AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And what can I do to rectify that?”
“Nothing, and I do not see why a man such as yourself should even care to bother. Can my opinion really mean anything to you?” Eleanor stopped, placed her hands to her hips and fixed him with a sincere look. “There are few men of rank who should care what a woman like me would think of them. I cannot imagine the Viscount Ashford is really bothered by my estimation of him.”
In truth, he didn’t usually care. He had a mother who questioned his every move and he’d taught himself that so long as no one was harmed by his behavior, it did not really matter what he did. However, there was something in the challenge Eleanor presented that made him more curious than ever. Why did she not trust him?
“If it is to do with whatever is written about me in gossip columns, I would advise you to ignore them. Do not forget I have read gossip of you, too.”
Her mouth parted and she took a sharp step back, stopping mid-dance. Blast, he’d erred. Most severely. Not long ago, Eleanor had all but been accused of murdering her lover. But there had been no lover and she’d had nothing to do with it either—as everyone knew after the real killer had been found.
Other dancers moved around them, sending irritated looks their way whilst others at the edge of the room stared.
“Eleanor,” he said. “I only meant to suggest that you should not believe everything you read.”
“I think this dance is over,” she declared, spinning on her heel and shoving through the crowds before he could catch up with her.
Oliver ran a hand over his face and moved away from the continuing dance. Since when had he become such a bumbling fool? He shook his head to himself and twisted to spy Blake approaching. Dark-haired and dashing, they’d made quite the pair in their youth, but while marriage might not be for Oliver, he was glad Blake had found someone to love. His friend had suffered a distinct lack of love in his childhood, and he’d never seen the man so happy since falling in love with Demeter – and receiving her affection in return.
At least until now. Concern pulled at his friend’s brow.
“What’s the matter?” Oliver asked.
Blake grimaced and shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s the wedding. Well, Demeter’s wedding gown. Something has happened to it.”
Chapter Three
“Ithink someone wants Mama.” Eleanor winced when baby Nancy grabbed another fistful of hair with surprising strength for a three-month-old.
Chastity smiled, gently unfurled her daughter’s hand, and took the baby from her sister. Nancy gave one last wriggle, then settled against her mother’s chest with a tiny sigh.
Eleanor shook her head. She rather envied the baby. After the disaster at the ball, she suspected she’d managed all of one hour of sleep. Of course, everyone was tired after a ball—none of the family had returned until the early hours of the morning—but she could not blame the long evening. Or was it morning?
No. She put the blame squarely at Oliver’s feet.
He’d probably be mightily amused by the fact he had preoccupied her mind so much. Everything seemed to amuse him. Did he ever take anything seriously? Even her stumbling through the steps of a dance brought a quirking smile to his lips. He did not seem to care he had a clumsy fool for a dance partner.
Blast the man.
Well, at least she had no plans for the day aside from seeing her sister and niece. And thankfully, her sister had opted not to attend the ball last night and leave Nancy, so they did not have to discuss that silly dance with that annoying man.
Chastity inched slowly onto the sofa, careful not to disturb the now slumbering baby. “Tell me of the ball. Was anyone interesting there? Who danced with whom?”
Eleanor wrinkled her nose and took a seat opposite Chastity, angled slightly to face the huge carved marble fireplace that remained unlit thanks to the warm day. “You know you are asking the wrong person. You should speak with Cassie.”
“She is coming to see Valentine and me later, but you know she will not even be out of bed yet and I miss balls most heartily. So you, dear Eleanor, are my only source of gossip.”
Eleanor smothered a yawn with the back of a hand. “Could you not have come for gossip at a later hour?”
“And be in ignorance for a good several hours? Never.” Chastity tucked a dark curl behind her ear, reminding Eleanor her hair likely stood out at all angles thanks to her niece’s grasping attentions.
Chastity never meant it, but she always left Eleanor feeling unkempt, even when her hair was behaving and staying in a chignon that took a ridiculous number of pins to tame into place.
Her oldest sister had played the part of mother in many ways to all the sisters but at one-and-thirty, she exuded a sensuous sort of elegance that not even the most beautiful of debutantes could replicate. It was no wonder her husband Valentine had practically given up being a recluse to be at his wife’s side.
With a smothered sigh, Eleanor shoved down the pang of envy. She didn’t need to be elegant or even sensuous—the life of a bluestocking or maybe even a wallflower was fine for her. One day—fairly soon—it would merge into being a spinster. Aunt Sarah might not be a spinster but she was entirely satisfied involving herself in her nieces’ lives. That would be enough for her, surely?
She frowned to herself. Except, of course, Aunt Sarah had lots of exotic stories and interesting—if not always useful—advice to give, and Eleanor wasn’t sure she had anything Nancy would find interesting to listen to unless she enjoyed fixing things.
Well, perhaps Nancy would enjoy such things. When she was a little older, she could show her the mechanical elephant and how it worked. Nothing had fascinated her more when she had first come to England and it had started her love of horology and all things mechanical. Something about the bronzed statue with a moving trunk that she could command by a mere twist of a handle comforted her in this strange, cold place far from her late-mother and the people she knew.
