Ann Lethbridge - Regency Society

‘Who would you invite?’

Bea felt her heart begin to race a little faster, for deception was something she had always been very bad at. ‘The family, of course, and a few other friends and acquaintances.’

His palm took her wrist, measuring the beat. ‘Acquaintances?’ There was a tone in the word demanding truth.

‘I saw Lady Dromorne today in the park, Taris. Did your brother ever mention her to you?’

Taris pushed back his pillow. ‘Eleanor Westbury? In what way?’

‘Had he been … interested in her at all?’

‘Did she say that he had been?’

‘No.’ Even to her own ears the denial was too quick. Too forced.

‘There was that fracas many years ago with Nigel Bracewell-Lowen that many insisted was a result of Cristo’s antics, though of course such an accusation was never proved. I do not think that she would welcome your invitation. Besides, she is a married woman and Martin Westbury rarely ventures out.’

Bea nodded. Reason pointed to a happy union, but her own intuition was telling her something very different. Lady Dromorne had fainted when she had seen Cristo at the theatre and this afternoon Prudence Tomlinson had mentioned she had seen them touching hands in the public reading room.

Bea had squashed this rumour by swearing her brother-in-law to be at Beaconsmeade for the day and Prue had laughed at her own silly imagination, glad for the chance to clear up such a misunderstanding. Yet the meeting with Eleanor had made Bea curious.

How could Cristo’s revelations be responsible for ruining Eleanor’s reputation? Her mind ran further afield to the age and infirmity of the husband. There was a daughter, too, of about five, if memory served her well. She wondered how such an unwell and aged man had been able to father a child. Another thought charged in over the top of that one and Beatrice took in a breath. What if Martin Westbury was not the true parent of Eleanor’s daughter? Cursing her fertile imagination, she listened again to her husband.

‘If you are bent on repairing the relations between our family, perhaps an invitation to the two younger Westbury nieces might be a better way to do it. They are reputed to be sensible girls. Ask some of the young bucks about Beaconsmeade to even out the numbers.’

Beatrice smiled tightly. Sense told her to leave the matter entirely, yet there was sadness in the pale blue eyes of Eleanor Westbury that was undeniably interlaced with her brother-in-law. The small opportunity to play out the conclusion of something important could not hurt, could it?

She snuggled down into the arms of her husband and pulled the light cover across them, his heavy masculinity treasured and safe.

‘I love you, Taris.’

He laughed as he turned her over, and covered the soft desire in her body with his own particular molten heat.

‘Show me.’

The invitation to the Wellinghams’ party in ten days’ time caused a stir in the Dromorne household and for many more reasons than any could have guessed.

The two younger Westbury girls screamed with delighted shock, each imagining the gowns that might catch the fancy and admiration of the enigmatic youngest Wellingham brother.

Martin Westbury, on the other hand, decided that he would simply decline the invite altogether, but was most insistent that his wife take his nieces and sister to the affair as it had been a long while since they had been invited to any soirée of the very first order. Not that Martin ranked things in accordance with such strict and rigid axioms, but his sister’s daughters’ futures had to be considered and another Season in London for the girls was beginning to pall on him with the hustle and bustle social intercourse demanded.

Eleanor was just struck dumb, unable to formulate any real understanding of any of it.

She had expected to be a persona non grata to Lady Beatrice-Maude after her outburst and instead had received one of the most sought-after social cards of the Season. A great dread engulfed her.

‘Sophie and Margaret must go, of course,’ she began, and was surprised when Martin raised his hand.

‘You and Diana will chaperone them, Lainie. It is only right and proper.’

‘I am quite happy to let Diana go in my stead. Besides, I could not leave Florencia for so very long.’

But her husband was having none of it.

‘As Florencia has her beloved governess and I have been feeling considerably better of late, I am certain this would be a good change for all of us.’ He winked at his sister. ‘To make sure that we live up to the standards required, you shall all go off to the dressmaker and get fitted out for such an occasion.’

Such a proclamation brought renewed shouts of delight, Margaret’s face even teasing a smile from the gloom that had overcome Eleanor, and when Florencia was brought down, Eleanor opened her arms to her daughter, enjoying her soft warmth.

‘Did you have a lovely time yesterday, Florencia?’ Margaret asked the question with a smile.

‘We saw some puppies. They licked my hands and followed me. Could we bring one home, Mama, even just for a little while?’ The silver in her hair was caught by the light from the window.

‘You know that Papa would get iller if a pet came home, darling.’

‘We could keep one outside, though? Aunt Diana’s friend said that it could be.’

‘It might get rather cold in the winter when you are warmly tucked up in your bed.’

Eleanor wished Martin would help her out on this, but his earlier forcefulness was gone, replaced instead by the more normal air of exhaustion. Even the scrambled eggs seemed too much bother for him to eat this morning. A pang of worry shot through her, her own concerns seeming selfish in the face of his sickness.

‘Should I ask the doctor to come and see you again, Martin? He is most happy to be called at any time.’

Her husband shook his head and closed his eyes, momentarily looking so washed out that a flurry of alarm made Eleanor start. When Florencia glanced up from her lap, she ordered herself to be calm. The doctor had assured them that his condition was stable and that the deterioration Eleanor could so plainly see had tapered off. She wanted to seek a second opinion, but Martin would have none of it, insisting on his satisfaction with such a prognosis.

Hugging Florencia tighter, she wondered if his condition would continue to worsen. In the breakfast room, with the happy talk of new gowns and the sun slanting through the French doors from the outside courtyard, such a thought was unsettling; an interloping truth that she wanted to ignore until she no longer could. The scent of summer roses in a large blue vase filled the air.

Taking a breath, she gathered her strength and joined in the conversation Margaret and Sophie were having on the dressmaker of their choice and on the weekend’s entertainment.

‘They say that Beaconsmeade is a beautiful old house and that Lord Taris Wellingham keeps his best horses at stud there.’ Sophie seemed full of information that Eleanor had not a notion of.

‘Perhaps there will be a chance to ride, then, for Cristo Wellingham is reported to be keen on the sport. I will put in my riding habit.’

Margaret’s hopes had Sophie giggling, though the youthful exuberance of the girls gave Eleanor a sharp pang of loss.

When had she ever been truly young? Pregnant at eighteen and a wife before twenty! And now with her twenty-fourth birthday on the horizon she felt old before her time. Stolen kisses would never be for her, the flirtatious dance of the fan in a crowded ballroom only a figment of imagination and fantasy, like some chapter of one of the romantic books she sometimes borrowed from the reading room.