Chapter Four

The Fairfax Estate

“We can cancel Aunt Florence’s visit, if you aren’t feeling up to it, Papa.” Eleanor suggested, and immediately knew that she’d said the wrong thing.

Charles bridled, drawing himself up where he sat in his armchair, fire crackling in front of him.

“I certainly hope I’m not weak enough to be unable to entertain my own sister, Eleanor,” he said with dignity.

She flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I know how nervous you were about Lord Henry’s visit, and I just thought… but perhaps you are right, Aunt Florence’s visit will cheer us all up.”

Charles smiled weakly, and they fell back into silence.

Aunt Florence was, as always, late. Dinner had been delayed by half an hour already, and Eleanor’s stomach rumbled. She’d been in such a flurry to get things ready for Lord Henry’s visit that she had missed luncheon entirely, and breakfast was never more than a few bites of porridge and perhaps an apple.

The widowed Mrs Florence Everett was the opposite in every way to her older brother. She had married well, and now was a wealthy woman in her own right, with a determination to enjoy life. Eleanor liked her aunt very much, although sometimes it did feel like tackling a hurricane head-on.

“You know, if this business with Lord Henry does not work out,” Eleanor said, slowly and hesitantly, “perhaps we could…”

“If you’re about to say we could borrow capital from your Aunt Florence,” Charles said heavily, “I would advise against it.”

Eleanor bit her lip. “I don’t understand why you won’t even consider Aunt Florence. She’s kind, and generous, and it is a family business, after all.”

He sighed. “Florence is not – and has never been – interested in the business. The only time she ever thinks about porcelain at all is when she’s buying a new tea-set. Eleanor, I will not – I will not , hear me – go to my little sister and beg for money. Perhaps you have no pride, no sense of what’s owed to others, but I certainly do.”

Eleanor’s cheeks burned at this stinging scolding. She crouched on a footstool by the fire, keeping it banked and hot. Charles was so cold these days, especially when the evenings drew in.

For a few moments, there was silence, broken only by her aggressive poking of the fire.

“Why don’t you tell me why you think Lord Henry would make a poor partner?” He said at last, sighing. “It’s clearly bothering you.”

She bit her lip. “I… I don’t have anything against the man himself, I just… I just wanted to keep the business in the family.”

I wanted to inherit it one day. My sister is married and settled, so why shouldn’t I have this?

She didn’t say it, though. Better to dream than to have an outright refusal.

“A noble goal,” her father responded. “But not realistic. We need money, and we need a proper investor. Lord Henry is a suitable match. I thought he was a very pleasant man, with plenty of money at his back, and a good deal of respectability .”

Eleanor said nothing.

She was uncomfortably aware that her own behaviour had been less than impeccable. In fact, she’d been rude, distinctly unwelcoming, and worst of all, unprofessional. He, on the other hand, had been nothing but pleasant to her, all smooth, polished gentlemanly manners.

Ugh. It would have been better if he was some awful old man, leering at her and talking over her whenever she tried to say anything of importance. Instead, he’d been a perfect gentleman, listening carefully, never contradicting her, and not full of himself at all.

He was handsome, too.

Eleanor bit hard into her lower lip. Society was full of handsome men, just like it was full of beautiful women. Lord Henry had thick dark hair, and large green-brown eyes, more brown than green in her opinion, framed with black lashes. He had tanned, olive-hued skin, implying that he’d been somewhere hot up until recently. He certainly hadn’t been here, under the miserable grey skies of London.

There was something steely in Lord Henry’s face, too, although she hadn’t been able to work it out. Something had tightened around his eyes when she’d all but called him a spoiled brat.

That particular embarrassment was going to last for a long time, she was sure. Lord Henry could have made things very difficult for her right then and there, simply by turning and informing her father exactly of what she’d just said.

He hadn’t, though, and she was annoyed at having to be grateful for that.

“Papa,” Eleanor began hesitantly, not exactly sure what it was she planned to say. “Papa, I think…”

There was no time to say it, naturally, because at that moment the drawing room door flew open and Aunt Florence strode in, talking to the butler over her shoulder.

“Not to worry, Wooster, I’ll introduce myself! They know me well enough by now, ha-ha!” she boomed, ending the sentence with her trademark rattling laugh, the same laugh that could be heard halfway across a crowded ballroom.

Aunt Florence was a tall woman, and stocky into the bargain. She preferred expensive gowns, satins and silks, decorated with beads, pearls, feathers, ribbons, every bauble and trinket one could think of. She had the money for it, too, and that money was shown in the priceless jewels she wore so carelessly.

A few of the more prim-and-proper matrons and dowagers of Society sniffed at her and called her vulgar , but Aunt Florence didn’t much care about that, and neither did her adoring gaggle of friends.

She held out her arms, and Eleanor scurried forward into her aunt’s crushing embrace.

“Sorry I’m late, Charles,” she said, chuckling. “But I’m here now. Shall we eat? I’m starving.”

Charles got carefully to his feet, looking thin and wasted beside his strapping sister.

“You are exhausting me already, sister,” he remarked, only half-joking, and offered an arm to escort her into the dining room.

** *

Eleanor felt guilty over encouraging her father to cancel Aunt Florence’s dining with them. Charles began to perk up at his sister’s endless chatter and rollicking jokes. Aunt Florence had a way of soothing the atmosphere around her, and soon they were all laughing and talking, eating heartily and feeling normal again.

When the dessert wines were served, Aunt Florence cleared her throat with a tremendous noise, a sure sign that she had something to say.

“Now,” she said, eyeing them both over the rim of her wineglass, “I will be hosting a ball for my birthday this year. It’s going to be a remarkable one, and everybody is coming. Dukes, duchesses, earls, barons, the works. It got a mention in the gossip columns already. I assume you are both coming, yes?”

Charles nodded enthusiastically, but Eleanor looked away.

“Eleanor?” Aunt Florence pressed, a hint of sternness in her voice. “I know you don’t particularly enjoy Society, but can I count on your attendance?”

Eleanor coughed. “I… I’m not sure I’ll add much to the celebration, Aunt.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Florence!” Charles gasped, and his sister waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Eleanor, you must come. I insist upon it.”

“We can have a celebration for you here, Aunt. It’ll be like having two birthdays,” Eleanor tried desperately.

It did not work.

Charles leaned forward, eyeing his daughter above his pince-nez.

“I think you ought to go, Eleanor. You’ve been too long out of Society. I worry for you, frankly.”

“I… I’m too busy, mostly. The business requires…”

“Enough about the business,” Charles said, sharply enough to make her flinch. “You are a woman, Eleanor. A lady. You ought to be thinking of your future, not wasting time in the business.”

“I’m not wasting time,” Eleanor argued back, even though she knew it was a mistake and would only ruin the evening. “I want to pursue working in the business. ”

“Nonsense.”

Just like that. Nonsense . Just like that, Eleanor’s dreams of inheriting the business and working alongside her father as an equal were dashed, in one brusque, thoughtless word, and a wave of her father’s hand.

She swallowed hard, shoulders sagging.

“Papa…”

“I have indulged you too much,” Charles muttered, shaking his head. Aunt Florence had gone quiet, which was remarkably unusual for her.

“I’m happy with my life, Papa,” Eleanor murmured.

Charles leaned forward. “There is a life outside our work. A world of friends and suitors, of excitement and intrigue. And, yes, of marriage and perhaps a family. I would be a poor father if I didn’t help you to see that.”

“Don’t you think of marriage, my dear?” Aunt Florence asked gently.

Eleanor bit her lip, recalling the disgusted looks on the faces of various men when she told them about her work.

“Not very much,” she lied. “It seems like something of a trap to me. I see plenty of women stuck in what can only be described as servitude, bearing endless children, their dreams ground to dust.”

“What a bleak view,” Aunt Florence laughed. “It can be true, certainly. It was not for me. My dear Mr Everett and I lived a rich and full life. I wanted for nothing, certainly not companionship and excitement. I regret nothing. Your own dear mother was very happy.”

Eleanor flushed. “I… I didn’t mean to suggest that…”

“I know you didn’t,” Aunt Florence leaned across, taking her hand. “I’ve long worried about you, my dear. Women in this world do not have a great deal of time to establish themselves. Unmarried ladies – especially those of a certain age – are not treated well. Some women do have callings, but I will be frank – most women marry and have children. Often, this is what they want.”

“It’s not what I want.”

“Don’t you want to be in love?”

“I would, if I believed it existed. ”

There was a little silence after that. Eleanor stared down at her empty plate, biting her lip. Glancing up, she saw her father and aunt exchange quick, worried glances.

“I will not live forever, Eleanor,” Charles said, voice low and heavy. “Some men… some men will not accept the rule of a woman when it comes to business matters. Investors drop out, customers go elsewhere, and any disasters are blamed on the woman rather than on uncontrollable circumstances. I shall leave it at that, and hope that you understand what I mean. I want to see you settled and happy before I die, Eleanor, and for the most part, that involves marriage.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “And there’s no other path to happiness?”

Aunt Florence’s hand tightened on hers.

“Nobody is going to force you to do anything,” she said firmly, shooting a warning look at her brother. “But let’s start with you attending my birthday ball, shall we?”

Eleanor bit her lip harder. “Of course, Aunt.”