by Jenny Hambly
“Oh, very well,” Lady Brigham said, offering her son a contrite smile. “I am sorry, Miles, I do not mean to be hounding you. Will you at least come to dinner on the night of the ball? There will be so many people attending the event that we are only going to serve a buffet-style supper in a quite informal arrangement, and you will need a good dinner before it begins. There will only be ourselves, your aunt Frances, and your cousin Charles. They come up to Town on Monday and will be staying with us. As you know, Bassington can’t abide London and refuses to keep a house here.”
“Yes, I do know. Charles has availed himself of my sofa on more than one occasion and I shall certainly come to dinner,” he said. “I have not seen him for at least two years, and I have always liked him.”
“Yes, he has always been full of mischief which no doubt explains it,” Lord Brigham said dryly. His expression grew serious. “But I am glad you will have the opportunity to see him. He has been granted a short leave to visit his family, but his regiment went straight from Ireland to Belgium and he will follow them at the end of next week. Wellington is desperate for more men and who can blame him with so many of his old campaigners still in America? I am sure none of us knows when Napoleon will strike, but he will not remain quietly in Paris, that is certain.”
“I am so thankful that you are not in the army, Miles,” Lady Brigham said earnestly. “Poor Frances is to be pitied. She will not know a moment’s peace until Charles is safely home again, not that she shows her worry to the world, but how can it be otherwise? A mother’s nerves must always suffer in such a case.”
Lord Brigham, who knew his sister to be one of the most placid, good-humoured women of his acquaintance, very much doubted this assessment of Lady Bassington’s nerves. If she had any, he had certainly never discovered them. She was mother to four children, two girls who were as easy-going as she was and had happily married local gentlemen without even putting her to the trouble of bringing them to Town, and two sons, the eldest of which possessed the bluff good humour of his parents and had recently married the daughter of one of Lord Bassington’s closest friends. That left only Charles, who was by far the liveliest of them all, but even when he had inevitably fallen into a number of scrapes, his mother had only laughed and said she wished she had half his energy. Lord Brigham did not contradict his good lady, however.
Miles did not hesitate to do so. He gave a shout of laughter. “I have no doubt that you, Mama, would suffer a great deal if you had a son in such a position, but Aunt Frances would find it far too fatiguing to worry about things that might never happen!”
“Frances is extremely fond of Charles,” Lady Brigham said, a little reproachfully.
“Lord, yes,” Miles agreed, “she is fond of all her children as long as they don’t require her to exert herself!”
“I think you are very severe, Miles. Is she not exerting herself by coming up to London with Charles? She hardly ever does come to Town, you know.”
“She’s probably been driven out by her new daughter-in-law,” Miles said grinning. “I would lay odds she is turning the house upside down. You must know that Aunt Frances is the most shocking housekeeper, leaves everything to the servants, and can never be brought to see that the curtains are too faded or the carpets sadly worn!”
“Horrid boy!” Lady Brigham said on a gurgle of laughter. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I shall leave you to your ride.”
When she had gone out of the room, Lord Brigham flicked open his snuffbox with practised elegance and took a small pinch. “I am fully aware that you promised your mother to find a bride this season, Allerdale, but do not offer for anyone just to please her. You know how enthusiastic she is when some idea takes her fancy, but she would not like you to be unhappy.”
“I know it, sir,” Miles said.
“Neither would I,” Lord Brigham said softly.
A rueful smile twitched his lips as he saw the flash of surprise in his son’s eyes. “You would have been quite justified in reminding me that I tried to force your hand in the matter of your marriage only last year. I am impressed that you have not flung that fact in my face.”
“You meant it for my own good, sir.”
“I am happy that you know it, but I was mistaken. I had not fully realised quite how unhappy you were. Do I take it that you have stopped blaming yourself for the death of your friend and are no longer quite so blue-devilled?”
Miles had not expected such an open conversation, it laid bare wounds only recently healed, but he cleared his throat and said, “When Somerton did not blame me for the death of his brother, the guilt slowly faded. As for being blue-devilled, how could I be when I have had so much to do? If I do find someone I feel I could marry, would you allow us to live at Murton, sir? I have enjoyed being in charge of an estate.”
“The idea is not without merit,” Lord Brigham conceded. “Of course, you would need to find a bride who would not object to living in the wilds of Yorkshire.”
“Murton is hardly in the wilderness, sir. York is no very great distance, after all.”
Encouraged by his father’s frankness, he said, “How did you know Mama would suit you?”
The ghost of a smile flicked Lord Brigham’s lips. “I was not at all sure she would,” he admitted softly. “But the thought of her not being in my life was insupportable. She never bored me, you see, as so many girls did.”
“I shouldn’t think she did,” Miles said feelingly. “You were too busy extracting her from scrapes!”
“Yes,” his father admitted. “But she fell into them in all innocence and it was my pleasure to extract her from them. Now, are you going for that ride, or would you like to come with me to Whites? I own I wouldn’t mind hearing of your experiences in Yorkshire from your own lips, and there will be no fear of us being interrupted there.”
“Yes, sir,” Miles said promptly; this was not an offer often extended to him. “I shall go for my ride later this afternoon.”
Chapter 4
Eleanor added the last neat stitch to the rose satin ribbon on her bonnet, glanced at the sketchbook which lay open beside her, and reached for one of the silk flowers that lay scattered at her feet. She set it at a jaunty angle and pinned it in place.
“Much better,” she murmured.
The door to the morning room opened and Diana stepped through it.
“I don’t know why you go to all that trouble,” she said. “I thought your bonnet very pleasing as it was.”
“It was passable, I grant you,” Eleanor agreed. “But so ordinary. You are so beautiful that you look ravishing in whatever bonnet you wear, which is why Madame Griffon gives you such a generous discount. I, on the other hand, am not so fortunate and must contrive to be a little different.”
Pleased by the compliment, Diana smiled and came further into the room. “I think you are very pretty, Eleanor. If you did not like the bonnet, why did you buy it?”
“No doubt I am a fusspot, but I can never find just what I like. It is why I prefer to purchase my bonnets from less exalted persons and furbish them up myself.”
Diana picked up the sketchbook and examined the various hats that Eleanor had designed.
“I must say, these are very good. If ever you lose your fortune, you could set up as a milliner. I would certainly purchase your hats.”
Eleanor laughed. “Thank you, but I sincerely hope that day never arrives. I suspect that creating designs to suit my own preference and having to do so for others in order to survive, would prove to be two very different things.”
Diana replaced the sketchbook, sat down, and said with a cheerfulness that was not entirely convincing, “Yes, of course. I was only funning. Besides, Frederick would never allow you to demean yourself in such a fashion.”
Eleanor merely smiled and waited for Diana to voice whatever was troubling her. She attached the flower with a few carefully placed stitches and removed the pin. Satisfied, she laid down her bonnet, bent, and began to restore the remaini
ng flowers and odds of ribbon to her sewing basket.
Diana slid onto her knees and began to help her. When everything was safely stowed, she did not immediately rise but grasped Eleanor’s hands and raised eyes that were unusually pensive to meet her gently questioning gaze.
“Frederick informed me that you are looking for another companion. Do not leave us, Eleanor! It is so pleasant to have someone to talk to; I was so lonely before you came.”
“Were you?” Eleanor said softly. “I am sorry to hear you say so. Did Frederick not keep you company before I came?”
“Yes… no… what I mean to say is that I saw him of course, at breakfast and at dinner, at least, but he was always so busy.” She released Eleanor’s hands and sank back on her heels. “He is so kind, so generous…” Diana touched her fingers to the topaz butterfly brooch she wore, “Frederick gave me this only yesterday, and a pair of earrings to match.”
“It is lovely.”
“Yes. But he is not interested in the things that concern me, you see, and I have no understanding of his affairs.”
Eleanor rose to her feet, bringing Diana with her. “I have seen how things are between you. There is affection on both sides, I think, but you are making a sad mull of it between you.”
Diana bristled. “Whatever do you mean? I have always done my duty by him and try to be a good wife. My mama warned me not to hang upon his sleeve or show too much sentiment, and I do not. You have seen for yourself that I never plead with Frederick to accompany us anywhere.”
“Then he can hardly be blamed for not comprehending that you wish he would sometimes escort you,” she said gently. “And as for not understanding his affairs, how could you if you have never asked him to explain them to you?”
Diana’s eyes widened. “Do you think he would explain them to me?”
“Perhaps,” Eleanor said. “If he really believed that you were interested in them. He might even then return the compliment and show more interest in yours.”
Uncertainty and then contrition flitted through Diana’s eyes. “Even if you are right, I do not wish you to leave us. If it is because of what happened the other evening – with Sandford – I did not expect or desire him to kiss me. I pushed him away and told him he must not. It is only because I do not like to be scolded that I pretended I did not care.”
Eleanor could not help but be touched by Diana’s wish that she would not leave her, but her sympathy did not reach so far that she would jeopardise her own happiness.
“I am pleased to hear it, my dear, but it is not that which caused me to advertise for another companion.”
“Then what was it?”
“I have been used to running my own household, or at least that of my father which amounts to the same thing—”
“That would explain why you are so good at it,” Diana said. “You must know that I am quite happy to allow you to take over the running of ours. You are so much better at it than I.”
“That is very kind of you,” Eleanor said, not quite able to keep a hint of irony from her voice. “But you would do better to learn from me while you can, Diana. I have been used to a great deal of freedom you see and find I cannot meekly submit to the role of dependant in someone’s household.”
“But we are not just anyone, Eleanor,” Diana protested. “We are your family, and we love you dearly.”
Realising that there was very little chance of someone who had had such a conventional upbringing as Diana understanding her position, Eleanor changed tack.
“And I am very fond of you both, I assure you. If, as Frederick assures me, my plans are quite out of the question, I will have to think again. But I do not wish to do so today. The sun is shining, and although there seems to be quite a breeze blowing, I am sure it will be a warm one. I find myself tired of being indoors; do say you will come with me for a walk in the park.”
“Of course, I will,” Diana said, brightening.
As Hyde Park was only a very short stroll from South Audley Street, it was not long before they were smiling and nodding at a variety of acquaintances. Eleanor sent Diana a sideways glance as a curricle drawn by a showy pair of horses came towards them. Lord Sandford slowed as he drew near, but Diana, who had been excited and shocked in equal measure by his kiss, merely offered him a cool nod and quickened her steps.
“You see, Eleanor, I mean to be perfectly well behaved from now on. Oh, I think I see Lady Langton and her sister ahead. Do let us join them.”
Eleanor had no very great opinion of Lady Langton, whom she found frivolous and empty-headed, but she made no demur, pleased at Diana’s seeming resolve to keep Lord Sandford at arm’s length.
“Eliza!” Diana called, as they came up behind them.
Lady Langton looked over her shoulder revealing a pair of sparkling blue eyes. They were quite her best feature, apart from perhaps her smooth, unblemished complexion. She was generally considered pretty but her nose was a little too long and thin for her to deserve the tribute of being called a beauty. Perhaps it was this attribute that gave her voice a rather nasal quality.
“Diana!” she squealed, grabbing her friend’s arm. She spared a quick nod for Eleanor before rushing on, “What a lucky chance that I have met you today, for I have several snippets of information that I am sure you will wish to know.”
As the park was crowded, there was no room for four ladies to easily walk abreast. Eleanor fell behind with Miss Farrow, Lady Langton’s younger sister. She shared the nose and was quite as silly as her sibling, but unfortunately for her, did not share her sister’s other attributes; her eyes were set a little too close together, and her complexion was sadly prone to redness. Although Lady Langton dutifully took her sister about with her and introduced her to the many connections her marriage had afforded her, two seasons had resulted in no offers of marriage for Miss Farrow.
“Eliza is ridiculously excited about Lady Brigham’s ball,” Miss Farrow said in hushed tones. “Have you received an invitation, Miss Edgcott?”
“Yes. Even Lord Haverham is to attend which surprised me, for he is not fond of balls. Will I see you there?”
Miss Farrow’s titter did not disguise her bitterness. “No, I have not been honoured with an invitation, and I am sure I do not care, even if it is the first ball Lady Brigham has held in years.”
“Is it? I had not realised, but that perhaps explains why Lord Haverham has agreed to attend.”
“Most likely,” agreed Miss Farrow. “Lord Brigham is very well respected according to Langton. But that is not why Eliza is looking forward to it. She is far more interested in his son, Lord Allerdale. Apparently, it is almost as rare for him to attend a ball these days as it is for Lady Brigham to give one, but he can hardly fail to do so when it is his mother who is hosting the event. I do not know him, but Eliza saw him with a party of friends at the theatre last season and thinks him very handsome.”
Both ladies came to a halt as a high poke bonnet rolled across the path in front of them. Eleanor picked it up and brushed the dust from it. She thought it very stylish and not quite in the common style. The crown was cream, with two brown ribbons creating a striped effect, the wide brim was also brown, and a spray of delicate lilac flowers completed the pleasing colour palette.
She looked up and saw a young lady with wide anxious eyes and glossy golden ringlets hurrying towards her. She smiled and went to meet her.
“Is this yours?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. I had tied the ribbon too tightly and when I undid it, the wind whipped it from my head!”
“I do not think it has suffered any damage,” Eleanor said, handing it to her. “It would have been such a shame if it had for it is a very fetching creation. Would you mind telling me where you purchased it?”
The girl smiled shyly at her. “Not at all. I buy all my hats from Mrs Willis. Her shop is in Cranbourn Alley, off Leicester Square.”
Just then a short, plump lady dressed in a startling dress largely distinguished by green and
yellow stripes that made her look as wide as she was tall, rushed up to them.
“Emily! What are you about to go running through the park? I am sure this kind lady must think you a regular hoyden!”
“Not at all,” Eleanor said. “I think I too would run after such a hat!” She gave the young lady a reassuring smile. “I can see my friends waiting for me and so must leave you.”
“Yes, of course,” Emily said. “Thank you again for your help.”
As she walked the short distance to her party, Eleanor heard the lady she assumed to be Emily’s mother say in rather exasperated tones, “How are you ever to make friends, Emily, if you will not even make a push to learn people’s names or give them yours or your direction?”
“But it would be so forward of me,” the girl said in trembling accents.
Eleanor felt sorry for the girl and might have returned and introduced herself if Diana had not rushed up to her and taken her arm.
“Eleanor! You must not go about talking to strangers in the park!”
She laughed. “Why? Neither of the two ladies in question looked at all dangerous.”
“They do not need to be dangerous for them not to be fit persons for you to know,” Lady Langton interjected. “I would lay odds that they were cits.”
Rarely had Eleanor heard such scorn poured into one little word. She felt a spurt of annoyance; she had frequently entertained English merchants at her father’s table and had little patience for such assumptions of superiority, especially when they came from someone as inane as Eliza Langton.
“Have you ever visited Mrs Willis’ shop in Cranbourn Alley, Diana? I believe it is off Leicester Square. That is where the young lady found that delightful bonnet.”
“I do not believe I have.”
“Ha!” Lady Langton said. “Then they are definitely cits. I would not be surprised if that young lady had purposefully lost her hat in the hope that she might make the acquaintance of one of her betters.”