Chapter Thirty-One

Like many social occasions, the anticipation of tonight's dinner had been considerably more traumatic than the occasion itself.

Papa was right—rather than sneer at Eleanor for having been abandoned by her fiancé, the company viewed her with sympathy as the innocent party, and interest as a woman who had secured the attention of a duke in the first place. Even Mr. Moss addressed her with cordiality, and though she suppressed a shudder as he bowed over her hand and kissed it, his gallantry was preferable to his taunts about her clumsiness. Even when she dropped her fork, the company didn't punish her for it—other than Mother, who shot her a look of exasperation.

And Juliette…

Eleanor's sister seemed preoccupied. She'd hardly swallowed a morsel tonight, despite the lamb cutlets being her favorite, and seemed disinclined to touch the pineapple that Mother had gone to such pains to procure.

"Miss Howard, are you well?"

Eleanor turned to her dinner companion. "Perfectly so, thank you, colonel."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Almost as glad as I was to receive your father's invitation. What good fortune I had no prior engagements tonight."

Juliette frowned from across the table. Then she closed her eyes as if in pain and pushed her plate aside.

"Your sister seems unwell," Colonel Reid said. "I trust my presence hasn't discomposed her."

"You're too kind," Eleanor replied, "given that—" She broke off, her cheeks warming.

"Given that she denied my courtship? I believe she did me a favor. I could never have made her happy. Dunton will give her everything she wants. I take it they're courting?"

"I believe so," Eleanor said, "though I've yet to hear an announcement. He was invited tonight, but he's not come."

"I'm happy for her. Your sister was born to be a duchess, whereas…"

This time, it was his turn to blush.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to cause you pain."

"And you haven't, I assure you," Eleanor said. "When one suffers disappointment, there's little merit in yearning for what might have been. Some battles are not meant to be fought—instead, one must surrender the ground to another, and seek victory elsewhere."

"As a soldier, I would disagree," he said. "But as a man, I see the merit in your argument." He raised his wineglass. "In which case, shall we drink a toast to future victories?"

They touched glasses before taking a sip.

"Gentlemen!" Papa announced. "Care to join me for a brandy?"

"I must away," Colonel Reid said. "But I shall claim you for the first dance when I return."

"Then you're either a brave soldier or a fool," Eleanor said. "I have a reputation for tripping over and crushing toes."

"Then I'll be thankful for the sturdiness of my regimental boots in shielding my feet while engaging with hostilities on the dance floor."

Eleanor let out a giggle. Then she startled at a clatter from across the table. Juliette stared at her, clutching her wineglass, her knuckles whitening.

The gentlemen trooped out, then Mother rose. "Ladies, would you follow me to the drawing room?" With a murmur of assent, the ladies stood and followed her out. Juliette rose and teetered to one side, before placing her hand on the table and righting herself. Eleanor waited until the dining room was empty, save for the servants clearing the plates, before she approached her sister.

"Juliette, what's wrong?" she asked, touching her sister's arm.

Juliette slapped her hand away. "Nothing!" she snapped. "Do you have to make such a show of yourself?"

"I don't understand. I—"

Juliette scoffed. "It's all ‘me, me, me' with you, isn't it? First you parade about the place with a duke on your arm, basking in everybody's attention, then tonight, you lap up their sympathy. And now…" She pitched forward, then drew in a deep breath. "Now, you're all over the colonel like a twopenny whore!"

"I'm not a—"

"Yes, you are!" Juliette cried. "How else could an unremarkable little thing like you trick a duke into offering for you? But you failed, didn't you? A duke's a difficult prize to snare. He'll promise the world to get what he wants—then abandon you when he's taken it."

"Juliette, you're unwell. Let me take you to your chamber. I could bring you some hot cocoa like I used to when we were children?"

"I don't want cocoa!"

The despair in Juliette's voice stabbed at Eleanor's heart.

Something was wrong—very wrong.

"Juliette—it pains me to see you distressed. Can you not tell me what ails you? Perhaps I can help."

"Nobody can help me," Juliette snarled, "least of all you! Do you think I don't know what you're doing? Taunting me with the colonel?"

"The man you rejected in favor of the Duke of Dunton?" Eleanor shook her head. "In what way am I taunting you?"

Juliette winced, then her expression hardened. "Don't take me for a fool, Eleanor! You have everything you want, whereas I…"

Tears glistened on Juliette's cheeks, and she raised her hands to wipe them. Her heart aching for her sister's pain, Eleanor approached her, arms outstretched. This time, Juliette made no move to resist.

"Dearest Juliette, I'm far from having what I want, believe me," Eleanor said. "But you've much to look forward to. Despite our differences, you're my sister, and I want you to be happy. Can't we return to how we were when we were younger? Sisters should unite against adversity, not foster adversity between themselves."

For a moment, Juliette looked as if she might burst into tears, and Eleanor glimpsed a deep yearning in her eyes.

Then the moment was gone. Juliette pulled herself free and curled her lip into a sneer.

"You must be drunk to think such sentimental nonsense, let alone say it."

Swallowing the stab of pain in her heart, Eleanor retreated.

"Why, Juliette?" she asked. "What is it about me that you hate so much? I can't believe you take pleasure in hurting the feelings of others."

"Feelings!" Juliette huffed. "You have no feelings. You sit about the place with that perpetually glum expression on your face, never taking interest in anything I enjoy—always placing me in a position where I have to excuse your eccentricities to my friends. You don't know what it's like to feel."

"You're wrong," Eleanor said. "Just because I hide my feelings, doesn't mean I don't have any."

"Perhaps I should put that to the test."

"What do you mean?"

A sly smile slid across Juliette's mouth. A spark of fervor glittered in her eyes, and Eleanor's gut twisted in apprehension. Then it was gone, as Juliette closed her eyes again, her forehead creasing in pain.

"Perhaps I'll take my rest," she said. "Please give my excuses to Mama. Tell her I'll join the party in a little while."

She offered her hand, and Eleanor took it.

"Shall I send someone with some hot chocolate or water?" Eleanor asked.

Juliette shook her head.

"Or perhaps a doctor? I'm sure Dr. McIver wouldn't object to—"

"No!" Juliette pushed Eleanor back. "Why must you be so persistent?"

Eleanor raised her hands in appeasement. "Forgive me, Juliette," she said. "I'll say no more."

With that, she exited the dining room.

*

By the timethe men rejoined the ladies, Juliette had still not returned.

Which was, perhaps, for the best—not only for her own sake, given that she'd looked decidedly ill, but also for Eleanor's. To see her sister so unhappy had given rise to a turmoil of emotions—a yearning to comfort her, tempered by fear of Juliette's dislike.

How strange that one could care for someone, yet not bear to be in their company!

"Miss Howard, I am deeply hurt," a voice said.

Eleanor turned to see Colonel Reid staring directly at her. She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. She might feel easy in his presence, but there was only one man whose gaze she completely trusted.

And he was not here tonight—nor was she likely to look into his eyes again.

"F-forgive me, colonel. I'm afraid I was preoccupied."

"Evidently. I've asked three times for your opinion on whether Stubbs or Gainsborough was the better painter."

"I cannot make an informed comparison," she said. "I've yet to study a Gainsborough in detail. But I consider Stubbs's work more appealing."

"Gainsborough was a favorite of the king and queen—and he was a founding member of the academy, whereas Stubbs—"

"Was only an associate of the academy, I know." His eyes widened, and she laughed. "Just because I'm a woman, it doesn't mean I don't read. And Stubbs is something of an obsession."

"I find his work a little gruesome."

"His sketches in The Anatomy of the Horse are exquisitely detailed, but, of course, they were drawn from life, after stripping away the flesh." She leaned closer, impelled by a wicked urge to shock, and lowered her voice. "Did you know he dissected human cadavers also?"

Colonel Reid paled. "Ye gods…"

"Not merely for gratification," she continued. "He put his work to use in a medical journal, but I've not had the opportunity to read it."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "While art should be encouraged, everything has its limits. I have seen death up close, Miss Howard. It is not something to be celebrated."

The general murmur of voices—which always rendered it an ordeal to take part in a conversation—quietened, and Eleanor glanced up.

Mother stood in the center of the drawing room.

"It's time for a little dancing," she said, fixing her gaze on Eleanor's companion. "Colonel Reid, could we prevail upon you to lead the first dance?"

"I'm engaged to your daughter for the first dance, Lady Howard," he said, "if she'll oblige me."

"Of course she will, won't you, Eleanor?"

"I-I don't dance very well," Eleanor said.

"Nonsense! You're an excellent dancer," Mother said.

"Yes," a new voice said, in a sneering tone. "Perfect in every way, isn't she?"

Juliette stood in the doorway, her face flushed, body swaying from side to side, clutching a book in her arms, as if her life depended on it.

"Daughter!" Eleanor's mother cried. "Whatever's the matter? You look quite ill."

"Nothing's the matter with me, Mama," Juliette said, her words slurred. "It's Eleanor you should concern yourself with."

"Juliette, compose yourself," Mother said. "Our guests have no wish to see you in such a state."

"Perhaps not—but I'm sure they'd love to know what my perfect sister does when they're not watching."

She unfolded her arms and held up the book.

No—not a book. Eleanor's sketchbook.

"Where did you get that?" Eleanor said. "Did you go into my study?"

"It's a good thing I did," Juliette replied, "or your sordid goings-on would have gone undiscovered."

A cold hand clutched Eleanor's stomach in a viselike grip as she recalled Juliette's warning.

Perhaps I should put that to the test.

"Juliette, that's enough," Eleanor's father said, rising to his feet. "You make me quite ashamed. James, please return Miss Juliette to her chamber then send for Dr. McIver." He addressed the rest of the party. "Do forgive my younger daughter—she appears to be having some sort of fit."

"I'm having nothing of the sort," Juliette replied, holding up the sketchbook. "I'm not the one to be ashamed of. See this?"

She flicked through the pages, then held the sketchbook aloft.

For a heartbeat, silence filled the air. Then a ripple threaded through the room as one guest after another drew in a sharp breath, their incredulity giving way to understanding.

On the page, for all to see, was Montague, lying naked on a crumpled bed, instantly recognizable by his physique—the planes of muscles lovingly depicted, his partially erect manhood jutting from the nest of curls, with not a single item of detail left to the imagination…

…and the smile of repletion on his full lips—the intensity in his eyes that had magnified at the point of his climax.

There would be no doubt in the mind of any observer that here was a man who'd engaged in a session of eager, vigorous lovemaking, who stared hungrily out of the page at the woman he'd just claimed.

"Wh-what is the meaning of…?" Eleanor's mother stammered, for once, at a loss for words.

"Isn't it obvious?" Juliette said. She turned the page, and the party gave a collective gasp as she revealed a study—a very intricate study of the part of him that had given Eleanor so much pleasure.

"Bloody hell!" Mr. Moss cried. Lady Fairchild lifted her hands to her mouth in a gesture of outrage that would have been far more credible had her eyes not first flared with lust.

"That's obscene!" she said. "Lady Howard—I demand to know what's going on."

"I think the drawing speaks for itself, Lady Fairchild," Mr. Moss said with a grin. "It's remarkably well executed."

"It's not a laughing matter!" Mother said. "Eleanor, what have you done?"

"Calm yourself, Grace," Papa said. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"An explanation, yes—but I doubt it's reasonable. I always knew she had an overactive imagination—but this? What kind of a mind dreams up such things? I told you we should have had her seen. I knew almost from the moment she was born there was something amiss."

"Mother—" Eleanor began, but she was cut off.

"Hold your tongue! You've no right to speak. How dare you disgrace our family!"

"I'm sure it's just a silly prank," Papa said. "Isn't that right, child?"

Eleanor opened her mouth to reply. Then she glanced around the room. Multiple pairs of eyes stared at her. She glanced from one to the other—the cold mirth in Mr. Moss's eyes, the haughty disdain in Lady Fairchild's… Then she shifted her gaze to Colonel Reid, and her heart faltered at the anger in his expression.

"Colonel…"

"I should have known better," he said flatly. "Is this how you and your sister plotted to humiliate me a second time?"

"Surely you don't think—"

"I don't think what? That you'll spread your legs like any harlot to get what you want?" He glanced at Juliette, then let out a sharp laugh. "Of course! I should have guessed."

Juliette paled and lowered the sketchbook. Then she swayed to one side. A footman caught her before she collapsed, and the sketchbook fluttered to the floor.

Eleanor's mother stooped to pick it up, but Eleanor darted across the room and snatched it out of her hands.

"That's mine!" she cried. "And it's private!"

"Not anymore it's not." Mr. Moss chuckled.

"You're hardly one to take the moral high ground!" Papa scoffed. "It's Society's worst-kept secret what you get up to with your paramour."

"I'm afraid I don't know what—"

"Heath, please!" Lady Fairchild interrupted, and Eleanor could have wept with relief as she felt the party's attention shift away from her, the release from the burden of their gazes almost making her lightheaded.

But not all of them looked away. Colonel Reid still stared at her. With her gut twisting at the disgust in his eyes, she turned and fled.

*

Shortly after Eleanorentered her chamber, clutching her precious sketchbook to her breast, Harriet appeared at the door.

"Oh, miss!" she cried. "I came to see if you're all right." She glanced at the sketchbook and blushed.

"So you've heard," Eleanor said.

"James is tending to Miss Juliette. He said you might need some assistance."

"Are the staff gossiping?"

Harriet's blush deepened.

"I see," Eleanor said. "And do you think I'm a harlot?"

"Of course not!" Harriet replied. "I only heard that you'd drawn some very…revealing portraits of the duke."

Eleanor shook her head. "What was I thinking?"

"You mean what was Miss Juliette thinking, showing them to everyone? What was she doing in your private study? She's the one to blame."

Eleanor sighed. "No, it's my fault. I should have known someone might find the pictures. Oh, Harriet, what shall I do?"

"You must tell him, miss."

"Who?" Eleanor asked.

"The duke. He'll know what to do."

For a moment, Eleanor envisaged Montague coming to her aid, sweeping her off her feet to sanctuary. Then another image darkened her mind—a marriage of necessity, followed by a lifetime of resentment and the loss of her freedom. Or worse…

A life as his mistress—tucked away in an obscure little corner of his estate in disgrace, to be vilified and looked down on by his mother, desperate for his visits when he remembered that she existed, and her children…

Her children banished like Olivia, to never fit in—too far above the villagers to be deemed one of them, yet too much of a disgrace to be included in the family.

No—a life of obscurity was better than that.

Anythingwas better than that.

"I cannot burden him with this," she said. "Besides, he made it clear that we couldn't be together."

"Surely that's changed now?"

"I don't want his pity, Harriet," Eleanor said, "or to be rescued out of obligation. I want to be me, Eleanor—not some disgraced creature forever under obligation to those who took pity on her. No—I must leave."

"To go where?"

"I care not, but I must go tonight, and you must help me pack my things. I cannot face them after what's happened—I cannot face anyone. I'm on my own."

Harriet placed a slim hand on Eleanor's arm. "No, miss," she said. "You're not alone. You have me. If you must go, let me come with you."

The maid reached inside the chest of drawers beside the door and began to pull out the contents, folding them and placing them on the bed.

Dear Harriet! Her steady, practical approach was just what Eleanor needed, together with an occupation to divert her attention from whatever must be going on in the drawing room right now. Taking comfort in the repetitive act of folding petticoats and stockings, she began to pack her trunk.

Before they finished, the door was knocked upon softly, and Eleanor froze.

"Daughter—I know you're in there."

The door opened, and her father entered the chamber.

"What has my girl been up to?" he asked.

"Papa, I'm sorry—I'd never have done those drawings had I known…"

He shook his head. "It's not just the drawings," he said, "but what they signify. Did you…"

He gestured to the space between them, as if unwilling to voice his fears.

Blinking back tears, she nodded slowly.

"I thought as much."

"You did?"

"The morning we left Rosecombe, when you said your goodbyes, the two of you seemed…" He hesitated. "The only word I can think of is united. I noticed it again in Hyde Park. But then—when your engagement ended—I thought perhaps I was mistaken." He lifted his hand to his forehead and narrowed his eyes, as if battling a headache.

"Are you very angry, Papa?" Eleanor asked.

"What would be the sense in anger? Besides—I leave that sort of thing to your mother."

"Sweet Lord—Mother!" she cried. "And the guests! What will they—"

He raised his hand. "I've taken care of it. The guests have gone, and we'll be hearing no more about it."

"You can't be sure of that, Papa—you know how people love to gossip. Lady Fairchild—"

"Lady Fairchild has her own secrets, which I'll wager she'll do anything to retain, given her friendship with Lady Jersey." He gave a wry smile. "For once, I see the benefit in women obsessing over their ability to procure a ticket at Almack's."

"I don't understand."

"Suffice it to say, Eleanor dearest, both Lady Fairchild and Mr. Moss value their reputations more than they value the satisfaction of spreading gossip. And what can they spread? That they were shown a series of anatomical drawings? There are plenty to be viewed at the Academy Exhibition, where the artists are lauded for their skill rather than vilified."

"You mean you resorted to…"

"Blackmail is an ugly word, Eleanor, and should never pass your lips. I merely suggested that our guests look to their own proven sins before casting aspersions about the alleged sins of others."

"And M-Mother?"

"She's taken to her bed with a fit of nerves," he said. "Doubtless she'll recover, as will your sister. But as to you, Eleanor…" He glanced at the pile of clothes on the bed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"You can't leave—what will people think?"

"You can't believe I care what people think!" she cried. "You said yourself, the other day, that you'd let me go—you'd find a house for me. Or was that a ruse to get me to attend the party tonight to secure Colonel Reid's attention?"

Then her gut twisted with horror.

"No, Papa—you're not going to force me to marry Colonel Reid?"

He shook his head. "Certainly not. He's disappointed me tonight."

"More than I?"

He drew her into an embrace, and she inhaled the comforting, familiar scent of cinnamon and cigars.

"You could never disappoint me, Eleanor," he said. "And you needn't worry—Colonel Reid won't say a thing. I think he regrets his words. He asked me to apologize to you on his behalf. He even asked if he could call on you tomorrow." She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand. "It's all right—I refused."

"I don't want to see him," she said. "I don't want to see anyone, Papa. I just want to go."

"Eleanor, you don't run from your troubles."

"I'm not running! You said I could go—you promised!"

He let out a sigh. "That I did, my dear one—and the last thing I want is to be yet another person who has betrayed your trust." He released her and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Very well—if that's what you truly wish for, I'll visit Stockton in the morning to make the arrangements."

"On a Sunday?"

"As soon as we return from church—for which you may be excused. I think it's best if you remain in your chamber until I've made the arrangements. I'm sure the Almighty will understand." He glanced toward Eleanor's maid. "Will you take care of my daughter, Harriet?"

"Oh yes, sir—I've already said I'll go with her."

He smiled. "Then I can rest assured that my daughter is in safer hands than her family ever provided."

"And you don't mind?" Eleanor asked.

"Of course I mind," he said. "I'll miss having my Eleanor about the place with her thoughtful quietness and sharp insight. But you're no longer a child. I may be your father, but a parent's role is not to cage their children forever—his role is to free her from her cage and give her wings so she can fly to her destiny."

She reached for his hand. "Thank you."

He smiled, then patted her hand. "I envy you. You're setting out in the world just as I did when I was a young man, carving out a life for myself and committing to an occupation that I loved. My only wish is that you don't make the same mistakes that I once did."

For a brief moment, his eyes glistened with moisture. Then he blinked and it was gone. She dipped her head and kissed the back of his hand, where paper-thin skin stretched over the tendons and knuckles. And, for a moment, she caught a glimpse of what he once was—a young man with a zest for life and a determination to work hard, who had entered into marriage and thereby sacrificed his freedom.

And, in letting her go, Papa was ensuring that she never need make such a sacrifice. She had caught a glimpse of bliss, in the arms of a man—but now was the time to return to the real world and shape her own future.