Chapter Two

Eleanor leaned back in her seat, inspecting her work. Something was missing, and she couldn’t quite say what it was. Her desk was littered with rejected sketches, even a few that looked perfect, but weren’t right , somehow.

The design was a teacup and saucer set, but it had to stand out among the countless other tea sets. It had to be different , something to make buyers look again, something modern but not irrelevant, something that was more than a teacup and saucer. Something to make people look a little closer at Fairfax Porcelain Manufacturing.

Her father insisted that they needed a cash infusion, and that was probably right, but if Eleanor could create some truly unique designs, they might not need another partner so badly. It might buy them time, at the very least.

Ink smudged her fingers and palms, and when Eleanor brushed a twisted lock of auburn hair back from her forehead, she was obliged to use her wrist rather than her hand or risk a smear of black on her face. She’d learned that the hard way.

The teacup’s design was too plain. The twisted handle and dipped rim were an interesting shape, but it needed something more. A pattern, then.

She tapped her fingers on the desk, pursing her lips. Something floral would be the obvious choice. Nothing too adventurous, or her father wouldn’t let her design go further than her sketchbook, so she’d better walk the line carefully.

Flowers. Roses, then. Yellow roses.

Unbidden, her gaze lifted to the huge portrait dominating one side of the room. The brass plaque on the bottom of the portrait read: Mrs. Anne Fairfax, loving Wife and Mother.

The ache in Eleanor’s chest was something she was well used to. It had been six years since the death of her mother, and sixteen was entirely too young to lose one’s mother.

In the portrait, a round-faced, pretty woman smiled down at the occupants of the room, with auburn hair and green eyes to match Eleanor’s. In one white hand she held a bunch of yellow roses, their green leaves and stems standing out brightly.

They were her favorite flowers.

Eleanor worked quickly, sketching out half-blown roses, using blotches of color to indicate yellow, furling petals and vibrant green leaves.

Yes, yes. That’s right. That’s what it needs to look like.

She leaned back again, allowing herself one quick smile of satisfaction.

On cue, the door to her office rattled, and Mr. Fairfax himself stepped in.

Charles Fairfax had worked hard to become accepted in Society, despite his unfortunate attraction to trade and business . They would never move in the highest circles in the land, but Eleanor was more than content with the level they had reached.

Charles was a man of middling height, growing thinner in his old age. Not that he was old, unless fifty was considered ancient, and he had had gray hair and matching gray eyebrows for as long as Eleanor could remember, along with tiny pince-nez glasses perching on the edge of his hooked nose. He smiled fondly at his daughter when he entered.

“Still working, my dear? It’s half past five! We’re to be at Louisa’s home at seven, you know. She likes punctuality around mealtimes.”

“Yes, I recall,” Eleanor said, chuckling. “I’ve been working on this, Papa. What do you think?”

She handed over the sketch, and Charles eyed it for a long moment. She could imagine him creating the final product in his mind, imagining what sheen they would give it, what finish, how the matching milk-jugs and teapots would look, what kind of sugar bowl would match it…

“Very good,” he said at last, and Eleanor breathed out a breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding.

“You like it?”

“It’s very pretty, my dear.”

“Pretty?” Eleanor faltered. “I… I thought we might make it. The design, I mean. For our new tea-sets.”

“We may well do that, my dear, we may well do it. Your mother would be proud of how artistic you are. You inherit all your creativity from her, you know. Now, we must be going. Get your things, and we’ll change quickly before we go to your sister’s.”

Eleanor bit her lip. She thought briefly about arguing her corner but decided against it. Her father’s mind was already in the warm, comfortable drawing room of Louisa’s pretty home, smelling of good food and sweet flowers, with his grandchildren sitting at his feet. The office and Eleanor were already forgotten.

Smothering a sigh, Eleanor swept her shawl around her shoulders.

“Of course, Papa.”

***

“Eleanor, you have ink stains on your fingers,” Louisa said brusquely. “Do not touch my new linen napkins with your inky fingers.”

Eleanor flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I did wash my hands, but…”

“Leave your sister alone,” Jonathan intervened, and Eleanor shot her brother-in-law a quick, grateful smile. “She is a hard worker, and the ink stains are just a sign of that. Take no notice, Eleanor. Help yourself to a napkin.”

Doctor Jonathan Ashby was not the baron or lord that Charles Fairfax had hoped for his oldest and prettiest daughter to marry, but he was certainly respectable, certainly wealthy, and certainly loved Louisa with all his heart. He was thirty, and Louisa was twenty-eight, and their two children – Daniel and Emma – were aged seven and five respectively.

The children had, of course, been put to bed, allowing the adults to sit down to supper.

“It is a pity the children can’t join us,” Charles said suddenly. “I’m sure Eleanor could manage them while we eat. She is so good with children, is she not?”

That was such an odd thing to say that Eleanor couldn’t think of any reply right away.

“Oh, very good,” Louisa said instantly, almost like it was rehearsed. “You’ll make a wonderful mother one day, Eleanor.”

Eleanor blinked. “I suppose I would. Most people make good parents, when it comes down to it. But not for a long while, perhaps not ever. Not with my work. ”

“Well, one can’t think too soon about these things. You are twenty-two, my dear. You haven’t any beaus, do you?”

“You know that I don’t, Louisa.”

Louisa pursed her lips, helping herself to a few more potatoes. She glanced across the table, meeting Charles’ eye. A look passed between them which Eleanor could not interpret and didn’t entirely like. She glanced from face to face, waiting for somebody to explain.

The explanation never came, and the conversation moved on. The evening progressed, with course after course of delicious food being served, and it didn’t take Eleanor long to forget the queer moment.

At least, she managed to forget it for a few blissful hours.

“Do you think Papa is quite well?” Eleanor whispered to her sister, when there was a space in the conversation to speak. “He looks tired. I’m sure he’s not paying attention to anything we say.”

Louisa avoided her gaze. “I’m sure he’s just busy. He works so hard, you know, and things aren’t going well at the business.”

“Well, if some of my designs take off…”

“You can’t save our family business with a few scribbles, Eleanor,” Louisa said, so sharply that Eleanor jumped. There was a taut moment, then Louisa sighed. “I’m sorry, that was unkind. But really, you must know that a few new designs aren’t going to turn the tide of our fortunes. We need money, and we need it now.”

“Papa’s meeting with a prospective partner in a few days,” Eleanor said, trying to swallow down her hurt. “Perhaps that will help.”

Louisa still wasn’t meeting her eye. “Perhaps,” she said, but it didn’t sound as if she believed it.

***

It was late in the evening by the time Charles and Eleanor climbed back into their carriage and set off for home, with Louisa and Jonathan waving goodbye from the drawing room window, a square of light and warmth in the night. Already, Eleanor was missing the warm, cheerful house.

“What do you say,” Charles said slowly and heavily, “to joining the Season this year? ”

Eleanor flinched. “What?”

“The Season began a few months ago, of course, but it’s only just reaching its height now. It would be a good time to join, don’t you think?”

Eleanor shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not fond of Society, Papa.”

“That’s hardly the point of the Season.”

“No, the point of the Season is to marry.”

Charles picked at his cuffs. “Well, I’m sure you’ve considered marriage. You are twenty-two, my dear, and time is not kind to ladies. You should start looking for matches now.”

“Oh, I… I don’t think so, Papa. Besides, I’m far too busy with the business. This is such a tricky time, and I…”

“I can manage without you.”

Just like that, with five words, Eleanor’s little world shattered. He could manage without her. Her office, her office, was just a little room for her to pass the time in. A hobby.

Eleanor bit her lip. “Well, I do a great deal of work, Papa. Perhaps you don’t see all of it. Not just my designs, but the accounts, the business meetings, dealing with the wages, and…”

“Yes, yes,” Charles waved his hand dismissively. “You are very helpful, my dear, but you can’t expect to work at the business forever, surely? Ladies want establishments, don’t they? Husbands, families, that sort of thing. I hate to imagine you missing out, my dear.”

Eleanor felt a wave of affection for her father. She reached forward, taking his cold, dry-skinned hand in hers.

“Oh, Papa, I am not missing out, truly I’m not. I’m quite happy staying with you, running our business. I am very busy, and I am quite happy.”

Charles met her gaze for a long moment, then gave a huff of irritation, pulling his hand away.

“Eleanor, let’s not have any of this nonsense. I’m too tired.”

She flinched. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve never been an overbearing father, have I? I allowed Louisa to marry the man of her choice, and Jonathan is indeed a very pleasant man. I’ve allowed you to work in the business, when many men would not. I even let you have your own office, didn’t I? I have been fair and kind, have I not? ”

Eleanor swallowed hard. She had an idea of where this conversation was going now, but she did not want to believe it. Not yet.

“I still don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean that you must marry, Eleanor. Do you want to be a ridiculous old spinster? The business will be left to Daniel, when he is old enough, and then what will he do? Gentlemen entertain your ideas and chatter now, because you are young and pretty and interesting, but they won’t care to listen to a strange, middle-aged woman.”

“Then I shall make them listen,” Eleanor said sharply. “Middle-aged women have ideas, too.”

Charles harrumphed, as if he wasn’t quite sure of that, but wasn’t about to argue the point just yet.

“I had thought that you would naturally find someone to settle down with. I thought a suitable man would present himself, and the problem would take care of itself.”

She flinched again. “A problem? Is that how you think of me, Papa?”

“Don’t be so prickly, my dear Eleanor. I am only telling you the truth, as is my right as a father. You must marry. Surely you can see that.”

“I see nothing of the sort. I am happy as I am, Papa. This life suits me.”

“Only because you don’t know any better. I daresay a domestic life, with a husband and children to care for, would suit you down to the ground.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Eleanor shot back. “What if I find myself married, removed from the work I love, saddled with children and a man I don’t love, left to wait out the rest of my life? What then? What do I do then, if I find myself so very unhappy and with no way out?”

Charles’ expression darkened. He was clearly not pleased to have his vision of domestic bliss shattered in this way.

“Of course you’ll be happy, what nonsense. Now, I cannot drag you through the Season kicking and screaming. You’re of age, so you can do as you wish, within reason. I cannot force you to accept any proposals. I didn’t insist upon you accepting Mr. Thompson’s son, although that would have been a fine enough match, did I?”

“Ought I to thank you?”

“You ought to consider it,” Charles replied sharply. “I have thought this way for quite some time, and your sister agrees with me.”

“Have you been talking about me behind my back?”

“Oh, don’t oppose so, Eleanor. Now, listen to me. As I said, you will not be compelled to do anything. I’m not a young man, and you are far too stubborn for me. But let me tell you this. You may enjoy your work now, and you may even enjoy it forever, but you must have more in your life than work. Life is about people, my dear. If I hadn’t dragged my head up from under all my paperwork to see your mother for the first time, what would my life be? I would be a sad old man, slaving at a drowning business, without a friend in the world. I should be miserable.”

“There is more to life than children and a husband.”

“That is true, but there is also more to life than work.”

There was a long pause between them, then Charles sighed.

“My dear girl, I don’t mean to make you upset. But think over what I’ve said. I should like you to set your mind towards marriage. We will be joining the Season, and that’s that, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll look around for something more tangible than your work.”

“Yes, Papa,” Eleanor said weakly. There didn’t seem much else to say.