Chapter 13

Eleanor stood in the drawing room. It was late afternoon, the sunshine warm and golden where it spilled in through the window onto the floor. She settled on the chaise-longue and then stood up again, feeling at once tired and distracted. She had spent all day sitting with the Marquess, but despite the long hours by his bedside, reading to him so that he could sleep or trying to feed him gruel, her thoughts were still distracted by Sebastian the previous day.

"My lady?" Amy Whitford, her maid, suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Yes?" Eleanor asked, turning towards the door.

"Um...my lady? I just fetched in the laundry. Which gown should I keep out for dinner this evening?"

"The yellow one, please," Eleanor asked politely. It was a pretty dress in a strong sunny yellow that suited her well. Only a few of her dresses were strong colors, and her mind drifted to the thought that, some time, she would need to order some more gowns made up. If Sebastian would allow her the expenditure, that was. She tensed awkwardly. It would be so hard to ask him when she barely knew him and had no idea what he really thought of her.

He was so strange. Sometimes, she could swear he disliked her—he spoke dismissively, barely looking at her. At other times, he gazed at her with a look in his eyes that made her body melt with longing. He confused her more than she could express.

Miss Whitford cannot really help me in this matter, she thought with a smile.

Miss Whitford seemed somewhat nervous of men, though her interest in Thomas, the groom, was certainly more than simply because they had the same employer. All the same, it didn't seem fair to talk of the earl to Miss Whitford, since he was, after all, the person paying both her and all the rest of the staff. It would be too awkward for everyone.

That made things difficult, since she had nobody to confide in.

"Very good, my lady," Amy replied.

"Thank you," Eleanor answered.

Amy curtseyed and went out and Eleanor sighed.

She wandered to the window, lost in thought. The flowerbeds she had dug were visible. She had discussed their planting with the head gardener already.

"My lady?"

Eleanor jumped as the sound of another voice disturbed her. She whipped around to find the butler there.

"Yes?" she asked, heart thudding. She thought perhaps he had news about Lord Ramsgate's condition.

"My lady? A coach has just arrived. Should I show the visitor in? His lordship is in Ramsgate village. I am certain he will return within the next hour."

"Oh." Eleanor felt her heart thud. She hadn't planned to receive anyone. She looked at her dress, which was white muslin and presentable enough, though if the guests were less well-acquainted with the family, she would prefer to change it for something more elaborate. "Who is it?"

"Lady Waddingham, my lady. Would you like me to admit her to the drawing room?"

"Please," Eleanor replied. She felt her stomach twist a little queasily. Lady Waddingham was strange, and her words always unsettling. Yet somehow, she felt the need to talk with her. She nodded to the butler, who hurried off.

"Lady Glenfield!" Lady Waddingham greeted her, appearing in the doorway seemingly immediately after the butler had gone downstairs. She was wearing a long dress in a rich gray blue. Her hair was covered with the barest of veils. "How grand to see you."

"Lady Waddingham," Eleanor greeted her, curtseying low. "It is a pleasant surprise. Please, call me Eleanor," she added, blushing. It felt so strange to have the older woman call her by her title.

"Well, you must call me Tessa, then. Or Aunt, if you would prefer." Aunt Tessa beamed; her long, regal face suddenly warm as she smiled.

"Thank you," Eleanor replied. "I shall."

"Well, then," Aunt Tessa said with another bright grin. "Let us sit down to tea. I am delighted to see you."

"I'll send for the tea," Eleanor said, moving towards the bell. "Sebastian is regrettably busy," she added, thinking that his aunt would probably miss him.

"I know, my dear," Aunt Tessa answered instantly. "I wished to speak to him also. But firstly, I wished to speak to you without others listening."

"Oh?" Eleanor felt her heart pounding. "Why is that?"

"Because, my dear, I feel there is a lot you need to know."

"There is?" Eleanor whispered. She looked around nervously. "You must also wish to hear of your nephew," she added. "Lord Ramsgate is recovering. He ate some gruel yesterday."

"Good, good." Aunt Tessa replied at once, though she did not, really, sound that interested. She was focusing on Eleanor in a way that made her tense as she reached for the teapot.

She looked at Aunt Tessa inquiringly.

"My dear," Aunt Tessa began, responding to the inquiring expression. "Is aught troubling you?"

"Um, no," Eleanor began. "No, Aunt." She was surprised by how natural it felt to call Lady Waddingham "aunt". "Actually, well..." she wet her lips nervously. "I was wondering about the, um, the fact you mentioned."

"The curse, you mean?" Aunt Tessa asked, as calm as ever.

"Yes! Yes," Eleanor replied, her voice shrill with nerves. Even mentioning it was a frightening idea. The thought of witches and witchcraft discomforted her—even though she had joked about it in her story with the children. Everyone who lived outside the city had heard of someone who had been cursed. She looked at Aunt Tessa, who seemed remarkably unbothered by the notion, as if she heard of such things every day.

"Yes, my dear," Aunt Tessa replied seriously. "The curse. It is not just a story, though my nephew, dear Randall, does tend to act as though it's a fairytale to frighten small children. And Sebastian will hear nothing of it." She sighed.

Randall, Eleanor guessed, was the first name of Sebastian's father. Aunt Tessa, despite her vitality, was actually the aunt of Sebastian's father, making her Sebastian's great aunt. All the same, she seemed remarkably close to the family and if she was serious about this story, Eleanor wished to hear.

"What is it?" Eleanor asked softly, voice trembling.

"It's simple," Aunt Tessa replied. "The lineage of my family is cursed not to proliferate. Which means, in short, that we are very lacking in heirs. As you might know, Randall was an only child, despite his mama becoming with child several times."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Eleanor murmured. She swallowed hard. That was a horrible tale.

"No need, my dear. It was horrid," Aunt Tessa agreed. "It's a most unfortunate curse. And it has been there for several generations."

"Yes," Eleanor breathed. Again, she was struck by Aunt Tessa's blase comments. It was almost as if the woman knew something more.

She cleared her throat, about to inquire if Aunt Tessa had knowledge of who had laid the curse or where it had come from, but as she drew breath, the butler appeared.

"Tea, my lady," he murmured.

"Oh! "Yes, of course," Eleanor replied instantly. She had forgotten about the tea. She gestured to the table and the butler started to set out the pot and cups, but just as he did, a face appeared in the doorway and Eleanor's heart soared.

"Aunt Tessa," Sebastian greeted warmly. "I did not know you were visiting us. This is a surprise."

"Bastien," Aunt Tessa greeted him fondly. "So good to see you. How fares your papa?"

"Better," Sebastian replied. "May I sit down with you ladies?"

"Of course!" Aunt Tessa replied at once. "Please, join us."

Eleanor turned to the butler. "Please fetch an extra cup for his lordship? And an extra plate for cake."

"I am not hungry," Sebastian began, but his eyes darted to the loaf-cake as he came and settled down beside Eleanor at the table. Eleanor felt her heart race. His closeness always made her feel flustered, more so of late. She could not help noting how fine his chiseled features were, nor ignore the faint scent of leather and musk that hung in the air.

She focused on Aunt Tessa, her cheeks flushing at her awareness of Sebastian beside her, just a few inches away.

"I trust you had a pleasant journey, Aunt Tessa?" Sebastian asked her.

"Yes, the weather is most fair," Aunt Tessa replied. She glanced at Eleanor, who looked at the table. She felt a little confused—she would love to hear more about what Aunt Tessa had to say, but at the same time, she was also relieved. The entire topic gave her the shivers.

She focused on the conversation between Aunt Tessa and Sebastian, trying to ignore the discomfort.

"I recall well when you were a little boy," Aunt Tessa began, evidently in the middle of some reminiscence about Sebastian. "You were such a fine rider! So confident for your age. I recall watching you riding around the grounds like a proper Royal Guardsman."

"Oh, Aunt," Sebastian said, waving a hand at her in an embarrassed way.

"He was! You should have seen him," Aunt Tessa giggled. "Like a proper little Hussar, he was! Riding about in his little riding jacket with his head held so proudly. He rode a full-size horse by the time he was eight."

"Oh?" Eleanor stared at Sebastian, who had gone pink.

"Aunt," he said, his cheeks reddening. "I don't know if Eleanor wants to hear this."

"Of course, she does!" Aunt Tessa interrupted, laughing delightedly. "Everything about you is interesting, not so, my dear?" She smiled at Eleanor. "And I am sure Sebastian is eager for you to tell him your stories, my dear." She looked at Eleanor, who swallowed hard.

She glanced over at Sebastian, who was staring at her, his dark eyes warm, and she looked down at her hands, feeling her heart race. She glanced at Aunt Tessa. Did she mean her story—the story of herself—or did she mean the stories that she told?

It's impossible—she doesn't know a thing about me, especially not that I tell stories, she reminded herself.

She glanced back at Aunt Tessa, who regarded her with a knowing smile. Her dark eyes—a little darker than Sebastian's eyes—studied her as if she could see more than her appearance.

"I am delighted that such a charming lady is the countess," Aunt Tessa commented to Sebastian, though she kept on looking at Eleanor. Eleanor swallowed hard again, feeling deeply discomforted. She could have sworn Aunt Tessa was looking right inside her, seeing things that she hid even from herself.

"Thank you, Aunt," Sebastian answered, and then pushed back his chair. "I should not sit too long," he added. Just as he tried to stand up, the butler appeared with his teacup, and he subsided back into the chair.

"Just a few minutes," Aunt Tessa murmured. "I will be on my way in a few minutes. Your father fares well, I understand."

"Yes. Yes, Papa is recovering swiftly," Sebastian replied eagerly, seeming relieved that they discussed another topic.

"Good. Good," Aunt Tessa murmured.

Sebastian poured himself some tea and they sat and chatted about the goings-on among the local nobility—apparently Lady Elworth would be hosting a ball soon, and Lord Haddon had been planning a hunting party for weeks. Eleanor listened distractedly. She knew almost nothing of the local gentlefolk and peers, besides the few she had met. She gazed over at Aunt Tessa, still discomforted by their earlier talk.

"Well! It's getting on for the time my coachman agreed to fetch me," Aunt Tessa stated. She was looking over at the clock on the mantelpiece. She put down the teapot and stood up. "I will wish you both a good afternoon, then." She paused and fixed Sebastian with a hard stare. "And I will expect to speak to you soon."

"Thank you, Aunt Tessa," Eleanor replied as she stood up. The look Aunt Tessa gave Sebastian made her nervous—she felt almost a need to protect him.

"I will speak with you as soon as I can," Sebastian said at once. "But now I must check on my father."

"Thank you, Bastien. And give my regards to Randall," she added, drifting to the stairs with the same casual elegance with which she had arrived shortly before.

"I will," Sebastian agreed. Eleanor walked with Aunt Tessa to the entrance-way, and, after wishing her a safe journey, she drifted up the stairs, her mind overflowing with thoughts.

She knew two things that she had not known before—firstly, she knew that the family was cursed. Secondly, she knew a little more about Sebastian. Oddly, despite the horror of the first thing, it was the second that kept on drifting into her mind. She smiled, imagining Sebastian as a small boy, seated atop a full-size horse. She was still thinking about the image when she went up herself, later, to check on Lord Ramsgate, and as she settled by his bed, a new story started to weave through her mind—one of a little boy with a magic horse that carried him to faraway lands.

Even as Lord Ramsgate drifted into sleep she was smiling.