The Silverton Scandal

  From across the crowded ballroom, Lady Dalrymple was hailing Lucien.

  ‘I want to introduce you to my daughter,’ said the countess, coming forcefully forward with an insipid young lady in tow. As she arrived she gave Eleanor a glance that said, What is a nobody like you doing here? You should be polishing the furniture, instead of monopolising a wealthy earl who would make a perfect husband for my daughter!

  Lucien threw Eleanor a speaking look, but then turned towards the countess. ‘Charmed.’

  Good manners forbade him from giving the countess a set-down, but after exchanging a few pleasantries he said, ‘If you will excuse me, I have promised to fetch Miss Grantham an ice.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had done any such thing,’ said Eleanor humorously as the countess reluctantly departed.

  ‘Perhaps not, but I was going to. Would you care for an ice? Or perhaps you would prefer a glass of ratafia?’

  ‘An ice would be very welcome,’ she admitted.

  ‘Good.’ He smiled. It was a caressing smile, and heated her insides. It seemed she was going to need an ice after all!

  He returned a few minutes later with the confection.

  ‘I did not know you would be here tonight,’ she said as she took a spoonful of ice.

  ‘I wasn’t sure myself. I had . . . things to do.’

  She nodded. Her thoughts returned to the sombre events that must have been occupying Lucien since last they met.

  ‘Have you caught Mr Kendrick’s killer?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. We’ve rounded up a number of his contacts - it takes a chain of people to steal and then smuggle military documents out of the country - but so far they have all had convincing alibis for the time of the killing. His murderer still eludes us.’

  Eleanor shivered. Although there had been no untoward incidents in Bath, no suspicious characters hovering outside the house or unexplained accidents, she was still aware that the dangers might not yet be over.

  ‘You will not be taking Cooper away, then?’

  ‘No.’ Lucien looked round. ‘He’s not here tonight?’

  ‘I could find no way to bring him. Charles’s family would have wanted to know who he was. But there are so many footmen, gardeners, boot boys, stable hands and other sundry servants here that I knew I would be safe.’

  Lucien nodded. ‘You’ve managed to keep him with you at other times?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been very useful.’ Her mood lightened. ‘In fact, he’s been working in the garden. It’s never looked so tidy!’

  ‘It seems Cooper has hidden talents! Still, I’m glad you have him to watch over you. Until we track down Kendrick’s killer, I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.’

  She was warmed by his concern.

  ‘Eleanor —’ he began.

  There was a new note in his voice, and Eleanor looked up to see him apparently in the grip of some strong emotion. ‘Eleanor, I know now isn’t the time, but —’

  ‘Ah! Miss Grantham, there you are,’ said Lord Accrington as he hurried up.

  Lucien cursed under his breath.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you all over the place,’ continued Lord Accrington. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten we’re engaged for the next dance?’

  Eleanor had forgotten, but it was very true, she was engaged to him for the next dance. She gave an inward sigh. She had no inclination whatsoever to dance with him, especially not now, but she had no choice. She had to take his arm.

  ‘Lord Silverton,’ she said, making him a curtsey.

  ‘Miss Grantham,’ he said, taking her empty ice dish.

  Then he turned his attention to Lord Accrington, favouring him with a look that had the young lord running his finger round his collar.

  ‘Come, Miss Grantham,’ said the poor young nobleman nervously, ‘we must away.’

  Eleanor forced herself to smile politely and accompanied him on to the dance floor. It was not that Lord Accrington was unpleasant. Far from it. Once away from Lucien’s presence he recovered his composure and entertained Eleanor with light and agreeable conversation. But he wasn’t Lucien, and she had little pleasure in the dance.

  After dancing with Lord Accrington, her hand was claimed by three more partners, and she grew increasingly frustrated as it seemed she would not have any further opportunity to speak to Lucien. He interested her more than any other man at the ball - he interested her more than any other man she had ever met - but circumstances conspired to keep them apart.

  Lucien was introduced to every eligible young lady at the ball, and she herself had to dance with any number of eligible young gentlemen. She hoped she might have a chance to speak to him at supper time, but it was not to be. She was taken in by one of Charles’s cousins, and Lucien was called upon to escort a countess.

  After supper it was even worse. Not only did she have no opportunity to speak to Lucien, she did not even see him again until the evening had come to an end. But then, in the hall, whilst the guests were waiting for their carriages, Lucien broke away from a particularly determined mama and made his way to Eleanor’s side.

  ‘Miss Grantham,’ he said with a bow. ‘May I have the honour of calling on you tomorrow?’

  He could say no more. Arabella and Charles were there, and a host of other guests. But it was enough.

  Eleanor murmured, ‘Delighted.’

  ‘Good. I will call in the afternoon.’

  There was a warmth in his voice that lit her up inside. And then, his attention being claimed by a particularly persistent dowager, he was forced to turn away.

  As she returned home, Eleanor’s thoughts were filled with happy visions of the following day. She had not expected to see Lucien again, but she had done so, and he had evidently not forgotten her. Quite the reverse. He wanted to see her. To speak to her. And he was to call on her the following afternoon.

  As she leant back against the squabs her mind wandered down a number of different pathways, all of them exceedingly pleasant.

  Eleanor was glad that she had a number of last minute purchases to make for Arabella’s wedding the following morning. It would help to pass the time until Lucien called. As soon as she had breakfasted she set out for the shops. There was a light breeze, but the sky was blue and fresh.

  She spent an enjoyable few hours buying sundry items including rosettes for Arabella’s wedding slippers, a shawl, a dozen cambric handkerchiefs and a bottle of lavender water. Then she decided to take a turn around Sidney Gardens before returning home.

  She had just entered the gardens when she heard a loud hail.

  ‘Eleanor!’

  She turned round to see Thomas, the young poet who had exchanged such incautious letters with Arabella, hurrying towards her. Eleanor noticed with amusement that he was dressed in typically flamboyant style. His cravat was ostentatiously tied, and his waistcoat gleamed with gold embroidery. He had elaborate frills at his wrist, and beneath his knee breeches his stockings were canary yellow.

  ‘Eleanor!’ He flung his arms round her. ‘This is a piece of good luck, seeing you here!’

  Eleanor responded in kind. It would have been useless to expect Thomas to content himself with a simple, ‘How do you do?’ His artistic temperament demanded drama, and she knew from long experience that it had to be satisfied.

  ‘My dear, you look wonderful. That pelisse - it must have come from the gods!’

  ‘From Milsom Street, actually,’ she teased him.

  He looked at her reprovingly. ‘You should not joke about such things. But I forgive you. Indeed, it would be churlish of me not to, after everything you have done for me. I am so glad I have bumped into you. I’ve been wanting to speak to you ever since I heard! I want to thank you for all you have done.’

  ‘Ah.’ Eleanor paused. ‘Arabella told you.’

  ‘Of course she told me. And so she should have done. I cannot bear to think of what you went through for my sake, and that of your dear sister. Having to speak to a blackmailer . . . ?
?? He pulled a silk handkerchief out of his coat pocket and wafted it in front of his nose. ‘It must have been too dreadful for words.’ He shook his handkerchief and put it carefully away. ‘If I’d known, I would have confronted the villain myself.’

  Eleanor was glad that he hadn’t. His delicate temperament would not have coped with finding Mr Kendrick dead. However, Thomas did not know the full facts of the case, and Eleanor had no intention of revealing them.

  ‘Alas, those letters!’ continued Thomas. ‘So beautiful, but so indiscreet. We were both so young, I a mere stripling at university, and your beautiful sister still in the schoolroom. But when Cupid strikes, he does so without thought of age or reason. He simply fits his arrows and lets them fly! But all’s well that ends well. It was a beautiful dream, but your sister has awoken and chosen her life long swain.’

  Eleanor patted his hand. ‘I’m sure you will find a life long love of your own,’ she consoled him.

  ‘Alas, I fear I am wedded to poetry and will never make any mortal woman my bride.’

  This outrageous sentence was delivered with such a languorous look that Eleanor was tempted to laugh. However, to spare his feelings, she changed her laugh into a spluttering cough.

  ‘But now, I must keep you no longer,’ he said. ‘I must away, for I have a poem to write which will not wait.’

  And making her an extravagant bow he went on his way.

  Eleanor laughed as she watched him go. Poor, dear Thomas! What could Arabella have seen in him? But at least Arabella had learnt the error of her ways. Charles would make her a far better husband.

  Then, realising that her encounter with Thomas had delayed her longer than she supposed, she hurried home.

  Lucien picked up his hat and set out for Eleanor’s house. He had accepted the invitation to Charles and Arabella’s ball with pleasure because he wanted to see his friend married, but with even more pleasure because it gave him an opportunity to see Eleanor again.

  He had thought of little but her since sending her back to Bath. She had been there, at the back of his mind, ever since, as he played his part in tracking down anyone connected with stealing the documents. And in his quiet moments she had been there at the forefront.

  And now here he was in Bath, going to visit her – and he was far too early! In his eagerness to see her again he had set out too soon.

  To pass the time until the appointed hour, he walked through the centre of Bath. He passed the elegant shops and the colourful parks . . . and then he saw Eleanor, just turning into Sidney Gardens.

  He quickened his step and he had almost caught up with her when he saw her greeting a young man. The young man threw his arms around her, and she returned his embrace.

  He stopped in his tracks as feelings of surprise and pain flooded over him in quick succession. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had been certain that Eleanor returned his feelings but, if so, what was she doing embracing another man in broad daylight?

  He was forced to admit that he had no right to complain. He had made her no promises and extracted none from her in return. He had said nothing of his feelings for her when they had been together in London and even at their parting he had said nothing. He had simply sent her back to Bath whilst he had sorted out the mess left by Kendrick’s treachery and death. And in the meantime . . . in the meantime she had met another man.

  He felt a hot spurt of jealousy and he was about to go forward, to claim her as his own, when something stopped him. The young man Eleanor was embracing was a fop who would never put her in danger or drag her into perilous situations. So did he now have the right to reawaken her feelings for him? He knew he could do it in a heartbeat, her reaction to him at the ball had shown him that. But would it be fair, when the life he had to offer her would contain dangers as well as pleasures? Should he not at least give her the chance to find happiness with someone else?

  His desire for her warred with his desire to give her her freedom and his desire to keep her safe. As he wrestled with these thoughts, a voice recalled him to his surroundings.

  ‘Lucien!’

  He turned his head to see Charles at the other side of the road.

  ‘Well met!’ said Charles, falling in with him. ‘You must be on your way to see Miss Grantham. I’m just on my way to call on Arabella. We can go together.’

  With his mind full of turbulent thoughts and emotions, Lucien fell into step beside Charles.

  ‘I missed them?’ Eleanor tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she returned home a short time later. It was unfortunate she had been delayed by meeting Thomas.

  ‘Yes. They did not stay long, and have only just left. I invited Lord Silverton to call back later, but he said that unfortunately he had urgent business and would not be able to do so.’

  ‘Oh. Never mind,’ said Eleanor. She tried to sound unconcerned, but her disappointment showed.

  ‘Why, Eleanor, I do believe he means something to you.’ Arabella looked at her searchingly. ‘Are you in love with him?’

  ‘Hush,’ said Eleanor, flushing even more. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘He was remarkably handsome,’ said Arabella innocently. ‘And he seemed very taken with you. Especially on such a short acquaintance.’

  ‘We had actually met before,’ confessed Eleanor

  ‘Oh?’ Arabella was surprised.

  ‘Yes. At Lydia and Frederick’s. You remember I told you I stayed with them for a night when I followed Mr Kendrick to London?’

  ‘Of course. And Lord Silverton was there?’

  Eleanor nodded.

  ‘So that is why you were startled when Charles said he might be coming to the wedding. Oh, Eleanor, I do hope —’

  ‘Now, Bella. You must not refine too much upon it,’ said Eleanor hastily. She was not sure of Lucien’s feelings, and until she was, she did not want to discuss it. ‘Lord Silverton paid a call, that is all.’

  ‘Of course. But all the same,’ Arabella said impishly, ‘you are not to get married until I return from the Lakes!’

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor’s eyes glowed with pride as she helped Arabella put the finishing touches to her wedding attire the following day.

  ‘You look lovely, Bella,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure my hair’s all right?’ asked Arabella nervously.

  ‘It looks delightful,’ Eleanor reassured her.

  ‘You don’t think Monsieur Legrand cut it too short?’

  ‘No, it’s beautiful, said Eleanor, kissing her sister on the cheek. Her eyes misted. ‘Mother and father would be so proud.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Arabella stood back and surveyed Eleanor. ‘And they would be proud of you.’ She became more serious. ‘I’m glad you have such a nice dress to wear. I know how hard it has been for you since our parents died, and how much you have sacrificed for me.’

  ‘But not in vain!’ remarked Eleanor.

  Arabella dimpled. ‘I know! I was so lucky to meet Charles. He is everything I’ve ever wanted from a man. He is handsome, charming, respectable and safe.’

  There came the sound of carriages crunching on gravel below.

  ‘Well, Bella, this is it,’ said Eleanor.

  Arabella nodded. Cheeks pink with excitement, she went out, with Eleanor close behind her. Lydia was sitting in one of the carriages with two little bridesmaids. She gave a cheery wave. She and Frederick had arrived in Bath the day before, in good time for the wedding. Arabella and Eleanor waved back, and then climbed into the front carriage with Frederick. Eleanor helped Arabella to arrange her dress so that the train would not crease, and then they were off.

  The journey was slow and stately. On the way, Eleanor could not help her thoughts straying to Lucien. In only a little while she would see him again. Her heart warmed at the thought of it.

  What did he have to say to her? she wondered. She did not know. But she knew what she wanted him to say . . .

  At last the carriage pulled up outside the abbey. Arabell
a, looking radiant, alighted on the pavement, and Eleanor gave her her full attention. She arranged the folds of Arabella’s beautiful white silk gown so that it draped elegantly around her slender figure, then Arabella took Frederick’s arm, and Eleanor followed her sister into the abbey.

  It was full to overflowing. The guest list was drawn from all the great and fashionable people of the moment, as well as family and friends of the bride and groom. As a future duke, Charles’s wedding was one of note, and the ton had made an effort to attend. Dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses covered nearly every pew.

  Eleanor’s eyes swept over them. There was Lord Accrington, with whom she had danced at the ball, and Lady Roskin, and . . . she frowned. Sitting in front of Lady Roskin was a gentleman she recognised but could not place. No matter. It was not important.

  Her eyes swept on. There was Sir Edward Makeroy, and Lord Stratton, but she could not see Lucien. She was disappointed, but reflected that with so many people in the abbey it was not to be wondered at, and besides, it was probably just as well, for if she had seen him she would have found it impossible to concentrate on her duties. And that was something she must do, for she did not want to let Arabella down.

  She followed Arabella down the aisle, until at last she stood by the altar. She took her sister’s bouquet and then melted into the background, leaving Arabella standing next to Charles, her star-like eyes turned trustingly to his. Charles was looking splendid. His clothes were an immaculate fit, and his fair hair was brushed into a fashionable Brutus hairstyle. But it was the look of love in his eyes that Eleanor admired more than all his style, for it was clear that he adored her sister. Arabella was destined to be a very happy woman.

  There were a few last rustles, and one or two clearing of throats, and then a hush fell over the congregation.

  ‘Dearly beloved . . . ’ The words of the service resonated around the beautiful old abbey, and Eleanor gave herself up to an enjoyment of the service. Arabella rose to the occasion wonderfully, her vows ringing out in a clear tone, and Eleanor was so proud of her, for she knew how nervous she had been. The hymns, all specially chosen, were beautiful, and as the notes of the last one died away, Eleanor realized that her sister was now a married woman.