Fenella J Miller

by Lady Eleanor's Secret

  Sally held up a particularly pretty muslin that had a matching shawl and spencer. “My lady, if I use the shawl, I can insert it into the skirt to make it wider. I can unpick the jacket to add a rouleau around the hem.” She pointed to the fashion plate in La Belle Assemble.

  Eleanor picked up the periodical and looked more closely. The magazine should rightfully have been returned to her sister-in-law, but she was glad she had forgotten to do so.

  “Let me look. I think the gown could be altered and look just like this picture. It will then be unrecognizable.” Appearing in a dead woman’s garments might be considered inappropriate by the staff, but more importantly, by her husband.

  “I shall get on to it right away, my lady. I was only taken on by Lady Haverstock because of my skills with the needle. I spent half my time at Bridgeton Abbey doing mending, thank goodness. Scrubbing floors was hard work.”

  Eleanor rummaged through the clothes and removed the ones which needed the least alteration. She selected two afternoon dresses, a riding habit, a promenade dress, and an evening gown. One of them must be tried on before Sally began her alterations.

  She selected the Indian cotton. The gown was the right length but hung disastrously at both front and back.

  “Oh dear, Sally, I am far too thin to wear these gowns.”

  “That makes no never mind, my lady. I can take them in. Mind, I won’t cut out all the slack, we might need to let them out again with all this good food we’re being served. I’m sure you will soon…” Her voice trailed away.

  “I know—I do need to gain weight. However, my appetite has not yet returned. No doubt, when the good Lord is ready, I shall regain my normal shape. You must do the best you can to make these fit.”

  Leaving Sally to begin the sewing, Eleanor made her way to the Long Gallery, where the library was situated; she had asked the children to meet her there after breakfast. They had never had the opportunity to go in and look at the thousands of leather bound books. This room stretched the width of the house, one side being lined with bookshelves, the other with windows overlooking the drive. She had asked the two footmen to dust the shelves and remove the holland covers from the furniture so that she could take her charges in.

  “Mama, I didn’t know there were so many books in the whole world,” Lucy exclaimed.

  “I can’t reach all the way up, and Alexander will have to take books from the bottom shelf.”

  “That’s very true, Elizabeth. Shall we start at this end, by the door?”

  The children returned to the nursery with several books, eager to show their trophies to the nursemaids. Eleanor had found an illustrated journal, written by an ancestor of Lord Bentley. The more she knew about her husband the better. According to the latest report, he would be rising from his sick bed any day now.

  The children were transformed, Alexander especially so. With his hair cut short and dressed as a boy, she doubted his father would recognize him. She hoped her new wardrobe would have a similar effect.

  A few days later the Indian cotton dress was ready; Sally had done an excellent job for it fitted perfectly. Eleanor gazed at her reflection.”

  “I cannot believe what a difference a fresh gown makes, Sally. I scarcely know myself as the same person who arrived here a short while ago.”

  “You look a picture, my lady. And with your hair arranged in that new fashion, you look just like the lady in the picture. I reckon all the exercise you’re getting out in the park with the children is doing you good.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Is that a gentle reminder, Sally, that a lady should use a parasol or wear a bonnet?”

  “I reckon you should wear one, my lady. You will be brown as a berry if the weather continues like this for much longer.”

  “If I had more than this one bonnet, then no doubt I would wear it more often. But I love to feel the sun on my head and to be able to walk freely and hear the children laughing. As I have no intention of being seen anywhere but here, I hardly think it matters if I’m not fashionably pale.”

  “I’m getting up, Foster. I have languished in my bed long enough. I don’t give a damn what the doctor said. I’m quite capable of being on my feet.”

  “Very well, my lord. Perhaps you could put on your dressing gown? The windows are open; you could sit in an armchair and look out on to the park.”

  Alex had been going to refuse, to insist that he dressed, but when he sat up his head swam. He would be wise to take things slowly. “How long have I been unwell?”

  “A week tomorrow, my lord.”

  Too long. His intention to leave Lady Bentley to get on with it and return to the arms of his mistress were in disarray. God knows what Sarah would be thinking. In the eighteen months since they had first come together he had never been away from her so long.

  “I need to write a letter. Bring me my escritoire once I am settled next door.”

  Foster draped a robe around his shoulders and Alex walked without assistance into his sitting room. He was drawn towards the window; the sound of children laughing and a woman talking to them, made him curious. He couldn’t remember hearing such a thing at Blakeley since his darling Anna died.

  He stopped at the window, grasping the mullions for support. He was hallucinating. Going down the steps that led from the terrace was his beloved, their three children gambolling around her skirts as happy as puppies in the sunshine.

  He closed his eyes and grief overwhelmed him. To be reminded so cruelly of his loss was unbearable. The tallest child, Lucy he supposed, called out to the woman.

  “Mama, are we really to play cricket?”

  A laughing reply followed this query. “Indeed we are, my love. Look, set out on the grass are two wickets, ball and a bat. It will be a makeshift game with only four of us, but fun nonetheless.”

  Alex brushed away his tears; he was not going mad after all. The woman was not Anna, but someone masquerading as her, dressed in a gown he had chosen himself. He felt a touch on his arm. “Foster, who is that impostor?”

  “That’s your wife, my Lord. Lady Eleanor Bentley.”

  “Devil take it! Why is the wretched woman wearing my dead wife’s clothes? Has she none of her own?”

  “No , my lord, she has not. She and her maid servant have altered several gowns to fit.”

  Alex’s mouth filled with bile. He turned away in disgust. He had made the most horrendous mistake. He should never have married Eleanor. There should not be a second Lady Bentley, however desperate the needs of his children. Seeing her wearing Anna’s favourite gown, surrounded by her children, and being called mama in her stead was too much.

  “I don’t care if she has nothing else to wear. Send for the seamstress from the village; she must get new garments made. Those she has stolen are to be removed from her possession immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

  For the first time in their long acquaintance his man stared at him with dislike. “I shall have it done, my lord. You do not look at all well. Do you wish to return to your bedchamber?”

  Alex gestured him away. “No, I shall remain here. Get rid of those things before she returns to her apartment. Burn them; it’s what I should have done four years ago.”

  He collapsed into the nearest armchair disgusted with himself. He was behaving appallingly, the poor girl could not possibly have known her actions would upset him. But it would not do. He could not bear to see anyone else in Anna’s clothes.

  “I am quite exhausted, children. I think it is high time we went in. Run upstairs to the nursery. Daisy will be waiting for you. I shall come up later to read you a story.”

  She watched them scamper away, laughing and chattering. She could hardly credit how much they had changed in the week she had been with them. Although she had not regained her appetite, the children were eating well and were no longer subdued.

  Her eyes filled. What were her niece and nephews doing without her? Ned and Jonathan would be going away to school next month, but Peter and Amanda would n
eed a governess. Would Jane employ one or take over their education herself?

  As always at this time of day, she went to speak to Foster. She walked straight into Bentley’s parlour. The room was not empty as she expected. She recoiled at the look of disgust on her husband’s face.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. I had no idea you were in here. I called to speak to Foster.”

  He did not rise from his chair, made no move to greet her. A weight settled in her stomach; he was obviously regretting his decision to marry her.

  “You are wearing my wife’s gown. I do not wish to see you in it again. I am not receiving visitors today.” His voice was curt. He spoke to her as if she were a stranger, and one that he cordially disliked.

  She backed out. Her fingers slipped on the handle as she attempted to close the door. He had recognized her dress, he was sickened at her wearing it. She should have known better, should have waited until the seamstress had made her something new.

  She would remove it immediately and put on the faded pink gown, which had been washed and pressed and would do until she had others ready. Sally greeted her with a blotchy face and red eyes.

  “Oh, my lady, his lordship’s sent for the trunks and everything has been taken away; even the items we’ve altered, and the ones we were about to change. They’re to be burnt.”

  “It’s not your fault, Sally. I should have known better. Quickly, help me remove this, and then send it down to join the rest. I shall wear what I have; that way I will not cause offence to anyone.”

  She ignored the supper tray brought up later. She had been upstairs to read the children their story and left them happily snuggled down in bed. They were unaware anything untoward had happened. She had become an expert at dissembling to children over the past few years.

  The letter for her niece and nephews was ready to send. She had addressed it to Prudence Smith, the vicar’s daughter. This way her brother could not confiscate it before it reached the children. She would ask Lord Bentley if he would frank it when he was speaking to her again.

  As she was replacing a stopper in the ink bottle there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she called. Putting down her pen, she turned to face her unexpected visitor. It would be Foster; no one else would venture up here so late in the day.

  Her stomach lurched. Her husband stood there, immaculately dressed, his cravat a snowy waterfall at his neck. He was a different man from the one who had spoken to her so harshly an hour or so ago. She scrambled to her feet and curtsied.

  “My dear, you do not need to curtsy to me. I have come to most humbly beg your pardon for my appalling rudeness. There are things we need to talk about, things I should have told you that would have avoided heartache for both of us.”

  “You have had nothing to apologize for, my lord. It was my stupidity. I should never have—”

  He was still standing framed in the doorway. “May I come in, my dear? I’ve no wish to intrude, I shall fully understand if you don’t wish to speak to me.”

  Flushing painfully at her unintentional incivility, she gestured for him to enter. “I’m pleased to see you up and about. Now that the stitches are removed and the bruising beginning to fade, you are almost restored.”

  He took the seat she’d pointed to, flicking aside his coat tails. “Now, the first thing I must say is that this contretemps is not your fault. You could have had no idea seeing you in my wife’s clothes would upset me. I had thought myself recovered from the grief of her death, but I find it still as raw today as four years ago. That is not your fault either, but mine. From now on I shall try and put it behind me, for your sake and for my children.”

  “Please say no more on this subject, sir. I was thoughtless. I shall instruct the seamstress to make me new garments when she has finished replenishing the children’s wardrobe.”

  “There’s no need to do that, my dear. I have sent a note to London; a friend of mine understands these things. A suitable woman and her assistants will come here post-haste. I shall not have you dressed by any village woman.”

  “Thank you, my lord. There are several things I wish to discuss with you. The first is that I’ve dismissed Nanny Brooks and the housekeeper, Jones, decided to leave with her.”

  “Foster told me. I should have done so myself long ago. I have been a delinquent parent. I can already see the difference in the house and the children since your arrival. Blakely is your domain; you shall do as you please here. You have my permission to redecorate and refurbish. I don’t intend to spend…” He stopped as if embarrassed.

  “I understand, my lord. If the children can see you periodically, they will be content. Perhaps you could ensure you are here on their name days, and for the festive season?”

  He cleared his throat and ran his finger round his neck cloth as if it had become uncomfortably tight. “Exactly. To tell you the truth, I’ve no idea when they celebrate their birthdays. Once supplied with that information I shall make it my business to be here with them. There’s something that you need to know, my dear. I have no recollection of what happened last week, when I behaved so appallingly to you. I can’t imagine what possessed me, I’m not usually a man of such low morals.”

  She stared at him, not sure what he was talking about. “Low morals?”

  “I tried to force myself upon you, Foster told me what happened. My bad behaviour was the reason I offered for you. This was the least I could do.”

  The blood drained from her face.

  Good God! He thought he had molested her. That explained why Jane and Lady Haverstock had treated her with such gentleness. He had no idea she had only knocked him to the ground because he was shaking Ned. He had married her because he thought he had ruined her reputation. Whilst she thought he married her in order to save her from retribution.

  “My dear, you’re unwell. I’m a brute to remind you. My behaviour must have been reprehensible indeed if the very thought of it so upsets you.”

  He was so close she could smell the lemon soap he used to shave. Her voice failed her. There was nothing she could say. She could never tell him he had married her unnecessarily. If he knew her secret, he would repudiate her and send her back to her brother. When he recovered his memory, she would most certainly get her comeuppance.

  She must enjoy every moment of what little time remained of her stay at Blakely Hall.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day Eleanor decided to visit the nursery before breakfast. By remaining with the children, she would not be obliged to talk to her husband. How could she have got herself in such a situation? If she had realized he was labouring under a misapprehension, however desperate her circumstances, she would never have agreed to marry him.

  As it was to be a union in name only, should she confess the whole and let him arrange to have the marriage dissolved?

  The children as always, were overjoyed to see her. They already considered her their mama. This made things even more difficult. If she revealed her secret she would deprive the children of her presence. Already she loved them—would it not be better to put their wishes first?

  “Come along, everyone. I thought we could take a picnic down to the lake and spend the day there together having fun. That’s why you’re wearing your oldest clothes.” Lucy’s eyes widened and she clutched Eleanor’s hand. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Good morning, my dear, good morning, children. Did I just hear the mention of a picnic?”

  “Papa, can you come? Please come with us.” Alexander rushed across and flung himself into his father’s arms.

  The girls seemed less sure; this would not do. Whilst she was still here one thing she could do was re-establish the connection between Bentley and his children. Gently she pushed the two girls forward and he held out his other arm. For a moment they hesitated and then threw themselves at him with as much enthusiasm as their brother. All three clamoured to be heard.

  “Children, do be careful! Your papa has been very poorly. It would not do t
o—”

  He smiled. “I’m perfectly well, thank you, my dear. As you can see the stitches are gone.”

  The mention of stitches distracted the children from their demands that he accompany them on their picnic. He sat down in the window seat with Alexander on his lap and his daughters on either side of him. He flicked back his hair to show them the pink scar.

  She studied him closely. How was it possible a man as sick as he was two days ago, could now be up and about looking so robust? Apart from being a little paler and thinner about the face, he looked much as he did when she’d first met him. Good grief! Can that have only been ten days ago? It felt like a lifetime. So much had changed.

  He glanced up, caught her eye and grinned. Something strange happened to her insides. She must not allow herself to become emotionally entangled with this charming, charismatic man. “Well, my lord, are you to accompany us or not?”

  “Definitely. I well remember the last time we were with children by the lake. I sincerely hope I do not have to do take a swim fully dressed today.”

  “Tell us, Mama, why did Papa go in the water in his clothes?”

  Laughing, she told the story and Lucy stared pleadingly up at him. “Papa, can we play cricket with you like we played with Mama the other day?”

  “Of course you can, sweetheart. Why don’t you go and fetch what we need whilst I speak to your mama?”

  This was the last thing she wanted. “If you are to accompany us, my lord, I must speak to Cook about increasing the size of the picnic.”

  Somehow he was between her and the exit. “I wish you to call me by my given name, no more formality. You are my wife and I wish us to be friends.”

  She swallowed nervously. “If you insist, sir…Alex, but that will be difficult for me. Even my sister-in-law does not call my brother by his name.”