The Uncatchable Miss Faversham (17 page)

    Her eyes flying open in furious shock, Eleanor glared at the endless rain-driven fields.

    She felt as though she were going mad, while everything outside continued on in the normal way. The cows were lying down patiently in their drenched pastures, the carriage wheels threw up misty spumes of water at every dip and corner, and the woods loomed dark as ever. She was the one who did not fit here, who could not find a place for herself.

    What kind of gentlewoman did not wish to be married? And to a man of comfortable wealth and title too.

    On the face of it, their union would be perfect, the obvious partnership. Except that the thought of accepting his ring on her finger threw her into a panic: to be pledged to him forever, to be his wife, his possession. For a woman used to making her own decisions, marriage was the opposite of love, a kind of slavery.

    And yet her pulse ran wild at the idea of Nathaniel as her husband, legally entitled to share her bed.

    If only her own dear mother had lived longer, perhaps she could have asked her advice. Yet the memory of her mother was tainted by the realisation that Mrs Lovett had been more than just her father’s tenant. If Eleanor relented and agreed to marry Nathaniel, how long before her husband grew bored and took a mistress behind her back, just as her father had done?

    Lord Sallinger needed an heir. That could be the only reason for his offer of marriage. Yet his emotions were as turbulent and unpredictable as ever.

    It was dark by the time they reached the capital, the streets still busy with traffic even at that late hour, their passage impeded at every turn by a multitude of people and other vehicles. Still, the driver managed to thread his way slowly through the narrow streets until they reached the welcoming facade of her town house in Berkeley Square.

    Hanging out of the window as the driver halted before the front entrance, Charlotte called out breathlessly, ‘Is this your town house? Oh, how lovely.’

    Tired to the bone, Eleanor descended and gave her orders to the driver. The other carriage drew up, and the wailing cries of little Robert could be heard inside, accompanied by the frazzled voice of his Nurse, attempting to soothe the exhausted child.

    Her London butler, the tall and eternally precise Shearsman, opened the door in reply to her urgent summons on the bell.

    His eyes widened slightly at the sight of so many people on the doorstep, but long years of training forbade anything but the stiffest of bows as he welcomed his young mistress back to her home.

    ‘Miss Faversham.’ Stately as ever, Shearsman accepted her proffered cloak, his face a mask of discretion. ‘So good to have you back in London, Miss. I’m afraid the bedrooms have not been aired. We were not expecting you for at least another week.’ He had seen the struggling child, being carried out of the carriage by a horrified footman, and was now almost a statue. ‘Might I ask how many rooms will you be requiring, Miss? The house is a trifle damp, but I shall instruct fires to be lit at once.’

    ‘This is Mrs Tatchell, and her young son Robert. I expect Robert’s Nurse will want to share a room with him, and Mrs Tatchell must take the front bedchamber.’ Her maid was just behind her, carrying a number of small bags in her arms. ‘Suzanne, you will wait on Mrs Tatchell tonight. I can manage for myself.’

    Eleanor paused on the lit threshold, entering her dear London house with a smile and a profound sense of relief at having returned home at last, as though some dreadful ordeal was finally over. She had first acquired this house using her own sizeable personal allowance soon after arriving in London, and had found it a most comfortable and convenient residence.

    Even the candles seemed to glow a little brighter here than at the Hall in Warwickshire. Here Eleanor was indisputably mistress of all she surveyed. It was so much easier to feel in charge when surrounded by her own things and her own people, she thought, remembering her weakness and indecision in the face of Sallinger’s interest.

    ‘We shall need to eat a hot meal, if there is anything available. Please apologise to Cook for the short notice. We only stopped three times along the way, not wanting to reach London too late. So none of us has taken much more than a bite since luncheon. Robert seems quite distraught, poor thing, so I imagine his Nurse will want to give him a light supper upstairs and then put him to bed.’

    She beckoned the wide-eyed Charlotte towards the small back salon, a room she usually favoured in the evenings, where a fire was already being hurriedly lit by one of the understairs maids.

    ‘Could you ask Cook to arrange something for Mrs Tatchell and myself in the dining room, say in an hour?’

    ‘At once, Miss Faversham.’

    Having kissed her belligerent child on the forehead before watching him carried off upstairs, Charlotte wandered ahead of her into the back salon and was staring at a large pile of mail on an occasional table by the chaise longue.

    ‘I hope my poor little Robert will sleep tonight. He can be quite stubborn when he has a mind to ... Goodness, Nell, are all these letters for you?’

    ‘Not letters, dearest. Invitations, I should think.’

    Eleanor barely glanced at the heaped pile but approached the fire, stripping off her travelling gloves and stretching out her hands to the warmth. How glad she was to be out of that damp swaying carriage; the journey had seemed interminable, especially once darkness fell and she was no longer able to admire the passing scenery. But now she was home and could be herself again.

    ‘Invitations? You mean, to parties and balls?’

    Eleanor laughed at Charlotte’s eager tone. ‘Yes, and to morning coffee and several dozen social calls that I’ve missed while out of town, I expect. All nonsense, of course, but one must keep up appearances. Besides, the season is not yet in full swing. If it were, the heap would be three times as large!’ She sighed happily, glancing around the comfortable room. ‘How good it is to be home. I cannot wait to see my own horses again and to ride in the park.’

    Charlotte, who clearly could not ride in her condition, looked a little concerned. ‘Shall we go shopping too?’

    ‘Yes, of course we shall go shopping.’ Eleanor hesitated. ‘Forgive me for mentioning my horses, that was an insensitive thing to do. You must miss being able to ride.’

    ‘Not particularly,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘I’ve never really trusted horses. They’re so big, aren’t they?’

    ‘I suppose they are, yes.’

    ‘But what a delight to go shopping in town. I was quite sick of those poky little shops in Leamington Spa, I assure you.’ Charlotte sank onto the chaise longue, her face pale and tired, but a light in her eyes which Eleanor could not remember seeing before. ‘You are so kind to have allowed us to accompany you back to town. I only hope we have not put you out. Poor Robert – ’

    ‘Pray, let’s hear no more of poor Robert!’

    Smoothing out her crumpled gown, Eleanor threw herself down onto the pale green sofa opposite her friend and laughed, seeing her friend’s worried expression.

    ‘No, no. That was grossly unfair of me! I am not out of sorts with you, dearest Charlotte. But we are in London, so let’s talk of town instead. What do you need first? Gowns or bonnets?’

    ‘Bonnets. No, gowns.’ Charlotte bit her lip, frowning. ‘Perhaps bonnets. Oh, I don’t know. I cannot decide.’

    ‘You said your gowns are grown a trifle uncomfortable of late. Which is only to be expected when you are increasing. I shall ask my seamstress to see what she can do. Meanwhile, let’s talk bonnets!’

    It was only after they had sat down to a light supper of partridge pie and boiled vegetables that Eleanor found the energy to open her invitations. She began with those nearest the top of the pile, hoping these would be most recent. One of them made her smile. It was from the younger Mr Lovett, sending her his compliments and letting her have his direction while in London.

    She set that letter aside, then gave a small cry of pleasure at the next note.

    ‘Charlotte, I am invited to a ball tomorrow evening at Lady De Lessau’s home. Shall I reply and ask her indulgence for you as an additional guest? I am sure she will not turn you away.’ She handed the invitation to her friend. ‘I would normally have taken my dear companion Louisa with me, but she is out of town at present, visiting her parents in Oxfordshire. Say you will come instead!’

    Charlotte looked dubiously down at her rounded figure. ‘I shall need a ball gown specially-made.’

    ‘Mm, that is a problem. But one of mine might be let out for you in time, if we can send it round to my seamstress first thing in the morning. Shall I write back and accept anyway?’ She went to her desk in search of ink and her best writing paper. ‘Unless the idea of a ball is too fatiguing to contemplate so soon after your arrival?’

    ‘It’s true that I am easily fatigued these days. But indeed, I would love nothing better than to go to a ball!’

    Eleanor smiled at the pleasure and flushed excitement in her friend’s face. ‘It is good to see you happy.’

    ‘I told you that London would be good for me, after the constant rain and chills of Warwickshire.’

    ‘You did, indeed.’

    Looking thoughtful, Eleanor returned to her seat with a writing tray. The first thing she must do is write to Louisa and beg her to return to London at once. She loved Charlotte dearly – but a whole fortnight of her conversation alone must surely drive her mad. If it was not the weather and her suffering health under discussion, it was darling young Robert and his various ailments and problems. Though that was assuming that her brother would not swoop down upon them like some Greek Fury and reclaim his sister before the week was out.

    ‘I wonder if Nathaniel has learnt of your disappearance yet.’

    Charlotte shivered visibly and drew closer to the fire. ‘Pray let’s not talk of my brother, Eleanor. I know there must be a scene when we are reunited, for he will be very angry at what I’ve done. But just for these few days, let me enjoy my visit to London.’ Her smile was tremulous. ‘Tell me instead which gown you will lend me. Not too low-cut, I hope?’

‘Miss Faversham!’ As Eleanor returned breathless from the floor after her third country dance, her hand was seized and kissed before she had time to see the face of the gentleman now bent low over it. ‘I had feared you would never return to London. Then I heard only this morning that you were back, and dared hope we would meet again soon. But tonight ... !’

    Eleanor blinked, dazed at such an enthusiastic greeting but smiling as she realised the identity of this young man. She had not expected to see him at this party though. ‘Mr Lovett?’

    ‘And the lady remembers my name!’ Thomas Lovett stepped back, straightening, his eyes full of admiration as he took in her cerise gown, edged with the finest French lace and cut rather low in front. ‘In the rural depths of Warwickshire, you shone like a star above all other ladies. Here in the city, in your true setting, you are a flawless diamond!’

    Eleanor laughed, shaking her head. ‘Indeed, sir, you are making fun of me and that is most ungentlemanly of you. But where have you learnt all this flattery?’

    ‘From my new friends, Burton and Dasser. They tell me the ladies love such lavish compliments of their person.’ He smiled with his eyes, warm as ever. ‘But not Miss Faversham, clearly.’

    ‘I’m afraid not.’

    ‘Have I your scorn now? I fully deserve to be roasted, I admit. Yet you cannot blame me for attempting to catch your attention. You are the “Uncatchable” Miss Faversham, after all!’

    ‘Oh no,’ she cried, in mock despair. ‘What, have you been in town only a few days and already you know all my secrets?’

    ‘Alas, they are not so very secret.’

    A well-fed dandy flanked by two ladies in towering ostrich-feather headdresses passed between them, and they were forced to move aside in silence for a moment.

    Once the dandy had gone past, Thomas Lovett bent over her gloved hand again, smiling. His kiss was light, almost mocking.

    ‘You are a beautiful and still unattached heiress, Miss Faversham. Your return has been the talk of the town. Do not act surprised to know it.’ He laughed and shook his head at her expression. ‘No denials, either. But I hear you have brought your friend Mrs Tatchell back with you too, that lady who commiserated with me so graciously at my late mother’s funeral. If she is here this evening, I should be delighted to renew our acquaintance.’

    Glad to shift the topic of conversation away from herself, Eleanor looked about the crowded ballroom. ‘Charlotte was at my side a moment ago. I think she became faint and meant to take some air. It is a little stuffy in here, isn’t it?’

    Gallantly, Lovett offered her his arm. ‘You would care for some fresh air yourself, Miss Faversham? Let me escort you into the gardens. I believe they are very fine. And it is so mild this evening, you will not need a wrap, I am certain of it.’

    Eleanor hesitated, suddenly aware of watchful gazes fixed on them from the side seats. His offer seemed innocent enough, but she knew he had grown rather attached to her during his brief stay in Warwickshire. It would not do to encourage his advances only to reject them again if he became too familiar with her.

    ‘Perhaps we should wait for Mrs Tatchell to return first.’

    ‘You are afraid for your reputation?’

    Thomas was teasing her, waggling his eyebrows in a mock-sinister fashion. She smiled, sensing no danger whatsoever from this unaffected young man. He had been so kind and friendly during the funeral, she could not help but feel comfortable in his company. The old dowagers could stare all they wished; it was nothing she had not done before, and with far more elevated personages than Thomas Lovett.

    ‘Always,’ she agreed, placing her gloved hand delicately on his sleeve. ‘Yet since I am so often hung for a mere bagatelle, why refine too much on this? Let us take a walk about the gardens together – that should give the gossipmongers something to whisper about, and perhaps we shall meet Charlotte on the way.’