows rose. “Unlike a certain young lady I called upon last week, who fled the room as soon as her discomfort became apparent.”

  “I did not flee the room,” Ella said defensively, then realized she had scooted to the edge of the sofa, as if preparing to do that very thing again. “You were a strange man in my house, and I was somewhat afraid of you.” Even to her ears, it sounded a poor excuse for her behavior.

  Mr. Darling rolled his eyes. “I very much doubt that you are a lady who ever finds herself afraid of anything at all.”

  You’re wrong. She was afraid of being alone—not frightened of the dark or the quiet house or anything of that sort, but she was afraid that Papa would never come home, afraid that a lifetime of loneliness, and the continued pain it brought, awaited her. But, of course, she could not tell Mr. Darling that. It was not something a man like him would understand.

  “I am sorry I treated you so poorly upon our first acquaintance.” She was not above apologizing when she knew she had been in the wrong.

  Something about his look softened. The blue of his eyes seemed to brighten as they gazed at her with approval. “Apology accepted. I too regret my actions at our first meeting. I did, deliberately, deceive you, and for that I am sorry.”

  “Accepted,” Ella said, but she was not about to let him get out of an explanation. “Why did you lead me to believe my fiancé might yet be alive?”

  “Because I did not think you would agree to accompany me to London under any other circumstance.”

  “What other circumstance might there be? Under what pretense am I here? Did my

  father . . .”

  Mr. Darling took another long, deep breath. “You are here so that Lord Benton—Gregory,” he clarified, “and I might fulfill one of Henry’s last wishes: that you be both provided for and happily married to another in his stead.”

  “Married!” Ella stood abruptly, her knee knocking the table in front of her and causing the tea in her full cup to spill over the edge. “I do not want to be married—to anyone. Why should Lord Benton’s wish be fulfilled? What about mine? I am the one yet alive.”

  “And what kind of life are you living?” Mr. Darling asked carefully. With equal care, he reached for his cup, took it in his left hand, and drank slowly.

  Ella walked around the table and began pacing the room, feeling very much trapped. But she dared not leave, not after his earlier accusations.

  “I have a very lovely life,” she said. “Papa has left me in charge of the estate, which I manage to run quite smoothly,” she added. “The days are mine to do with as I wish. I choose to spend much of them riding and grooming the horses I love. I am able to roam the countryside as I please—whereas here, I am not even allowed to venture past the front door without a chaperone. My life in Bishopbourne is pleasant. I am content there. I did not ask for this—had no yearning or desire to come to London and be paraded about in search of a husband.”

  She stopped before the fireplace, folded her arms across her middle, and glared at him, daring him to come up with a rebuttal.

  “If all you say is true, then why did you agree to come with me? You seemed almost eager to depart Monday morning.”

  “I—” She hesitated, uncertain what to say but incapable of being anything less than honest. “I hoped my father was behind your invitation and might meet me here, that he had sent for me on my birthday as he had promised. And then there was Lord Benton’s letter . . .” She shrugged, pretending it had meant little to her.

  “What about his letter?” Mr. Darling’s voice was soft and encouraging, as if that might somehow make her wish to admit her folly.

  “It was very kind,” Ella said. “It made me feel—wanted.” She looked past him, wondering if she ought to have told Mr. Darling something other than the truth. “It caused me to hope, and I had to see if he . . .”

  “—was yet living as I had implied.” Mr. Darling set his cup in its saucer on the table and rose. He walked toward her, his good hand upon his chin in thoughtful consideration, while his other hung awkwardly at his side. “It is my turn to apologize. I have done you a poor turn.”

  Ella forced a smile. “You coaxed me here to London, for a short while at least. That is something, though I would very much like to return home now. I’ve hardly worn any of the items that have been purchased. Most should be able to be returned without trouble. Those that are being sewn for me, I shall be sure to reimburse Lord Benton for. Had I believed it was he who was paying for them, I should never have agreed to any shopping at all.”


  “Of course we cannot keep you here,” Mr. Darling said. “But it also seems a shame for you to have traveled so far without enjoying all that London has to offer.”

  “What has it to offer?” Ella asked, wondering that he had not agreed to return her at once. “Aside from stuffy air and people, ridiculous rules and—”

  “An honest young lady—I like her already!” Another gentlemen entered the room, his grin spread nearly as wide as the arms he held outstretched. “Alex, you failed to mention that the woman who was almost my sister-in-law is refreshingly unspoiled by the ways of this city.” He took Ella’s hand and kissed it briefly. “Lady Eleanora. It is a pleasure to see you again. On our two previous visits, you were quite young and likely do not remember me. I hope the staff has made you feel welcome here.”

  “They have,” Ella said, dropping into a proper curtsy. Ella liked Lord Benton already. He dressed as a gentleman, but did not seem one given to pretense.

  “Glad to see you’ve finally managed to arrive at your own party,” Mr. Darling said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “I told you we’d be here by the ball, and so we are,” Lord Benton said. “Ann is just giving instructions to the cook and shall be along shortly.” He glanced at Ella, then back to Mr. Darling. “It appears we came just in time. What have you done to make Lady Eleanora wish to return home so soon?”

  “She prefers to be called Lady Ella,” Mr. Darling informed him, pleasing her. “I was but remedying my earlier error of not fully explaining to Lady Ella how, exactly, she came to be your guest.” Mr. Darling shifted his weight from one foot to another as he looked at the floor, bringing to mind a child who had been caught and scolded. “I deceived her in the worst way,” he said. “Leading her to believe that Henry was yet alive. Without the promise of seeing him, or her father, she finds little else compelling her to London.”

  “In all fairness, I was somewhat stubborn upon our first acquaintance.” Ella was not certain why she felt the need to defend Mr. Darling, when clearly he had tricked her into being here. But a man who admitted wrongdoing seemed a rarity, and she wished to reward this virtue.