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She snatched a glass of madeira from the nearby table and moved down the stone steps toward the lawns. The gardens offered a colorful spectacle in the summer with flowers blooming in carefully shaped beds. Eleanor could see why Valentine valued this escape from London so much—it was as though one was in the countryside, an excellent compromise.
Eyeing the guests, she spied only two redheaded women. One was the wife of a wealthy merchant who had a brazen tongue and could always be counted upon so say something scandalous, much to Aunt Sarah’s delight. The two women remained on a bench, away from the games, and would no doubt be sharing stories that would turn Eleanor’s cheeks hot.
The other was Miss Fiona Bentley, and she was all of eighteen and so shy, she shook when she uttered a single word. Neither woman seemed capable of or even likely to wish to spoil Demeter’s wedding.
Eleanor did a loop of the lawns, listening to conversations where she could. Talk of the next Season or summer in the countryside dominated conversation. Any gossip offered her few insights into who would wish her sister harm. It seemed she would need a bolder approach.
Her stomach gave a twist when she approached the group of women. Nothing passed Alva, the Duchess of Kirkbride, and her friends without their notice. If there was a mysterious new redhead in Town, they would know about it.
Unfortunately, Her Grace had both seniority of rank, being married to a duke, and a dislike of Eleanor that she barely bothered to disguise. The only thing that mattered was getting to the bottom of this, though. If Aunt Sarah had seen someone at the dinner party the other night, who knew what else the woman was planning? Could she be dangerous? Intent on causing Demeter harm?
Head held high, Eleanor marched across the lawns to the large group of women. Several younger ladies attempted to infiltrate the circle, but Alva was a stern gatekeeper and insisted on only having the most beautiful and refined women in her midst.
She considered Chastity worthy of her attention, with her being a countess, and the most socially adept of all Eleanor’s sisters. Cassie was also marginally accepted but a little too wild for Alva’s tastes, and Demeter’s stutter had made her almost as much of an outsider as Eleanor, although her impending marriage had wrought a change in the way people treated her. She doubted Demeter cared—her love for Blake was the only thing that mattered—but it left a bitter taste in Eleanor’s mouth that a woman should be deemed more worthy simply because she had secured the attentions of a man.
What would they think of her if they knew Lord Ashford had kissed her, she wondered, as she inched between two young women who stood awkwardly at the edge of the group.
Alva sent a narrowed look her way. They’d probably delight in her downfall. She and Oliver had been lucky not to be spotted.
“Your Grace,” Eleanor said with a careful smile.
Though younger than Eleanor, the duchess’s marriage could be considered one of the most successful for the century. Given her tall, slender frame, raven hair and bold blue eyes, as well as a sizable dowry, it was no wonder she did so well on the marriage mart. Alva might be a nasty person but there was no denying her grace and spectacularly handsome looks.
The duchess narrowed her gaze. “Did you want something?”
In some ways Eleanor preferred the duchess’s approach to her. At least it was honest, not hidden behind pretend smiles or fluttering fans. “I know nothing passes you by, Alva.”
“What does that mean?”
Her friends either ignored Eleanor or fixed spiteful looks her way. The younger members of the group fidgeted from foot to foot or tucked themselves behind fans. Soon they’d learn to either be as vicious as Alva or they would be discarded.
“I heard there was a lovely new lady in our midst causing quite a stir. A redhead I believe. I cannot recall her name, but I thought you must know of her.”
“A redhead?” Alva’s lips twitched. “But, Eleanor, why should you care? Are you so lacking in friends that you need to chase down every new woman in Society?”
Eleanor sucked in a breath and met the woman’s gaze. “Someone said she was more beautiful than you.” Eleanor had little idea if the woman was even mildly attractive but if there was a woman with red hair in their midst, fingers would be pointed quickly enough.
For a moment, Alva appeared to be frozen. The ladies around her looked to the grass, the sky, the guests—anywhere other than their leader.
Slowly, a smirk appeared on the duchess’s lips. “You are a tease, Eleanor. There are no new redheaded ladies, and who would think a freckly little redhead beautiful?” Alva leaned in slightly. “But, well done, you almost had me shocked.” She moved back and clapped her hands. “Ladies, the air is a little stale here. Let us get refreshments.”
Like ducklings following their mother, most of the women obediently trotted after her toward the table laden with lemonade and madeira. Eleanor gulped down a breath and resisted the need to bend double. Had she really been so bold as to say such a thing?
Someone tapped on her shoulder, and she twisted to find Chastity standing behind her, her smile wide. “Did I really hear you say that?”
“I believe so.”
“How marvelously done!” Chastity gave her shoulder a squeeze. “What happened to make you so brazen? It’s been far too long since you put Alva in her place.”
Eleanor glanced at her shoes. She knew what the difference was but she was not going to admit to it readily. “I hardly put her in her place.”
“I do not think I have ever seen anyone startle Alva. You did wonderfully.”
It was no good. The kiss had changed her. Oliver’s kiss. One touch of his lips had made something happen inside her, made her want to shout from the roofs—you might not think I’m worth something, but he does.
Except it wasn’t true. Oliver kissed women with ease, she knew that, and she would be a fool to think that kiss anything more than it was.
She glanced at her sister and offered a vague smile. She couldn’t tell Chastity or anyone else. She’d sound idiotic.Oh I’m brave now because a rake kissed me in a darkened garden after he cradled me in his arms and touched my foot and looked at me in a way no one ever has.
