Chapter Six
Eleanor sat stiffly in the carriage as it rolled back through town to her parents’ house in Mayfair. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line and her brow was furrowed over her gaze in an expression of frustration and displeasure she typically only allowed herself in moments of solitude.
Just when she’d thought she might have gotten some control over her social discomfort, she had to encounter a man who made it worse.
Why did his presence—his focused stare and easy smile—trigger such a deep and strange new panic inside her?
Why did she feel so exposed under his gaze?
And why—despite all of that—did she find him so intriguing?
Glancing down at her gloved hands where they linked tightly in her lap, she wished again, as she had so many times before, that she didn’t struggle so much with things others managed so easily.
If only she could be as comfortable around people as Bridget, who adored casual encounters with strangers and had never met anyone she couldn’t instantly charm.
If only she weren’t so easily intimidated by basic conversation.
If only the Viscount Waring didn’t have such an intense and unusual effect upon her.
If only…she were someone else entirely.
She sighed.
It was not the first she wished fervently that she could’ve been someone who wasn’t expected since birth to be so much by so many people. Someone free to find their own purpose.
Someone bolder, more confident. More witty and poised and naturally amiable.
Someone…a bit more like the viscount himself.
She recalled his easy, enthusiastic entrance to the shop.
The casual way he moved through the store and took up space—without a single apology for his great size in such a small, cluttered area.
It had been the same at the ball. He hadn’t been the slightest bit bothered by the crush of people moving around them in the refreshment room.
And even though he’d expressed relief at the cooling air from the windows by the ferns, she suspected he’d have been just fine in the middle of the heated ballroom.
The man didn’t seem to be bothered by much of anything.
And then there was the way he’d spoken to her. And the way he’d looked at her. Brazenly direct and honest. And his smile. Slow and confident and effortlessly attractive.
Shifting in her seat as she grew uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, Eleanor was grateful when the carriage slowed to a stop.
Right in the center of fashionable Mayfair, Lindley House stood as a grand symbol of the dukedom’s long and prestigious legacy.
One of the first mansions built in the fashionable neighborhood, it was also one of the largest. It had to be as the London seat of the auspicious Fairchild family.
A family that had a legacy to uphold that went beyond the dukedom—something Eleanor was never allowed to forget.
One day, she’d be expected to give up her surname in acceptance of her husband’s, but she’d never relinquish the duties and honor of being a Fairchild.
As was typical when the duke and duchess were out of town, which had been quite frequent since Ralston came of age, the large house was quiet as Eleanor entered.
As expected, the aged butler was off in his closet, polishing silver or whatever it was he did.
Only a footman stood silently in the hall, barely acknowledging her passing other than to take her coat.
Her brother had his own bachelor residence so she was the only member of the family consistently in residence.
Her father saw no reason to keep a full staff for just her, so there weren’t nearly the number of servants walking about as one would expect for a house of Lindley’s size.
Eleanor could easily spend an entire day without seeing anyone unless she rang for her maid or wandered down to the kitchens.
In truth, the house more often felt like a museum than a home.
With a sigh, Eleanor started up the stairs toward her private suite.
Entering her sitting room, she was suddenly reminded of why she’d been so anxious to go to Mishra’s Emporium today.
Since her nani’s passing just over six months ago, Eleanor had gotten into the habit of burning her grandmother’s favorite incense.
It had made her feel closer to the woman who’d always seemed to understand her far better than anyone else in her family.
But she’d recently run out of the incense and her room was already starting to lose the familiar scent.
Which was why she’d been so grateful for the opportunity to go to Mr. Mishra’s shop. And now she’d have to wait for the items she’d purchased to be delivered.
To avoid thinking of the upsetting outing, she wondered if maybe there was more incense amongst her grandmother’s possessions that she’d somehow initially overlooked.
Eleanor turned from her sitting room and strode down the hall to a room two doors away. It had originally been intended as a small music room, but her parents had agreed to allow Eleanor to use it as a place to keep the things she’d inherited from her grandmother.
As soon as she opened the door, she felt calmer.
Her grandmother’s presence had always done that for her.
Her Grace Ashna, the Dowager Duchess of Keldbrook, had been a formidable lady by anyone’s definition.
Born to a wealthy and powerful raja in India, she’d been a princess raised in regal elegance.
Her arranged marriage to an equally wealthy and formidable English duke at the tender age of eighteen had solidified an important political alliance for her family.
As a British duchess, Eleanor’s grandmother had been a force within high society.
Her influence had been widespread and undeniable.
Her only child, a daughter, made an impressive match with another great and powerful duke of the realm.
But when her husband died nearly thirty years into the successful marriage, the title passed to another branch of the family, and Her Grace Ashna retired from society, preferring to spend her days in the London Dower House.
This was where Eleanor so often visited.
She loved how her grandmother had decorated the house with all the things she’d brought with her from India as a young bride.
Coming from a royal family, her dowry had been almost shockingly abundant.
And, aside from a few poignant items the duchess had passed to Eleanor’s mother and to Ralston, the bulk of her personal possessions had been left to Eleanor.
Though it had taken her several months, the process of organizing and arranging her grandmother’s things in the old music room had been cathartic for Eleanor.
In the midst of her grief, she managed to find appreciation and joy in her memories as she acquainted herself with her grandmother’s most beloved items that were now hers to care for and enjoy and someday pass on.
At least here in this room, her nani’s favorite scent remained strong. Amber resin and jasmine. The whole room was a reflection of her grandmother.
Colorful tapestries covered one wall while flowing silks draped over the windows which were lined with low cushioned benches.
Ornately carved cabinets, tables, and broad lounging chairs filled the room.
A large rectangle table that could easily seat eight people around it, stood low to the floor right in the center of the room, and was surrounded by an array of brightly colored seat pillows and colorful lap blankets in lush textures.
Decorative vases and statues and brass, silver, and gold candlesticks inlaid with semi-precious stones adorned every surface.
Eleanor was rather proud of the results of her efforts to decorate in a way her grandmother might have, and this room had easily become a favorite, reminding her acutely of the many hours she’d spent in the duchess’s parlor, lounging on the floor pillows, reading and daydreaming.
The chaise which had been her grandmother’s favorite place to arrange herself for visitors took up an honored spot near the windows.
Beside it was the large cushioned ottoman where Eleanor would so often sit while the older woman told her stories of her childhood in India or talked her through her frequent troubles.
Taking a moment to sit on the ottoman now, Eleanor recalled one of the last conversations she’d had with her grandmother near the end of last year’s season.
She’d gone to spend a full Saturday at the Dower House—a welcome respite from the endless schedule of social events.
As usual, she’d found Her Grace lounging on the chaise in her favorite parlor, gowned elegantly in a silk sari the color of ripened plums trimmed in vibrant lime green.
After retiring from society, the duchess no longer bothered to dress in the British fashions of the day, preferring the comfort and grace afforded by the clothing of her homeland.
A small, ever-present tea table had stood at her elbow and an even smaller brown-and-white spaniel pup had been curled in her lap.
A pup that was now a constant companion to Eleanor’s mother.
Upon Eleanor’s entrance, the duchess had smiled and her eyes had brightened. The weariness that had seemed to be much more prominent in recent weeks fled her features as she’d clapped her ringed hands before holding them out. “Dohati! How lovely to see you.”
As Eleanor took her grandmother’s fingers, weathered with age but still slim and graceful, and leaned forward to kiss her soft cheeks, the pup lifted his small head with sleepy curiosity before settling his chin back atop his tail.
“Hello, Nani. You are looking beautiful today.”
The duchess grinned and bobbled her head. “You flatter me, but I enjoy such words. Come sit, have some tea.”
After pouring the aromatic masala chai and passing it to Eleanor, the dowager duchess arched her brows and asked the inevitable question about how Eleanor’s first season was going.