‘Good evening, my love,’ Kit said casually. His gaze fell on the lilies. ‘Dear me, what ugly flowers! One would hope for better taste from your admirers!’
Eleanor knew it was true but she was still furious that Kit would not wish to send her flowers himself, yet still criticised those who did. She turned to Lucy.
‘Bring the flowers up to my bedroom once they are in water please, Lucy…’
Lucy dropped a flustered curtsey. ‘But ma’am, I thought you wished them to be placed in the cellar…’
Eleanor saw a twinkle come into Kit’s eyes. She sighed sharply. ‘Just do as I ask, please, Lucy! And quickly! I need you to help me dress for dinner!’
‘You will surely be sneezing all night with those flowers in your room,’ Kit observed. ‘The pollen is most potent!’ His keen blue gaze travelled over her and stopped at chest level. Eleanor started to blush, then realised that she was still clutching the card in her hand.
‘And who is this admirer with so sound a taste in some things and not in others?’ Kit enquired gently.
It was a moment of some delicacy. Eleanor clutched the card all the harder.
‘I do not know,’ she stuttered, knowing that she was reddening to the roots of her hair. ‘The card does not say…’
Kit raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Lucy bobbed another curtsey.
‘Oh ma’am, I thought it was Lord George—’
‘Lucy!’ Eleanor almost screeched. ‘Get you gone with those lilies! Now! Throw them out of the house for all I care!’
As Lucy sped away, Kit started to laugh. ‘If you are to indulge your penchant for romantic intrigue, my love, you will have to change your maid! That girl is incapable of artifice! I will see you at dinner.’
He raised a hand in casual farewell and started up the stairs.
Eleanor glared after him. She was mortified to feel in the wrong again but worse than that was the evidence that Kit did not care one way or the other. If he had rung a peal over her for encouraging other admirers…She sighed. If he had rung a peal over her, that would have been wrong as well but at least it would have showed he cared. But perhaps that was not true anyway. Last night he had been furious, but with the fury of a man whose pride did not wish him to be seen to be cuckolded.
She traipsed slowly after him up the stairs. Well, if Kit did not care, there were others who would. She told herself that the admiration of a man such as Lord George Darke was balm in the face of such apparent indifference. And immediately her heart whispered that Lord George’s feelings for her were counterfeit and not really what she wanted at all.
‘Atishoo! Atishoo! Atishoo!’ Eleanor sneezed three times, reached for her scrap of lace cambric, realised that it was not up to the task and gratefully accepted the handkerchief that Kit proffered.
The lilies had indeed been banished but their legacy still lingered. Eleanor felt as though her nose was twice the size it should be and her eyes had been watering for a full half hour.
She put her spoon down as a tear dropped into her soup bowl and looked at Kit through streaming eyes.
‘If you so much as smile, my lord…’
Kit gave her a look of injured innocence from his very blue eyes. ‘I would not dream of it, my dear, when you are suffering so! Are you sure that it is not that charming posy of rosebuds that is causing the problem?’
Eleanor’s head snapped round. She had forgotten Sir Charles’s gift, which had paled into insignificance beside its more florid cousin. Now, however, she saw with a sinking heart that Lucy had chosen the dining-table as a suitable place to display the flowers, and not just that but the foolish girl had left the card amongst the stems so that Sir Charles’s hopeless ditty was displayed for all the world to see. She really would have to speak to the maid.
Kit gestured to the footman to take the soup away.
‘Did you have a pleasant day today, my dear?’ he enquired.
Eleanor stifled a yawn. ‘Yes, thank you. Did you?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
The next course arrived, an overcooked turbot with boiled potatoes. Eleanor suppressed a shudder. Kit raised his wineglass to her.
‘Your good health, my love.’
Eleanor nodded politely. ‘Thank you.’
The conversation languished.
Roast pheasant with cauliflower succeeded the turbot. After a few minutes of silent, valiant chewing, Eleanor put her fork down.
‘Oh dear, I think I need to speak to cook about menus. I did not wish to interfere before I knew the standard of servants you had engaged, my lord, but…’ she looked at her plate and wrinkled up her nose ‘…I think perhaps this might be improved…’
‘As you wish, my dear,’ Kit responded. ‘The ordering of the household is, of course, your domain now that you are here…’
Eleanor bit her lip. She was tempted to send the footman for Kit’s newspaper, so bored did he sound. When she had specified a modern marriage she had not thought that it might be quite so tedious. To have nothing in common with one’s life partner, to exchange only the most banal of observations…She would be fit for bedlam within a week if she could not find something more interesting to say to Kit.
‘Perhaps we might give a dinner party in a week or so,’ she ventured.
Kit looked at his plate of food and looked at her quizzically. ‘Perhaps we should leave it a little while longer, my love.’
Eleanor’s shoulders slumped. ‘Of course.’
‘Though I do hear that the dinner party is the ideal way to conceal the fact that a husband and wife have so little to say to each other,’ Kit continued. ‘There are so many other people to talk to, after all. And then there are the balls and the concerts and the other entertainments…No wonder the Season is so popular! One need scarcely see one’s spouse at all!’
Eleanor sighed. This echoed her own thoughts precisely—except that Kit did not seem to mind. He continued to chew his way through the pheasant, a bland smile on his face. Eleanor, piqued by his indifference, picked up her side plate, turned it over and examined the base.
‘I see they have furnished us with the latest Wedgwood china, my lord. It is in very good taste. One can never be sure with a rented house…’
Kit looked around him vaguely. ‘Yes indeed. I think the house has been furnished very well, though I do wonder if this room needs decorating. What do you think, my love? A colour scheme in pink and gold perhaps?’
Eleanor put her knife and fork down with a sharp snap and revised her view that she would be bored to death within the week. Two days would do the trick. She was tolerably certain that soon they would be addressing each other as Lord Mostyn and Lady Mostyn, in that odiously coy manner that she had observed being adopted to hide a lack of affection. She mentally surveyed her social diary. She had no engagements other than the Trevithick ball the night after next, but she would have to find something else to do or she would run quite mad in this stifling nothingness. She stood up.
‘If you will excuse me, my lord, I think that I shall forgo the pleasure of a pudding. Pray do not hurry your port. I shall see you tomorrow.’
Kit stood up politely. ‘Good night then, my dear. Sleep well.’
An hour later, Eleanor was sitting on her bed, a sheet of paper in front of her and an inkpot and candle resting on the table nearby. She put her pen down and held the paper up to the light, contemplating the list of activities that she had just finished.
It started with balls, routs, picnics, concerts and the like. Eleanor frowned a little. She had put them first because they were the most obvious of the Season’s entertainments but even these were not without problem. She could not attend unescorted and, more to the point, she could not arrive uninvited. Previously all her invitations had come via Marcus and Beth, but now the mantelpiece was bare. Perhaps it would start to display those coveted cards once word of Kit’s return spread. And then he would have to be prepared to escort her…
Eleanor moved on down the list. Exhibitions and ta
lks. She was not sure about these, mostly because she did not know anything about them other than that there were a lot of them about. She could attend alone, but it would probably label her an eccentric. Perhaps that did not matter. It was better than sitting at home alone, or taking tea with the Trevithick Tabbies. She remembered that during her come-out, her mother had denounced such entertainments as the last resort of the uninvited, full of cits and mushrooms who could not gain entrance to more sought-after events.
So…Eleanor sighed. The circulating library. Eminently respectable, but she had never been a great reader. Which left the park—walking, driving or riding. She could not ride. She crossed that out.
Eleanor stared into space. When she had been a débutante there had been no difficulty in filling her days. In fact it seemed that she had the delightful problem of not having enough time for all the activities. There had been dancing lessons, of course, although she had not really needed them, and music lessons, and so many débutante balls and parties…It had been delightful…Well, it had not always been enjoyable because some of the other girls had been quite cattish, but it had mostly been fun. Whereas now she had a house to run and a stranger for a husband, and no fun unless she availed herself of the dubious and dangerous offers of the rakes of the Ton…
Shopping. That was fun and she could still do that. Eleanor picked up the pen, then put it down again. Shopping involved money, which meant an allowance and she did not have that any more. Marcus had settled some money on her at the start of the Season but that was almost gone and it would not be appropriate for her to apply to him for more. Which meant that she had to ask Kit…Eleanor sighed again. Still, there was always credit…
Feeling more restless than ever, Eleanor got up and walked over to the window. The street outside was busy with carriages and couples strolling, for the evening was still young. There would be balls and masquerades going on, and she was sitting in her bedroom like a child banished to the nursery. It was intolerable.
She ran down the stairs. The dining-room door was open but the room was empty. A half-eaten marasquino jelly was sliding off the plate. Eleanor could not help giggling. No doubt Kit had given up and gone out to his club. Which meant that his study was empty…
It was. Up until that moment Eleanor would have sworn that she had no intention of rummaging about in Kit’s office to see if she could find any evidence of where he had spent the previous five months. In fact she would probably not have admitted, even to herself, that she wanted to know. Now that the opportunity was upon her she barely hesitated. She pulled the door closed behind her and went across to the desk.
At first her search turned up a disappointing lack of information. There were two or three letters relating to the renting of the house, plus a couple of bills from Schultz the tailors. Two of the drawers were empty. Another held only candles. Eleanor frowned. There was a day-old newspaper lying discarded by the armchair, a book on the table by the fire and pen and ink on the top of the desk. It seemed that her husband led an utterly blameless life.
There were no scented notes from opera singers or actresses, smelling of rose water and tied with pink ribbon. Eleanor was uncertain whether she had hoped to find one or not. In fact there were no personal notes of any kind, which was suspicious. Decidedly that was suspicious. Eleanor was sure this was unnatural and that these missives would be found elsewhere. Except that there was nowhere else…
Caught in a crack in the wood at the back of the very bottom drawer was a piece of paper. Eleanor had to kneel on the floor and peer right to the back of the drawer to see it, then work her fingers into the gap to pull it out. It was only a scrap, written in a flowing hand. Eleanor sat back on her heels and let her breath out on a sigh. That was definitely a woman’s writing.
‘St John at seven tonight. With all thanks—’
Eleanor came round the desk, trying to decipher the next line. It looked like a signature, but the paper was torn and frustratingly difficult to read. In the top right hand corner was another scribble that looked like the date but again she needed to scrutinise it in a good light…
There was a stealthy click as the study door closed. Eleanor spun round. She dropped the piece of paper and put her foot firmly on it, sweeping her skirts over the top.
‘Can I help you, my dear?’ Kit enquired. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘Oh! No…’ Eleanor knew that she sounded flustered and the realisation made her blush all the more. What mischance had prompted Kit to return from Whites so soon when she would have laid odds he would be there all evening? It was most unhelpful of him.
She made an airy gesture. ‘Oh, I was just looking for pen and…and ink. I wished to write a letter to…’ She stopped, utterly unable to think of anyone she might wish to correspond with.
Kit waited. After a second he said:
‘No doubt the servants could have brought you all you needed to avoid you having to hunt around here in the dark. But now that you are here, my love, perhaps you would like to join me in a nightcap? Shall we go into the drawing-room?’
‘Oh no!’ Eleanor could not think up a way of picking up the scrap of paper without Kit seeing and she was determined that she was going to read it properly. St John at seven tonight…Could that have been an assignation? She looked up, suddenly remembering that Kit had asked her a question.
‘Oh, let us sit here!’ she said gaily. ‘This room is so cosy, my lord, and I so seldom venture in here!’ She edged over to the nearest armchair, pushing the paper a little with her foot and sweeping her skirt along as though it were a broom. Fortunately it was only a couple of steps to the armchair. If Kit would only turn his back…
Unfortunately Kit did not. He came over to help her sit down and then poured her a glass of Madeira, all without taking his eyes off her. Eleanor found it disconcerting and even more so because of her guilty secret. She could feel the piece of paper smooth beneath the sole of her slipper.
‘Have you had a pleasant evening, my love?’ Kit asked. His blue eyes twinkled. ‘I hope that you have not been bored. No doubt we shall receive plenty more invitations soon.’
‘I expect so,’ Eleanor said half-heartedly. A few more evenings like this and she would be fit for Bedlam. She took a sip of Madeira and tried to concentrate.
‘Of course, it is the way of things for a husband to go out to his club and a wife to sit in at home,’ Kit said, straight-faced. ‘I do hope that you were not expecting more in the way of excitement, my dear. A few dinner parties and a ball or two—those are the kind of entertainments suitable for you now that you are no longer a débutante.’
‘I suppose so,’ Eleanor said. Her débutante days did indeed seem far away. ‘Though surely I may be able to go visiting sometimes…’
‘Not alone in the evenings,’ Kit said sharply. ‘You would be a prey to every rake in town—again!’ He got up to refill his glass. Eleanor started to bend down surreptitiously to retrieve the paper. Kit turned back. Eleanor straightened up quickly.
‘No indeed…’ Kit continued ‘…a little needlework or reading, perhaps…It will do you no harm to give the impression of virtue!’
Eleanor bristled. For all her quarrel with Kit she had never previously considered him a self-important man, yet here he was showing all the signs of turning into the most odiously pompous of husbands!
‘I am sure it is not a question of an impression of virtue, my lord—’ She began hotly, but Kit held up his hand.
‘My dear…’ His tone was condescending, ‘the whole Ton will have seen your somewhat questionable behaviour in the past, so I venture to suggest that an impression of virtue is precisely what you wish to cultivate! The likes of Darke and Paulet must learn not to send their pathetic little floral tributes to this house—’
Eleanor made an infuriated noise. Under most circumstances she would have agreed with him but this irritatingly patronising tone was too much to bear.
‘Upon my word, my lord, I had no idea that
you were such a killjoy!’ she said furiously. ‘I may not go out, I may not entertain, I may do nothing more amusing than embroidery—why, I declare I shall be dead of boredom within a week!’
‘Not if you learn a little decorum, my dear,’ Kit commented.
Eleanor leaped to her feet. ‘I have heard enough! I may be lacking in decorum but at least I am not pompous and arrogant! Allow me to say, my lord, that living with you is the most tiresome thing imaginable—boring, tedious and utterly without enjoyment! Good night!’
‘Good night, my love,’ Kit murmured as she shot past him out of the room. His smile lingered as he heard her angry footsteps beating a quick pit-a-pat across the tiles of the hall. He got up, stretched lazily and moved across to where Eleanor had been sitting. The small scrap of paper was still there by the leg of the chair. Kit bent to pick it up, read it and smiled again. He tucked it into his waistcoat pocket.
He sat down again and reached for his book, glancing at the clock as he did so. If he knew Eleanor at all he would wager that she would come back when she realised. He did not believe that she had the temperament for a long game. He gave it ten minutes.
It took only seven.
There was a flicker of movement outside the study door and Kit put the book down again, opened the door quickly and caught his wife’s arm before she could hurry away again.
‘Whatever is the matter, my dear Eleanor? Did you forget something earlier?’
He saw her gaze flash to the carpet before it returned to his face with what she no doubt thought was a guileless expression. Kit tried not to laugh. To see Eleanor try to dissemble was highly amusing. She evidently had no talent for deceit at all. The thought warmed him.
‘No…Yes…I…’
‘This perhaps?’ Kit reached into his pocket and extracted the scrap of paper. He was rewarded by a vivid blush. Eleanor’s eyes widened.
‘Oh, no! But…’ She peeked at him. ‘Did you know I was hiding that all the time we were talking?’
The Notorious Marriage Page 7