Anne O'Brien – Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue (страница 27)

Turning back the bed covers with a little huff of disgust at her wayward thoughts, she noticed, and remembered—and understood, with a sinking heart. Her ring. She had removed it in despair, leaving it on the table in the parlour, but now it was back on her finger. She twisted it so that the morning sun glinted on the edges and the tiny jewels. Hal must have restored it while she slept. She could not but admire his loyalty to his brother’s name, even when she herself had despaired and denied the legality of her own marriage. But she also understood very clearly and knew that it would be wise of her not to forget. For the ring was a symbol of her union with Thomas, and Henry had replaced it where he considered it belonged. That simple action should tell her more plainly than any words that Henry saw her as his brother’s widow, and nothing more in his life.

Chapter Seven

The gathering of the Faringdon family in the morning room of the house in Park Lane on the following afternoon, when Henry and Eleanor had arrived back in London, could not be described to be in a spirit of optimism or even qualified hope. They brooded over their lack of progress.

The visit to the village of Whitchurch had achieved nothing to their advantage, Henry reported. The Reverend Broughton might not be the most likeable of characters, with a shadow thrown over his morals and behaviour as a clergyman, but there was no reason to disbelieve him in the matter of the marriage of Thomas and Octavia. He had confirmed the events of marriage and birth. The documents appeared to be genuine. Sir Edward Baxendale was well known with a good reputation, and the existence of a sister with a recently deceased husband and a young baby was common knowledge. Eleanor said nothing, merely a silent witness to their failure to unearth any incriminating evidence.

The only outcome of the visit, in Mrs Stamford’s unexpressed opinion, was a certain intangible tension in her daughter. As now, she thought, glancing across at her. Eleanor might have been alone in the room, with eyes unfocused as if her thoughts were far away, turning the ring on her finger round and round with terrible monotony. And there was a distinct unease between Eleanor and Lord Henry, for which Mrs Stamford was not sorry. Too much intimacy would certainly be unwise. But Mrs Stamford was wise enough to remain silent about the night they had been forced to spend in the Red Lion in Whitchurch. Given the circumstances, and her memory of the previous occasion of confrontation when she had quite clearly lost the battle of wills, she did not feel up to taking on Lord Henry on such a personal matter. Even if she was the Marchioness’s mama.

London, likewise, had provided no scandal. Kingstone knew nothing of any interest about the parties. As far as Nicholas knew, Sir Edward was an exemplary character with no interest in gambling, horses or loose women.

Mrs Stamford frowned at his comment.

‘For whatever reason, Baxendale does not appear to have arrived at point non plus. He has no interest in the turf. He does not own a racehorse. He is not known at Tattersall’s. He does not frequent gambling dens. He does not keep a mistress. Nor does he visit opera dancers!’ Nicholas deliberately expanded on the subject, his lips curled with mischief as Mrs Stamford stiffened and sniffed her disapproval. ‘Sir Edward is a veritable pillar of society.’

‘So I must accept the situation.’ Eleanor had earlier returned from an emotional visit to her son in the nursery and, after holding him in her arms, watching his sturdy limbs as he pulled himself upright against his crib, she could not deny her duty to the child. ‘I must take the offer of an annuity from Sir Edward—and thank him for his generosity!—and find somewhere for myself and Tom to live. Perhaps we should return to our house in Leavening, Mama.’

‘No. It is too soon—’ Henry immediately turned his head, intent on halting such a scheme, but Mrs Stamford interrupted, very much of the same mind.

‘No, Eleanor. We should not. I went to see Lady Beatrice yesterday. Perhaps you had forgotten my errand in that direction. I swore her to secrecy, of course. I found her a most well-informed lady—not as flighty as her daughter. We had quite a detailed conversation and exchange of views.’

Henry avoided Nicholas’s eye.

‘I think you should not be in too much of a hurry to accept Sir Edward’s offer, Eleanor. For once I am in total agreement with Lord Henry.’ She smiled thinly at him. ‘It is true that Lady Beatrice remembers a fair girl with whom Thomas was much taken. And she thought there was a brother with her on some of the social occasions. But she is not sure, and is not convinced that the name Baxendale rings true. She claimed to know no Baxendales. But she had to admit that she is better at faces than names—after all, it was four years ago.’

She looked round the circle of faces.

‘I do not know if that helps us or not.’ Nicholas rubbed his chin. ‘I suppose that it is the only hint of doubt we have in an otherwise cast-iron case.’ He looked to Henry. ‘What do you suggest, Hal? Arrange a meeting between Sir Edward and Aunt Beatrice? Now that is an occasion which I would not want to miss.’

Henry frowned at him for a moment, considering the possibilities. Then: ‘Very well. This is what we will do. We will entertain. A small party—we have sufficient rooms here. Very select—mostly family. Cards, music, refreshments—you know the sort of thing. Eleanor will be hostess.’ He looked towards her, brows arched, not totally convinced that she would comply.

‘Yes. Of course, if that is what you wish.’

‘I do.’ He smiled at her, an unusually tender smile, which was not lost on the audience. ‘Don’t despair, Nell. We still have all to win—but we will not wave the flag of surrender quite yet. And a family party will be quite the thing, in spite of Thomas’s death. You need have no concern about that.’

She returned the smile, although a little sad, unable to resist such comfort. ‘Thank you, Hal. I shall never forget your kindness, whatever the outcome.’ As she looked down at the sapphires on her hand, they both knew that her thoughts were far from that room in Park Lane.

‘And we will invite the Baxendales.’ Nicholas picked up on Hal’s suggestion to deflect attention from the pair, aware of Mrs Stamford beside him, rustling in displeasure at the unexpected intimacy. He would give a pony to know exactly what had happened between them in Whitchurch. He must make certain to ask Hal. ‘We will stress that it is a family occasion. They will hardly be able to refuse since they are intending to fill their own niche in the Faringdon family tree. It will make for an interesting evening!’

‘And I must be certain to invite Aunt Beatrice?’ Eleanor asked, quickly appreciating the plan.

‘Exactly!’ Henry rose to his feet and strode towards the door. ‘We will try every means we have to flush the bird from the covert. Even if it means spending an evening in Lady Beatrice’s overbearing company!’

‘Will you escort me to the theatre? Tonight, my lord?’

Eleanor confronted Lord Henry in the breakfast parlour two days later and made her request without preamble or explanation, even before she had closed the door behind her. She had positively erupted into the room in a flurry of muslin skirts.

‘Well, I…’ His lordship looked up from his perusal of the Morning Post, suitably taken aback.

‘I realise that you might have other plans—and I would not normally ask that you put yourself out, particularly at such short notice—but I find that it is vitally important.’ The words tripped off her tongue, indicative of strong emotion. She came to stand before him, determined to have his attention. Lord Henry promptly put down the paper to watch her warily, aware of the high colour slashed along her cheekbones. Now what was afoot?

Since their return from Whitchurch the strain between them had lessened a little, submerged under a cool sensible acceptance of the need to unite in their resistance to the Baxendales’ claims. Although they were successful in keeping a distance, awareness of each other remained, a tangible thing. And so Henry was wary of Eleanor’s request.

‘Why?’ He hoped the suspicion did not sound in his voice.

‘We have not been invited—I have not been invited—to the Carstairs’s Drum this evening, when we know that all the world and his wife will be present. I would not even have known of it, if it had not been for Beatrice asking if she would see us there.’ Eleanor flung away from him to pace to the window, and back again. ‘How long has Marianne Carstairs been closely acquainted with this family? For ever, I shouldn’t wonder. She certainly counted your mama as one of her closest friends. And,’ she interrupted, brows drawn together in an uncompromising line, as Henry opened his mouth to reply, ‘don’t tell me that they are being considerate for my state of mourning. I have been out and about so often recently that no one in town would be under any illusion about my present circumstances.’ Eleanor sat herself in one of the straight-backed chairs with a flounce of indignation. ‘It is a deliberate snub. I will not stand for it from a family I considered friends. So I wish to go to the theatre.’