Chapter Thirteen

“Eleanor, darling, see who’s here.”

Eleanor glanced up from her work with something like trepidation.

After that awful shareholders’ meeting, at which Henry was so well-liked and Eleanor so very ignored, she’d thrown herself into work. It wasn’t a day off, and there were things to do.

Anything to avoid sitting at home and meditating on her new uselessness.

She’d half expected to see Lord Henry himself standing in the doorway with that twisted smile which made him look more handsome than was proper. Perhaps they would want her to give up her office to him, too.

But no, it was Aunt Florence. The older woman was resplendent in peach-coloured satin, trimmed with lace of an eye-watering expense, pearls studding her cuffs and draped around her neck.

“Eleanor, darling!” she cooed. “I thought I’d pop in and see you. I thought we could have a day out today. Shopping, perhaps lunch – Gunter’s does excellent ices, we must have one of those – what do you say? I shall treat you to a new dress.”

Eleanor hesitated, glancing over at her father. Charles seemed to be forcing a smile, looking more cheerful than he really felt.

“That’s so kind of you, aunt, but I really have a great deal of work to do today.”

“Can’t it wait?” Charles asked sharply, and Eleanor gave him a level look.

“No, Papa, it can’t.”

“I brought in Lord Henry so that you would have less work to do, and more time to enjoy yourself. More time to really enjoy the Season.”

“I told you, Papa, that I didn’t want that,” Eleanor responded, rising slowly to her feet. She was aware that her voice was getting louder and shriller, but it really was not fair . Was she expected to be grateful that she’d been elbowed out of the position she’d always wanted? Should she not mind that everybody assumed that Lord Henry – no blood relation, mind you – was going to replace her?

Above all, was she meant to grit her teeth, force a ladylike smile, and bear it?

No, no, a thousand times, no.

“Lord Henry is not here,” Eleanor continued, fingers tightening into fists. “I did not want Lord Henry to become our partner for just this reason. He’s a lord , Papa. He cannot be relied upon. And the work must be done, and it cannot stop just because Lord Henry has social engagements.”

Anger flared briefly in Charles’ face. He glanced over his shoulder, and Aunt Florence cleared her throat and shuffled away, muttering some excuse that nobody listened to. Then Charles stepped very close to Eleanor, reaching out to grip her shoulders tightly.

“Listen to me, Eleanor,” he said, voice low and angry. “I am your father. You will obey me. I am sorry if this business with Lord Henry is not to your satisfaction, but I believe I’ve made it perfectly clear that I want you to marry and settle down, like Louisa has done. I see now that I have made a mistake in letting you have as much freedom as I have. Unless you want me to take further action, you will go shopping with your aunt at once, without further complaint, and you will not come back to the office today. Is that absolutely clear?”

Injustice sang in Eleanor’s veins. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles stood out white. She swallowed once, twice, three times, trying to count her breaths, trying to do anything that would calm her down, even a little.

Really, there was only one thing she could say.

“Yes, Papa,” Eleanor managed, at long last.

***

“I wasn’t even consulted,” Eleanor groused for the hundredth time.

Aunt Florence, sitting opposite in the rocking carriage, sighed .

“It is unfair, dearest, but that’s the way of the world, isn’t it? The shareholders will feel better with a gentleman like Lord Henry at the helm – or so they believe – and you can work in the background, keeping everything afloat.”

“But perhaps I don’t want to stay in the background.”

Aunt Florence bit her lip. “Well, it is a pickle. And I am sorry for it.”

Eleanor nodded, sinking back into the carriage seat. Some of the tension had faded from her limbs. She did feel better, and it had felt good to unburden herself to Aunt Florence.

“I’m sorry I was so childish about coming shopping with you,” she muttered, after a pause. “There really was a lot of work to be done.”

Aunt Florence reached forward, patting her hand. “I am not taking offence, dearest. Charles is… well, he’s more stubborn than people think. I know he worries a great deal about you, Eleanor. He worries what will happen to you when he’s… when he’s gone. He feels as though he cannot rely on me – which is nonsense, of course – and naturally Louisa and Jonathan will have their own children to manage. Your father might be sharp, but it comes from a place of love.”

Eleanor bit her lip, tracing one finger along the seam of the window.

“I love my father,” she admitted, “I just sometimes wish he understood me a little more.”

“That’s the fate of women in this world,” Aunt Florence agreed. “We are never as seen as we would like to be.”

The carriage rattled on through the busy streets of London. The milliner’s shop was behind them now, along with the proprietor who claimed to be French but was almost certainly not. It had been a beautiful place, full of soft, deep carpets and shelves stocked with colourful bolts of fabric, walls and walls of muslin, cotton, silk, satin, taffeta, bombazine, crepe, stuff, even lawn for more reasonably priced caps and aprons, all in every colour and texture a person could imagine.

There were ribbons, rows and rows of ribbons, lace, sequins, beads, more and more and more until Eleanor’s head spun with it. There was so much choice , and she wondered how a person could leave with only one item of clothing .

That was no doubt the intention.

Eleanor came away with a beautiful brocade gown, not in the newest, tightest fashion, but something a little more relaxed, with elbow-length sleeves and a few modest trimmings of lace and beads, and a pair of gloves to match. The gown would be made up and ready in a few days, but the gloves sat in a box on her knee.

Aunt Florence’s purchases filled the rest of the space, and there were a few hatboxes lashed to the roof. They were on their way to Gunter’s – as was the rest of London, judging by the traffic.

Abruptly, Aunt Florence leaned forward, taking Eleanor’s hand.

“Everything passes, sooner or later,” she said firmly. “That can be a terrifying idea, or a great relief, all depending on your perspective.”

Eleanor bit her lip. “I… I think I know what you mean, Aunt.”

“I’m sure you do. You’re a clever girl, my dear. Cleverer than you think.”

There was, naturally, a queue at Gunter’s. Generally speaking, it was the fashion to take one’s ices and go and eat them in the Park, or else simply climb in one’s carriage and go home, eating as one went. However, today was a grey and gloomy day, with a smattering of rain coming down at intervals, and it seemed that while nobody had lost their appetite for ices, they didn’t particularly want to wander in the open while they ate them.

By the time Eleanor and Aunt Florence finally managed to put in their orders and find a seat, their feet were aching and they’d been buffeted around horribly. Eleanor was, naturally, at the end of her patience, so when an unfortunately familiar face came swaggering up, she very nearly threw a cup of tea at him.

“Lord Richard Grenville,” Eleanor said tightly, when it was impossible to ignore him any longer. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, fancy seeing another member of Society here, at one of the most popular locations in London,” he laughed. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant laugh. The man gave Aunt Florence a short, disinterested bow, but kept his eyes on Eleanor. She did not like how his gaze raked over her, taking in every curve, every detail, every flaw .

Eleanor forced herself to sit still and not squirm under his scrutiny, eyeing him coolly. It didn’t put him off – he only smiled wider.

“May I join you two for a minute?” he asked suddenly, pulling up a chair before either of them could respond.

It was probably for the best he didn’t wait for an answer. Aunt Florence had never considered herself particularly constrained by the boundaries of politeness, and Eleanor was on the cusp of telling him to get lost anyway.

The chair legs scraped horribly on the floor, setting Eleanor’s teeth on edge and making all the other patrons shoot poisonous glances their way. And then Lord Richard Grenville, the Fairfaxes’ long-standing enemy, was sitting at their too-small table, grinning like the cat who had got the cream.

“I hear,” Lord Richard said, voice low and conspiratorial, “that Lord Henry Willenshire has joined your business, Miss Fairfax. Is that so?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment. I suggest you speak to my father, or else come into the office,” Eleanor responded testily, wondering if she could get away with kicking the man under the table. Probably not.

Lord Richard was a man of indeterminate age, black hair greying at the temples, and was generally considered to be handsome. He had never married, as far as Eleanor knew, probably because he had never managed to tempt an heiress wealthy enough for him. His older brother was a baronet somewhere in the north, and it was well known that they were not on speaking terms.

The Grenville pottery business plodded on steadily, but hardly in great leaps and bounds. No new designs, nothing groundbreaking, nothing different .

Privately, Eleanor considered the Grenvilles as a type of business she would like to avoid, with their poorly-paid, miserable workers and dull pottery. Ugh.

Lord Richard’s smile widened, as if he knew what she was thinking.

“Always so reticent, Miss Fairfax! It’s not an attractive quality in a lady, to be so reserved. ”

She bared her teeth. It might have been seen as a smile, if that was what a person wanted to see.

“I’m surprised you know that word, Mr Grenville. Reticent . It’s a rather long one. And what on earth makes you think I would like to be attractive to you?”

The smile wavered, just a tad.

“Goodness, how outspoken you are, Miss Fairfax. I wonder if Lord Henry knows about your sharp tongue?”

She chuckled. “Oh, I can assure you he does.”

“Really? Because rumour has it – and of course, you know that I never bother to gossip – that you and your darling Papa intend to catch Lord Henry. After all, the Willenshire fortune is considerable, and with a portion of that at your backs, you would never struggle again.”

Eleanor’s mouth tightened in distaste.

“You’re quite mistaken, sir. I have no intention of catching anybody.”

“No, I suppose not,” Lord Richard drawled, leaning back in his seat, arm slung over the back, letting his gaze drag up and down her frame. “You are twenty-two, are you not? Rather old to snatch up a lord, I’d say. If you were four years younger – and perhaps a more fashionable beauty – you might have made a play for the duke himself. Still, there’s not a great deal any of us can do about that, ha-ha.”

“This is not an appropriate conversation, sir,” Eleanor responded coldly. “Not for a place like this.”

Not for any place, really. However, Gunter’s was full of people, all chattering and laughing, so that Richard’s words were drowned out and unheard. He could say more or less what he liked, and simply deny that he’d said it afterwards.

And he knew that very well.

“Oh, Miss Fairfax,” Lord Richard laughed, revealing pointed canine teeth. “You are such a stickler for propriety. But spinsters often are, I find. You’re wise to try and secure a good match, of course, although I fancy it might be a little too late. To be frank, I don’t believe you’ll catch Lord Henry. He’s a good-looking man with a great deal of money coming to him, and above all he is worldly . He knows his value – and I’m afraid, he knows yours too, Miss Fairfax. Perhaps adjust your expectations, hm? ”

She did not allow herself to flinch. “Is that all, Mr Grenville? I would like very much if you would leave me and my aunt alone.”

He smiled wider. “No. In fact, I…”

He was never destined to finish his sentence, because at that moment, Aunt Florence picked up a cup of steaming tea and delicately poured it over Lord Richard’s lap.

He gave a shout of pain and leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair and bumping into a knot of people standing beside him.

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Florence said mildly, voice pitched high enough for everybody to hear in the new silence. “It seems that Mr Grenville has spilt his tea. How clumsy of him.”

Eleanor barely managed to stifle a hoot of surprised laughter, pressing her face in her napkin. Aunt Florence met her eye and winked.

“Perhaps he should leave,” she continued coolly, meeting Richard’s eye and holding it, “in case any further accidents befall him.”

“Accidents!” Richard gasped. “You poured that on me!”

One of the serving women came scurrying forward.

“Oh, the good lady would never do that,” she babbled, grabbing Mr Grenville’s arm in an attempt to steer him away.

“Any manner of accidents might befall him,” Aunt Florence continued sweetly. “There are knives on this table.”

Lord Richard scowled, tugging his arm away from the bleating serving woman.

“This is not over,” he responded, voice a sibilant hiss. The chatter was gradually springing up around them again. “You should watch your back, Miss Fairfax .”

“And you should watch your lap,” Eleanor responded immediately. “It looks as though you’d had a rather childish accident.”

Richard went beet red, turned on his heel and stamped out of the door, never once looking back.

Eleanor sagged back in her seat, glancing over at Aunt Florence.

“Well,” she managed.

Aunt Florence sighed. “Now I need another cup of tea. What a waste.”