Upon entering the house she went up to her room, freshened her appearance, and changed into a more suitable gown for entertaining guests in the afternoon. She was expected to join her sisters and the female guests in the back parlor for tea while the men did whatever it was gentlemen did to keep themselves occupied.
Clad in a simple gown of dark blue muslin, Eleanor left her room and returned downstairs. When she entered the parlor, she discovered the rest of the ladies already in attendance.
A happy chorus of voices erupted at her entrance, bringing a smile to her lips. What a lovely welcome.
"Forgive my tardiness, ladies," she requested, taking a seat on the chair next to Arabella. "I had duties in the village to attend to."
"We only just poured the tea," Lydia informed her, offering her a cup. "Lady Dumont was about to tell us about a delightfully scandalous book she's discovered."
Lady Dumont, an attractive woman of middle age, colored ever so slightly. "I am not certain the unmarried ladies would appreciate such a text." She cast a hasty glance at Eleanor as she spoke.
It was meant to be considerate, but the remark was like a slap to Eleanor. She was not the only unmarried woman in the room, but she felt it. For her age and station in life, she was an oddity. Two-and-thirty and still a virgin.
She managed a smile. "I am hardly a green girl, Lady Dumont. Please do not worry about offending me. I am as in favor of naughty stories as any other woman." Actually, she hadn't much experience with risqué reading. She had read
Tom Jones
, and that was supposed to be unfit for single ladies. And when she was younger she had snuck a peek at a book of anatomy in her father's library.
"Although," she continued, "perhaps we should give the younger ladies and their mamas the chance to leave the room if they wish?"
It was obvious that the girls wished to stay, but there wasn't a mama in the room who would allow her daughter to listen to something unsuitable for young ears. Several chairs were vacated, and when Eleanor was convinced she was the only untouched woman in the room, she spoke once more. "You may proceed, Lady Dumont."
Her words brought a smile to the buxom woman's lips as she reached underneath her chair and pulled out a slim volume. She held it up for all to see.
"The latest volume of Fanny Carson's memoirs," she announced with a smug expression.
Eleanor's exclamation joined with the others. Fanny Carson was of Harriet Wilson's set— a very popular member of the demimonde who had "entertained" some of the most powerful men in England and on the continent. Like Harriet Wilson, Fanny had decided there was more money to be made from her affairs and offered her memoirs to a publisher. Not only was she paid to write the books, but any gentleman who did not want his relationship with Fanny offered for public enjoyment had to pay to keep his name out of print.
However, while Harriet Wilson had at least kept a degree of decorum in her writings, it was said that Fanny Carson revealed an indecent amount of information about her lovers, giving intimate details about each liaison.
"Horace is in that book," Lady Merrott remarked dryly as she daintily lifted a cucumber sandwich from the tray before her. "I am eager to hear what Mrs. Carson has to say about my husband. I wonder if she found him as painfully dreadful in the bedroom as I did."
Her words were met with laughter. Even Eleanor, who was a bit embarrassed by the frank talk, had to chuckle. How could one not appreciate Lady Merrott's sense of humor? Lord knew, Eleanor would not be quite so glib if her husband's name appeared in such a work. It was well known that Lord Merrott had never been that kind to his wife, so no doubt few in the room had any sympathy for the man.
"Let us find out what Mrs. Carson has to say about dear Horace then," Lady Dumont chirped and began flipping through the pages. It was obvious she had several passages marked, whether for her own enjoyment or to read to the group was unclear.
By the time Lady Dumont was done reading— and she did so with much gusto and flair— about the unfortunate Horace, Eleanor was red to the roots of her hair. She laughed with the rest of the ladies at his expense, however. Mrs. Carson was not kind in her descriptions, and Lady Merrott had added her own comments throughout the reading.
The first reading was immediately followed by another concerning Lord Pennington, which was as equally scathing and amusing as the first.
"You should publish your memoirs," Lady Merrott told Lady Dumont coyly, drawing chuckles from some of the other women.
Lady Dumont adopted a look of patently false innocence. "Are you implying I have taken lovers?"
More chuckles. Eleanor glanced around the room. No one else seemed the least bit shocked or uncomfortable with this kind of talk. Was this what being married was like? Did a woman instantly become able to talk and joke about such intimate matters once her vows were said?
No, not once her vows were said. It was sexual experience that made these women able to talk so freely, experience that Eleanor didn't have and wasn't likely to at the rate she was going.
Lady Dumont lifted her blue eyes toward the ceiling, as though in contemplation. "I suppose I could give one or two gentlemen cause for alarm by publishing such a volume."
"One or two!" It was Lydia who made the incredulous outburst. "I believe there would be significantly more than that!"
Lady Dumont only giggled. "Name one."
Lady Dumont was enjoying this, Eleanor realized. She liked the attention. She liked their knowing she'd had a string of lovers— and she'd had many, even when her husband was alive. It made her feel powerful on some level. How odd. What kind of power was there in admitting that your marriage was so awful that you had to seek "companionship" elsewhere? She would think there was more to boast about in a faithful marriage than an unfaithful one.
"Wynthrope Ryland," Lydia crowed.
Eleanor's heart gave a little thump. Brahm's brother? Lady Dumont had an affair with him? But he was younger than she!
Lady Dumont shook her head. Her smile remained that of a cat who had just swallowed a whole nest of canaries, but now that self-satisfied curve turned rueful. "Wynthrope Ryland would not be the least bit uncomfortable by my revealing details of our affair."
"His wife might be," someone remarked. Eleanor couldn't tell who had spoken.
Lady Dumont's expression tightened for a split second. She obviously didn't like Wynthrope's wife. Why? Was she jealous?
"It is best not to interfere with happy marriages," Lady Dumont remarked with surprising sincerity. "It never goes well for the one who does the interfering. But there is one unattached Ryland left, and he is fair game."
Done with little thumps, Eleanor's heart gave a mighty leap as some of the other women murmured their appreciation. Brahm was the only unattached Ryland that she knew of.
"He's in there?" It was Lady Fairchild who asked.
Lady Dumont nodded. "He is."
"But he is here at the party," Phoebe remarked, casting the briefest of glances in Eleanor's direction. "It would not be right."
Lady Dumont didn't miss a beat. "Merrott is here as well, but no one minded hearing about him." She cast a more lingering gaze at Eleanor herself. "Unless you would prefer I not read it?"
Eleanor stared at the woman. Was she genuinely concerned, or merely trying to stir up gossip? It was obvious Lady Dumont was so eager to read about Brahm that she could scarcely contain herself.
And truth be told, part of Eleanor wanted to hear it. The other night Brahm had told her that he wasn't a libertine. What was he then? If he had affairs with notorious courtesans, then he was far from chaste. She wanted to hear what Fanny Carson had to say about his prowess as a lover. If it was bad, then perhaps she'd stop thinking about those few kisses they had shared a million and a half years ago. Maybe she'd stop wishing he'd kiss her again just so she might experience that same heart-pounding excitement once more.
Part of her wanted him to be a rotten lover so she would stop wondering. Another part of her wanted to hear that he was everything she thought he was and more.
And if she told Lady Dumont she didn't want to hear it, then she would be admitting that she was bothered by it, and she'd rather jump off the roof than admit anything of the sort to this woman— or any of the rest of them.
"By all means," she replied with a slight smile. "I am as intrigued as everyone else."
Was that disappointment on Lady Dumont's pretty face? Good.
It seemed to take forever for Lady Dumont to find the page, but find it she did, and as she began reading, Eleanor's mouth became increasingly dry— not even tea could soothe it. Her throat tightened, her blood burned, and yet she sat as still and expressionless as she was capable of.
Fanny Carson praised Brahm for being a generous benefactor, for having a love of life and a quick wit. She also remarked on his ability as a dancer and a horseman, which indicated that their affair had begun prior to Brahm's accident. How much prior? Was he sleeping with her while he courted Eleanor? Or had he run to the courtesan after Eleanor rejected him? Or worse yet, did his going to Fanny Carson have nothing to do with Eleanor at all? Perhaps he had forgotten all about her at that time.
Fanny Carson also mentioned Brahm's predilection for strong spirits. It seemed that the "lady" shared his enthusiasm and they often drank together. No doubt that had been part of the attraction.
"'As a lover,'" Lady Dumont read, "'Brahm Ryland will forever be remembered by the author as a man without equal.'"
Several oohs and ahs heightened the fire in Eleanor's veins.
A man without equal
. Good God, what kind of man did a courtesan consider without equal as a lover? Certainly not a man who claimed
not
to be libertine.
Lady Dumont continued, "'Always considerate, Brahm would often spend hours at a time tending to my pleasure without a thought to his own. He knew exactly how to reduce me to a heap of boneless flesh, sated and replete with sensual satisfaction. He is a virtuoso, and his instrument is a woman's form.'"
The band around Eleanor's throat tightened. Had she actually heard a sigh behind her?
"'Not until he was certain I could take no more would he take his own fulfillment. Stretched and filled by his massive maleness, I thanked God that Eve tempted Adam, for being bedded by Brahm Ryland is paradise itself.'"
Lady Dumont looked up from pages and made a great show of fanning herself with her hand as titters echoed around the room. "Dear me. Such praise for Lord Creed." Her smile turned deviously coy. "I wonder if any one of us can testify to the validity of Mrs. Carson's claims?"
There were murmurs around the room, even a few giggles, but if there was one among them who had taken Brahm to her bed, she wasn't speaking. If Lydia spoke, Eleanor would personally wring her neck later.
Her sister kept her mouth shut, unlike Lady Dumont, who opened hers to read more. She was cut off, however, by Arabella, who mercifully announced that it was time for them to retire to their rooms to rest and change before dinner.
There were a few disappointed mutters, but the ladies filed out of the room like dutiful children. Several of them followed after Lady Dumont, no doubt wanting to hear more about Brahm and his "massive maleness." Did that mean what Eleanor thought it did? It had to. Innocent she might be, but she wasn't stupid.
"I am so sorry you had to hear that, dearest," Arabella said once the door closed and they were alone. Even their sisters had departed. Lydia had been one of the ladies following after Lady Dumont. Perhaps her sister wanted to compare notes.
"It is nothing, Belle. Brahm Ryland is a man like any other, with all the same flaws and weaknesses. At least Mrs. Carson was kinder to him than some of her other companions."
Her sister gifted her with a small, loving smile. "Always understanding. Always fair and unjudging. You are too good, Eleanor."
Too good? If Arabella only knew how patently
un
good she felt at this moment! She felt foolish and angry and humiliated— anything but good! As for unjudging, that was such a joke. She judged people all the time, especially Brahm.
She stood and gave her sister a hug before sending her on her way like a mother shooing a child. Dear Arabella, she always had been the sweetest of them. The sweetest and the best.
Alone in the parlor, Eleanor drifted toward one of the windows that overlooked the back lawn and garden. In the distance she could see the gentlemen's party returning from their ride. They were too far away for her to tell who was who, but a tall figure near the rear caught her attention. Was it Brahm? Did his leg ache from too much time in the saddle? Did he know that Fanny Carson had betrayed the bonds of intimacy between them?
Why did she care? Why did she feel so hollow inside? Why was she so blasted angry at him, at herself, and most of all at Fanny Carson?
