Ann Lethbridge - Regency Society

Dressed in unending black, Eleanor exited the conveyance that had been sent by Emerald Wellingham to pick them up. The previous week had been difficult for the timing for her leaving the Dromorne properties was tighter than she had hoped, as Martin’s cousin wished to inhabit the family seats before the end of July.

Oh, granted, Martin had left her with enough money to procure another property, but the speed of change was unsettling, all the decisions she needed to make alone daunting and dispiriting.

It was as if the black of her clothes had leaked into her blood, despair and dullness leaving their mark upon her. Taking in a breath, she admonished herself. She had options and possibilities and Florencia, far from being depressed by losing the only man she had known as a father, seemed barely perturbed by his absence.

Eleanor frowned. They had not been as close as she might have hoped. Perhaps Martin’s illness had precluded a lot of the joy she had seen in him in Italy, though if she was truthful even there he had been more of a safe man than a happy one.

Safety.

In the throws of change she felt her fingers clench into a fist, the dread that she had woken up with thinking about this visit mounting as the Wellingham town house came into view. If Cristo Wellingham were here, she would turn and leave no matter what explanation might be offered. The very danger of it all sapped what little energy she had left and she swayed.

‘Are you all right, my lady?’ Patricia, her maid travelling with them, looked concerned, though nothing seemed to faze her daughter, whose whole attention was on the puppies.

‘I hope the puppies have not grown too much, Mama. I hope I can hold one and give it a cuddle. Will they let me carry it around, do you think?’

‘Shush, child. Can you not see your mother is tired and all these questions are sapping her energy further?’

Florencia’s dark eyes came around to hers, the joy in them squashed by criticism.

‘I did not mean …’

‘No.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘It is lovely to see you so excited and I am certain you will be able to hold a puppy if you are careful.’

Her daughter’s smile blossomed and in that second she looked so like Cristo Wellingham that Eleanor was frightened.

Would Emerald Wellingham see it? Would the distance the wider family seemed happy to keep her at still stand should others determine the truth?

The Wellinghams were powerful and ruthless and anyone crossing the needs of its members could find themselves with more than a fight on their hands. The wisdom of this visit became less obvious and had they not been outside the front steps Eleanor might have bade the driver to have taken them straight home. But with the door opening and the Duchess walking out with three infants of various ages at her side, she could do nothing but wait as the steps to climb down from the conveyance were put into place.

‘It is only us here today, I am afraid, as my husband and his two brothers are at Falder until tomorrow.’

Emerald Wellingham’s eyes were warm, an undercurrent of a smile lingering beneath the welcome as her gaze touched on the silver hair of her guest’s daughter, suddenly shy in the company of all the children.

‘Perhaps Ashton could take your daughter to see the puppies? We have not as yet named them all and the children thought that she might like to help in the process.’

Florencia immediately came out from behind her skirts, the promise of naming a dog more thrilling than even shyness could overcome.

‘Mama said that I might hold one …’

‘Indeed.’ Emerald had bent down, her glance taking in every feature on Florencia’s face. ‘You are as beautiful as your mother is, my love,’ she said after a moment and Eleanor released the breath that she had been holding. Not the comparison that she had been dreading after all. The tight unease in her stomach uncoiled slightly and she watched as her daughter was enfolded by young Wellinghams and led off around the corner of the town house, two maids in tow.

‘I have asked for tea to be served in the green salon overlooking the garden,’ Emerald Wellingham said. ‘The room is one that has always been my favourite and we would be able to hear the children.’

‘That sounds lovely.’

Following the Duchess, she saw that the impressive hall opened out into a large room with windows and doors along one whole side facing onto a small garden. The wall opposite was filled with drawings of the wider family and Eleanor’s gaze fastened instantly on the ones of Cristo Wellingham.

Emerald must have seen her looking. ‘My brother-in-law has recently bought the Graveson property, which lies on the eastern boundary of Falder, and is in the process of having it completely modernised. The house sits near the sea and has always been one of my favourites. I do hope that you might see it some time.’

‘If he was there, I should doubt he would wish me anywhere near him.’ Suddenly Eleanor had had enough of pretence and the interminable drudgery of manners, though surprisingly Emerald laughed.

‘You talk of the fiasco with the kidnapping, I presume. I always wondered why you did not speak out in his defence over that?’

‘Speak out? But my husband sent word to the constabulary ordering his release.’

‘I think it may have been your word Cristo sought, Lady Dromorne.’

Eleanor reddened. Martin had told her Cristo had been relieved to know she did not seek further contact and he had never once tried to see her again, staying out of Bath with all the determination of a man who had long since let go of any other feelings. Even when he had come to offer his condolences and she had squeezed his hand he had merely pulled away while offering shallow words of sympathy.

Not knowing what to do, she placed her teacup on the small side table, taking care not to spill a single drop. ‘I am not quite certain what you mean, your Grace.’

‘Are you not? Perhaps then there is another drawing you might wish to look at.’ She picked up an oval frame from a small table beside her. ‘This is of Cristo when he was a young boy of about five. Beatrice found it amongst some books she kept for him whilst he was away.’

With her hands shaking, Eleanor took the velvet-covered frame.

Florencia’s face appeared from the faded image, her hair longer and the line of her cheek a little more rounded, but every other feature unmistakably similar.

Eleanor turned the portrait over and placed it down beside her cup of tea. The anger in her was sharp.

‘Are you warning me away by showing me this?’

‘Oh, I think you have managed to do that all by yourself, Eleanor. In fact it is quite the opposite effect that I am after.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I want to give Cristo the chance to get to know his daughter.’

Standing, a dizzy horror consumed Eleanor. ‘By taking her from me?’

‘It’s not retribution I am after, but accord. If the ties that hold you to our family must remain a secret to protect Florencia, then so be it, but that does not mean the child should know nothing of her Wellingham ancestry.’

The knowledge that Emerald Wellingham was not implying ruin, but rather some form of compromise, fortified Eleanor. The cards were stacked against her, but she needed to give the woman some sense of what had happened before now. She sat down again and lowered her voice. ‘I was eighteen when I became pregnant, a young and foolish girl who had no capacity for brandy and a great desire for independence. I made a mistake one night five years ago and your brother-in-law has made it very plain that he desires no further communion with me.’