by Jenny Hambly
“He never married again?”
“No. He said he could never set another in Mama’s place.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Miles said gently.
“Not at all. I don’t really remember my mama, and no matter how busy Papa was, he always made time for me.” She grinned. “There were a few ladies who tried to make him fall in love with them. They would talk to me in caressing accents and make a great fuss of me once they realised how important I was to him.”
Miles glanced down at her dancing eyes. “Did you scare them away?”
Eleanor laughed. “Not quite that, although I admit that when I was still a child, I would sometimes devise little tests to see if they were as kind as they appeared. Nothing too horrid, I assure you. I once knocked against a lady so that her wine spilled on her dress.”
“You little imp.”
“She went into hysterics,” Eleanor said dryly. “Any lady worth her salt would have laughed it off, or said it was of no matter. Are you thinking that I wished to keep him all to myself? I am not so selfish. If it would have made him happy, I would have been glad for him to marry. But sooner or later the latest lady to try and catch his interest would do or say something, and Papa would give me a look and a small smile. I always knew what that meant; Your mama would never have done that. I knew then that I would probably never see them again.”
“Did you never wish to settle in one place?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Every time we moved, I viewed it as a great adventure. I have never been shy you see.”
“No, you are unusually open.”
Eleanor smiled up at him. “Only with my friends.”
Miles was surprised to feel a little twinge, somewhere in the region of his heart. He had eaten his breakfast rather quickly that morning, perhaps it was indigestion.
“You are fortunate, Miss Edgcott, to have the knack of making friends easily. I hope you choose them carefully.”
“I almost always know immediately if I can trust someone,” she said. “Speaking of friends; it is a little unusual, is it not, for the son of a marquess to be good friends with a vicar’s daughter?”
“My parents have never been particularly high in the instep, and the vicar’s lineage is perfectly respectable. Besides if we restricted ourselves to only mixing with the highest born families in Cumberland, we would be a very restricted circle.”
“I, too, have had many friends who did not move in the first circles,” Eleanor said. “I have always thought it contemptible to disregard someone only because they were born into less fortunate circumstances than you were.”
When her confiding chatter suddenly ceased, he looked down and saw her brow wrinkled in thought, as if she were trying to remember something. Her eyes looked far away, but they suddenly brightened.
“Cumberland is very close to Westmoreland, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Do you know someone there?”
“No, but do you perhaps know of a Sir Roger Crouch?”
Miles burst out laughing. “I should think I do! Do not tell me the tabbies are still gossiping about that? He was always a rum old stick and never came to Town and so the news of his marriage was a seven-day wonder. But it all happened years ago; why would anyone be talking of it now?”
“I believe his widow is in Town, although she has not been received anywhere.”
“I should think not. It is one thing to have a friend who is not from your own class, but to marry a commoner, and one that has for years been your mistress, is quite another!”
Eleanor’s eyes grew round.
Miles suddenly frowned. “Forgive me, Miss Edgcott. Perhaps I was a little too frank. I can see that I have shocked you.”
“Oh no!” Eleanor said. “I hope you will always be frank with me. I am four and twenty after all.”
A smile twisted his lips. “You are a very unusual combination, Miss Edgcott. You look upon the world with an innocent optimism that makes you seem little more than a child, yet you carry a pistol in your reticule, take the most shocking episodes in your stride, and it seems, have quite a head for business.”
“But then I have had an unusual upbringing,” she said. “We sometimes visited dangerous places, and my father took pains to teach me how to protect myself.”
Miles looked down at her, a stern expression in his eyes.
“At those times, he should have sent you to school.”
“I would not go,” Eleanor said simply. “And when I told him that if he forced me to, I would find my way back to him, he believed me.”
Miles shook his head. “You must have worried him greatly.”
“Not at all. Besides, nothing bad ever did happen to us. I did once give him a fright though.”
“Only once? You surprise me.”
She threw him an arch look.
He grinned. “Do not pucker up. What did you do to give him a fright?”
“I got lost in the streets of Naples when I was about ten years old and was gone for some hours. When I became very tired, I went up to a group of men who were sitting outside a coffee house, told them I was tired, hungry, and thirsty, and asked if one of them would show me the way home.”
“And did they?” Miles asked.
“Yes. But first, they ordered me something to eat and drink. Then one of them took me by the hand and led me home. I discovered later that the man had been the head of some criminal organisation. I found it very difficult to believe for he was very kind, but Papa would not have lied to me, so it must have been true.”
Miles said nothing for a moment, a rather grim expression on his face.
“Miss Edgcott,” he said finally. “How you have come through life thus far unscathed is beyond me.”
“Linny says I have always had a guardian angel. I like to think it is my mama.”
They had arrived at South Audley Street. Miles handed her down and stood for a moment holding her little hand in his.
“Try not to need your guardian angel before I collect you at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Eleanor laughed. “I shouldn’t think I will; Frederick refuses to allow Diana out past eleven o’clock at the moment. She is in a delicate condition. We are to go back to Standon soon.” She sighed. “I hope it will not be too soon, for I will need to sign the lease for Bruton Street and discuss several things with Mrs Willis. Enjoy your cricket match.”
Miles watched her enter the house, a frown between his eyes. He would be sorry to see her go, he realised. Town would be dull without her.
Eleanor found her cousin at breakfast.
“Is Diana unwell again this morning?”
“Yes, and she is likely to be for weeks yet to come. Doctor Lampton took very good care of her the last time she was with child which is why I think she should return to Standon.”
“Of course,” Eleanor said.
“I hear you bumped into Allerdale whilst you were out, and he drove you home. It seems he likes you.”
Eleanor considered this. “Perhaps, sometimes.”
Lord Haverham looked pleased. “Very good. Very good. I noticed that Stanley returned without any parcels. Didn’t you find anything you liked, my dear?”
Eleanor smiled as the footman poured her usual cup of chocolate.
“Thank you, Stanley. Would you mind leaving us for a few moments?”
As her cousin eyed her a little warily, Eleanor drew in a deep breath.
“I am afraid that I told you a little fib, Frederick.”
“Oh?” he said, his expression of unease deepening. “And why did you feel the need to do that?”
“Because I was afraid that you would not approve of my errand.”
Lord Haverham lay down his fork, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and sent her a stern look.
“I suppose it would be useless for me to point out that if you knew I would not approve of whatever it is you have been about, then you should not have done it?”
Eleanor looked a little shamefa
ced. “I did not wish to make you unhappy,” she said. “I have a great dislike of making the people about me unhappy.”
“And am I about to be made unhappy?”
Eleanor looked across at him. “I do not know that for sure, but you are not at all like Papa, so it is difficult for me to tell. I certainly did not wish to upset you before I knew if my idea would come to anything.”
“Eleanor,” Lord Haverham said sharply. “Where have you been?”
“I went to see my solicitor.”
“If you are about to tell me that you have gone directly against my advice and taken a house—”
“No, I have not,” Eleanor said quickly. “I realised that if I did so, people might say that I was not happy with you. I would not wish to embarrass you in such a way. I have decided that I shall search the family Bible when we return to Standon for some relative who might be glad of a home with me.”
“That is something, I suppose,” he said begrudgingly. “Not that I think you will find anyone suitable. Now, enough of this prevarication. Out with it, cousin. Why did you visit your solicitor?”
Eleanor took what she felt sure to be the easiest option first. “Would you mind very much, Frederick, if I sold my house in Scotland?”
His brows rose in surprise. “No. Why should I? It has nothing to do with me, and you have no need of it as I am perfectly willing to offer you a home for as long as you wish. I daresay the money you will raise will be just as attractive to a husband as a house in such a far-flung place. But you had better run any offers you receive past me; I daresay you wouldn’t know a good offer from a bad one.”
“Yes, of course, Frederick,” she said meekly.
He looked at her suspiciously. “Was that the whole of your business with your solicitor?”
She suddenly smiled. “I’ll say this for you, Frederick, you are not at all stupid.”
She surprised a reluctant grin from him. “I am glad you realise it. Dash it, Eleanor, just let me have it. The more you beat around the bush, the more worried I become.”
“Oh, very well, I will tell you, but only if you promise not to breathe a word until I have finished.”
Eleanor soon discovered that she had underestimated her cousin, for although he looked a little alarmed when she first rushed into her tale, by the time she has explained Mrs Willis’ origins, her connection with the Brighams, and both Georgianna’s and Marianne’s assertion that they would spread the word, his heightened colour had receded. When she followed this by showing him her sketchbook of designs and mentioning Diana’s assertion that if ever Eleanor lost her fortune, she could certainly make her living as a milliner, his eyes held something approaching respect.
“She was only joking, of course,” Eleanor admitted, “But Diana does genuinely admire my designs.”
Frederick blew out his cheeks and said, “You will definitely be a silent partner?”
“Absolutely.”
“Diana has very good taste, and if she likes your bonnets, so will everyone else. Do you not think that you will be tempted to claim some of the glory if your business becomes a roaring success?”
“No,” she said, smiling. “Knowing I have accomplished something will be enough. I like to accomplish things, you see. And you will know of it, Frederick, and so will Diana and my closest friends. That will be quite enough for me.”
“I am pleased that my opinion is of some importance to you, cousin, even if you did not trust me enough to seek my advice before you went headlong into action.”
“I thought that might rankle, but be honest, Frederick, would you have approved of my plan if I had laid it before you without having all the facts I have put before you at my fingertips?”
“No, I would not. You are a clever girl, Eleanor, I will give you that. God help anyone who gets leg-shackled to you.”
Eleanor laughed.
“Yet Allerdale knows of this scheme and approves of it?”
“Oh, yes, but remember Mrs Willis is his friend therefore that is not so very surprising.”
Frederick gave her a quizzical look. “I know you think you are awake upon every suit, Eleanor, but you may take it from me that you are not!”
Eleanor was far too pleased to have come out of this interview unscathed to begrudge her cousin the pleasure of having the last word in their encounter.
She paid a brief visit to Diana, whom she found propped up in bed, a resigned look on her face and a biscuit in her hands.
“I had forgotten quite how tedious this is,” she said softly.
Eleanor perched on the edge of the bed. “Poor Diana. Frederick says it will go on for weeks.”
“Yes, but it will pass, and then I will feel wonderful.”
“Do you think you will feel well enough to attend Lady Bessinborough’s rout party, this evening?”
Diana looked dismayed. “Oh, dear. There is never anywhere to sit at a rout, and they are always so crowded that one cannot move. I don’t think I can face it.”
“No,” Eleanor agreed. “I think some fresh air will serve you much better. I shall take you for an airing later.”
“Y-yes,” Diana said hesitantly, “but not in Hyde Park.”
Eleanor interpreted this to mean that Diana did not wish to run the risk of seeing Lord Sandford.
“Then we shall take a stroll through Green Park.”
Just then a maid bustled in carrying a pretty posy of flowers.
Diana suddenly sat up, a delighted smile on her face.
“Who are they from?”
Eleanor took them from the maid and read the card that accompanied them.
“They are from Lord Carteret,” she said. “He sends you his best wishes and hopes that you are restored to your usual good health.”
“He is such a gentleman,” Diana said. “It is a shame you don’t seem to care for him, Eleanor. He would make a very good husband, I think.”
“He has shown as little interest in me as I have in him,” Eleanor said. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Besides, he is too gentlemanly for me; I don’t think I would deal well with an extremely correct husband.”
Diana giggled. “Perhaps not; he would be shocked by your antics, I should think.”
“Undoubtedly,” Eleanor said. “Especially as I am about to follow your advice, my dear, and set up as a milliner.”
“Oh, Eleanor, no!” Diana cried, bolting upright.
Eleanor had only meant to tease Diana but regretted her impulse when she saw tears start to her eyes.
“Frederick will never forgive you.”
“He does not mind at all,” Eleanor said, “or at least, not as much as I thought he would.”
By the time Eleanor had explained more fully her role in the business, Diana was enraptured by the idea, and very happy to think she had planted the seed for it.
“I will, of course, get all my hats from you. When will Mrs Willis open the shop?”
“In September, in time for the little season,” Eleanor said.
She left Diana in a much happier frame of mind and went to pay a call on Miss Finchley.
The house in Castle Street, whilst of genteel proportions, was rather dark. A severe-looking housekeeper showed Eleanor to a shabbily furnished drawing room. She took in at a glance the threadbare carpets and the faded damask-covered chairs and sofas and reflected how fortunate she was to be in a much more comfortable position. She turned as the door opened and Lady Crouch, dressed in a low-cut gown of deep purple, came into the room.
“Miss Edgcott,” she said in accents of delight. “I heard how you had taken a turn about the square with my little Emily. It was very kind of you to approach her, for she is such a shy little thing that she will never put herself forward. You must forgive our shabby-genteel surroundings, rented properties are to be despised, aren’t they? I declare Sir Roger would turn in his grave if he could see what I have been reduced to.”
The idea that Sir Roger might have found it within his power to ensure that Lady Crouch
was not so unfortunately circumstanced did flit across Eleanor’s mind, but she firmly dismissed the uncharitable thought.
She took the plump hand offered to her, resisting the urge to sneeze as a strong floral scent assailed her nostrils.
“I was happy to renew my acquaintance with Miss Finchley,” she said.
“Of course, you were,” Lady Crouch said. “I am sure there is not a sweeter girl to be found anywhere in London.”
She reached an arm behind her and grasped Miss Finchley’s hand, pulling her forwards.
“Do not hang back, child, but welcome our guest.”
When Miss Finchley, who had been quite obscured by her aunt’s formidable bulk, had regained her balance after being propelled so hastily forwards, she curtsied, her cheeks a fiery red, and said in her soft voice, “I am very happy to see you again, Miss Edgcott.”
“Please, sit down,” Lady Crouch said.
Eleanor had hoped to have a private word with Miss Finchley, but it soon became clear that Lady Crouch had no intention of leaving them alone.
“I hear you reside in South Audley Street. Such a respectable address. Is it your own house, ma’am?”
“No. I live at present with my cousin and his wife, Lord and Lady Haverham.” She was suddenly struck by inspiration. “I had hoped that Miss Finchley would call on me there; Lady Haverham has expressed a wish to meet her.”
“There, Emily,” Lady Crouch said with some satisfaction. “Did I not tell you that you need not think we would be imposing on Miss Edgcott if we visited her.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Miss Finchley said, squirming a little in her chair.
Eleanor did not care to imagine Frederick’s reaction if he were to discover Lady Crouch in his drawing room. Even if he had not heard of her infamous marriage, he did not at all approve of vulgar persons.
“You certainly would not have been an imposition. But unfortunately, we are no longer receiving visitors just at the moment. Lady Haverham is in a delicate condition and feels dreadfully ill every morning and is then quite worn out.”
“Oh, that is a shame,” Lady Crouch said, her disappointment clear.
“But I am taking Lady Haverham for a drive later this afternoon. We could easily pass this way and take Miss Finchley up with us.”