Chapter 7 #3
Clintock opened it wide for her to enter, and she saw Nicholas seated before the mirror making the final adjustments to a beautifully arranged cravat, the frills of his shirt impeding his long, skillful fingers.
Then he stood up and turned, lithe and elegant in his formal knee breeches.
Eleanor, however, was concentrating on his face.
First, she was reassured to see his usual good humor restored.
Whatever devils had nagged him before had been exorcised.
Second, he showed nothing but appreciation for her gown.
“That must be one of Madame Augustine’s works of art,” he said with a grin. “Demure with a hint of wickedness, sophisticated but with something fresh and young about it. And it could have been made for the pearls.”
He allowed his valet to ease him into a richly embroidered waistcoat and a snug-fitting dark jacket. He then chose a few fobs, a ring, and, carelessly, an enormous diamond pin for the cravat.
“Will I do you justice?” he asked with a grin, striking a pose.
Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh in a way she had forgotten, the way children laugh, just for joy. In this mood he was a delight, and she feared, if he were to ask it, she would lay her heart down for him to use as a stepping stone. Oh, it was dangerous, the way this man made her feel.
For a moment, meeting his gleaming, gold-flecked eyes, she felt she had only to reach out and she would have the moon in her hands. In a moment, perhaps in response to what he saw in her face, he faded from brilliance to a friendly courtesy. The opportunity, if such it had been, was gone.
Or almost.
He was still in high spirits. Like children, they hurried down to take out the fabulous necklace, and then spent fifteen minutes arranging it to best advantage.
Finally they were satisfied with three loops lying against her skin, glowing like a pale dawn sky.
He snapped on the diamond clip that would hold them together at her nape.
Her nerves, already sensitized by the busy working of his fingers against her skin, leaped when his lips played where his fingers had been. In the mirror, she could see him looking down at her shoulders. Surely that was tenderness on his face.
Then he raised his eyes to meet hers and a shadow clouded them.
Eleanor was adrift. She knew nothing of men, of how she was expected to behave even in normal circumstances, never mind this extraordinary marriage.
What did he want of her? She remembered the night before he left.
Did he expect her to respond as warmly now as she had done then in the heat of the wine? Was she supposed to turn to him?
But whatever had been needed or expected, the moment was gone. He moved away and rang for their cloaks. Soon they were on their way to Lord Stainbridge’s mansion.
It was hours before Eleanor had time again for introspection. There were twenty relatives gathered to inspect her, ranging from the twin’s grandfather, who clearly terrorized his daughter, Mrs. Stephenson, to a bunch of young cousins, including Mary Stephenson and her brother, Ralph.
Whenever possible Eleanor gravitated to the younger set.
They were far less likely to catechize her on her life history.
She was aware that Nicholas was observant of her, and she was sure he would rescue her if problems developed, but he had his own hands full in charming the older set and surviving their inquisition into his way of life.
Because she maintained a peripheral awareness of him, however, she observed a strange moment.
Fringe members of the Stainbridge clan had been invited for after dinner, and among these were two young pinks. As they entered the room Nicholas’s face froze for the merest second before he picked up a conversation with a great-aunt.
Eleanor waited eagerly to be introduced to the newcomers. They turned out to be Thomas Massey and Reginald Yates, likable enough fribbles but of no obvious significance. She could only assume there was some longstanding grudge between one of them and her husband.
This seemed confirmed when she observed Mr. Yates looking at her with what appeared to be sneering humor.
When the young men went off to congratulate Nicholas, however, she could detect nothing out of the ordinary on anyone’s part.
She knew her husband to be an adept dissimulator, but there could be no reason for the two dandies to hide any ill-feeling.
Her overstretched nerves must be playing tricks on her.
She was, however, to learn more before the evening was over.
Cedric Delaney, a distant cousin of the earl’s who had constituted himself family historian, insisted on taking her to see the various family portraits in the house. Eleanor found it most interesting.
The twins’ looks seemed to have come almost entirely from their entrancing mother.
A bridal portrait showed her sitting beneath a leafy tree and laughing at the antics of a small King Charles spaniel.
She looked very like Nicholas in his funning mood.
The twins’ father, standing un-amused behind his wife, was dark-haired and rather heavy of feature.
If there was any resemblance to be found in his sons it was in the earl, in a serious mood.
They came to some Holbein sketches that Cedric said were of particular interest. Unfortunately, the hanging oil lamps did not illuminate the spot, and so he hurried off to find supplementary candles.
Eleanor was left alone for a while on the second floor gallery, which worked around three sides of the tall entrance hall.
She discovered the hall, which raised the height of the house to a magnificent skylight, carried sound wonderfully.
As she waited she clearly heard the butler’s quietly voiced instructions to the busy servants, and a few irreverent comments from them as well.
Then, as she was beginning to think she would have to give up on her guide and return below, she heard the voices of Mr. Massey and Mr. Yates.
“God, Pol,” drawled Mr. Yates. “Had to escape for a moment. Effort of keepin’ a straight face is killin’ me, damned if it ain’t.”
“What’s up?”
“It’s Nicholas Bloody Delaney and his beautiful bride.
Standin’ there actin’ the perfect husband.
Not two days ago I met him with quite another filly at a certain place out near Aldershot!
Looked queer as Dick’s hatband when I came in.
Tipped him the wink, of course. I’ll not queer his pitch, but when Lady Christobel started tellin’ me he was settlin’ down and I ought to do the same …
Well, I nearly said, ‘Give me the same piece of fancy, and the matter’s done! ’”
“Lord, yes. You do mean Madame Therese Bellaire, don’t you? You mean you’ve been down to her little country place? I didn’t know it was on the go yet. Look here, Yatters, I wish you’d take me there. It’s going to be the place!”
“Certainly is, Pol. This was the grand openin’.
The fabulous madame has finally arrived, you see.
I only got down there because I’ve been goin’ to the town place pretty regularly.
They kept saying what a great thing it was goin’ to be when she came, and they weren’t pullin’ whiskers.
What a woman! Tell you what, I’ll take you to her house tomorrow.
Country’s only by invitation, don’t you know. ”
“Damned good of you, Yatters. But surely Delaney being there ain’t so bad. I’ve heard lots of fellows go to the town place for a pleasant evening. Without using the accommodations, you know.”
“True enough, Pol, but I tell you I don’t.
” There was a cackle of laughter. “The ladybirds there, Pol! You’ve never seen the like.
No little street totties. The tricks they know …
But no, dear Cousin Nicholas wasn’t just drinkin’ the wine and listenin’ to the music, believe you me.
He was Madame’s particular. Permanent fixture.
Man of the House. They’re no new acquaintances.
Regular Derby and Joan. If you think he’s makin’ fond of this one, you should see him with the other. ”
Eleanor, frozen by this conversation, remembered to breathe. She really should go. Heaven knows what more she would hear if she stayed…
The need to learn it all, every bitter detail, overwhelmed reason.
“You mean the madame is his mistress?” Mr. Massey said. “That’s stronger meat than I’d care to handle, from what I’ve heard.”
“Wait till you meet her, Pol. One look from her big dark eyes and you’re up to anythin’. If you see what I mean.”
The two men sniggered, but then Mr. Yates’s voice grew thoughtful as he continued.
“But I wouldn’t say she was his mistress, exactly.
If you ask me, he’s the one anxious to please.
He’s a goner for her, I’d say, and personally I don’t think that’s a healthy way to be. She’ll suck him dry and spit him out.”
“But lord, Yatters, what a way to go!”
More envious laughter, laced with concupiscent envy.
“Well, if anyone can handle it it’ll be Cousin Nicholas.
Ladies just seem to melt at his feet. Wish I knew the trick.
No matter how tame he has her, though, I bet his new wife would cut up rough if she heard of his adventures, so he owes me.
I’ll just make sure he arranges something special from Madame.
Tell you what, Pol, I’ll cut you in. We’ll get two pretty… ”
At that point Eleanor did resolutely move back out of hearing. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt so weak she sank into a nearby chair. She did not feel outraged. She had no inclination to “cut up rough.” She felt as if she were marooned in an emotional dead spot.
How tiresome for Nicholas, she thought dully, to have to keep two women content. It must strain even his charm. No wonder he seemed worn.