Arabella smiled up adoringly at Charles, and then the organ struck up its joyful notes and the happy couple processed back down the aisle.
‘Oh, Eleanor, I am having such a wonderful day!’ said Arabella, once they arrived back at Ormston House, Charles’s town home, after the ceremony. ‘I was so nervous about the wedding, but do you know, it has been the best day of my life? And now I have the wedding breakfast to look forward to!’
Eleanor smiled to see Arabella’s sparkling eyes. There was no doubt about it. Marriage suited her sister.
‘I am so happy. I only wish you could be as happy, too. Perhaps Lord Silverton . . . ’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Now, Bella,’ she said, ‘I hope you are not turning into a matchmaker!’
‘Well, you can’t blame me for trying. I am so happily married myself, that I would love to see you the same. Oh! Charles is calling me. I have to go and help him greet our guests.’
Eleanor went through into the drawing-room. She was the first to arrive, having travelled in the wedding procession, and for the moment the room was empty. It allowed her to see its full glory. The mirrors gleamed and the furniture shone. French doors led out onto the terrace. It looked inviting. The balustrade was topped with urns, and they were filled with flowers. Eleanor wandered out, enjoying their scent. Behind her, the drawing-room began to fill. The guests were arriving from the abbey and were milling about, exchanging greetings and remarking on the splendour of the wedding.
A breeze sprang up. It was cool, and Eleanor turned to go back inside. She went through the French doors, and then stopped as she saw Lucien. At that moment he turned and saw her. Her spirits lifted . . . and then fell. There was such a strange expression on his face that she felt suddenly cold. And then he turned away from her, and joined a small party by the window.
She felt as though she had received a physical blow. There had been something so remote about him. He had behaved like a total stranger. Why had he done it? She could not understand.
She thought back over the time she had spent with him since he had arrived in Bath. Could he be angry that she had not been in when he had called upon her the previous day? Of course not. He had called before the appointed time, and besides, he was too reasonable to hold it against her that she had been out.
What then?
She thought back to their conversation at the ball, just before they had been interrupted. He had called her Eleanor, and she had told him he mustn’t, because it would raise - "Expectations?" he had queried.
She had not been going to say that. She had been going to say that it would raise eyebrows. But his immediate thought was that it would raise expectations.
She felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Here, it seemed, was the answer to the mystery. He had withdrawn from her because he had realized that he had raised expectations that he had no intention of fulfilling.
She should have been pleased that he was not going to play with her affections, but instead she was devastated. Here was an end to all her hopes. He did not love her. He did not want to make her his wife. And, so that there should be no further misunderstandings, he had behaved in a cool, if not to say, ice cold way.
‘Miss Grantham,’ came a hail.
She turned towards Henry, the groomsman, as he approached her, but she could not even force a smile.
‘Why, Miss Grantham, you look very pale,’ said Henry as he reached her side. ‘Are you all right.’
‘It is nothing,’ she told him. ‘The heat . . . ’
‘Yes, it is hot in here. The chandeliers give out more heat than you would imagine. And there are so many people. Would you like me to fetch you a glass of ratafia?’
‘Yes, please, if you would.’
She was glad of his absence, so that she had time to regain her composure. No matter how hurt she might be, she must not let it show. She did not want to arouse curiosity or, even worse, speculation. She must behave as though nothing untoward had happened.
Even so, she was devastated.
Henry soon returned, and she sipped her ratafia.
‘Better?’ he asked her hopefully.
‘Yes, thank you. Much better,’ she said.
But she was not. Across the room, Lucien was offering his arm to a pretty young blonde and escorting her into the dining-room.
She must not think of it. He had made it clear that, whatever their relationship might have been in the past, it was now to be nothing more than a slight acquaintance. It was small consolation to tell herself that he had retreated for honourable reasons; that, realizing he had aroused her expectations, he had withdrawn, so as not to occasion further pain. But the fact remained that he had withdrawn from her and it had left a gaping hole at the heart of her.
‘Here, take my arm,’ said Henry chivalrously. ‘I am to take you in.’
Eleanor put her empty glass on the tray of a passing footman, and then taking Henry’s arm she went into the dining-room. It looked magnificent. Snowy clothes covered the tables, which sparkled with silver cutlery and the finest crystal. Huge pyramids of fruit were arranged as centre pieces. Flowers were festooned around the ceiling, and hung in dazzling streamers down the walls.
If Eleanor had not felt so desolate she would have exclaimed how charming it was.
The wedding breakfast began. All manner of tempting delicacies were spread out on the snowy white cloths as one course succeeded another. Oyster patties, turbot set in smelts, venison and partridges à la Pompadour paraded across the cloths. The sparkling glasses were filled with the finest wines.
It should have raised her spirits. But instead, Eleanor’s heart sank. Wonderful though the food was, she could not eat any of it. After all that had happened, she had completely lost her appetite. But she must make at least make a show of eating. Slowly, mechanically, she took a mouthful of oyster pattie and did her best to eat it.
The meal seemed endless. Cold meats, pheasant pie, fruit tarts, and syllabubs passed by, whilst all around her the other guests were laughing, eating, chattering and enjoying themselves. She did her best to make conversation with Henry, and with Sir William Pondersny, who sat on her other side.
She talked about the splendour of the arrangements and the wonderful food, but it was only when talking about Arabella, and how beautiful she had looked as a bride, that she was able to muster any genuine animation.
At last the meal was over. Even the most voracious of guests had eaten their fill. It was time to return to the drawing-room. A small orchestra was beginning to play.
‘I didn’t think we’d see Silverton here today,’ said Henry as they rose from the table.
At this unexpected mention of Lucien, Eleanor looked instinctively towards him . . . to find that his eyes were fixed on her. There was such a peculiar expression in them, of pain and longing, that her heart turned over inside her.
But before she could wonder what his expression might mean, she saw a gentleman walk over to him and engage him in conversation. Her attention was caught. It was the gentleman she had recognised in the abbey.
Now where have I seen him before? thought Eleanor. For she was sure she had seen the gentleman somewhere before.
But no. It was no good. She could not place him.
Lucien left the dining-room. The gentleman went with him, and she followed on Henry’s arm.
And then she suddenly froze, for she had just remembered where she had seen Lucien’s companion before, and it made her blood run cold.
As she entered the drawing-room she saw the gentleman leave Lucien’s side, and knew that she must speak to Lucien at once. Despite his coldness, this was a matter of such urgency that she knew she must seek him out, even if it meant risking a second rebuff.
Excusing herself from Henry, she went over to him.
‘Lord Silverton,’ she said.
His back was towards her, and he did not at once turn round. For a moment she thought he would ignore her. But then, slowly, he turned.
‘Miss Grantham.’<
br />
His manner was still cold, but his eyes . . . she could not allow herself to think about his eyes.
‘I must speak to you on a matter of urgency,’ she said.
He looked as though he was about to refuse, but she could not allow him to do so.
‘The gentleman you were with . . . ’ she said hurriedly.
At her words, his expression changed. He became more alert.
‘Drayforth?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I have seen him before.’
‘Very possibly. He came to my house in London, if you remember.’
She shook her head. ‘No. It wasn’t there.’ Seeing Henry heading towards her and fearing her meant to reclaim her attention, she said, ‘I must speak to you at once, in private. Meet me in the conservatory.’
She knew the house well. The conservatory would give them the privacy they needed.
Without waiting for him to reply she hurried out of the drawing-room. Once she reached the conservatory she went inside. It was almost like a jungle, so full was it of lush and exotic plants. They filled every available space, shielding the carefully-placed chairs. It was here that Charles had proposed to Arabella, in a private nook. But today it must serve a different purpose.
She paced to and fro in a small, secluded corner as her busy mind turned over all the implications of what she had just discovered.
A few minutes later Lucien joined her.
How distant he looked. But she had something of such importance to communicate that she must put everything else out of her mind.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’ he asked.
Despite her good intentions, their lack of rapport hurt her.
She mastered her emotions. ‘It’s about Drayforth,’ she said.
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen him before. It was in Bath, many weeks ago, in the yard of the coaching inn. I saw him just before I set out for London. He was talking to Mr Kendrick.’
Lucien turned pale. ‘You’re saying that Drayforth knew Kendrick?’
Eleanor nodded.
Lucien’s face became grim. ‘So that’s it. We’d suspected for some time that Kendrick had inside help because he stole all the most important papers and he knew where to look for them.’
He paused as he took in the new turn of events.
‘So, Drayforth met Kendrick in broad daylight at the coaching inn,’ he went on. ‘He must have been worried I would take the papers when I held up the coach, for of course he knew all about my plan, and so he went there to warn Kendrick. He must have been angry when he found he had taken the risk unnecessarily because the documents were not on Kendrick’s person, but at Kendrick’s London house. And to think, I never suspected him. Although I should have guessed.’
She looked at him enquiringly.
‘That night - the night I was overcome by gas,’ he explained. ‘The night you saved me.’
His voice softened, and for a moment she remembered how close they had been that night at Silverton House. There was a warmth in his glance that told her he was remembering it, too.
There had been a connection between them then. The evening had been magical, with laughter and friendship, and they had discovered they had a strong rapport. They had learnt about each other’s lives, and what they had learnt had brought them closer.
And then had come the night. When Lucien had been overcome by the gas Eleanor’s emotions had intensified. And so, she had thought, had his. The way he had touched her when she had said she must retire for the night had made her heart sing.
She could still remember it, the way her skin had tingled at his touch. And she would never forget his kiss. It had been utterly mesmerising. She had wanted him to kiss her and kiss her and never stop, and when he had finally let her go, she had wanted him to kiss her again.
He seemed to sense something of her feelings, and the atmosphere became charged. For a minute she thought he was actually going to do it. His head bent towards her. But then his expression changed.
He has remembered something, she thought. He has remembered that he must not raise my expectations.
Her heart sank. But she could do nothing about it. It was useless to tell herself that if Lucien did not love her, then she should not want him to touch her, for she did. But he was not going to do it. And even if he did, she would push him away. Her pride, her self respect, would demand it.
Gaining some semblance of control, she brought her thoughts back to the present.
He, too, had recovered himself. His softer expression vanished, and he became distant once more.
‘Drayforth was in the house that night,’ he said, ‘but once I had recovered from my brush with death, I didn’t suspect him of being involved. I should have done. I was suspicious of the accident. It seemed too much of a coincidence that it should happen on the very night I had important documents in the house. I was also suspicious of the fact that the gas had rendered me unconscious before I had time to smell it.’
‘You said you must have fallen asleep before the gas blew out,’ Eleanor reminded him.
She saw his expression, and realization dawned on her.
‘You never believed that,’ she said. ‘You simply said it to reassure me.’
‘There was no point in worrying you. But still, I almost came to believe it myself. When no forced entry could be found, and when I realized that the documents had not been taken, I thought it must have been an accident after all.’
‘But it was Drayforth,’ said Eleanor.
‘Yes. He was alone for a few minutes whilst Beddows announced him. He must have tampered with the port,’ said Lucien grimly.
‘So you didn’t fall asleep. You were drugged,’ said Eleanor, understanding.
‘Exactly. It was lucky for me I took only one glass after you retired for the night. If I had been a heavy drinker, like Drayforth, I would have had three or four, and it would have taken me a lot longer to throw off the effects. He must have been expecting that, or he would have put a greater concentration of the drug in the decanter.’
‘And then, when you were asleep, he broke in and blew out the gas.’
‘He did not need to break in. After our conversation he said he would show himself out. I let him. He had been to the house a number of times before and he knew the way and so I saw no reason to go with him.’
‘But he never left. He must have been there all the time,’ said Eleanor, shivering, ‘waiting for you to drink the port.’
‘And once he’d given the drug time to take effect he walked into the dining-room and blew out the gas.’
Eleanor shuddered at the thought of it.
‘It was very neat,’ went on Lucien. ‘If you hadn’t found me, I would have been killed, and my death would have been put down to a tragic accident. He would never have been suspected.’
‘Not even when the documents were found to be missing? That was his motive, wasn’t it? He wanted to steal the documents back again.’
‘He did, but he knew it would not seem suspicious if they could not be found at my house, because he was the only person who knew I’d managed to retrieve them. If they had been missing when my effects had been examined, it would simply have been assumed that I had failed in my endeavours to get them back from Kendrick.’
‘And did he manage to steal them?’ asked Eleanor.
‘No. But if you had not come downstairs when you did, he would have done. You foiled his plan in more ways than one.’
He gave her a tender look.
‘It must have been a lucrative partnership,’ said Eleanor.
Lucien agreed. ‘I have to get this information to the right ears. Fortunately there are some very influential people here today and I won’t have far to go. But I’m not leaving you alone until Drayforth’s been picked up. If he guesses that you’ve recognised him, then you’ll be in danger.’
He took her hand. Foolish though it was, she revelled in the touch of his strong, firm fingers.
His eyes met hers.
Then, as if remembering the urgency of the situation, he offered her his arm. ‘We must hurry,’ he said, and led her towards the drawing-room. He dropped her hand as they entered, but kept so close to her that tails of his coat brushed the skirt of her gown.
Standing at the side of the room was an elderly man in military uniform. It was towards him that Lucien headed.
He spoke in a low voice. ‘A word, sir.’
The older man turned towards him with a bland expression. Anyone watching them would think they were talking of nothing more alarming than the splendour of the wedding or the beauty of the bride. But Eleanor could tell by the shrewd light in the older man’s eye that Lucien had his full attention.
Smiling all the while, to accentuate the impression they were talking of the wedding, Lucien explained the situation. The older man’s expression remained bland, but once Lucien had finished he declared his intention of going home.
‘Good to see you Silverton. I’m glad you’re enjoying the celebrations, but I find them rather tiring. I’m not as young as I used to be, alas,’ he said, in a voice loud enough for those around him to overhear. ‘I fear I must find our hostess and excuse myself. We old men need to take care of ourselves.’
He bowed to those around him, and could be seen taking his leave of his hosts a few minutes later.
‘There’s no more to be done for the present,’ said Lucien, as the elderly gentleman walked out of the room. ‘The general will set things in motion, and before the evening’s over Drayforth will have been picked up. It’s a good thing Cooper’s still with you. You will need someone to watch over you for the next few months. Drayforth will have associates, and if he remembers seeing you at the coaching inn he will realize how his treachery was discovered, and you will not be safe.’ He paused. ‘Eleanor —’
There was something in his tone that caught her attention.
‘Yes?’ she asked gently, when he did not continue.
His tone, too, had gentled. He appeared to be wrestling with himself. There was something he wanted to say, it seemed, but he did not know how to say it. ‘Eleanor, when I came to call on you - That is, yesterday . . . ’ He tried again. ‘Eleanor, when I saw —’
The Silverton Scandal Page 14