Chapter Eight

“What I mean to say, Miss Fairfax, is that while ladies may feign interest in business matters, the true intricacies of such things are really better left up to gentlemen. They have the mind for mathematics and logic after all, ha-ha!”

Eleanor did not bother to echo the false laugh of the gentleman before her. She couldn’t even remember his name, and frankly didn’t much care to. He’d pounced on her the second she glanced away from Marcia and had neatly separated her from the rest of them, almost as if it had been practiced.

“Well, sir, I must tell you that I am quite involved in my father’s business,” Eleanor said, as tartly as she dared.

The gentleman only smiled vaguely. She wasn’t even sure if he was listening to her.

“Yes, well, young ladies do thrive better with some light occupation. I daresay your papa thinks only of improving your mind and means no harm by it, but in fact…”

“Miss Eleanor Fairfax, there you are.”

The familiar voice sent a very unladylike tingle down Eleanor’s spine. She and her conversation partner – if it could be described as a conversation, that is – turned in union to see Lord Henry Willenshire bearing down on them, flashing that cool smile that always made her feel ever so odd inside.

“Lord Henry,” she managed, not quite able to hide the feeling of relief. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Mr Black,” Henry drawled, making the lightest of bows in the gentleman’s direction. “I do hope you’re not boring Miss Fairfax.”

Mr Black turned an interesting shade of puce. “Of course not! I only suggested…”

“You are full of suggestions, Mr Black, quite full of them. Now, Miss Fairfax, I came over here with a goal in mind.”

He met her eye squarely, and that shiver went down Eleanor’s spine again.

“Oh?” she managed, a rather embarrassing wobble in her voice. “Do explain. ”

“I came to ask you to dance, Miss Fairfax.”

Why was Eleanor’s heart fluttering the way it did? It was just a dance.

“I’d be honoured, Lord Henry,” she answered smoothly, heart jumping in her chest. He held out a hand, and she put hers in it, and then they were on the dance floor and the music was beginning.

Eleanor wished, almost angrily, that she could allow herself to be simply ruled by her head. It would be so much easier. That way, she wouldn’t find herself breaking out in goosebumps over standing so close to a handsome man that she did not like .

“I hope you don’t mind,” Henry said in a low voice, once the dancing had started, “but you looked as if you were about to strangle the man with your bare hands, and you might have ruined your gloves.”

Eleanor made a choking sound, swallowing back a laugh.

“Well, you came to my rescue quite neatly. And I didn’t think you were the sort of man to make jokes, Lord Henry.”

“Generally, I’m not. But then, I do try and steer clear of men like our dear Mr Black.”

“Very wise.”

The dance picked up speed, and for a few minutes they had no breath to speak. Usually, Eleanor found this a relief. Her dancing partners were, at best, good dancers but poor conversation partners, but with Lord Henry… well, it was odd. Dancing together was easy enough, but Eleanor wanted to speak to him. She wanted nothing more than for the dancing to stop so that she could find out why, exactly, he felt so moved to come and rescue her from Mr Black.

Chance would be a fine thing. He came to save me, so once the dance is over, he’ll leave.

“Has your father seen any of your sketches, Miss Fairfax?”

She nearly missed a step. Only Henry’s hand on her arm stopped her from tripping over her own feet and shaming herself in front of the whole ballroom.

“My… my sketches?” she managed.

“Yes, I saw some of them, and they were remarkably good. I felt quite sure Mr Fairfax would incorporate them into the designs sooner or later. ”

She bit her lip hard, tasting copper. Missing a step had shaken her, and she was now clinging onto Henry a little harder than was strictly necessary.

It’s not my fault if he makes me feel safe. No, wait, I didn’t mean that! That’s not what I meant!

Oblivious to her churning thoughts, Henry lifted his eyebrows, staring down at her, waiting patiently.

“Papa has seen a few of my sketches,” Eleanor managed at last, “But I don’t believe he thought they would be popular.”

Henry pursed his lips. “Hmph. Well, all due respect to Mr Fairfax, I must strongly disagree. You’re very talented.”

“I’m not a silly little girl, Lord Henry. You don’t need to patronise me with compliments.”

Again, the eyebrows shot up.

“Do you think I’m the sort of man to hand out false compliments? I can assure you that I’m not.”

She had to smile at that. “I certainly don’t think anything of the sort. I’m just used to people not meaning what they say, I suppose.”

He snorted. “Yes, it’s infuriating. If people said what was on their minds, I think life would be a lot smoother.”

“Perhaps. But on the other hand, do you really think you’d enjoy hearing exactly what people thought about you, all the time?”

He winced, shaking his head. “Your point is made. But I’m sure a balance could be found.”

“Agreed.”

The dance continued, and they didn’t speak much. But it didn’t matter, and Eleanor could not quite get to the bottom of why it did not matter.

Then it was over. The music ended, applause broke out, and Eleanor had not quite worked out why she was out of breath. The dance hadn’t been that energetic.

“I don’t see Mr Black around,” Henry said, breathing a little too hard himself, “But could I perhaps get you a cup of punch?”

She smiled. “Yes, I think I’d like that. I could show you my latest sketch.”

She wasn’t sure what had made her say that, and Henry did a double take .

“Wait… you have a sketch with you here, now? At the ball?”

Eleanor pulled a face. “I have it in my reticule. Here, I’ll show you.”

He was laughing quietly, shaking his head.

“You are a remarkable woman, Miss Fairfax. Although I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

To her absolute horror, Eleanor felt heat climbing up into her cheeks.

“You’re very kind,” she managed. “That sketch…?”

“Oh, yes, I couldn’t go without seeing it, please, Miss Fairfax. I really do mean it – if I have a greater share in the business, I intend to make full use of your sketches, and give you full credit.”

That gave Eleanor something of a start – she’d forgotten all about that. What would it be like, though, to see her designs on teacups and pottery? To have everybody know they were her designs?

It was dizzying, but there was no time for her to think too long about it. A gong rang, and then people were pairing off to file through to the dining room. Eleanor’s heart sank.

“I must go,” Henry said, and his voice sounded truly regretful. Or was that just her imagination? “I’m escorting my mother in tonight. I hope to see you soon, Miss Fairfax.”

She bobbed a wordless curtsey, and then he was gone, disappearing through the crowd, maneuvering his broad shoulders through the other guests easily.

Why was her heart beating like it was going to burst?

***

Eleanor had guessed that she would not be seated alongside the Lords and Ladies of the party, and she was correct. The Fairfaxes were accepted in Society, but they were still touched by trade , and that meant something.

Instead, Eleanor found herself sitting beside Marcia – which was nice enough – and a painfully shy young lady who nervously introduced herself as Miss Abigail Atwater, and then averted her eyes to her plate and said nothing more. Eleanor knew the Atwater family by reputation and knew that one of the Atwater girls had just made her come-out and was said to be dazzlingly beautiful and quite a success already.

Obviously, that was not this Atwater girl.

Across the table and a little further down sat Henry, and Eleanor made a valiant effort not to keep glancing his way. He was sitting next to Miss Sophia Redford, who was already tossing her hair and laughing a trifle too loudly at nothing. Henry’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh, sat beside him, and seemed to be holding back a smile whenever she glanced at the young people.

Eleanor’s heart sank. Obviously, the Dowager favoured Miss Redford as a suitor for her son, and why shouldn’t she? Sophia was rich, beautiful, and said to be highly accomplished. She was of excellent breeding, and quite the catch of the Season. Everybody knew the Redfords wanted a fine match for their daughter, and with her beauty and charm, they were likely to get it.

Miss Sophia Redford would not sully her impeccable hands with ledgers and charcoal or sit in an office puzzling over a column of numbers. Eleanor glanced down at her own hands, half-expecting to see ink smudges on her fingers.

“Eleanor? Eleanor, are you listening to me?”

Flinching, Eleanor glanced guiltily over at her friend.

“I’m sorry, Marcia, I was wool-gathering.”

“Yes, I can see. I asked you if you enjoyed your dance with Lord Henry Willenshire. I thought you didn’t like the man.”

“I don’t,” she answered, a trifle too quickly. “He’s meddling in our business.”

Marcia shot her a thoughtful glance over the rim of her wine glass. “That’s a strange way to describe a man who wants to invest in your business. Still, I don’t want to argue with you. I just wondered if you’d noticed who else is here at this party.”

She made her eyes go wide and to the side, and Eleanor, bewildered, followed her gaze.

Her heart immediately sank.

A few places down, on the opposite side of the table, sat a tall, good-looking man with black hair going tastefully grey at the temples. He was swallowing down the last of his wine, leaning a little too close to a wide-eyed debutante.

“Oh, bother,” Eleanor muttered. “Lord Richard Grenville. I should have known he’d be here. Has Papa seen him? ”

“I don’t know. It’s such a crush in that ballroom, but you can see everybody in here. You can just avoid him, can’t you? It would be awfully bad taste to bring business into the ballroom.”

“I know, Marcia, I know,” Eleanor responded, a little snappishly.

Lord Richard Grenville also owned a pottery business and was their rival in more ways than one. Of course, there was room in the pottery business for them both, but Lord Richard didn’t seem to believe that. He had the advantage of a title and an estate, which seemed to lessen the stain of trade .

Just as she was hoping that the man hadn’t noticed her, he glanced across the table and met her eye squarely. His smile widened, and he lifted his wine glass – newly refilled – in her direction, as a sort of toast.

She was forced to smile, tight-lipped, showing no teeth. He seemed to sense her discomfort, and doubtless enjoyed it. He grinned, taking a generous sip of wine, and then turned back to the poor debutante, who hardly knew where to look or what to do with her knife and fork.

Eleanor briefly entertained the fantasy of throwing a glass at the man’s head.

“I’m sure he’ll be just as keen to avoid us as we are to avoid him,” she said to Marcia. As she spoke, her gaze drifted up the table again, to where Henry sat.

He was already looking at her, but as soon as their eyes met, he looked away.