Eleanor forced herself to sit still and not squirm under his scrutiny, eyeing him coolly. It didn’t put him off – he only smiled wider.
“May I join you two for a minute?” he asked suddenly, pulling up a chair before either of them could respond.
It was probably for the best he didn’t wait for an answer. Aunt Florence had never considered herself particularly constrained by the boundaries of politeness, and Eleanor was on the cusp of telling him to get lost anyway.
The chair legs scraped horribly on the floor, setting Eleanor’s teeth on edge and making all the other patrons shoot poisonous glances their way. And then Lord Richard Grenville, the Fairfaxes’ long-standing enemy, was sitting at their too-small table, grinning like the cat who had got the cream.
“I hear,” Lord Richard said, voice low and conspiratorial, “that Lord Henry Willenshire has joined your business, Miss Fairfax. Is that so?”
“I couldn’t possibly comment. I suggest you speak to my father, or else come into the office,” Eleanor responded testily, wondering if she could get away with kicking the man under the table. Probably not.
Lord Richard was a man of indeterminate age, black hair greying at the temples, and was generally considered to be handsome. He had never married, as far as Eleanor knew, probably because he had never managed to tempt an heiress wealthy enough for him. His older brother was a baronet somewhere in the north, and it was well known that they were not on speaking terms.
The Grenville pottery business plodded on steadily, but hardly in great leaps and bounds. No new designs, nothing groundbreaking, nothingdifferent.
Privately, Eleanor considered the Grenvilles as a type of business she would like to avoid, with their poorly-paid, miserable workers and dull pottery. Ugh.
Lord Richard’s smile widened, as if he knew what she was thinking.
“Always so reticent, Miss Fairfax! It’s not an attractive quality in a lady, to be so reserved.”
She bared her teeth. It might have been seen as a smile, if that was what a person wanted to see.
“I’m surprised you know that word, Mr Grenville.Reticent. It’s a rather long one. And what on earth makes you think I would like to be attractive to you?”
The smile wavered, just a tad.
“Goodness, how outspoken you are, Miss Fairfax. I wonder if Lord Henry knows about your sharp tongue?”
She chuckled. “Oh, I can assure you he does.”
“Really? Because rumour has it – and of course, you know that I never bother to gossip – that you and your darling Papa intend to catch Lord Henry. After all, the Willenshire fortune is considerable, and with a portion of that at your backs, you would never struggle again.”
Eleanor’s mouth tightened in distaste.
“You’re quite mistaken, sir. I have no intention ofcatchinganybody.”
“No, I suppose not,” Lord Richard drawled, leaning back in his seat, arm slung over the back, letting his gaze drag up and down her frame. “You are twenty-two, are you not? Rather old to snatch up a lord, I’d say. If you were four years younger – and perhaps a morefashionablebeauty – you might have made a play for the duke himself. Still, there’s not a great deal any of us can do about that, ha-ha.”
“This is not an appropriate conversation, sir,” Eleanor responded coldly. “Not for a place like this.”
Not for any place, really. However, Gunter’s was full of people, all chattering and laughing, so that Richard’s words were drowned out and unheard. He could say more or less what he liked, and simply deny that he’d said it afterwards.
And he knew that very well.
“Oh, Miss Fairfax,” Lord Richard laughed, revealing pointed canine teeth. “You are such asticklerfor propriety. But spinsters often are, I find. You’re wise to try and secure a good match, of course, although I fancy it might be a little too late. To be frank, I don’t believe you’ll catch Lord Henry. He’s a good-looking man with a great deal of money coming to him, and above all he isworldly. He knows his value – and I’m afraid, he knows yours too, Miss Fairfax. Perhaps adjust your expectations, hm?”
She did not allow herself to flinch. “Is that all, Mr Grenville? I would like very much if you would leave me and my aunt alone.”
He smiled wider. “No. In fact, I…”
He was never destined to finish his sentence, because at that moment, Aunt Florence picked up a cup of steaming tea and delicately poured it over Lord Richard’s lap.
He gave a shout of pain and leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair and bumping into a knot of people standing beside him.
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Florence said mildly, voice pitched high enough for everybody to hear in the new silence. “It seems that Mr Grenville has spilt his tea. How clumsy of him.”
Eleanor barely managed to stifle a hoot of surprised laughter, pressing her face in her napkin. Aunt Florence met her eye and winked.
