Chapter 1 #2
The door closed, and Eleanor’s tears came in earnest.
“Oh, my dear heart, have things been so terrible?” Charlotte led Eleanor into a cozy sitting room, guided her to an armchair by the fire, and handed her a crisp, beautifully embroidered handkerchief. It seemed a shame to spoil it with tears.
Charlotte pulled up a chair to sit close and take first one and then the other of Eleanor’s hands to peel her gloves off as if she were a child come in from playing in the cold.
It was the first time in months she’d lost control of her emotions.
Once the dam burst, it was hard to contain the torrent, but finally, with a gusty blow of her nose, she took one shuddery breath after another.
Charlotte was patient and didn’t pepper her with questions even though Eleanor could feel her brewing curiosity.
“The past months have been…” Eleanor searched for the right word. Terrible—horrid even—but more than that, it had been… “Lonely. So very lonely. It was a shock to lose James in such an outrageous fashion, of course, but then… Everything that came out afterward made it the scandal of the season.”
While the cuts had hurt, the pitying looks had been a worse kind of pain. The kind that ached and spread like an infection.
Marriage to Mr. James Denholm had elevated her status from the daughter of a newly wealthy cit to the lower echelons of the ton.
James had been the grandson of an earl. The third son of a third son.
Raised with the polished manners and expectations of a lord but without the title or the money of a man in the line of succession.
Eleanor was pretty enough to draw male gazes, but it was her dowry that had landed her a gentleman.
She had heard the whispers from the mothers and daughters of the ton…
mushroom , upstart , cloven . But she had smiled and persevered, winning over most of the ladies and gentlemen of James’s set. Or so she’d thought.
And then James had broken his neck racing his curricle on a wager.
Such a stupid, childish way to meet his maker.
That had been bad enough, but as soon as news of his death circulated, everyone from the tailor to the bootmaker to (worst of all) the madam of a whorehouse had come to their front door to call in her husband’s debts.
The madam had made clear if she was not reimbursed for the frequent use of her girls that she would stoke the already ruinous rumors as to James’s character.
Eleanor had assumed she could use her dowry to pay the debts, but according to James’s solicitor, the money had already gone to cover past debts. There was nothing left. Even the town house, which James had told her he owned, had been rented and she would have to be out by the year’s end.
Although she had not committed the base indiscretions her husband had been accused of, his moral turpitude had besmirched her reputation like winter’s soot.
Eleanor kept nothing from her sister, not even when it meant revealing herself as a fool for believing James had actually cared for her. All he’d cared about was her money.
“What a sorry tale. Those were not true friends, and James was a terrible husband.” Charlotte rose and went to a small sideboard where she poured two glasses of brandy, then pressed one into Eleanor’s hand.
Eleanor had never imbibed before. Their father was a teetotaler, and she had seen James foxed enough to want to avoid the same state. “I don’t know if I should.”
“A glass is not going to corrupt you. It might steady your nerves a bit.” Charlotte took a healthy swig from her glass.
Eleanor tipped her glass up and coughed at the way the brandy burned its way down her throat. Her sister laughed, and once Eleanor could breathe again, she joined in and felt lighter. How long had it been since she’d laughed? So long she couldn’t even remember.
“Finish it. You’ll get used to the taste. I find it can provide comfort and warmth on lonely winter nights.” Charlotte drained her glass. “What did your husband’s family have to say about James’s behavior?”
“They considered me a mushroom and only accepted our marriage because of my dowry. I thought given time I could win them over, but…” Eleanor shrugged.
“Anyway, once he was entombed in the family crypt, they wanted nothing to do with me. As there were no children, I don’t think they cared what happened to me. ”
“What about Father? What did he have to say about the debacle?”
A debacle. That was what her marriage had been.
Instead of tears this time, she stifled a bitter guffaw with another bracing sip of her spirits.
“He wanted so badly for me to raise our family’s profile.
My marriage was supposed to pave his way into polite society and the connections it would provide.
Deep pockets and connections for his investments.
After James died, Father wanted nothing to do with the scandal. Or me.”
“He has always been a bastard,” Charlotte said with a lightness belying the sentiment. “One of the many reasons I didn’t want to return home.”
“I finally had little choice but to throw myself on his mercy. I was running out of time and money.” Remembering the trepidation of that morning still had the power to make Eleanor’s stomach roil.
She downed the rest of the glass and let it settle for a moment.
Their father had never been a warm man. Most called him ruthless, some heartless.
“He had already heard the rumors of my destitution, of course.”
“And yet he waited for you to come to him. Typical.” Charlotte snorted derisively.
She had always been braver when it came to defying their father.
She had married a man who had not met his approval.
Instead of trying to stay in his good graces, Charlotte had eloped to Scotland and then settled in Warlock in Northumberland.
It had been a sad day for Eleanor to lose her only sibling and comrade in arms against their father.
The loneliness had made her ripe for some charming man to pluck and squeeze dry.
The anger she felt was not entirely directed at James.
She deserved a fair amount. She had been stupid and gullible. An easy target.
Yet she had battled doubts. Doubts their father had glossed over in his push for the match. Deep down, she supposed she had wanted his approval and agreed to the marriage.
“Father told me to deal with my own mess, but Grace intervened and convinced him to settle a yearly sum upon me.”
Grace, their stepmother, was as soft and kind as their father was not.
Somehow, instead of dictating her every decision, their father ceded to Grace’s wishes more often than not.
While Eleanor’s settlement was not extravagant, if she lived simply, she could support herself without having to remarry.
“That was good of her.” Charlotte rose and poured herself and Eleanor another glass. “Father did the same for me after Daniel died. I assumed that meant he’d forgiven me for eloping, but perhaps I have Grace to thank.” Sounding pensive, Charlotte stared at the fire.
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Eleanor bit her lip, but didn’t prod. If Charlotte received a settlement, why was she working in trade?
“You want to know why I work as a seamstress?” Charlotte shook off her seriousness, her eyes sparkling with laughter behind her spectacles.
Eleanor let out a sighing laugh. Her sister had always been uncommonly perceptive. “I am curious.”
“I was not meant for a life of leisure, I suppose. Too much of our grandmother was passed on to me.” Their father’s mother had been a milliner. “I enjoy the creation and making women feel good about themselves. I want the baker’s wife to feel as confident in her dress as a London lady.”
Eleanor reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand. She had missed the casual optimism that Charlotte exuded. The feeling that everything might just turn out all right came over her. Or was that warmth due to finishing her second glass of brandy?
“Father would have done well to have two sons instead of us, wouldn’t he?” Eleanor asked.
“Yes, and he never let me forget it.” There was more amusement in Charlotte’s voice than anger.
“He warned me against coming north.”
“He thinks me a poor influence on you?” Charlotte burst into laughter.
“Something like that.” Eleanor thought it admirable that Charlotte had never cowed to their father and wished she had more of her sister’s backbone. If she had heeded her own misgivings, she would have not married a bounder and ended up a destitute widow.
“Let’s look forward and not back. The solstice festival is around the corner. I hope you brought a pretty winter gown to wear,” Charlotte said.
Eleanor had thought to cloister herself in Warlock and lick her wounds, not socialize. “Everything I have is mourning wear.”
Her sister made a dismissive sound. “Are you still mourning his loss?”
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably. She should be, shouldn’t she? But she didn’t miss James. Their marriage had not been what she had hoped and dreamed. It was more that she was mourning the loss of the well-tended, easy path of her life. “Well… not really.”
“Then it is time to come out of mourning. Six months is long enough. I’m busy with commissions from other ladies, but I can find the time to modify one of my dresses for you. It’s a good thing we are still of a size.”
The thought of shedding the heavy black and gray dresses lightened the yoke that had become more burdensome with every passing day. No matter what happened next, coming north to her sister had been the right decision.
Charlotte set her chin on her hand and leaned closer to Eleanor. “Now, tell me about the strange tension between you and Callum Paxton.”
“What strange tension?” Eleanor asked.
“There was a familiarity between you that I wasn’t aware of. You must have met him when you last visited.” While it wasn’t a question, it was obvious by her raised eyebrows that Charlotte was interested in the details.
“Yes, we met.” Eleanor averted her gaze.
“And?”
“And… nothing much happened.” A glance over at her sister made Eleanor huff in surrender. “Some walks. A kiss. Maybe two. But he made it clear it was only a flirtation for him, and he ended it rather abruptly.”
“Was it more than a flirtation for you?” Charlotte had lost the tease in her voice.
“I enjoyed his company. Until I didn’t. I expect there is a lady wife who keeps him occupied.” Eleanor hated the prim hurt in her voice.
“Actually, he has not married, much to the consternation of the mothers in Warlock. He is quite the catch. There are not many eligible bachelors, especially tall, good-looking ones from fine families.” Charlotte ran her finger around the edge of her glass. “It was tragic what happened, of course.”
“What happened?”
“He was promised in marriage to a local girl basically from birth. Their land abutted the Paxton farm. The young lady tragically died of a fever at the same time his father passed.” Charlotte sent Eleanor a quick glance. “Callum is a baronet now.”
Eleanor’s thoughts swirled in disarray. He had been promised to another. Did that explain why he had acted infatuated with her and then had thrown her over so easily? Had he amused himself with her while promised to another?
Men seemed to think they could use and manipulate and discard women at will. Or perhaps she attracted such vermin. Never again would a man take advantage of her in such a way.