Chapter Eleven
T wo days later, days in which neither Elenora nor Petunia had done anything more than take a well-chaperoned walk in the park, a disturbing missive arrived. The whole family was at breakfast when Robert, one of Aunt Penelope’s footmen, discreetly entered bearing a letter on a silver tray. She took the letter and read the name on it. “My goodness, it’s for you, Fanny.”
Papa, who’d just helped himself to a second plateful of kedgeree, came back to the table. “Not for me? Most odd. Who would be want to write a letter to Fanny?”
Aunt Penelope passed the letter to Mama, who broke the seal and unfolded it. Everyone watched her in expectation as she read. Her face, which had at first been curious, underwent several odd changes before finishing in an expression even Elenora had no difficulty in reading. Utmost horror.
Papa abandoned his kedgeree and leaned forwards, hand outstretched in an unsuccessful effort to seize Mama’s. “What is it, Fanny dear? You’re frightening the girls.”
Mama’s hand had flown to her mouth, and all she seemed capable of doing was passing the letter to Papa. He scanned it quickly. “Good heavens.”
“What is it?” Aunt Penelope demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Nicholas.”
“Girls,” Papa said with terrible solemnity. “Your sisters have contracted the measles.”
“The measles!” Mama squawked in corroboration. “Both of them. This is dreadful. Whatever shall we do? Elenora is in the midst of her season and freshly engaged. She needs to attend everything she’s invited to. Oh, Nicholas, this is a catastrophe beyond all imagining, just when I thought everything was running smoothly.” Then, as what could have been an afterthought. “My poor darling girls.”
“I thought we’d all had the measles?” Elenora said. “I remember it well, although I was quite small at the time.” Might they all have to return to Penworthy? How fortuitous, although she felt sorry for her sisters being the cause of it.
Papa shrugged. “I thought so too. How can Madeline and Phoebe have caught it again? I thought you could only have it once?”
Mama shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re both wrong. The older children all had the measles when they were small children, but Madeline and Phoebe were not yet born, so they didn’t catch it. What are we to do? I must go to my sick children. I can’t stay here in Town. But Elenora must. It would not at all be the done thing to abandon her fiancé at this moment in time. Not when so freshly engaged. And she’s been invited for tea at Lord Broxbourne’s house this afternoon to meet his mama. I shall have to send a note of apology that she won’t be able to come without me as her chaperone. Lady Amberley will think me so rude.”
“Mama,” Elenora said, with some asperity because she was already a little fed up with Mama’s outburst. “I don’t think it will matter one whit if I miss tea this afternoon and return to Penworthy with you to take care of my little sisters. I’m sure Lord Broxbourne will think highly of me for doing so. He must understand that my sisters come first.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Well, not true at all. But they were a very welcome excuse to depart for the countryside.
Mama shook her head in a mixture of shock and determination. “Nonsense. You can’t do it. He’s a man, and he won’t understand. You have no idea how men think, Elenora, and I can assure you that they like to be the most important person in the hearts of their betrothed. He will not like to be pushed into second place.” Her gaze fell on Augusta and Frances, who appeared to have shrunk down into themselves, perhaps in the hope of not attracting her attention. “I’ll take Augusta and Frances with me. They are quite old enough to help nurse their sisters. Both of them have already had the measles, so will be immune to the infection. I gather you can only have it once.”
A thought seemed to strike her. “And if you were to return as well, and then come back to Town, you might carry the infection back to Lord Broxbourne, afterwards, all unwittingly, and he might never have had it. That would be disastrous.” She shivered, glanced round and her gaze fell on her sister-in-law. “No. You must stay, Elenora. Penelope must be the one to chaperone you about Town with Petunia. That will be for the best. There is the ball at Belmont house tomorrow that you simply must attend. Broxbourne is bound to be there and you will need to stand up at least twice with him. Penelope and I have already accepted, so my mind is made up.”
Aunt Penelope’s eyes lit up, and Elenora’s heart dropped into her boots. “It would be nothing but a pleasure, Fanny. I will enjoy every moment of it. And so will Petunia.”
Petunia fixed a smile onto her face. Ever since the engagement had been announced, she’d been distinctly frosty with Elenora. So much so Elenora had noticed, which was unusual.
“What about Papa?” Augusta, whose face couldn’t hide her annoyance at being sent home to nurse her two little sisters, said. “Is he coming with us or staying in London?”
Mama looked to Papa, who harumphed a few times but said nothing.
“Well?” Mama asked, her eyes flashing. “Are you coming back to your sick daughters?”
Another harumph. Poor Papa. He was probably wondering what the right reply to this was. Did Mama want him to return forthwith to attend to the two youngest members of the family, or did his duty lie in remaining in London with Elenora, where, admittedly, he would have unfettered access to the gambling tables, which wouldn’t be a good thing with his newfound lack of debt.
Elenora glanced from him to Mama, then back again. “Why don’t you go with Mama? Now I’m officially engaged, Aunt Penelope will be quite adequate to chaperone me. It isn’t as if she needs to choose me a suitor, as that is already taken care of. I will be quite all right here with her and Petunia.” And might not have to go to too many social events. The thought of spending more time in her uncle’s old library, free of Mama’s interference, was intoxicating.
Papa looked at Mama.
Grim faced, she nodded. “That’s settled then. I shall rely on Penelope to chaperone you, Elenora, and you must pay strict attention to her advice. Now, Nicholas, you will need to organize our transport home straightaway. Speed is of the essence. And girls, you need to pack.”
Elenora, a trifle despondent that she was the only member of the family remaining in London, abandoned her breakfast and went upstairs to help Augusta and Frances with their packing.
“It’s so unfair,” Augusta said, throwing her clothes into her trunk with a haphazard abandon that would have shocked Elenora’s maid. “Not only have you inherited Papa’s blonde hair and blue eyes, but, just because you were born before me, you get to come out first and go to balls and no doubt be invited to lots of soirées and maybe even a masquerade or two. And at your very first ball you catch yourself an earl’s heir when you weren’t even looking for one.” She threw in her nightgown from the bed, in a tangle. “And now I have to go back to boring old Penworthy and look after Madeline and Phoebe who’ve had the cheek to catch measles just when Mama has finally taken us up to Town. I think they must have caught the measles on purpose.”
Frances was sitting on her bed in front of her open, but as yet empty, trunk, elbows on knees, chin in her hands. “And we’ve had so little time here in Town. I’d so wanted to see the sights. And Aunt Penelope was going to hold a soirée of her own with recitals and all sorts of entertainments and she said we could both come. I was going to play the piano for her guests.”
Augusta gave a snort. “I’m sure the people Aunt Penelope invites to her soirée will be immensely relieved they don’t have to listen to your piano playing. I, on the other hand, had prepared a song to sing, which I’m sure they would have liked. Papa says I sing like an angel.”
Elenora began packing Frances’s clothes, as it seemed evident her sister wasn’t going to do it herself. Unlike Augusta, she folded everything with care, mindful of how much work it would take for a servant to sort out crumpled gowns.
“An angel?” Frances retorted, getting into the swing of things. “He was being kind. No one would want to hear anything you sing as you bray like a donkey.”
Augusta threw a shoe at her, which missed and hit a vase on the dressing table. It fell to the floor with a crash.
“Stop it,” Elenora hissed. “Mama will hear, or worse, Aunt Penelope will. That was her vase and it might have been valuable. Stop arguing, both of you, and be assured, I would much rather be coming home with you than staying here.”
Augusta stopped her packing. “You would?”
Elenora nodded. “I’ve achieved what was required of me, haven’t I? A betrothal and a reversal of the family fortunes. You’d think Mama could let me abandon trying to fit into society. I feel like Cook’s cat at home in Penworthy, trying to squeeze herself into a mouse hole after her prey. I don’t fit.”
Frances, ever more sympathetic than Augusta, got to her feet and put her arms around Elenora. “And I would stay here in your place, if I could. You can have no idea how happy your engagement has made me. I’d feared with the way you are, Gussie and I would never have had a chance of coming out until we were ancient.”
Augusta scowled. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to call me Gussie.”
Elenora frowned at Frances. “Was that meant to be a compliment?”
With a shrug, Frances bounced over to her trunk. “Yes it was. Now where did I put my boots?”
Elenora picked them up. “I’ll put them in the trunk. I don’t want you throwing them and breaking something else.”
The carriage departed a little after midday, after numerous false starts when Mama or one of the girls decided they’d forgotten something essential. Elenora, Petunia and Aunt Penelope waved them off from the front steps of the house until the carriage vanished amongst the rest of the traffic as it headed toward the Great West Road.
Aunt Penelope, who shared her looks with Papa in that she was tall and had once been fair-haired, turned to Elenora with an acquisitive glint in her eye that even Elenora recognized. “Well, just us three now, Elenora.” She surveyed her new charge. “One could almost take you for my daughter and not Fanny’s, we are so alike. You and Petunia could be twins.”
Petunia, who despite being superficially like Elenora, was shorter and sturdier, shot her cousin a disapproving frown.
Elenora frowned as well. “You and I are not so alike, Aunt Penelope, for you are much older than me, your hair is nearly gray and you have wrinkles that I do not. And Petunia is fatter than me and her nose turns up at the end.”
Aunt Penelope tutted like Mama was wont to do. “Your dear mother is quite right about you, young lady. You speak your mind far too freely. It is quite impolite… no, very impolite to pass comment on someone’s looks. Especially in an unfavorable light.”
Elenora’s frown increased. “But you passed comment on mine.”
“That was something quite different. And it is not polite to contradict your elders, either. So kindly do not argue. Now, we have a tea party to prepare for in Portland Place. Shall we go in?”
Elenora sighed. Why was it she could never quite understand what was the right thing to say? Why did she always get it wrong? Papa had drummed into her the importance of being honest when she’d been small, and yet, it seemed in polite society one was expected to lie, and that was thought polite. But lying didn’t come easily to her, and she’d been unable to think of anything to say that would have pleased her aunt that hadn’t been untrue. Perhaps it might be better if she didn’t say anything. Yes, that was the wisest of moves. Silence, or at most, yes and no answers. How could that possibly go wrong?
Jack’s house in Portland Place was one of a row of splendidly appointed town houses, each with large, shiny front doors opening onto a walkway over the basement level to the pavement. As Elenora and her aunt, for Petunia, in a fit of jealous pique, had claimed she had a megrim and taken to her bed for the afternoon, approached the door, Elenora peered down into the area below, where no doubt the kitchens were hidden, as they were in Arlington Street. Someone was baking a cake, the delicious aroma twisting up into the wintry air. The urge to escape down those spiral steps to hide in the kitchen with Jack’s cook nearly overwhelmed her. Anything would be better than having to meet his mother.
Aunt Penelope tugged the bell pull, and the door immediately swung open to reveal an immensely tall, liveried footman. He bowed to them with an air of grandeur. “Lady Dandridge. Miss Wetherby.” Clearly he’d been expecting them. He stood back to let them enter the house.
Elenora struggled to curtail her instinct to stare around in wonder. Of course, she’d been to splendid houses before, but this one was somehow different. This was Jack’s house, and for some reason that meant something more to her. She needed to inspect it more closely.
Aunt Penelope tapped her arm. “Do not gawp, Elenora.”
Elenora dropped her gaze to regard her own hands, but her eyes slid sideways, taking in the marble tiled floor, the portraits on the walls and the sweeping staircase. All on a far grander scale than Aunt Penelope’s house, and of course, it went without saying more impressive than her own home at Penworthy.
“If you will come this way,” the footman said, indicating the stairs, which were of dark oak.
“Thank you.” Aunt Penelope followed the footman, and Elenora, indulging in her desire to stare while not under Aunt Penelope’s eagle eye, followed behind. What a very impressive house. Mama would have liked it a lot.
At the top of the stairs, the footman led them to a door, opened it and went in. “Lady Dandridge, milord, milady, and Miss Wetherby.”
Taking her courage in both hands, Elenora stepped into Jack’s parlor, staring around herself at the stately décor of pastel shaded walls, elegant ornaments and tasteful paintings. However, in its very stateliness, it was not a comfortable room. Too much of an air of no one daring to put a foot wrong in it. If she lived here, she would remove some of the ornaments, or even the furniture and make it altogether a simpler room. But she never would, as this was only a sham engagement. For a moment she experienced an unexpected sadness that she’d never be calling this house her own. Which was quite ridiculous.
She switched her attention to the two people in the room. Jack, who’d been standing in front of the fire, and the woman sitting bolt upright on the chaise longue near him. His mother.
Jack strode across the room. “Lady Dandridge, I hadn’t expected to see you, but the surprise is delightful.” He bowed and kissed her hand, then turned to Elenora. Something about him felt different today, but she couldn’t make out what. “Miss Wetherby, Elenora, you look charming.”
This was true, as Aunt Penelope had insisted she wear one of her lovely new day gowns, made for her by Miss Collins in Lower Grosvenor Street. Her aunt had persuaded her to admire herself in the mirror before she’d left, and she had to admit that the effect was pleasing. Although she’d done it for herself, not for Jack.
“I do, rather,” she said, then wished she hadn’t, as her aunt shot her a sharp stare and Jack’s mother who had remained seated, arched a single eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
As this elicited a further similar reaction from the two ladies, it, too, couldn’t have been the right thing to say. Too late, she remembered her vow to only answer with a yes or no. Better stick to it from now on.
“Penelope, my dear,” Lady Amberley said, getting up now and taking Aunt Penelope’s hands in hers. “So delightful to see you.” She nodded to Elenora. “And I had no idea you had such a beautiful niece.”
Elenora curtsied, keeping her eyes on the floor.
Lady Amberley lowered herself to her seat again. “Come, sit beside me, Miss Wetherby, and tell me about yourself.”
Oh no. She was to be interrogated. No escape though. In trepidation, Elenora sat beside Jack’s mother, very much on the edge of her seat, as Aunt Penelope took a sumptuously upholstered chair nearby, a slightly worried frown on her face. Did she think Elenora about to show herself up?
A quick glance showed Elenora Lady Amberley’s cold dark eyes boring into her. “Your father is a baronet, I hear?” Such a frosty tone.
Elenora nodded. “Yes, Lady Amberley.”
“Hampshire, I believe?”
“Yes, Lady Amberley.” She’d clasped her hands in her lap and now kept her eyes fixed on them, firmly adhering to her resolution.
“You come from a large family, I hear?”
More than a yes or no answer required here. “Two brothers and five sisters, Lady Amberley.”
“Do you play the pianoforté?”
“No, Lady Amberley.”
Her ladyship harrumphed. “Do you paint?”
“No, Lady Amberley.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Elenora could see Aunt Penelope who was looking more and more discomforted.
“What do you do, then?”
Oh no. But she couldn’t lie. “I like to read, Lady Amberley.”
Lady Amberley harrumphed again. “No need to ‘Lady Amberley’ me each time you reply.”
“Yes, Lady—” Elenora stopped herself in time.
“So you are fond of romantic novels?”
Elenora shook her head. “Oh no, I never read novels. I prefer history books.”
“History books?”
“Yes, history books. And I like to read some of the classics as well. Homer. Some of the Roman poets.”
An indrawn breath. “You like to read them in translation?”
“Oh no. I taught myself to read in both Greek and Latin.” She could feel herself scrunching up inside with embarrassment, but she’d been asked, and she couldn’t lie. Her words were running away from her now, despite her resolution. Why wouldn’t her mouth stop taking control of her brain?
“Good heavens. A veritable bluestocking.” Lady Amberley was probably wondering how her son had managed to attach himself to such a person. Mama had told her enough times that bluestockings were not desirable as wives. Undercover of one hand, Elenora crossed the fingers of the other.
A silence ensued. Perhaps Lady Amberley couldn’t think of anything else to interrogate her about. That, or she’d been shocked into silence. Elenora risked a peek at Jack, who was still standing by the window, a twinkle of definite amusement in his eyes. Was he laughing at her discomfort? Or at his mother’s reaction?
Aunt Penelope reached out a hand to her old friend. “Perhaps the young people would like a few moments together, Lavinia? And you and I might speak. I’m sure you’re wondering how it is that I’m chaperoning dear Elenora and not her mother. It’s a long story, I’m afraid.”
Thank goodness for Aunt Penelope.
Lady Amberley seemed almost as pleased as Elenora was for this intervention. “What a good idea. Come, Penelope, and exchange places with your niece. We have a lot to talk about.”
The two ladies took their places on the chaise longue side by side. For a moment, Elenora stood nonplused, unsure of what she was supposed to do. A gentle tap on her arm drew her attention.
“Come and sit by the window with me,” Jack said. “Let my mother and your aunt renew their acquaintance undisturbed. And you can tell me why you have come with her and not with your mother.”
Two seats stood in a window alcove. Elenora took one, and Jack took the other, their knees only inches apart. With an effort, Elenora looked him in the eyes. “I am to convey Mama’s sincerest apologies to you. But we had word this morning that my two youngest sisters have been struck down with the measles, and my parents, and my two other sisters, have returned to Hampshire to tend to them.” She paused. “You must understand that a mother’s thoughts must be with her sick children.” A direct quote from Mama.
“And you did not want to return to help?”
Was he a mind reader? “I did, of course, for I’m very fond of my sisters.” Sort of true. “But Mama insisted that I stay. Had I not been engaged, I think she might have let me accompany her.” She gave a little smile. “So, in a way, your idea for us to undertake this charade has caused me to remain in London. If we had not met as we did, I might even now be in the bosom of my family at home.”
“Do you resent this?”
She shook her head slowly. “I would be lying if I were to say I didn’t, but in truth, I fear that after my sisters recovered Mama would have had me back in Town at every ball again until I achieved the required success.”
“You are the most honest girl I’ve ever met, I think.”
She frowned. “That’s not always a good thing. My family frequently have cause to chastise me for my honesty. I don’t quite understand why it’s seen as a bad thing by so many.”
“You think it’s not a good thing?”
“Not entirely. I have great trouble with the fact that I always say what is true, as Mama says not everyone wants to hear the truth. I cannot dissemble, which is another way of saying I find lying terribly hard to do. It can be most frustrating.”
“For you or for your mama?”
She chuckled. “For both of us, but for her more than me. I cannot help it, but when something comes into my head, I fear I have to just say it. Whatever the consequences.”
“Your honesty is refreshing.”
She chuckled again. “I will tell you something, then. I had made a vow to say nothing, this afternoon, save yes or no. For fear of saying something your mother might disapprove of. Especially after what I said earlier.”
His smile lit up his face, taking away the harsh lines that made him appear so devilish and making him suddenly appear much younger. “But you were speaking the truth, and you do indeed look quite beautiful.”
“It is my lovely new dress that’s done it.”
He shook his head. “It’s not just your dress, Elenora. You are a very beautiful girl.”
She frowned. “My sisters are quite envious, although I don’t know why. Being beautiful is another thing that’s not so good.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes people look at you.”
“And you don’t like that?”
She nodded. “I can’t bear it. Which is why a ball, or anywhere with a crowd, is such an ordeal for me. Not just because I’m a country nobody in Town for the first time, but because of the way I look and the fact that even when they’re not, I’m convinced everyone is looking at me and seeing how odd I am.”
“I don’t think you’re odd.”
She shook her head. “Yes, you do. You called me an original. That means odd. I know I’m odd. I’m not like my sisters. I don’t look like them, and I don’t behave like them. We don’t want the same things, they lack my… obsessions.”
“You have obsessions?”
Elenora glanced back at the chaise longue, but Aunt Penelope and Lady Amberley appeared to be engrossed in one another’s company. “Yes, I do.”
“Pray tell.”
Was that real interest in his dark eyes? She couldn’t tell. “Well, you’ve already come across one. I love history with a passion.”
He nodded. “That in itself is not odd.”
“You can say that, because you’re a man, and no one minds if a man shows an interest in intellectual pursuits. It is considered out of the ordinary, and unladylike, for a girl. And I’m not just interested, but deeply obsessed. I read history books all the time—mainly about the Ancient Greeks. In fact, I taught myself to read Ancient Greek—but don’t tell Mama or she would be so cross. Mama thinks too much education for a girl is bad for her. She says men don’t like young ladies to be cleverer than they are.”
He smiled. “That might be true of many men, but it’s not true of me.”
She sighed. “Again, you can say that easily, but as ours is not a true engagement it hardly matters that you say you like a clever young lady. After this season and our engagement are over, and we return home, and Papa indulges in his newfound wealth and gambles again, sooner or later Mama will want me once more on the marriage market. And I doubt other men like you truly exist.” She sighed a second time. “And do not forget I have four sisters who are queueing behind me to have their debuts and find themselves husbands. They will marry me off to some pea-brained member of the Ton who can’t tell an Ionic column from a Doric.”
He burst out laughing, and the ladies’ heads turned to stare. He waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I shall take Miss Wetherby on a tour of the house and allow you ladies to talk in peace. No doubt you have a lot to discuss.” He stood and held a hand out to Elenora. “Come. I’m sure you’d like to see the rest of the house.” He leaned toward her. “Or at the very least escape from this room. I only use it when my mother calls—the décor is all for her.”
With only a momentary hesitation, she laid her hand in his and rose to her feet. “That would be lovely.”