by Eloisa James
“I said a catastrophe,” her mother replied. “And believe me, in cases such as these, the words are one and the same. We shall speak no more of it. Look at this house! Beatrice would be horrified by the muddle. But I am not one to criticize; I understand the difficulty of keeping household help.” It was certainly true that the duchess’s acerbic comments had a tendency to drive said household help straight out of said household.
Finally the groom’s repeated bangs on the door produced a response. A butler was trotting down the main steps, bowing slightly from the waist as he came, as if he wanted to get a head start on his salutations.
“Your Grace,” he said, swinging into a deep bow like a marionette. “This is such a pleasure, such a pleasure. I’m afraid that the Duke of Gilner is not at home, but I shall send him a message.”
“Absolutely not,” Eleanor’s mother declared with a wave of the hand. “I didn’t come to see Gilner, but his daughter. This is nothing more than a pleasant little visit, a matter of a few days at the most. Between friends.”
Because the butler was still blinking at her rather than escorting them directly into the house, she said, “Lady Lisette is in residence, is she not?”
“Of course,” he said, “but I’m afraid that Lady Marguerite is paying a visit to a relative. She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, then, bring us to our chambers so that we can refresh ourselves after this journey,” the duchess commanded. “It may be only a few hours from London, but you would not countenance the dust. At one point I thought I was sure to suffocate.”
Eleanor was interested to see how distressed the butler appeared to be. He was literally wringing his hands. “Perhaps there are no free chambers?” she inquired.
He rushed into speech. Apparently, there were more than enough chambers, but in Lady Marguerite’s absence—
Her mother lost her patience immediately and waved him quiet. “Eleanor, did I not instruct you to write a note announcing our visit?”
“I did, Mother. Perhaps Lady Lisette neglected to inform you?” Eleanor said, giving the butler a smile.
“Be kind enough to escort us to some chambers, my good man,” the duchess said before he could answer. “I am not used to parrying words with a butler in the open air!”
The man tore back up the stairs as if the devil were behind him. Eleanor, Anne, and their mother followed, trailing a phalanx of groomsmen carrying their trunks, the sheer number of which belied the question of a visit of a mere day or two.
The moment they entered the house the source of the butler’s distress became obvious. If the estate’s grounds were somewhat disorganized, the entrance hall was a jumble.
The hall was designed in a graceful circle stretching to the second floor, which was encircled by a banister. But at the moment that banister was apparently serving as an impromptu place for dirty laundry. It was hung with sheets that swayed in the breeze of the open door.
“An odd way to manage your linens,” the duchess said, turning in a stately circle and craning her neck. “I can’t say I recommend it. And these sheets are disgracefully unclean. What is your name?”
“Popper, Your Grace,” the butler said, looking miserable. “They’re not laundry, Your Grace, but backdrops for the play.”
“Those appear to be trees,” Eleanor said, pointing to a sheet marked with blotches that might have represented a forest in a high wind.
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “More likely a field of carrot tops.”
A peal of laughter answered her, and they all looked up and saw Lisette lightly running down the stairs. For a moment they just stared up at her, and then Eleanor gave a little wave. She hadn’t seen Lisette in seven or eight years, but if anything, she had grown only more exquisite. Eleanor had always envied her hair; it was pale, pale blond, and naturally formed beautiful ringlets. Her face was the peaceful oval of a medieval madonna. Most of the time.
“Ellie!” Lisette dashed down the stairs and gave Eleanor a hug, and another hug. She turned with a similar cry to Anne.
The duchess stiffened at the first hug, and became rigid by the third. When Lisette finally dropped her arms from Anne, Eleanor said hastily, “My mother, the Duchess of Montague.”
“It’s been years, hasn’t it?” Lisette said, smiling at the duchess with sunny charm as she dropped a shallow curtsy. “But I couldn’t forget such a beautiful chin as you have, Your Grace. Your skin has loosened slightly, around the jowls, but really, hardly at all.”
Her mother appeared stunned into silence, so Eleanor put in, “Surely you remember that Lady Lisette is an enthusiastic painter, Mother.”
“Oh, please, no ladies here,” Lisette said. She waved her fingers in the air and they saw that they were splotched with red, blue, and purple. “I have been painting backdrops for a village play. I can find you a role, if you’d like.”
Eleanor couldn’t help smiling. That was just like Lisette. She would hop out of a seven-hour carriage ride and throw herself into painting backdrops, and it wouldn’t occur to her that others might not be so eager.
“I must return to the back garden,” Lisette said. “I’ll look forward to dining together. Popper, do put our guests somewhere, won’t you?” Without further ado, she turned and left.
Her mother’s face contorted in such a manner that Eleanor knew precisely what she thought of Lisette’s manners.
Popper wrung his hands again. “If I’d known you were coming, Your Grace, I would have made sure that the house was decent.”
“If you would be so good as to allow me to retire,” the duchess stated with a quiet ferocity. “I have a powerful headache coming on. I expect it has something to do with the reek of paint in this house. And I’ll thank you to take those sheets down, Popper. I hardly think Lady Marguerite would approve.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Popper said. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, follow me.”
A few minutes later Eleanor, Anne, and Popper tiptoed out of the duchess’s bedchamber, leaving her in the tender care of two maids, who were busy fanning her forehead and mixing various restorative powders.
“I’m afraid I shall have to put you in the other wing,” Popper said anxiously, as he and Eleanor walked down the corridor, having deposited Anne in a room next to their mother. “We don’t often have visitors, and many of the rooms are draped in Holland cloths. I shall remove the sheets immediately, of course. The look on the Duchess of Montague’s face!” He shuddered. “I arrived here from the household of the Marquess of Pestle. I am not ignorant of a well-ordered household.”
“Of course not,” Eleanor said soothingly. She had a sudden thought. “I do believe that the Duke of Villiers may pay Lady Lisette a visit today or tomorrow, Mr. Popper, so you might want to prepare another chamber.”
He turned even paler, if that were possible. “And her aunt’s gone visiting! Perhaps I’ll send a note to Lady Marguerite and beg her to return this very evening.”
“Likely a good idea,” Eleanor agreed. “Would you mind having my dog brought to my chamber, Mr. Popper?”
He starting wringing his hands again. “A dog? There is a dog?”
“Yes,” she said. “My dog. He’s a small pug, cream-colored with a black muzzle. One of our groomsmen has him, no doubt.”
The butler took a step closer. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Lady Eleanor…”
Eleanor put on her mother’s best quelling expression, and Mr. Popper shifted back immediately. “Yes?”
“Lady Lisette is frightened by dogs.”
“She won’t be afraid of Oyster. He’s a pug, the kind that doesn’t grow very big. He’ll be far more afraid of Lisette than she will be of him. Everyone loves Oyster.” She waved him off toward the stairs.
That was true, too. Except for the people he peed on, of course. But there hadn’t been all that many.
By the time Eleanor bathed and Oyster had arrived, she was feeling better. She put on a dressing gown and scooped Oyster into her lap to
sit by the fire. He was really too fat to sit comfortably in anyone’s lap, but he loved it, and she loved it. So they sat together while he squirmed and wriggled, and got short bristly hairs all over her lap.
“You need to grow up and stop this indiscriminate peeing,” she told him.
He wasn’t much of a talker, more of a nuzzler, so he nuzzled and begged for more scratching until Eleanor decided that she ought to dress. It would be a disaster if Villiers arrived before she was downstairs to blunt her mother’s ambitions.
“What if I wear the cherry cotton with the gauze overlay?” she asked Willa. It was one of her old gowns, rather than Anne’s, but she felt too tired to achieve decadence.
Willa had spent the last two hours emptying the trunks that Eleanor had brought with her for this short, casual trip to the country. “There’s no cherry cotton here, my lady,” she said, adding, “My mistress selected your gowns herself and she had to remove some garments in order to accommodate those she brought for you to wear.”
Eleanor sighed. “I have nothing to wear that wasn’t handpicked by my sister?”
Willa shook her head.
She might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. “In that case, why don’t you choose something for me?”
“The figured silk,” Willa suggested. “You can wear it with small side panniers.” She held it up.
“It is beautiful, but there isn’t much of it,” Eleanor pointed out. “If I lean over, the bodice might open almost to my waist.”
“If you’re not comfortable, we can pin some lace at the neckline,” Willa said reassuringly. “I’ll put lace in your hair as well. We needn’t put a touch of powder in your hair; did you see Lady Lisette?”
“Lisette never wears powder,” Eleanor said. “Nor wigs.”
“Then we shan’t either,” Willa said, snapping her small white teeth together. Obviously Anne had filled her in on the matrimonial sweepstakes, so to speak.
An hour or so later Eleanor wandered down the stairs. It was some comfort to know that she truly was looking her best. Her hair would never be the spun gold color of Lisette’s. But she liked the way it glowed, with a kind of brandy burnish. It was thick too, thicker than Lisette’s, and would hold a curl, or fall sleek and straight, whatever she wished.
Willa had piled it on top of her head, with gorgeous little silk twists among the curls. And even though she still felt that the gown would look better in a candlelit drawing room, it was exquisite. The lace had looked foolish, so there she was with her breasts on view, which was clearly what Anne had in mind.
She brought Oyster down with her too. He had been very good the last few hours, but he was just a puppy. He couldn’t stay in the room all day. Willa had treated him like an accessory and tied little knots of silk on his collar so that he matched her dress.
The sheets had disappeared and the house was as silent and ordinary looking as any gentleman’s country house, barring a complete lack of servants. She poked her head into the sitting room, and then wandered into the library. The shelves were crammed with books reaching the ceiling, though on close inspection most of them turned out to be books about music, which was disappointing.
At length, Oyster gave a little yelp, and she realized that it would be an unfortunate way to begin her visit if he were to anoint the library rug.
The library opened to the garden, so she tugged open the tall doors and walked out onto the terrace. To her surprise, the entire household was clustered on a grassy slope at the bottom of the garden, maids in white aprons and footmen in livery, all seated on what appeared to be the backdrops that had formerly hung in the entryway. There even seemed to be some children tucked in front.
At that moment the door at her back opened and a deep voice drawled, “Perhaps they’ve all been taken by the fairies.”
“Villiers!” she exclaimed, turning. And there was Anne as well, smiling with gleeful pleasure.
The duke bowed and kissed her hand. Eleanor found herself sorry that she’d left her gloves upstairs, if only so he could strip one off again. Then she met his eyes and colored. He was damnably good at guessing her thoughts.
“Where is everyone?” Anne asked.
“They’re out there, in the gardens. Do come onto the terrace. There is a very pleasant arrangement of chairs and—Oh, no, I dropped Oyster’s leash!”
Sure enough, a plump little figure was tearing across the lawn, yipping madly.
“The famous Oyster,” Villiers said.
“He can be a trifle overenthusiastic,” Eleanor said.
“He sheds,” Anne said disloyally. “And he seems to think he’s irresistible. Let’s not even mention the fact that he sprinkles constantly.”
“He’s just a puppy!”
“Now, now, no squabbling,” Villiers said.
There was a piercing shriek from the lawn, followed by another. The little group seemed to explode, children running and wheeling.
“What the devil?” Villiers said, starting forward.
Anne laughed. “He’s already peed on someone, Ellie.”
Eleanor began running after Villiers. As she grew closer she saw with a sinking heart that Oyster did appear to be the center of the fracas. He was dashing madly in a circle, yapping with the sort of strained excitement she associated with household accidents.
There were a great many children, at least seven or eight, milling about in blue pinafores. And still the screaming: she just couldn’t see who was doing it. Oyster ran toward her, barking hysterically, his ears flopping. He was trying to tell her something…
The butler was dashing after Oyster. “Popper,” she called, “what on earth—”
But then the screaming stopped, the knot of people separated, and Eleanor saw the heart of the matter. Lisette was nestled in Villiers’s arms, one arm around his neck, head against his shoulder.
“I’m very much afraid that Lady Lisette was surprised by your canine,” Popper said, breathing hard. “As I mentioned, she is afraid of dogs.”
Long ago Eleanor had decided that what made Lisette truly beautiful was that she rarely showed emotion. There was nothing to prevent appreciation of her blue eyes, her perfectly straight nose, her pale rosebud lips.
Even now, when she was apparently terrified by Oyster, her face was expressionless: no anxiously squeezed eyes or pursed mouth, or ungraceful pant. Instead she was curled in Villiers arms, looking like a portrait come to quiet life.
Eleanor reached down and picked up her squat little dog, which at least made him stop yapping. “Scared?” she said. “She is frightened by Oyster? He must have startled her.”
Brushing past Popper, she walked over to Villiers. “Hello, Lisette.”
Lisette didn’t answer. Her eyes were now closed. “Surely she didn’t faint?” Eleanor said to Villiers, not believing it for a moment.
He looked down at Lisette with a rather queer expression on his face. “I think she’s recovering from the shock. When I came up, she was utterly beside herself with terror. Of course, I swept her up and out of harm’s way, but it took a moment to sink in.”
“Out of harm’s way,” Eleanor said, looking down at Oyster. He lay along her arm like a particularly warm, heavy baby, which, in fact, he was. Barring the fact that he had all four paws in the air and was panting, he could have been taken for a fat and hairy newborn.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t true. Eleanor had to admit that her preference for pugs was not shared by all.
“I can see you’re listening, Lisette, so please open your eyes,” she said sharply. “I’d like to introduce you to my puppy.”
Lisette opened her eyes, but the moment she caught sight of Oyster, she screamed again and shuddered closer to Villiers. “He’s so ugly!”
“He’s not—” Eleanor began. But there was no getting around the fact that even a creamy white coat and a midnight black muzzle couldn’t make a pug precisely beautiful. “He’s not ugly,” she stated firmly. “He is a fine dog.”
“I am a
fraid of dogs,” Lisette said, shuddering visibly. “And that one is monstrously shaped. There is something wrong with its eyes! They look like—like disgusting fish eggs!”
Eleanor looked around at the circle of rapt children. “You’re not setting a good example, Lisette. This is Oyster,” she said to the children. “He’s a very sweet puppy who wouldn’t dream of hurting anyone. And his features are completely appropriate for the kind of dog he is.”
Naturally, given Lisette’s revulsion, the children were eyeing Oyster as if he had three heads.
“He’s grotesque,” Lisette said breathily.
“Our hostess is afraid of dogs,” Villiers pointed out, rather unnecessarily to Eleanor’s mind. “Perhaps you might keep the animal in your bedchamber during your visit.”
Eleanor blinked down at Oyster. He certainly wasn’t beautiful. But he was no bulldog either. “Lisette,” she said incredulously, coming a step nearer. “Are you really saying that you’re afraid of a dog who weighs less than a stone? He still has his milk teeth, for God’s sake!”
“I am,” Lisette said, a gasp breaking her voice. “I know I’m an idiot. I’m so stupid. I know it. Just please—please—will you take him away? Please?”
“Of course,” Eleanor said, stepping backwards again. Oyster snorted and reached up to lick her chin. She turned around and marched back to the house, feeling her ears burning red with rage.
It wasn’t just the way Lisette had shuddered. Or even the way her eyes had started to bulge so that she actually resembled Oyster. It was the way that Villiers had looked down at her, as if he were protecting her from a man-eating crocodile.
Ridiculous. They were both utterly ridiculous.
Anne was comfortably seated on a small settee, powdering her nose. “Let me guess,” she said as Eleanor came up the steps to the terrace, clutching Oyster. “Lisette turned into the trembling maiden, but luckily a big, strong duke was there to rescue her? Wait—haven’t we heard this story before?”
Eleanor plumped down beside her and turned Oyster free to scrabble about. “Are you implying that Lisette is akin to Ada?” she demanded, still furious. “Because I can assure you that Ada would never behave in such an unreasonable manner.”