Chapter Six
T he thud of running feet woke Elenora from her sleep. Two people landed with a thud on her bed. She opened her eyes.
Bright winter sunshine was streaming in through the gaps between the heavy brocade curtains of Cousin Petunia’s bedroom, illuminating the excited faces of her two younger sisters. Both of them were already up and dressed, wearing dimity frocks that had once been Elenora’s. Papa, who found it as difficult to resist his daughters as he did his wife, had, in a moment of weakness, given in to the two girls pestering to accompany the husband-hunting party to Aunt Penelope’s house. Although, of course, they were too young to attend any of the balls and soirées Mama had lined up for Elenora.
“You’re awake!” squealed Frances, the younger of the two, a slight fifteen-year-old whose long brown hair hung almost to her waist. Her crowning glory, Papa was wont to say, whenever he emerged from his study and showed any interest in his brood.
Elenora pushed herself partly upright on her pillows. “Well, I am now. What time is it?” Hard to be annoyed with these two.
Augusta, the elder by barely twelve months, bounced up and down. “I believe it’s gone ten. We couldn’t wait any longer to find out about the ball. We just had to wake you. Mama is still in bed and you know what Papa’s like. He’ll have spent the entire evening in the card room.”
Not quite.
Elenora rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. What time had she gone to bed? After four, that was certain, and as bed had not brought sleep for some time, the thought that she could have done with remaining undisturbed until at least midday arose. But she loved her younger sisters, despite having little in common with them. “Where is my wrap?”
In the other bed, Petunia pulled the covers over her head and groaned. She too must be as tired as Elenora.
Frances bounded off the bed and seized Elenora’s favorite shawl from where it lay spread over a chair near the window. “Here it is. Now put it on and tell us all about the ladies’ gowns.”
“And how handsome the men were.”
“And who you danced with.”
“And what you had for supper.”
“Can’t you talk a bit more quietly?” Petunia’s muffled voice emerged from her covers, but not her face. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Elenora wrapped the shawl about her shoulders. After all, this was February, and as no one had been in as yet to light the fire, a chill hung in the air. Neither Augusta nor Frances appeared to have noticed though. She surveyed the two eager faces, staring at her in anticipation. What should she tell them? “I suppose the ball was quite nice. Not nearly so jolly as the ones at the Assembly Rooms in Winchester. Much more formal, I’d say.” Not that she’d ever enjoyed her outings to the Assembly Rooms, but at least there she’d known a few other people.
Both girls assumed disappointed expressions. “Gowns,” Augusta said with a sigh. “You must have seen lots of beautiful gowns.”
Elenora sighed. She hadn’t really been looking at the gowns, but she’d better make something up for her sisters. “Lady Routledge’s gown was gorgeous.” But what color had it been? No idea. Better make something up. The only gown that sprang to mind from last night was the one worn by Lady Raby in that deep red. A red that had seemed a little improper, especially when combined with the sinuous way she danced. “She had a crimson gown with gold embroidery, and gold jewelry.”
“Was it a terrible press?” Frances asked, bouncing a bit more, presumably having given up on extracting gown descriptions from her sister. “And did you dance every dance? With handsome young men? Were there lots of handsome young men?”
“Officers in their regimentals?” Augusta clasped her hands together. She’d been allowed to attend the Assembly Rooms in Winchester, so she’d met a few young men such as these. “I do love their red uniforms. So dashing.”
Elenora bit her lip. If only her sisters would leave her alone. Now she was properly awake, all she wanted to do was think about the events of last night, and how somehow she’d ended up an engaged young lady. To the heir of an earl. Not something she’d expected to happen on her very first outing into society. Not something she was even pleased about. How had she allowed him to talk her into this sham engagement? Was she a fool? Had she had too much to drink? “Yes, yes and no. Everyone who’s anyone was there, I think. And the men Mama wanted me to dance with were definitely not handsome. Rich and titled, but not handsome.”
Frances’s face fell. “Were the handsome men not rich and titled then?” She sounded deeply disappointed.
Augusta ignored her. “Was the Prince of Wales there?” She liked to follow the court news.
Had he been? Elenora had no idea. She shook her head. “No, he wasn’t.”
Augusta pulled a face. “Imagine if he’d danced with you. How exciting that would have been.”
Elenora frowned. “I have heard he’s very old and corpulent now, so no, I would not have liked to have danced with him and refuse to imagine it as it’s repellent to me.”
Augusta gave a little screech. “Ellie! You can’t say things about the Prince! He’ll be king himself one day and no one should say bad things about him.”
“Oh, do stop talking about the Prince of Wales,” Frances said. “I agree with Ellie that dancing with him would have been awful. Like dancing with a fat old uncle. Dreadful, and I would have said no to him. But do tell us who you did dance with, Ellie dear. Weren’t any of them even a little bit handsome? Were they all titled? And most importantly, were they rich?”
“Most important would surely be, did she like them?” Augusta snapped, clearly miffed at her sisters’ disdain for her hero.
The covers in the other bed shook. “Do be quiet, can’t you?”
Everyone ignored Petunia.
“No, I didn’t like them,” Elenora managed to insert into her sisters’ conversation. “And now I’d like to get up. Frannie, can you ring for my maid, please, to come and help me.”
Augusta gave a deep sigh. “You are a sad disappointment to us, Ellie. I’m sure when I go to my first ball I’ll take notice of everything I see and come back and give Frannie a detailed account. And I’m sure I’ll meet some handsome young men to dance with. I sometimes wonder if you go around with your eyes closed.”
Frannie was tugging the bell pull. “Me too. I can’t wait for it to be my turn. You’re so lucky being the oldest. Well… the oldest girl.”
Augusta seemed to recall something. “Were Joly and Matt there? I heard Mama and Papa talking about Matt having been sent down from Oxford.”
“Again,” put in Frannie. “They were very specific that it was again.”
Elenora pushed the bedclothes back. “They were. I danced with some of their friends who I’m sad to say were also not handsome enough for you two. Now, off you go, because I think I can hear Agatha’s footsteps outside in the corridor.”
She was right about the footsteps, but when the door opened it was not to reveal her maid, but rather her mother and Aunt Penelope, who looked to be all of a flutter.
Aunt Penelope was fully dressed in a demure gray gown, but Mama swept into the room resplendent in a purple silk peignoir over her nightgown. “Elenora, have you been telling your sisters all about your success last night?”
In the other bed Petunia threw back her covers and sat up, hair awry. “I give up. Why don’t we invite all the servants in here too and have a party?”
She was again ignored.
“Success?” Augusta, who’d been about to leave the room, reversed at speed and swung around. Frannie had no need to as she’d not moved from the bell pull.
Aunt Penelope clasped her hands under her chin and seemed to swell like a bullfrog in the pond at home in Penworthy. As if she’d had something to do with it herself.
This morning, Mama had a definite cat-in-the-dairy-finding-a-big-pot-of-cream look about her. “I see you’ve been too shy to do so. Bless you, darling girl. You should be shouting it from the rooftops. Well, not quite, but I think you know what I mean.”
Augusta closed the door and fixed Elenora with an accusing stare. “What success, Ellie? Did you neglect to mention something?”
Elenora turned her back on them and whipped the curtains open with unnecessary force.
“Don’t pull them down, Elenora,” Aunt Penelope said, ever with an eye open for the safety of her furnishings. “Open them gently.”
“Is anyone going to tell us?” Frannie asked. “Or do we have to guess?”
“We know she didn’t dance with the Prince of Wales,” Augusta put in with a sniff. “So what could it possibly be that would trump that?”
Mama positively swelled with pride. “Of course, it’s not something like that. Although it would have been an honor had he been there and chosen to dance with your sister. No, girls, you see before you an engaged young lady, who one day will be a countess, no less.”
Augusta’s and Frannie’s mouths fell open in unison.
Aunt Penelope let out a chortle of glee.
Petunia, who’d been more than a little disgusted last night on being told of her cousin’s precocious triumph, as Mama had put it when they told her about it, harumphed.
Mama glowed with pride.
Elenora scowled. “I can see right down your throat, Gussie.”
Augusta shut her mouth. “Don’t call me Gussie. You know how I hate that.”
Frannie, ever the romantic, clasped her hands. “A countess? She’s going to be a real countess?”
Mama and Aunt Penelope nodded in unison.
The door opened yet again, this time to let in Agatha, Elenora’s maid who not so long ago had been just a housemaid at Penworthy. Her cheeks shone as though she’d been hurrying. Seeing how crowded the room already was, she dropped a curtsy to Mama and Aunt Penelope and remained by the door, her fingers twiddling with her apron. “Miladies.”
“Come in, Agatha,” Elenora said. “I’d like to get dressed if the rest of my family will give me leave to. They seem to think my bedroom is some kind of Assembly Room.”
“It’s my bedroom, actually,” Petunia said, but was yet again ignored.
“You’re really, truly getting married?” Augusta at last managed to enunciate. Perhaps shock that her awkward older sister had snared a man first time out had rendered her mute for a moment. That she thought her odd, Elenora was well aware.
“Married, miss?” Agatha echoed. “Ooh, that’s proper good news.” And she too took on the demeanor of someone who’d lost a farthing and found a guinea. Why was everyone so overjoyed at the news? It was a good thing it wasn’t a real engagement.
“Just engaged,” Elenora said, beginning to feel a tiny bit anxious about all this unwanted attention. “A long engagement, as we hardly know each other.”
“Nonsense.” She might have known Mama would take this attitude. “The sooner the two of you are married, the better. Your papa will be sorting out the marriage contract this morning, and then we can set a date.”
Not if Elenora could help it. Or Lord Broxbourne. The urge to burst out laughing washed over Elenora. What would her affianced have to say if he were a fly on the wall right here? He might feel his liberty threatened, that was for certain. She was feeling threatened herself. Mama could be like an advancing army when roused—an unstoppable advancing army of one.
Augusta stamped her foot. Was there a hint of jealousy there? “But who is she marrying, Mama? You’ve neglected to tell us the most interesting bit.”
Mama gave a little tinkle of laughter. “Oh, I had quite forgot that none of you know. She is to marry Viscount Broxbourne, the heir of the Earl of Amberley.”
A rather stunned silence fell. After a moment or two, Augusta narrowed her eyes. “But isn’t he a dreadful rake?”
How on earth did Augusta know this? Elenora had hardly known it herself and she was the one coming out. But then, Augusta had always been the one of the five sisters to know everything that was going on at Penworthy. So why would she not have somehow soaked up the Town gossip over the last few weeks here in London?
“Just a little, but he clearly wishes to settle down now,” Aunt Penelope said, almost as if she believed it.
As if anyone could be “just a little bit a rake.” Ridiculous.
“He’s definitely a rake,” Elenora said. “He compromised me, and now he has to marry me. Mama and his father have made him offer for me.”
“Elenora!” This was Mama and Aunt Penelope in unison.
Mama gathered Augusta and Frances to her and started ushering them toward the door. “Ignore her, girls, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“You were compromised?” Augusta asked, gawping over her shoulder. “What did he do to you?”
“Did he kiss you?” Frances, this time, but by now Mama was pushing the two of them out of the door. She closed it with a bang behind them and rounded on Elenora.
“Did you have to tell them that? The fewer people who know the circumstances of your engagement, the better.” Her gaze fell on Agatha, who was busy trying to make herself look small and inoffensive beside the wardrobe. “And as for you, if I hear a word of this anywhere I’ll know you’ve spoken of it below stairs. Consider yourself sworn to silence.”
Agatha, shrinking still further into the wardrobe, bobbed another curtsy, eyes firmly down. “Yes, milady. Of course, milady.”
“Mama.” Elenora wrapped her shawl more closely around her and wished she had slippers on her cold bare feet. “I wasn’t going to tell Gussie and Frannie anything about being engaged. I wish you hadn’t. And I thought we were only engaged because of what people would say when they find out I’ve been compromised. Now you’re saying no one should know. I don’t understand. If they don’t know, why do I have to be engaged?”
Mama shivered. “Never you mind. No need for you to bother your head with all of this. It’s too full already with the books you insist on reading.”
Aunt Penelope nodded. “She’s quite right. Nothing to concern yourself with, my girl.” She waved a hand at the empty fireplace. “This room is too cold. Why hasn’t the fire been lit? It’s winter, for goodness sake. Whose job is it to light the fires? Agatha, ring that bell please and we’ll have a maid up here to light it straightaway. Insupportable that my daughter and my niece should have a cold bedroom to wake up in.”
Mama nodded at poor timid Agatha. “And you can start getting my daughter dressed, while Lady Dandridge and I talk to her, or she’ll die of cold and we can’t have that, not now she’s made such a catch.”
“That would be a dreadful misfortune,” Aunt Penelope said, as though she thought Mama had meant it.
Agatha hurried to obey.
“I’ve the constitution of an ox. Papa says,” Elenora put in, but was ignored.
“Lord Broxbourne will be calling on your Papa this afternoon, I’m sure,” Aunt Penelope said, going to the wardrobe. “And then afterwards on you. Which gown will you wear, I wonder, to look your best?” She started flicking through the new gowns as Agatha assisted Elenora out of her nightgown and into her underclothes. “What about this one with the tiny lemon flowers embroidered on it? I liked this one in particular when we ordered it. Or this one with the blue on it that so perfectly matches your eyes. You are so lucky to have the Wetherby eyes, just like dear Nicholas and me. And Petunia of course. Such a shame your sisters don’t have your looks. Lord Broxbourne must have been quite overcome by them.”
Elenora, now clad in her stays and petticoats, reached into the wardrobe and pulled out one of her old Penworthy gowns in a dove gray. “I’ll wear this one.” If Lord Broxbourne had been so shallow as to have fallen for her eyes and her looks, then he’d have been an intolerable fool. Luckily, he’d fallen for neither.
“No, no, no,” Mama cried, real tears in her eyes. “What will Lord Broxbourne think when he sees you in this shabby thing? That we cannot afford to trick you out in modish gowns, that’s what.”
“Well, we can’t,” Elenora retorted, hanging on tight to her chosen gown. “And I don’t care. This is my favorite gown, and I’m wearing it. He’s hardly in a position to complain or renege on his offer, is he?”
Mama made a lunge for the gown but Elenora stepped back out of reach. “Now, kindly leave me alone with Agatha so she can do my hair. She can’t possibly concentrate with you two arguing over me. Look at her—you’ve turned her into a nervous wreck.”
Aunt Penelope huffed. “Well, I never. I’m sure Petunia would never speak to me like this.”
Mama sighed. “She would do were she anything like Elenora.” She shot Elenora a hard glare. “I never met a more recalcitrant child. The only thing to do when she’s like this is to ignore her. Come, Penelope, we’d better leave her to get her hair done nicely to meet her betrothed.”
And they went.
“Thank goodness for that,” Petunia grumbled, snuggling back down into her bed. “Perhaps now I can go back to sleep. Wake me up tomorrow.”