Love's Tangle (12 page)

At last he said, “Mama, do you think it wise that Elinor lives at the Hall?”

“I don’t think it wise she lives anywhere in the vicinity but the duke is adamant that she is at least partly family and we cannot turn her away.”

“But would it not be better that she stay with us at the Dower House?”

“I am a little tired of hearing this refrain, Roland. Why do you persist in it? Do you have an interest there?”

His mother’s suspicions occasioned an angry flush. “No, indeed, Mama. I have no wish to become leg shackled for many years and when I do I will choose a bride of equal birth to my own.”

“I am glad to hear it. I wish your uncle had thought likewise before he brought disgrace upon us. The Claremonts should not be forced to suffer an illegitimate pauper in their midst.”

“Those are harsh words.”

“There can be no room for sympathy when the name of Claremont is threatened. You should know that.”

“I do but Miss Milford is charming—though not our equal,” he added hastily, “and I feel strongly that living at the Dower House would be more conducive to the young lady’s welfare.”

“She is unlikely to stay long at the Hall and I doubt she will come to harm. I shall be there, do not forget. And while I am there, I shall use it to our very best advantage.”

“I don’t understand, Mama.” His tone was plaintive.

Celia Frant looked into the distance and sighed heavily. “You so rarely do, Roland. You have little understanding of where your best suit lies and it is as well I have an eye to it. While Nell, Elinor, Milford, whatever she chooses to call herself, lives at the Hall, I will have the chance to carve out a niche for myself and for you. I shall make sure I am useful in every way possible and so acclimatize the household to the idea of a more permanent arrangement.”

Roland felt bemused but did not wish to incur his mother’s wrath by demanding an explanation. For some minutes they walked the long, winding drive in silence again and then unable to contain himself any longer, he burst out, “What kind of arrangement?”

“Simply that Gabriel Claremont is unwed and likely to remain so. His excessive living is well-known and even if he does not return to the dangers of soldiering, he is almost certain to court an early death. He should never have inherited, a younger son of a younger son. He has no more right to the dukedom than you.”

“I am his heir, Mama.”

“And as his heir you should be far more involved in the running of the estate, and more familiar with the routine of the household. The servants should know that you are next in line and treat you as such.”

“And you think that going as chaperon to Miss Milford will forward this plan?”

“It will make a beginning. I am convinced the girl’s stay will be short and I mean to continue at the Hall long after she has gone. I intend to carve out a foothold for us and make our advance that much easier.”

Roland looked thoughtful, unsure whether to voice further concerns which had come to mind. In the end, he decided to be brave. “Are you not afraid that Gabriel might fall in love with her and make her his wife?”

“Such sentimental nonsense! Dukes do not fall in love. He might make her his mistress for he has no notion of what is due to his state. But he would know better than to marry her. He has her history to hand—like mother, like daughter.”

“Again, Mama, that is very harsh.”

“I will confess I am angry, deeply angry, at what has transpired. I knew nothing of my brother’s by-blow and never thought I would have to stoop to associating with her.”

“Did you have no idea of Uncle Charles’ secret?”

“Of course I did not. Are you suggesting he would have told a sister, years his junior, such a shocking tale? If he told anyone, it would have been Hugo. As his only brother and near to him in age, that might have made some sense. It is possible he told Hugo’s son when Jonathan came of age. But they are all dead and we cannot know.”

“Do you think Aunt Louisa knew her husband’s history?”

“Louisa is an earl’s daughter. If she suspected, she would have had the sense and the dignity to say nothing.”

They walked up the short pathway to the front entrance of the Dower House. Roland lifted the latch but before pushing the door open, he felt bold enough to ask, “Do you think she should be told now?”

“That will be up to Gabriel. For myself I would advise him to say nothing. Charles is no more and Louisa has returned to Northumberland, to the bosom of her family. Why stir waters that can remain calm—especially as this particular little storm is almost certain to blow itself out before it has properly begun.”

Chapter Seven

It took several days for Elinor to stop waking before five and scrambling into her clothes. Even after a week she could not accustom herself to Alice bringing her hot water each day and a morning cup of chocolate. Nor to the spacious room she now occupied with its stunning vista of water and wood. Every morning she opened her eyes to the murals splashed across the ceiling above and wondered where on earth she was. Alice had been her lifeline in relaying in minute detail what was being said among the servants about this extraordinary turn of events. No one seemed to bear her ill will, which was comforting, but several of the men had expressed a view on Elinor’s preferment which Alice did not want to repeat. Suffice to say the duke’s morals had come into question.

But the duke was the least of Elinor’s problems. He seemed to be playing least in sight and though he had not yet left for Brighton, he was out on horseback for days on end, apparently checking the furthest reaches of his estate. On occasion he stayed overnight at whatever hostelry was nearest and when next she saw him, he would be striding mud-splattered from the stables to go directly to the bailiff’s office or to his own study. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time on estate affairs for someone who had previously shown little interest. Elinor could only assume he was deliberately keeping out of her way and out of the way of his aunt. That at least was understandable for it was Celia Frant she found most wearing.

It was nothing the woman actually said but in her company Elinor always felt a fraud. She guessed that Lady Frant was hoping her unwelcome guest would not be at Allingham for long and it was a hope she shared. The luxury of being served by an army of retainers was a guilty pleasure and living in splendor a delight; but she was bored. She was used to work, not shuffling her way through aimless hours, interspersed by the occasional walk, the occasional book or journal, the odd hour’s practice on the pianoforte. It was a dawdling life and she was desperate to feel useful once more.

One evening, after enduring yet another silent meal, she decided to meet the challenge head on and turned to Lady Frant as they were leaving the table.

“While I am here, your ladyship, I would like to be of some practical help at Allingham. I was wondering if there is anything I might do.”

Celia Frant sniffed. “Hardly. The duke has a staff of over a hundred. There is even a new dairymaid hired in your place, I believe, so butter making is no longer an option.”

“I was not thinking of butter making,” Elinor flushed. “But perhaps something in the house.”

“Dusting? I think not, there are housemaids a plenty for that.”

The willful misinterpretation of her words only strengthened Elinor’s resolution. “I was thinking there might be opportunities for fine sewing. I am generally believed to be an accomplished needlewoman.”

“Like your mother, you mean.”

The tone was derisive but Elinor refused to be silenced. “In fact, Lady Frant, my mother was a talented painter.”

“If you say so, my dear.”

“I have the proof. Did you ever see the miniatures she painted of herself and her lover?”

Elinor intended to shock and she had. Celia’s face grew crimson. “You would be well advised never to allude to such immorality again. Such a shocking past should stay buried.”

Elinor’s head was high. “I do not consider my past
is
shocking for I am certain I was conceived in love. No woman could paint with such tender feeling and not love the subject of her painting.”

Lady Frant stalked to the door. “This conversation is improper in the extreme. Please never refer to such things again.” The door closed behind her with a sharp smack.

Elinor knew she had gone too far. Celia Frant was deeply unhappy with her presence at Allingham and the disgraceful nature of her brother’s affair only added to the flames. She should have trod lightly and shown greater sensitivity to the older woman’s feelings. But she could not bring herself to like her and, though during the daylight hours they managed to avoid each other almost completely, the evenings were a trial for them both.

****

Halfway through the week a diversion occurred to lighten her mind. The carrier from Steyning arrived, his cart crammed full with boxes of every shape and size but all fastened with fancy ribbons. It took three footmen to heave them up the steep steps to Elinor’s tower room.

“Are these all for me?” she gasped, when one by one the men deposited their burdens.

The youngest footman grinned. He was still young enough to enjoy getting presents himself. As soon as he left, she tore eagerly at the first box. Within minutes she was admiring a dress of eau de nil sarsnet flounced with French trimmings. She held it up against herself and danced around the room, the frills of the gown swaying and rustling to her movements. Then on to the next box and the next and the next. It was not long before the bed and floor were littered with gowns for every occasion along with matching pelisses, spencers, gloves, reticules made from the finest silk and even a velvet cape of forest green: everything indeed a young lady might need to make a splash in society.

In the middle of this glorious havoc, there was a soft tap at the door and Alice entered. The grapevine had been busy in the servants’ quarters and, as soon as she heard the news, she had hurried to her mistress. In seconds she was as busy as Elinor, drawing from the remaining bandboxes shoes for walking and for dancing, for inclement weather and for good, along with poke bonnets sporting the brightest ribbons and charming confections of gauze masquerading as hats. One particular Norwich shawl sent her into ecstasies until Elinor rescued it from her frantic clasp. In the very last bandbox they uncovered a cache of silk stockings and three of the laciest nightgowns Elinor had ever seen. Their excited chatter ceased. They were kneeling on the floor facing each other and exchanged a look which bridged the gulf between mistress and maid. Such intimate items provoked the same thought in each young woman but it was Elinor who voiced it.

“Who could have ordered such things?”

“Lady Frant?” Alice suggested hopefully.

“I would think it highly unlikely. But perhaps her lady’s maid?” She was desperate for there to be a respectable explanation.

“More like it’s Mrs. Lucas. She’s probably been told to supply a wardrobe for you, Miss, now you’re Quality.”

“Yes, Mrs. Lucas,” Elinor agreed gratefully. If that were so, she had admirable taste and an amazing eye for style and fit.

“How very thoughtful of her to have covered—well, just about everything.” She laughed uncertainly but then the morning dresses, the walking dresses, the evening apparel regained her attention and soon she and Alice were carefully hanging these precious acquisitions in the hitherto empty wardrobe. When at last her maid left, Elinor stood gazing at her new riches, entranced by the softly shimmering silks and satins. Even the simple muslins were of the finest weave and all chosen to compliment the dark hair and pale skin of her Irish ancestry.

That evening she chose to wear the pale apricot figured silk with cream kid slippers and a fillet of tiny cream blossoms woven through her dark curls. As she entered the dining room, Celia Frant stared in surprise. She was accustomed to sitting down to dinner with a grey mouse and the girl who took her chair opposite looked complete to a shade, her hair dressed
à la mode
courtesy of Alice’s perusal of
La Belle Assemblée
. But rigid upbringing ensured that she ignored the transformation.

Once more the duke made no appearance and by the evening’s slow end Elinor felt miserably deflated. The moment she had donned the exquisite gown and Alice had dressed her hair so beautifully, she had felt like the giddy girl she had never been. She had tripped down the tower stairs with happiness in her soul, longing to laugh and dance, to be lively and bright, to feel the warmth of male approval. Instead she had sat in cold silence with a woman who deplored her. Back in her room she took the flowers from her hair and bundled the dress sadly away.

****

The next morning she could not be persuaded to step out in one of the smart walking dresses she and Alice had unpacked only yesterday. Instead she dressed herself in the familiar grey poplin and kept to her room. By two o’ clock she was thoroughly weary of the tower, of the Hall, of herself. She wandered over to the window and stared blankly out at the vista: the stables to one side, the rose garden to the other, and right before her acre upon acre of rolling green. The sound of a horse and carriage being driven hard came to her ears and in a minute a high perch phaeton appeared around the corner of the house, traveling at a spanking pace. It pulled to a rapid halt at the rear entrance. The duke had arrived. She watched him jump from the carriage, looking down on the scene from her turret like a princess waiting for rescue. At that moment, he looked up and grinned. He had read the fairy tale too. The grin decided her. She would beard him in his den. She gave him a while to settle and then made her way to his study.

“Come in.” The tone was unpromising but his expression lightened when he looked up from his desk and saw her.

Elinor walked a few paces into the room. “May I speak with you, Your Grace?”

“You’re here, so by all means speak!”

He waved his hand towards one of the easy chairs but she preferred to stay standing close to the door. She wasn’t at all sure how he would respond to her proposal.

“How do you find your new life?” His question stopped her as she was about to begin the small speech she had prepared.