Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Ilook as if I have not slept in a week.

The lifestyle she lived rarely seemed to grant her restful sleep, and the previous day had proven only to be more taxing. For hours she had laid in her bed, buried beneath the covers, her thoughts lingering on what her brother had said.

But even more vexing was the image that flashed in her mind. The stranger seemed determined to haunt her. His unsettling presence had been etched into her mind, and she was growing tired of it.

Sitting at her vanity, with her lady’s maid behind her, Eleanor took in her appearance. Who she saw was a tired but still pretty young woman. A pale complexion with a smattering of freckles across her nose and her cheeks.

Beth, her lady’s maid, brushed her hair and began to pin it neatly, letting a few curls loose to frame her face and her high cheekbones. Her fringe was naturally curly, needing no additional assistance.

“Is something the matter, my lady?”

“No, I just did not sleep well,” Eleanor said.

A half-truth, for there was quite a bit that would be considered wrong, but she knew better than to discuss such with her lady’s maid.

She took in Beth’s appearance, deciding that it was a shame that such a pretty young woman was a servant. If Beth, with her flaming red curls and bright charm, had been born into better circumstances, she would have been the talk of the ton for her beauty. No doubt, there would be a series of suitors lining up at her door each morning.

Beth meant well. Eleanor knew that her concern came from a well-meaning place, but Beth was also a notorious gossip. It seemed she could not help herself, and in some instances, it would prove to be a good thing—but this was not one of them.

An ultimatum to choose a suitor would spread like wildfire through London. And the idea of a handsome, mysterious stranger would only add fuel to it, turning Eleanor to ashes.

Eleanor was not safe from the whispers of the ton, and she had only herself to blame. She was known for her quick wit, cool demeanor, and a stiffness that was most unbecoming of a lady. But she had been marked safe from anything written in the scandal sheets. And she was determined to keep it that way.

“Ah, let us wear the primrose one today,” Eleanor said as she stood up.

Beth wasted no time in moving to the wardrobe, a massive wooden piece that housed Eleanor’s seasonal wear on rotation. She opened the doors and rummaged through the gowns, rustling the fabric as she plucked the one in question off its hanger.

It was new, fitted but not yet worn.

Beth tightened Eleanor’s stays and adjusted her petticoat, ensuring it was flawless before slipping the gown over her head. Eleanor pulled the sleeves down over her arms, admiring the soft fabric with a look of approval. It was quite nice, definitely worth the price.

The lady’s maid made quick work of the rest of the gown, tying the drawstring and then hooking the eyes to fit Eleanor’s figure flawlessly. She circled her mistress much like a vulture, looking for anything that could be amiss, but then stepped back with a final nod.

Eleanor stood before the mirror, taking in the way her gown hung on her frame. It was a sweet look, stylish but still plain enough to maintain a hint of modesty. Nothing splendid to be wearing to a ball, or an outing at the theater, but enough for a social visit and perhaps a promenade through the pleasure gardens.

“Did you manage to get what I asked for?” Eleanor asked as she continued to stare at her reflection.

But she already knew the answer, for Beth was nothing but reliable.

Beth nodded as she began to tidy up, determined to keep Eleanor’s room as spotless as possible. “It is already waiting in the carriage, my lady.”

Good. I hope she will like it.

Her thoughts shifted to her plans, but there was something else niggling at the back of her mind that she was reluctant to reflect upon. “Have you seen Mother this morning?”

Beth froze. “Ah, yes, my lady. She is suffering from another one of her headaches and has decided to stay in bed for the morning.” She was careful with her words. “But she looks much better—some color in her cheeks.”

Eleanor nodded. Her mother was often prone to migraines, and to have her confined to bed for days was not overly unusual, so she did not think much of it.

I will see her when I return tonight.

The idea filled her with a sense of dread, but she shoved it aside and focused on her morning.

Eleanor looked over her shoulder at Beth. “Would you care to accompany me to the Duchess of Barlow’s residence this morning?”

She also knew the answer to this as well. Beth thoroughly enjoyed stepping out with Eleanor, no doubt a relief from her duties and a chance to brag to the servants later.

“Oh, I would be delighted.” Beth curtsied, her smile reaching her eyes.

Not only was it a great benefit for the maid to be seen out with Eleanor, but it also solidified her position as a dependable servant—one of whom many seemed quite envious. And Beth was not above gloating about it either.

Eleanor moved for the door. “Shall we, then?”

The Duchess of Barlow’s home was stunning and much larger than Eleanor’s. Even from the street, her wealth and power were evident.

As Eleanor and Beth were ushered into the sitting room, Eleanor took in the delicious scent of freshly baked biscuits and the soothing aroma of citrus tea.

Her friends—Violet, Diana, and Grace—were already gathered and were deep in conversation. But the moment that her presence was announced, they all stood up to welcome her.

“It is so good to see you,” Violet said, gingerly walking over to her. She reached out, embracing Eleanor, who had to lean down slightly to make up for their difference in height.

Diana stood up from the piano, smiling brightly. “You made it!”

“I told you she had arrived.” Grace sighed from her spot at the window.

Violet then turned to Beth, whom she knew well enough, and invited her to make use of the kitchen, where tea was prepared for her as well.

Beth looked to Eleanor for instruction.

“Go on, enjoy yourself.” Eleanor nodded, reaching for the small package in Beth’s hands. The box was light, and it didn’t make a sound as she handed it to Violet. “It is not much, but I hope he will come to enjoy it.”

Beth was eager to gossip with the staff, and she wasted no time rushing out of the room after being dismissed. It was most amusing to Eleanor to see her scamper off, almost determined to know the dirtiest secrets of the ton and even the staff.

Violet eased herself down on the sofa, her body no doubt sore. Eleanor could see the discomfort on her face, though she tried desperately to mask it. But no one could blame her, of course.

She opened the package after offering a small, polite, “thanks.” Inside, seated on a plush silk pillow, was a rattle made from ornate silver. When she picked it up, it made a delicate chiming sound.

Violet held it up in awe. “Oh, it is lovely. Thank you, Eleanor.”

Eleanor’s gaze shifted to the cradle at Violet’s side. She cautiously walked over to it, leaning over to get a better look at the plump cheeks and closed eyes. The baby was a stunning, healthy-looking boy, with a full head of dark brown hair.

“He is beautiful,” Eleanor whispered. “Well done.”

Violet beamed with pride. “He is a sweet, little angel. Sleeps so well.”

“Has he a name yet?”

Violet nodded. “Jonathan.”

“Ah, after your father, then.” Eleanor smiled. Violet’s father, the Marquess of Pembroke, was a sweet gentleman who wore his adoration for his daughters like a badge of honor. “It is a perfect name for him.”

Eleanor moved over to the small table laden with biscuits and tea. She prepared herself a cup with a hint of honey before settling on the sofa across from Violet.

“And you, how are you feeling? You look positively beautiful—exhausted, but beautiful still.”

“Ha, I am tired.” Violet sighed. “But Xander has been a dream.”

Eleanor liked the Duke of Barlow, Violet’s husband, well enough now. He took proper care of his wife, and she could appreciate that. They had had their differences in the past, since Eleanor wouldn’t forgive anyone who hurt her friends, but he had managed to get on her good side, eventually. She was pleased to hear he was also an excellent father.

Violet deserves it.

Diana sat down at the piano and began playing a soft tune, almost a sweet, gentle lullaby. She had a talent for it, though even she would admit that she did not have the voice to match. Perhaps, if she could overcome her shyness, her voice would sound less shaky when she sang.

At the window, Grace was watching the street below with bored interest. There was no doubt that she would much rather be outside, based on her melancholy look and her uncomfortable posture. Eleanor had never met a lady who seemed so wild, but she found it very refreshing.

“Lady Celia Aston has arrived,” the footman at the door announced.

Celia entered then, her head high and a charming smile on her face. She was dressed in a stunning navy gown that complemented her fiery auburn hair. Not only was she an incredibly attractive woman, but she moved with a grace that suggested she was well aware of the fact.

“How is my sweet nephew?” she asked in a low voice. She offered polite nods to the rest, bypassing them to glance over baby Jonathan with a tender smile on her lips. She then turned to her sister, Violet, who was about to stand up to greet her. “No, no, sit down. You just had a baby, sister. Please, relax while you still can.”

Celia took a seat beside her sister, leaning back casually as she scanned the room with a delighted smile. For a short while, they exchanged pleasantries, keeping their conversation hushed so as to not wake the baby.

Violet was an attentive mother already, her gaze seemed to linger on her son’s sweet face more often than not.

“Oh, how was the theater last night? Hamlet, was it?” Violet asked.

Grace turned away from the window. “Eleanor had some choice words with the Marquess of Jameston,” she drawled, winking at Eleanor. “Otherwise, it was a dull affair. So much death for one play.”

“Eleanor, you did not!” Violet gasped, her eyes widening.

With a shrug, Eleanor turned her gaze to her tea. “I can’t recall.”

“Oh, yes, it has already been discussed by Lady Martin this morning. Apparently, the marquess was quite dumbfounded.” Celia grinned. “Oh, how I wish I could have seen the look on his face. Was it delightful?”

Eleanor struggled to keep the smile off her face. “It was, quite so.”

Diana continued to play the piano, the notes delayed as she listened to the conversation at the same time. She was watching them curiously, though she had been there when it happened. “How did Lady Martin come to know already? I did not see her there. It wasn’t in…”

The scandal sheets.

Eleanor had considered that possibility as well, but thankfully that had not been the source. She looked to Celia for answers, but Celia simply shrugged and said, “I really cannot say. I did not think to ask.”

“It matters very little.” Eleanor waved her hand dismissively.

In a matter of days, it would blow over and be forgotten completely, or so she hoped. Normally, she would not find herself caring too much, but after what her brother had said…

“Did you happen to catch a glimpse of him?” Celia asked, her voice turning more hushed but not due to the sleeping child.

Everyone’s ears perked up at her tone. Whatever she was talking about, it was bound to be something deliciously scandalous.

“Who do you mean?” Diana asked quietly, her fingers still moving over the keys as she divided her focus.

Ceila smiled, raising her eyebrows. “You have not heard the news?”

No one had, it seemed.

“It was on the scandal sheets—all of them. Dorian Crawford has returned to Court,” she said excitedly. She frowned upon seeing their confused looks. “Do you all truly not remember?”

The name sounded familiar, but Eleanor could not put a face to the name. She scanned the faces of the other women, who all seemed to be of the same mind. Whoever this Crawford gentleman was, no one remembered him.

“He is the one who killed his own father before his mother’s eyes,” Celia elaborated, watching as the realization dawned on them. “His brother, the late Duke of Dayton—you know, the one whose carriage was in an accident a few months ago? Well, he had sent him to an asylum, of all places. And from what I heard, he was released and has been at large for a while.”

“Are you suggesting there is a murderer at Court?” Diana whispered.

Celia nodded. “Exactly. He is now the duke. The scandal sheets have named him The Mad Duke. He was seen leaving the Drury Lane Theatre last night right after the showing of Hamlet.”

Eleanor frowned, about to comment, when she heard the rustle of fabric and the soft fussing of the baby. She looked at Violet, who was about to get to her feet. “Do you think he needs to feed?”

Violet nodded. “Could you hold him while I summon his nurse?”

Eleanor eyed the baby, but then nodded. “Of course.”

She went over to the cradle and gingerly picked Jonathan up, careful to support his head. His shrill cries soon faded as she rocked him to the sound of Diana’s playing. The baby looked up at her, as if confused, but he settled quickly.

Violet had stepped out of the room, asking a servant to summon the wet nurse. When she returned, she stopped when she saw them swaying. “He does not settle usually,” she admitted with a sigh. “I am a bit envious.”

“He might be the only man who isn’t terrified of her,” Celia teased.

Laughter filled the sitting room, even Eleanor cracked the faintest smile at the quip. She continued to rock the baby as she looked at her friends. “Do I seem completely intolerable?”

“I only meant to tease you,” Celia said apologetically.

Grace was watching her, her eyes narrowed. “What is it, Eleanor?”

With a sigh, Eleanor relayed what Philip had told her after their outing at the theater. Just discussing it made her tired, and she was grateful when the wet nurse, a young woman with soft, straw-colored hair, appeared to take the baby out of her arms and vanish with him.

“If I do not find a match by the end of the Season, he will choose for me.”

Eleanor shuddered at the idea. She knew that her brother had her best interests at heart, but he would also go out of his way to ensure the match was the most prosperous—whether Eleanor liked the man or not.

“Do you know of any men he would consider?” Violet’s brow was etched with concern.

Eleanor shook her head. “And truly, I do not wish to find out.”

“You know what could make this more interesting?” Celia chuckled.

Eleanor felt a sense of dread wash over her. “No, do not dare⁠—”

“Do you still have it, Eleanor?”

There was no escaping this, it seemed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Excellent, then you shall bring it tomorrow night to the ball.”