“Eleanor, my dear!Thereyou are!”
Miss Marcia Bellamy was a plump, good-natured young woman, with a pretty, heart-shaped face and red-gold curls springing up every which way. She wasn’t abeauty, which was what somebody said when a lady did not perfectly fulfill the exacting standards of grace, features, and accomplishments, but not even the most jealous young women could say that Marcia did not dress well.
Today, she was wearing a simply cut, elegant gown in green silk, the colour and shape of which flattered her perfectly.
Abandoning her family, Marcia came skittering across the floor in green-and-gold dancing slippers and threw herself into Eleanor’s arms.
“I haven’t seen you in an age,” she gasped, when they finally pried themselves apart. “That wretched business keeps you so busy.”
Eleanor felt a pang of guilt. “I like the business. I like to be doing something.”
“Of course, of course. Let’s get some punch, I’m dying of thirst.”
“Well, if you’re thirsty, perhaps water or tea would be better?”
Marcia shot her a grin. “Not that kind of thirst, you silly goose. Is that a new gown? It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, a present from my aunt. I’m not sure why she’s givingmepresents onherbirthday.”
“Oh, Mrs Everett is so very kind.”
They reached the refreshment table, and Marcia scooped up two generous ladlefuls of punch. They sipped in companionable silence for a few moments, then Marcia spoke.
“I must say, I was surprised to hear that you’d be here. You normally hate this sort of thing, Eleanor.”
Eleanor flushed. “Well, I think I was rather strong-armed into it. My aunt requested my presence, and I could hardly say no. And… well, my father wants me to join the Season this year.”
Marcia shot a sharp glance at her. “Really? You always said the Season was an expensive, nonsensical waste of time.”
“Yes, and I stand by that. But Papa wants me to join, wants me tomarry, I suppose.” She sighed, shaking her head. Her hair was all done up in curls, spilling down on her neck and over her shoulder. It was nothing like the neat hairstyle she usually favoured, and Eleanor was not sure whether she liked it. She kept throwing her curls back over her shoulder, and then Aunt Florence would come out of nowhere and pull them back into place again.
“I’m going to join the Season this year,” Marcia said carefully. “We’re the same age, you know, and it is time for us to be thinking of husbands, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. Why can’t I think of business instead? Why can’t I think of managing wages and starting new projects, and turning profits? Why do I have to think of a husband and a family, and managing a house instead?”
Marcia nibbled her lower lip. “Well, I’m not sure it’snormalfor a lady to like those kinds of things.”
“Yes, only because we aren’tallowed. Mark my words, if ladies could do what they wanted, they wouldn’t waste time in ballrooms, dancing with men they don’t really like.”
Eleanor distracted herself with a long drink of punch. She was aware that she sounded bitter, and not particularly pleasant, but there wasn’t a great deal else to do with the frustration.
And then the Willenshire siblings walked in.
Marcia dug her elbow into Eleanor’s side.
“Oh, there’s Lady Katherine… although of course she’s notladyanything now, she’s Mrs Rutherford. But her husband is such a sweet man. I’m always running into them both at the circulating library.”
Eleanor saw a beautiful, olive-skinned woman in a frothy mint-coloured gown sweeping by, with a handsome man beside her. They were followed by a serious-faced young man, dressed well in deep blue velvet, with swept-back chestnut hair and hazel eyes. He was escorting an older, faded woman in mourning black, who Eleanor guessed was their mother.
“That is the Duke of Dunleigh, the oldest Willenshire brother,” Marcia observed in her ear. “Lots of ladies have their eye on him. Rumour has it that he’s looking for a duchess. Ooh, shall we make wager that one of us can get him to dance with us by the end of the night?”
“If the Duke wants to dance with one of us, he’ll ask,” Eleanor said severely. “Let’s not make his night harder than it needs to be.”
“Oh, you are no fun,” Marcia remarked, without venom. “Ah, that’s Lord Alexander, the youngest of them all. If you listen to gossip, he’s got quite a gambling problem, and drinks entirely too much. Oh, and there is Lord Henry, of course. I’m surprised he’s in the country.”
A plump, cheerful young man strode in, beside a man that Eleanor instantly recognized. Her fingers tightened around the punch cup.
Lord Henry was dressed impeccably well, in a burgundy suit with a red and gold waistcoat underneath. He didn’t smile, not like his cheerful brother, and his cool brown gaze swept over the crowd. She shrank back as he went by, even though they were too far away in the throng for them to realistically see her.
