Читать книгу The Wayward Debutante - Sarah Elliott - Страница 10

It was a perfect morning for a walk in the park. The sun shone softly through the trees, dappling the path with light, and a mild breeze gently teased Eleanor’s hair, loosening it from the knot at her nape. She carried her scratchy straw hat in her hand, at least for the time being. Eventually, Louisa would notice and insist she put it on once more.

Right now, though, Louisa was about ten paces ahead of her and gaining distance with every step. Beatrice walked stiffly by her side. They’d been arguing until just a few minutes ago, although Eleanor had been unable to hear what about. It hardly mattered, since Louisa picked fights just for fun. Beatrice had made a few murmurs of appeasement but now, knowing her efforts were pointless, had given up in favor of stony silence. Eleanor was thankful that her sister had come along, although she would have preferred to be alone with her. They hadn’t had a meaningful conversation in ages, and could hardly do so with Louisa listening in. Beatrice tended to understand her better than anyone else, and not that long ago, she’d also been a reluctant debutante. She’d have some words of encouragement or advice. And good heavens, did Eleanor need it, at least if she was going to survive the rest of the season. Of course, she couldn’t confess everything that was on her mind: James Bentley, no matter the impression he’d left on her, was simply out of the question.

For the moment, though, their conversation would have to wait. She hummed quietly, letting herself be lulled into daydreams by the satisfying crunch of her kidskin boots hitting the gravel path. She allowed herself to lag even farther behind and began to imagine herself away from Hyde Park, away from the stifling governance of spinster aunts, uncomfortable hats and tight stays. There was so much more to life than her petty existence. She had a mind of her own; she had interests that had nothing to do with finding a suitable husband and producing suitable children. What was all the fuss about getting married, anyway?

And why did the only man to excite her have to be distinctly unsuitable? What on earth did that say about her taste? Granted, he was handsome. Granted, he had wanted to kiss her, and that was certainly a novel experience. No one else had wanted to kiss her before; all the young men she’d met so far only wanted to kiss Lady Arabella Stuart or Lucinda Cator, the season’s two Most Desirables.

“Eleanor!”

She looked up with a small jerk, anticipating the reprimand that Louisa’s sharp tone promised. Louisa and Beatrice had halted several paces ahead, but were now standing, waiting for her to catch up. Both women looked annoyed.

“How many times must I say your name? And where is your hat?” Louisa demanded. She squinted directly into the sun, which made her look even crosser than normal.

Eleanor immediately began to rearrange her hat and walked briskly to reach them. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I wasn’t attending. Is something the matter?”

“I asked, Eleanor, why your sister denies having received an invitation to my dinner next week.”

Eleanor thought carefully before answering, not having the faintest idea how this question pertained to her. Both Louisa and Beatrice were staring at her impatiently. Hoping for a clue, she said slowly, “I didn’t know you were holding a dinner, Auntie. I’m afraid I haven’t put it in my diary.”

“You’re not invited. It’s for married ladies only. What have you done with the invitation?”

Eleanor wasn’t prepared for this interrogation, not right now, not when her mind had so recently been indulging in far more pleasurable thoughts. What did they want from her? “But I thought I wasn’t invited. Why would I have the invitation?”

Beatrice sighed at her continued confusion. “You aren’t invited, Eleanor. Louisa insists she gave you the invitation to pass on to me several days ago, but I never received it. Did you forget?”

“I knew I should have entrusted it to my footman,” Louisa added resentfully before Eleanor could reply. “But your sister was at my house for a visit, anyway, Beatrice, so I gave it to her instead. Useless girl. I repeat, Eleanor, where is the invitation now?”

Eleanor had gone pale as the memory came back. She knew where the invitation was, or at least where it had been when she’d parted ways with it. It had been in her reticule, along with other useful things like money to pay her driver. Luckily, she knew where Beatrice’s housekeeper kept a small supply of funds for day-to-day sundries, so she’d been able to pay him on arrival. But given the events of that evening, the invitation had been insignificant enough to slip from her mind entirely.

Louisa was still looking at her, waiting for an answer that she didn’t actually have. She certainly couldn’t admit that she’d left the invitation at the theater when she shouldn’t have been there in the first place. All she could do was be vague, but that would only send her aunt into a greater rage.

“It is possible I lost it, Auntie.”

“It is possible? Did you or did you not?” Her nostrils flared slightly.

Vagueness wasn’t working, so she tried bluntness instead. “Well, I don’t know where it is now. So I suppose that means I did lose it. Yes.”

Beatrice sighed deeply. “It no longer matters, Aunt Louisa. I never received it, and I’ve made other plans. Just this morning I told Lucy that I’d spend the day with her.”

Louisa shook her head. “You will have to change your plans. Your sister-in-law will understand.”

“I can’t just change my plans. I made a promise.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eleanor said, quietly but sincerely, hoping that her apology would placate her aunt enough so that they could change the subject.

“Your apology is noted, Eleanor, but not particularly helpful at this stage. I must have even numbers. Who ever heard of seating thirteen around the dinner table?”

“Well, I am sorry, Auntie.”

“Thirteen! It’s preposterous.”

Eleanor bit her lip, not wanting to retort. But she hadn’t slept well the night before and didn’t have her usual patience for her aunt’s histrionics. “Don’t you think ‘preposterous’ might be a bit strong?”

“What?” Louisa spluttered.

“It is hardly a crisis. No one will even notice.”

Louisa’s mouth opened and closed a few times, fishlike, before she could speak. “I…I am not accustomed to this impudence from you, Eleanor. Where does this boldness come from?”

Eleanor refused to answer her. She was sick of being treated like a child. She crossed her arms and stared back stubbornly.

Louisa’s gray eyes narrowed. Still looking at Eleanor, she said, “Beatrice, I am going home. We will finish our discussion there. I do not approve of flippant girls.”

And with a curt nod, she turned and marched off.

Beatrice shook her head as she watched her walk away. “Why did you provoke her, Eleanor? She’s going to be in one of her sulks for the rest of the day, and I’m the one who’ll have to talk her out of it.”

“It’s not as if I meant to lose your invitation. I hate the way she talks to me, and I can’t let her do it forever.”

“You won’t think that when she decides you’re becoming undisciplined and need to stay with her instead of Charles and me. I know it was an accident, Eleanor, but you’ve been terribly absentminded. Louisa has apparently been planning this dinner for many weeks. You weren’t very sympathetic.”

Eleanor wished she could explain why she’d responded as she had, but she couldn’t tell Beatrice how she’d really lost the invitation. Hopefully, she said, “You’d rather spend the day with Lucy, anyway. Perhaps I did you a favor.”

“That is not for your carelessness to decide.”

She flinched. Beatrice had never spoken to her so sharply before.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly.

Beatrice flushed with guilty embarrassment. “You needn’t apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. Forgive me.”

“If you forgive me. I haven’t been myself…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Yes, well, one’s first season will have that effect.” Beatrice looked up the path, where Louisa’s rigid figure was gradually growing smaller. “I have to go now if I’m to catch up. Don’t worry about Aunt Louisa. I’ll calm her down. Come home soon.”

Eleanor watched her sister move hurriedly off. She walked over to the nearest bench and sat down, feeling wretched. She’d never stood up to Louisa before, and she’d hardly ever fought with Beatrice. What did it take to please everyone? Perfect obedience? Perhaps her taste of independence had made her bold. At any rate, her reinforced backbone didn’t seem to be going over at all well.

Who was she?

James was growing more confused by the minute, and to make matters worse he was beginning to feel rather absurd, as well. He’d been following her, after all, for half an hour now. He’d first seen her when she’d emerged from the stuccoed portico of number five Belgrave Square, preceded by the two stately creatures who’d just left her stranded. Finally alone, she was sitting forlornly on a bench. And he was standing behind a tree, looking, no doubt, like a complete fool. He’d ducked behind the tree when her companions had turned around to remonstrate with her. Now that they’d both left he supposed he could emerge, only he still didn’t know what to say to her.

His intention had been merely to return her reticule, and it was a matter of pure coincidence that he’d arrived at the house just as she was on her way out. He hadn’t even been certain that it did belong to her, as he could come up with no explanation for why she’d be carrying around someone else’s invitation, or for why a governess would own such an expensive item. As he’d mulled the possibilities over in his head it had even occurred to him, albeit briefly, that she might actually be the Right Honorable lady herself. She certainly talked like a marchioness. But he quickly discounted that thought: she was too obviously innocent to be married. Some rudimentary detective work, carried out the day before—well, he’d just asked William—had revealed that the Marchioness of Pelham was tall, blond and visibly pregnant. She could only be the woman he’d just seen Eleanor talking to.

If she was an Eleanor at all. Perhaps she was a Jane, or a Maria. He still didn’t know why she’d be carrying the marchioness’s invitation, nor could he explain why she looked so different today. It wasn’t just that the horrible blond wig had been replaced by her own rather nice, sleek brown hair. She wasn’t dressed as she had been before, either. She didn’t look like a governess.

But the way those women had been bossing her about, not to mention the way she’d been walking ten paces behind them, suggested they didn’t regard her as an equal. He hadn’t heard most of their words, but it was obvious they were taking her to task for something. Words like impudence, carelessness and useless had a way of carrying.

So, again, who was she?

He began walking in her direction, his hands in his pockets. He hoped he looked nonchalant, but he didn’t feel that way at all. Although he kept telling himself that he had the upper hand, with both age and experience on his side, it didn’t change the fact that he was starting to feel like an untried schoolboy. He didn’t exactly have a plan, and there was a very real risk that she’d bolt the moment she saw him.

Luckily, that didn’t happen. She noticed him just before he reached her, but although her eyes registered surprise she didn’t so much as start. Perhaps her mind was too busy with other matters for her to react quickly; he thought he detected a fleeting trace of sadness in her expression, although it vanished before he could be sure. As he halted in front of her, her expression became masked. She straightened warily in her seat, as if preparing herself to spring at the slightest sign of impropriety.

James hadn’t assumed she’d make things easy, and clearly she wasn’t going to dash his expectations. He suppressed a sigh of frustration. “Miss Smith. What a pleasant surprise.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just continued to stare levelly back at him, allowing no indication of her feelings to enter her face. But inwardly, she was reeling. How was this possible? Was she dreaming him up…every detail down to his disheveled hair and gold watch chain? Was he as much a figment as Jane Pilkington?

No, no. Be reasonable, Eleanor. He is real, and he is dangerous. Find a way to leave, and do it quickly.

Only instead of following her mind’s advice by nodding a curt goodbye and departing immediately, she responded with a question of her own. She was too bewildered to do otherwise. “What are you doing here?”

James raised an eyebrow at the accusation in her tone, but her suspicion was perfectly justified. He probably should answer her question honestly and immediately by removing her belongings from his jacket’s inner pocket, but he thought it would be unwise to reveal his hand so soon. Better to pretend he was equally surprised by this meeting.

“I always walk in the park at this time of day…live quite close by, in fact. And you, Miss Smith? I don’t recall seeing you here before.”

“I rarely walk in the park,” she lied. She often walked in the park, but would now obviously have to change that habit. Blast him. Furtively, she glanced up and down the path. An elderly couple, some distance off, was strolling in their direction. They were hardly a threat, but what if someone she knew came along? What if she should be seen talking to him? She had to leave, and if he tried to stop her she’d…

Probably expire on the spot, but she’d worry about that later.

She rose. “Do enjoy the sunshine, Mr. Bentley. I wish you a good day.” But as she took her first step, he moved to the side to block her.

“Not so fast, Smith. I’m starting to think you’re following me. You’ll have to explain yourself first.”

Eleanor glared at that absurd suggestion. Speaking quietly through clenched teeth, she ordered, “Move out of my way, Mr. Bentley, or I will scream.”

He arched an amused eyebrow, almost daring her to make good on her offer. After a few seconds he asked, “Well? I’m waiting.”

She opened her mouth slightly, but not a scream, or even a peep came out. Her cheeks suffused with color. Of course she wouldn’t do it; she had no desire for public humiliation. The horrible man had called her bluff.

And he knew it, too. He looked altogether too smug.

“You grow tedious, Mr. Bentley,” she said finally. “Have you no one else to bother?”

“Not when you’ve so unexpectedly improved my morning. Who were those women?”

Surprised by the sudden change of topic, she blinked in confusion. “Which women?”

“The ones speaking to you. The stern gray one and the blond one who stayed behind with you for a minute. Do you work for the younger one?”

A sudden wave of dizziness forced her back down on the bench. This was very bad news indeed. He’d seen her family, and finding out her identity and theirs was just a short step away. Work for Beatrice? What exactly had she told him? Oh, yes. Eleanor Smith: governess.

“I look after her two-year-old son.” She didn’t feel at all confident as she told this falsehood, but hoped he would believe it since she resembled neither her sister nor her aunt.

He let his eyes wander down her body and then back up. “Dresses you rather well, doesn’t she?”

She stiffened under his disconcerting gaze. “I simply benefit from her castoffs. She is very generous. I…I just have her clothes altered to fit me. This dress is two seasons old.”

He nodded slowly. “And as she appears to be enceinte, presumably in a few months you will have another charge.”

“Yes. I can hardly wait.”

“And how long have you worked for her?”

She felt as if she was being quizzed under oath, only she didn’t have any answers to give since every word she uttered was spur-of-the-moment perjury. “Not very long.”

“Two days ago you said you were looking for work.”

“Yes, well, I lied.” She had no trouble coming up with that answer—it was the first bit of truth she’d spoken since they began this ludicrous conversation, and the words came out easily. But, oh God, now she’d have to explain why she’d lied…

He sat down on the other side of the bench. He was looking at her skeptically. “It’s not nice to tell falsehoods, Miss Smith.”

“I don’t care,” she said defiantly. “Why should I have told you the truth?” She didn’t exactly know how she’d explain herself out of this mess, but desperation helped the words to flow, as did the fact that he was too close to her and she really needed to leave. “I believe it was you, sir, who pointed out how improper it was for a governess to be at the theater alone. I simply didn’t want you to know who my employer was, so I told you I had none. But now you’ve found me out. You may tell her if you like.” She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t take her up on this challenge, and she was relieved by his answer. He even looked a tiny bit contrite.

“I have no desire for you to lose your position.”

She rose again, this time determined to leave. “Now, you will forgive me, but I really must go. She will wonder what has kept me.”

He rose, too. “I’ll walk with you.”

His words caused a swirl of unfamiliar sensation deep down in her stomach, but she tried to ignore it. “That won’t be necessary.” She started walking briskly, but he paid no heed to her refusal and began walking with her.

She stopped and turned on him. “What do you want, sir?”

It was a reasonable question, and he wasn’t even sure of the answer himself. He could hardly confess that he wanted to kiss her, that he wanted to take her home with him and keep her there until he grew bored. She was completely adorable, especially when her cheeks filled with color and she looked as though she was ready to stomp her foot in irritation. He certainly wasn’t ready to see the last of her.

“I have a confession to make, Miss Smith. Thought you’d want to hear it before you left.”

She was extremely curious to hear it, but it didn’t matter. As much as he infuriated her, his was the most thrilling company she’d ever experienced and her self-possession was vanishing fast. “I don’t care.”

But before she could turn away, he reached into his pocket and removed her reticule. He held it out to her. “My confession is that I didn’t just stumble upon you. I found this after you left the theater…there was an invitation inside, addressed to your mistress. I was on my way to return it, but you were leaving the house just as I arrived.”

She took the reticule from his hand, but just looked at it dumbly. Slowly, she started walking again, trying to digest this new set of facts. He knew where she lived. How disastrous. What if he should seek her out there? Or change his mind and decide to tell Beatrice after all?

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t actually think he’d do either. In the first place, he had no reason to go to the trouble of seeking her out, not when he was handsome enough to have his pick of beautiful women. And second, she didn’t really think he’d tell Beatrice. Doing so would be deliberately cruel. But then again, he’d already proved he was capable of a certain amount of underhandedness in order to get what he wanted.

She needed a strategy, and provoking him further would obviously get her nowhere.

She stopped walking and turned to face him. He stopped, too, and waited.

She swallowed nervously, and then spoke. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude to you this morning. I mean, you deserve it, but nevertheless it is remiss of me not to thank you. For rescuing me from that horrid man the other night. And for returning this. The invitation inside is very important.”

James smiled, and her heart fluttered. “Don’t thank me too soon.”

She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, ‘too soon’?”

He began to walk forward again and, unaware of what she was doing, she followed his cue and began walking with him. “Well,” he said slowly, “I have another proposition to make.”

“What kind of proposition?” Eleanor asked. She quickly amended her words, however, realizing that she probably didn’t want to know the answer. “Actually, you don’t need to tell me.”

“I assure you it’s nothing sinister, Miss Smith. Do you always think such base thoughts?”

“Base thoughts!”

He stopped once more, leaning this time against a tall oak tree. “Yes. It’s a perfectly innocent proposition and you won’t even let me begin. It’s precisely what happened when I tried to make the same proposition at the theater—you misunderstood me badly, you know, and maligned my character in the process. Instead of waiting to hear what I had to offer, you dashed off like a scared deer.”

She bristled at the comparison. “Do you refer to your gallant offer of employment? As you now know, I’ve no need of work.”

“Shall I tell you what my offer was? Or would you prefer to go on thinking the worst of me?”

She glanced over her shoulder suspiciously. They’d entered one of the more secluded parts of the park, and she hadn’t realized it until then. “I’m not remotely interested,” she said, but she made no move to leave. She leaned in slightly.

James smiled. “Yes, I can see you’re not at all interested. You enjoy the theater very much, don’t you?”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“It’s obvious you’ll go to great lengths to attend.”

“That’s not true,” she lied stubbornly. “I like it no more than most.”

He sighed. “Then explain your ridiculous disguise and your multiple deceptions. You know you’d lose your situation if your employer ever learned of your outings, but you’re willing to take the risk anyway.”

“Yes, well, I have decided I won’t be doing so any longer. Too risky, as you’ve just pointed out.”

He moved a step closer. “You could go, if you wanted to. You could go if you were with me.”

She countered by taking a step back, unable to think clearly when he stood so close. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“But it is. I hold a very large share of that theater, you see. I’m one of its owners, and if you were with me I could provide you with better protection than you have now, sitting alone in the audience. As your last experience showed, you need protection.”

Eleanor just stared at him for a good five seconds as she attempted to make sense of his words. She felt rather sick. How could this be possible? She’d wondered how she’d been unlucky enough to encounter him there twice, and he owned the theater. She was a fool.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” she said, her voice weak.

“Look, Miss Smith, you needn’t act so maidenly about this. It’s a simple business proposition. We both have something to gain.”

“I fail to see what either of us would gain.”

“We both require the other’s company.”

“I do not require your company, sir, and you can go alone.”

“Of course I can go alone. I don’t have to go at all—I helped finance the theater, but I have little to do with its day-to-day running. But I’ve been thinking of late that I ought to take a more active role, and I would do so more readily if I had someone pleasant to sit next to on a regular basis. Make it feel less like work, don’t you think?”

It was outrageous. Jeopardize her reputation so he wouldn’t be bored? “Get someone else to sit next to you—you didn’t seem to have any difficulty finding companionship before.”

He smiled. “Perhaps. But it is a problem finding someone intelligent enough…I must admit to being a bit of a philistine, Miss Smith, and I need someone to help me understand the plays properly. Someone who’ll have something improving to say at the end. Someone like a…governess.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly that he must have heard it, but somehow she managed to sound calm. “You’re a bit old for a governess, sir, but I wish you luck in your search. I must go.”

She turned away, but he caught her hand. He was beginning to look impatient. “What I’m really trying to do is help you. Will you accept my help?”

“How on earth would this help me? Please don’t tell me you’re concerned about my welfare.”

“Well, I am. You need a chaperone.”

“And you think you’re qualified?”

He frowned at her sarcastic tone. He was making everything up as he went along, but it all sounded like good sense to his ears. He’d almost convinced himself that his motives were benign, so why wouldn’t she believe him? “Maybe not in the conventional sense, but it’s not safe for you to go alone. People make certain assumptions about women who do such things. You are aware of that, aren’t you? If you step foot in a theater alone, everyone there will assume you are a woman of easy virtue.”

She turned pink. She’d known respectable women never attended the theater alone, but she hadn’t actually taken the time to consider why that was so. She’d thought it was just another of society’s conventions.

“I already told you, I won’t be going again.”

“But you’ll want to.” He still held her hand, and the light, warm pressure was beginning to make her feel dizzy. He stepped closer again, and his voice dropped an octave. “Give me an answer, Eleanor. I know I haven’t behaved like a perfect gentleman to you, and this is my only way of making up for it. Let me help you. A new play starts next week. Come with me. I promise you’ll enjoy it. I even promise I’ll behave. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

She knew she should refuse; that was the only sane thing to do. But his voice was gentle and cajoling, and his leafy eyes had grown dark. She wanted nothing more than to acquiesce. She was thinking about kissing again, thinking about how close his face was to hers. He was right: she would want to go again, and he was offering her the chance.

She knew she should refuse. That’s what any sensible, gently raised young lady would do. But the tedium of being a sensible young lady had been doing her in for many weeks now. There really was much more to life.

“I can’t come. It’s too difficult to get out of the house without being detected.”

He sensed her resolve was fading. “You must have a night off.”

She shook her head.

He rolled his eyes. “This habit you have of lying…everyone has a night off. Tell me when yours is.”

This couldn’t be happening to her. He was asking her to sneak away and meet him secretly. She wasn’t supposed to do that sort of thing, but here she was, actually contemplating it. She knew she shouldn’t…but why shouldn’t she? There were so many rules she had to follow, and she hadn’t invented a single one herself. Besides, what if he should reveal her secret? Thanks to that invitation, he knew where she lived and he knew who her relatives were. Her voice was small and uncertain. “Wednesday?”

He seemed surprised that she’d actually provided him with an answer. “Wednesday? Shall we meet then, next week?”

She was already shaking her head vigorously, wanting to take everything back. She hadn’t agreed to anything. “I…I don’t know my answer yet. I will think about it, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’ll send my carriage. There will be no risk at all.”

“I will not be alone in a carriage with you!”

“Oh, for…I won’t be in it. I’ll meet you at the theater, so you’ll be perfectly alone. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“It will never work. You cannot send your carriage to my house. I could never explain such a thing to my mistress.”

He frowned. Of course his carriage couldn’t simply arrive at the doorstep to whisk the governess away for an evening of dubious entertainments. But he also knew that if he left transportation up to her she’d never come. “I don’t think you’ll have to explain yourself, but if anyone asks, say you’re visiting an elderly relative. My maid goes somewhere every Tuesday night and I haven’t the faintest idea where, nor do I care. She can do what she likes during her own time. No one will miss you.”

Except she wasn’t a servant, and she would be missed. “I don’t know…”

“Six o’clock,” he said, his voice quiet and brooking no argument. Eleanor looked into his eyes and knew he’d won. How had it happened? Everything had moved too quickly, and she just couldn’t keep up. And now he was standing so close to her, his head bent toward hers and his changeable eyes meeting her gaze. He still held her hand, and the gentle, almost imperceptible caress of his thumb made her shiver.

He really was going to kiss her this time; she was sure of it. But he didn’t, not on the lips or cheek, anyway. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it softly, never taking his gaze from hers.

“I believe you have somewhere to go, Miss Smith, so I will bid you good day. Don’t make my driver wait, or he’ll come find you.”

As he walked away, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. What had she allowed herself to be talked into?