Chapter Fifteen

It never ended, did it?

Eleanor’s mind reeled with tasks and lists of things to do, counting them off. There were ledgers to check, the factory foreman to talk to, product to check, a supplier to write to, and on and on it went.

At one time, she could have split the tasks with her father, but Charles had something of a megrim today. Not that he’d admit it, of course, but she saw the glazed, unfocused look in his eyes, the way she had to repeat everything at least twice and even then, it didn’t seem to go in. She wished he would just go home and lie down, instead of slumping over papers at his desk.

For her part, Eleanor was concentrating on maneuvering herself and a pile of boxes upstairs.

They were coming from the factory downstairs, a delivery of pens, ink, paper, and other stationery items that would be divided among the offices.

The sort of thing it was important not to drop.

Eleanor wobbled, just a little, trying to peer around the stack of boxes to see where to put her foot on the next step.

And then she was overbalancing, tipping backwards.

Eleanor just had time to think ah, no, before she undoubtedly tumbled backwards down the stairs, head over heels, bits of paper and sploshes of ink flying everywhere.

She hit something warm and firm instead, arresting her fall. A pair of arms went around her, steadying the wobbling pile of boxes.

“Careful, there.”

Her heart sank. Lord Henry. Of course it was wretched Lord Henry.

Eleanor staggered up the last few steps, breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the landing. Setting the boxes down, she put her hands on her hips and whirled around to face him.

“I was managing myself, thank you very much.”

Lord Henry lifted an infuriatingly calm eyebrow. “Really? It looked to me as if you were about to plunge headlong downstairs. ”

She narrowed her eyes.

The man looked annoyingly cool in a discreet burgundy suit and an ice-blue waistcoat, a cravat loosely knotted at his neck.

What right did he have to look so cool and handsome at this hour of the morning?

“I would have managed,” she said curtly. It was a lie, and they both knew it. “What did you want, Lord Henry?”

He didn’t take offence at her tone, which Eleanor knew in her heart was a little sharper than he deserved.

“I had some matters to discuss with Mr. Fairfax, if it’s convenient.”

Eleanor sighed, tucking a few escaped strands of hair behind her ear. Shocking how easily she could start to look disheveled after such a short time in the office.

“He’s in his office, but he’s rather… rather discomposed today.”

“Oh?”

Eleanor gave up on discretion. “He’s ill, Lord Henry, even though he doesn’t particularly like to admit it. He’s ill and out of sorts, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea to talk business with him now.”

She’d said things like this to various other businessmen and factory owners before. They’d generally smiled indulgently, and grandly informed her that they would ‘go and have a word anyway’, and then swanned past her into Charles’ office, closing the door behind them.

Lord Henry only sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s a pity. I suppose I can talk it over with you, then? I shouldn’t like to make Mr. Fairfax more ill.”

Eleanor blinked. Even now, it was a surprise to be taken seriously so easily.

“Yes, I suppose so. I have no objection to that. Take a seat in my office, and I’ll rustle up some tea.”

“No need,” he said easily. “You have these boxes to manage – I shall get the tea.”

He walked off, whistling, leaving Eleanor standing baffled on the landing.

** *

“He makes a decent cup of tea,” Eleanor conceded. It felt as though the compliment was being drawn out of her by force.

She and Marcia were sitting together in the parlour. The day was nearly over, and it was well past polite visiting hours, but of course Eleanor and Marcia were long past such frivolities.

Charles had retired to bed, grey with exhaustion. The worry Eleanor had felt all day was exploding into something more solid. Could it be part of a deeper, underlying problem?

No, surely not. Charles’ physician was none other than Jonathan, who was a diligent and well-reputed doctor. If there was a problem, Jonathan would have found it.

Eleanor swallowed hard, putting the worry about her father out of her mind.

“It was nothing groundbreaking, just some plans for the business. We talked them over, drank our tea, and then that was that.”

Marcia took a long, unladylike slurp of her tea. “That was not that, though, was it? You’ve talked of nothing but Lord Henry and his audacity since I arrived. I would say it was weighing on your mind quite heavily.”

Eleanor flushed. “That’s not true.”

Marcia put her teacup down with a clack . She looked her friend dead in the eye.

“Eleanor, if I had a penny for every time you have brought the subject of Lord Henry into the conversation since the man arrived on the scene – brought up without any input from me, by the way – I should have made a small fortune. It seems that Lord Henry weighs on your mind infinitely more than he should.”

Colour heated Eleanor’s cheeks even more. “That is not… I mean I don’t… this isn’t fair. You don’t understand all of the facts.”

“Oh? And what are the facts?”

Eleanor’s mind went blank. “I don’t dislike Lord Henry, not exactly.”

“Dislike him? I should think not! You’re quite enamoured with the man.”

There was a painful silence after that. Eleanor glanced around wildly, as if somebody might be listening at the window or at the door .

“Marcia, I would appreciate it if you didn’t say such things. It’s rather shocking.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so sour. It’s not as if I’m saying it in public. It’s just you and me, dear. Come, be frank. Do you not think Lord Henry is handsome?”

“That is entirely irrelevant!”

Marcia poured herself a fresh cup of tea, thoughtfully dropping in a few lumps of sugar.

“I’m not sure it is irrelevant, dearest. I think he’s handsome. He is generally considered so. Not as pretty as his older brother, but then, the Willenshire siblings are all good looking.”

“Looks are a piece of good luck, nothing more.”

“I’d agree. Eleanor, every time Lord Henry appears at a social event, you spend your time watching his progress around the room, thinking about him, talking about him, and, yes, looking at him. The man seems to occupy your mind all the time. Even when it’s just you and I, you think about him entirely too much. You are always talking about him. If you don’t mind me saying, dear, this does not seem like dislike or indifference to me. It’s an emotion entirely more powerful.”

She paused, taking a sip of steaming hot tea before she continued.

“You either hate the man, or you are in love with him. Which is it?”

There was a pained silence in the room, filled only with the ticking of the grandfather clock.

“Marcia…”

“It is just you and me here. I’m not a gossip, and nor am I going to hold this information over your head. You’ve been bursting with a secret, Eleanor. I know already what it is. Why don’t you tell me?”

Eleanor’s shoulders sagged.

“I… I will confess that I do feel rather drawn to Lord Henry. It’s hard to say exactly what it is, but I do feel… I do feel something.”

“Elaborate.”

Eleanor sighed, tucking those stray strands of hair behind her ear again. In a flash, she was back in her office, her half-finished sketches underneath her elbows, and she and Lord Henry were talking, the tea he had made sitting between them. A lock of hair escaped, hanging by her cheek. She glanced up and saw his eyes on it. Lord Henry’s hand twitched, and he made an abortive half-movement, as if to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear, only to flatten his hand firmly on the table, fingers turning white from the pressure.

Then a warm feeling had spread through her chest, strangely powerful. She’d shaken it off as best she could and concentrated on the subject at hand.

The scene returned to her now, and she swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.

“I think… I think perhaps I may have a fancy for him,” she managed lamely.

“A fancy for him? Oh, please, my dear. A woman who has a fancy for a man flutter around him at parties, and maybe whispers about him to her friends. You, my dear, are entirely gone. You are beyond fancies and flutters . I suspect you are in love with the man, even if you won’t admit it.”

Eleanor reeled a little, the ground shifting under her as it had done on the stairs earlier that very day.

“That can’t be true.”

Marcia sipped her tea sedately. “I think you know it is, dearest. And now, one question remains.”

“What? What question?”

Marcia met her eye steadily.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Eleanor blinked, absorbing the question. The answer came to her with a shocking suddenness, and her heart sunk into her boots. There was really only one answer, and she hadn’t realized just how disappointing that answer would be until it was laid out before here, flat and dull and frank.

“Nothing,” she answered quietly. “I am going to do nothing.”

Marcia’s face fell. “But, Eleanor…”

“No, Marcia. Listen to me now. You’ve dragged this out of me, but let me tell you that Lord Henry is our business partner. He’s looking far beyond a Miss Fairfax for his wife, and certainly would never settle for a woman as shop-soiled as I.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“That is life, Marcia.”

“But…”

“But there are no buts. Let’s not discuss it again. Now. More tea?”