“Oh dear,” Eleanor said, looking down after seeing Mr. Fulk clearing a path back to her.
“Ugh,” Ophelia said, noticing Mr. Fulk. “He’s such a braggart.”
“I thought you might have noticed his halitosis,” Eleanor said. “It was quite overpowering.”
Ophelia waved her hand. “I’ve partially lost my sense of smell. Frostbite! The wonders of an adventuring life.”
“Maybe you ought to dance with him, then,” Eleanor said.
Ophelia shook her head. “Mr. Fulk hates Tristan, and by extension, the rest of us. He blocked anyone at his bank from supporting our expedition as a result. It’s been a bit of a trial.” Ophelia’s shoulders sank, but then she brightened. “But maybe you can convince him otherwise? Oh Eleanor, you’re a genius! I’ll slip off then.”
“But—” Before Eleanor could protest that she had no intention of going on the expedition whatsoever, Ophelia threaded behind their group into the wallflowers and matrons, disappearing into the crowd.
“Well then, Miss Piper?” Mr. Fulk said, offering his arm.
Eleanor glanced at her mother, who gave her a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Fulk.”
Meanwhile, Justine was whirled away by a dashing young man. Her light-hearted laugh rang out, her mouth open, and carefree. Oh, to be as unencumbered as Justine was. Justine didn’t participate in Ophelia’s plotting, she didn’t fuss about being a scandal, she merely existed the way she liked. If only that were available to someone like Eleanor. She glanced back at her parents, older than most of the other chaperones. They were staid and staunch, unflagging and thoroughly gray in their quiet love of her. She knew that. It was security and expectation, all rolled into one.
Mr. Fulk placed them in relation to the other dancers, and they stood quietly waiting for the music to begin. Eleanor hadn’t the experience in dancing with actual men to know the best way to converse, so she waited, hoping he might fill in the gaps.
But he didn’t. He looked over her head, also waiting. Finally the music began, and they swayed to the rhythm. Eleanor had dance instruction, but Mrs. Bernard had always been her partner. While Mr. Fulk acquitted himself well, Eleanor hoped she did likewise. But he didn’t speak. So neither did she.
As the long minutes ticked by, Eleanor let her mind drift. She caught sight of Tristan watching her from the sidelines, an amused smirk on his face, she determined she would speak to Mr. Fulk. Tristan was not the entirety of her suitors. Best to make a go of it.
“Are you having a pleasant evening?” Eleanor asked, wincing as it came out. How very unoriginal.
“Thus far.” Mr. Fulk glanced down at her with a tight smile. “And you?”
“Thus far,” she echoed. Well, that was stunning. Both her ingenious conversation and his breath.
After some minutes, Mr. Fulk cleared his throat. “The Bridewells, are you well acquainted with them?”
Eleanor considered how to answer it, but not knowing any of the politics, went with the truth. “I’ve known them scarcely a week. I like Miss Ophelia Bridewell very much. She’s so...”
Mr. Fulk gave a snort that couldn’t be construed as anything but dismissive. “Don’t be taken in by her sort, Miss Piper. They may have a title, but they aren’t Quality.”
“Oh.” Eleanor caught sight of Tristan once again. Was he not Quality? By many people’s standards, she herself wasn’t Quality. They had no title, no illustrious lineage. Her father was a ship’s captain who happened to be an excellent businessman with a head for political winds.
“Perhaps Miss Bridewell could be, if she were given a firm, guiding hand,” Mr. Fulk continued, as if he were considering buying her like one might buy a racehorse.
“I beg your pardon?” Eleanor couldn’t believe what she was hearing, or perhaps it was the tone in which he said it.
“A firm, guiding hand,” Mr. Fulk repeated. “By a husband, since her father nor her brother seem to be reining her in. Traipsing off to climb mountains indeed! A waste of time, and a waste of her health, when she ought to be settling down, raising a family.”
“What is wrong with climbing mountains?” Eleanor asked. He swung her around, her wine-red skirts billowing.
“If men kill themselves doing it, then certainly a woman would topple in the face of it. Men are inherently heartier than women. That’s just a fact.”
“Have you heard about childbirth, Mr. Fulk?” Eleanor asked pleasantly. “They say it’s quite painful. Given how many women die from it, one does think women have quite a solid constitution.”
“See? That’s my point exactly. Women are made to have children; therefore, it shouldn’t be difficult in the least. But so many women die from it, which only shows how weak they truly are.” Mr. Fulk gripped her closer, as if this entire conversation was building his passion. “You confuse facts with biology. Women are meant to breed. And like a prize mare, a man must be there to guide the process, making sure every line is its strongest.”
Eleanor didn’t know if she should step on his foot or slap his face. “I’m surprised you are willing to say such things with a woman on the throne.”
“Ah! Another great fallacy of our time! Queen Victoria is ordained by God himself. She isn’t merely a woman, though she is doing a fine job of keeping up with her lineage, as required by her biology, but able to govern, as appointed by God.”
They passed several moments in silence, spinning and swaying, and Eleanor could not wait to be free of him. “Would you have spoken to me at all during this dance if I had not spoken first?”
