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CHAPTER12
“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you have His Grace wrapped around your wicked little finger,” Rosalin whispered as soon as Henry left the room.
Eleanor quirked her eyebrow. “It only seems that way. Henry and I go back and forth. Sometimes, he wins. Other times, I am the victor. Who can say what will happen from day to day?”
Rosalin’s eyes trailed back to the door through which Henry had just stomped. “I must admit that I am impressed. I’ve never seen a man give in quite so easily. It was all too obvious he was terrified of that cat.” Rosalin paused and looked pointedly at Sir Whiskers. “I wonder why you torture him so,” she said, a playful tone now creeping into her tone.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You were here when he brought me that hideous gift of pheasants. You know, just as well as I do, that Henry thinks the only good animal is a dead animal.”
Rosalin tilted her head thoughtfully, “And yet, he was willing to tolerate all your other pets, save the cats. I wonder why that is the case?”
Eleanor swallowed nervously. She had been so wrapped up in her own troubles that she had completely forgotten why Henry did not care for cats. In truth, she had rather enjoyed watching him squirm away from Sir Whiskers, but now that she thought of the storyhe’d told her about his older brother and the way he died unexpectedly from the cat scratch, Eleanor felt like she had behaved abominably.
She spoke quietly, “Perhaps I should be rid of some of the cats. Or maybe I could see that they are relegated to one part of the grounds. There’s certainly plenty of room around here.” Absentmindedly, she ran her fingertips through Sir Whisker’s dark fur.
“Very good, Eleanor. You’re learning,” Rosalin commented as she poured herself another cup of tea.
“Learning?” Eleanor questioned. “How do you mean?”
“In a marriage, the lady must strive to establish herself as her husband’s equal. When we enter the marriage state, the scales are entirely tipped in the husband’s favor. He holds the land, the title, and the money. Even if we enter the marriage with our own connections or holdings, that all means very little if our husband is not also a titled gentleman.” Rosalin paused and sipped her tea.
“So, it is incumbent upon us, as gentlewomen, to establish our importance in the relationship.”
Eleanor evaluated this notion. “And how have you established your importance, as you say, in your relationship with your husband, Lord Clay?”
Rosalin sniffed elegantly. “I am the person visitors long to see. No one would ever visit old, stuffy, Lord Clay in his house high on the hill before I came to be his wife. But now that I am,” Rosalin paused and blew on her tea to cool it, “we have visitors night and day.”
Eleanor scrunched her forehead as she thought that over carefully. Rosalin was an admirable woman, what with her good looks and her flair for spinning gossip winningly. But there was something about her last statement that didn’t ring quite true. For instance, Eleanor had never been to Lord Clay’s home to visit with Rosalin. In fact, Rosalin spent a great deal of time at Barrow Hall and Lawson Manor. Eleanor wondered why Rosalin had chosen to manipulate this truth.
Rosalin didn’t seem to acknowledge her error in the slightest, as she continued lecturing Eleanor. “I’ve told you before, and I will repeat myself now. There is a freedom a lady knows only once she’s married, but it must not be taken for granted. Should you attempt to have your way all the time with your husband, he will soon come to think on you contemptibly.”
Eleanor’s frown deepened. “I do not think His Grace is such a man.”
“You might be surprised. Men do not wish to be made to look foolish in front of others. Should you persist in having your way all the time, I imagine the shine he sees on you right now will disappear.”
This conversation had certainly taken a turn for the worse. Eleanor had already internally admitted that she should not have provoked Henry with the cats. That was her own carelessness. She should have remembered how he felt about them. But this torturous speech from Rosalin was more than she could bear. She wanted, more than anything, to rush from the room and apologize to Henry. She wanted to promise to keep the cats out of sight and to make more of an effort. But Rosalin continued pontificating, and Eleanor pretended as though she were still listening attentively.
Just as Rosalin stopped talking for a moment to take a nibble from one of the lemon tartlets, the door to the drawing room swung open. As no one had been announced, Eleanor assumed it was Henry returning. She sat up straighter, hoping to catch his eye as he walked into the room. To her dismay, it was not Henry who swept in, but the Dowager Duchess of Lawson.
Eleanor had to fight the urge to slump in her chair, as she knew the Dowager Duchess would not approve of her sitting lackadaisically.
“Lady Clay, it seems you have come to tea, and I was not informed of your presence yet again.” She arched her eyebrow impossibly high and narrowed her violet eyes at Eleanor. “I do apologize for my late arrival. I assure you that had I been properly summoned, I would have been here much earlier.”
Rosalin nodded her head respectfully at the Dowager Duchess. “Do not fault Her Grace. I should have asked to see you. I feel as though we are becoming fast friends, and I would very much like to spend the afternoon with you.”
“Indeed,” the Dowager Duchess harumphed, spreading out her skirts and regally taking the seat that had belonged to Henry moments before. Ever the curious cat, Sir Whiskers leaped gracefully from Eleanor’s side and began circling the Dowager Duchess’ ankles, just as he had done Henry’s. The lady, unlike her grandson, was not afraid of cats, but she was just as dismayed by them.
“Please control your pets,” Henry’s grandmother said, her nose upturned. Had Eleanor not known she was speaking to her, she wouldn’t have suspected it, as the Dowager Duchess did not so much as a glance in her direction. Eleanor made a clucking sound with her tongue, and Sir Whiskers turned to give her a quizzical look. She tipped her head and the cat, looking a tad annoyed, sauntered away from the Dowager Duchess and her expensive silk gown. He slunk back to Eleanor’s side and settled in the crook of her arm.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Eleanor was forced to listen to the Dowager Duchess and Rosalin as they chatted idly. When they weren’t discussing the ongoing activities of the people of thetonor the latest tidbits from the gossip sheets, they were showing their mutual admiration for one another by extravagantly complimenting each other. It seemed Rosalin could not gush enough over Henry’s grandmother’s choice of a day dress, and the Dowager Duchess likewise needed to know where Rosalin had purchased her perfect pair of slippers. Eleanor was exhausted by all the nonsense, and she longed for Henry.
That emotion came about unexpectedly and caught her off-guard. She had been so furious with him the last few days, ever since the affair with the pheasants, that she had seldom allowed herself a moment to appreciate him. But now that she was thinking of him, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. She liked the way Henry’s blue eyes twinkled when he sat in the full sunlight. She recalled the way he had stood, with his chest puffed out like a proud rooster, when he had brought those awful pheasants in the room. He had such a boyish charm about him. It was amazing Eleanor had not noticed it before.
“And I was just telling Her Grace that same thing,” Rosalin said, her words breaking into Eleanor’s revelry. Eleanor glanced up to see that both of her companions were looking at her. They wore matching expressions as they seemed to be waiting on her to add to the conversation.
As Eleanor had not been paying the slightest bit of attention, she simply murmured, “Mmm-hmm.” Thankfully, this placated the ladies as they continued the conversation from there.
The Dowager Duchess said, “His Grace is a fine, obliging man. I know that he is trying his best to make his new wife happy. And I do believe it would behoove her to remember that.”
