Mary Nichols - Regency High Society Vol 5 - The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

‘Would you ask Sarah to bring the child down?’ The footman bowed and departed.

Within minutes the door opened. In came the young woman whom Eleanor had last seen in Burford Hall. Fair and neat with a ladylike composure. Fair enough, perhaps, to be one of the family. A dependent of good birth, Eleanor decided, but most likely fallen on hard times, now holding the hand of the child, John. John Faringdon, if the documents were correct.

‘This is Sarah,’ Octavia said, confirming Eleanor’s impression. ‘She has been my companion and now acts as nurse to John.’ The lady curtsied and released the little boy, who immediately ran to show his mama a wooden boat that he had clasped in his hand. Miss Baxendale patted his head. John thrust the precious possession into her hands, announcing ‘Boat!’ with a disarming smile.

‘What a beautiful child.’ Judith held out her hands. ‘Come here, John. Let me see your boat.’

The child, aware of the possibility of a wider audience, walked shyly to Judith and then gurgled with shocked pleasure when she snatched him up and sat him on her knee. ‘What a handsome boat. And so are you very handsome. All those golden curls and such blue eyes.’ She pinched the end of his nose to make him laugh.

‘He is a good child.’ Octavia nodded and smiled as Judith stood him back on his feet when he struggled for freedom and restored his boat to his grasp. With a crow John launched himself back towards Sarah where she had remained beside the door, but, with uncoordinated enthusiasm, fell on the wide expanse of deep turkey carpet. For a second he crouched motionless. Then tears came to his eyes and a sob to his chest.

‘There, now,’ Octavia said. ‘You are not very hurt.’ Sarah swooped, picked up the child, kissing his cheek, smoothing away his tears with her hand, crooning to him in a soft voice.

‘Is he well?’ Octavia watched the little scene with a graceful turn of her head. So did Eleanor and Judith.

‘John took no hurt, ma’am.’

‘Perhaps you could take him back to the nursery, Sarah. He tends to get a little excited in company’ she explained to the visitors. ‘It is not good for a child.’

With a curtsy to the assembled company, Sarah walked to the door, holding the boy close, and left.

What else should they talk about? Judith tried fashions and the opening of a number of new modistes where the most ravishing hats and gowns could be purchased, but although Octavia was pleasant and smiling, she had little to say and shared little interest in what might or might not be considered de rigueur.

‘I believe that it is time we left.’ In desperation Eleanor was about to rise to her feet. ‘My own son will be missing me by now, I expect.’ Then the door opened to admit Sir Edward Baxendale. He greeted his guests with great charm and a warm smile, sat with them and accepted a hand-painted porcelain cup of tea from his sister. The talk encompassed the weather and Judith’s new barouche, which awaited them at the door, but it was noticed that Octavia said no more.

‘Well?’ Eleanor and Judith were once again ensconced in the comfort of Judith’s barouche after what could only be described as a frustrating and disappointing afternoon.

‘That child is no Faringdon!’ Judith pulled on her gloves with conviction.

‘But he is very fair like his mother.’

‘Faringdons breed true!’ Judith insisted. ‘Look at your own son. He might have your eyes, but his father’s hair, his nose and mouth are very pronounced. There is no denying his parentage. I swear there is no trace of Thomas in that child!’

Eleanor flushed and hesitated at Judith’s observations. ‘But that is not proof. You inherited your mother’s red hair and green eyes rather than your father’s features.’

‘Very true. But I have the Faringdon nose. And eyebrows. There is no mistaking them. The golden-haired child we have just seen bears no resemblance at all.’

‘No. Perhaps not.’ It had to be admitted. ‘She is no doting mother, is she?’ Eleanor commented. ‘That surprised me a little.’

‘Ha! Just because you are!’ Judith smiled in understanding. ‘We are not all born to lavish unbounded love and affection on our offspring. He is certainly a healthy child and well cared for.’

‘I suppose.’ Eleanor frowned at her recollection of the child’s tears. She would not have been able to ignore them—to allow his nurse to lift and comfort him! ‘I presume that Octavia’s reminiscences of her coming-out were correct?’

‘Yes…’ Judith wrinkled her nose ‘…but she does not have much to say, does she?’

‘No. And even less when Sir Edward arrived home.’

They were silent in thoughtful communion as the barouche made its steady way towards Park Lane.

‘You know…’ Judith ventured, brow furrowed in thought, ‘Simon would make himself scarce if he knew a party of ladies were gossiping in his withdrawing-room. Wouldn’t Thomas have done the same?’

‘Why, yes…I hadn’t thought. Thomas would have gone to the stables until they had all gone! Sir Edward joined us straight away. Why do you think that was?’

Green eyes met amethyst, their thoughts clear between them.

‘But it does not add up to much, does it?’ Eleanor queried. ‘Merely that Sir Edward would prefer his sister not to be alone with visitors.’

‘Or is it that he did not wish Octavia be alone with you!’ responded Judith.

There was no answer to it.

The two ladies prepared to part company on Eleanor’s doorstep. Judith leaned down from her carriage to where Eleanor stood on the pavement and clasped her hand in firm support.

‘Have we proved anything?’ Judith asked.

‘No.’

‘Except that Octavia was definitely not Thomas’s usual flirt!’ Judith tightened her hold to enforce her point. ‘It is very difficult to believe, after spending such a tedious half-hour in her company, that he fell in love with her and married her. Whereas I can quite believe that he loved and married you, dear Nell!’

Eleanor took a breath. ‘Sir Edward said that—’

‘Tell me, Nell.’

‘When they first came to Burford Hall—when they told us of the whole dreadful complication—Sir Edward said that Thomas forced Octavia to keep their marriage secret because of her lack of rank. That his family would disapprove.’ A line deepened between her fine brows as her mind worried at the problem. ‘But my birth, Judith, is no better than Octavia’s, and I know that the Faringdons would never have chosen someone of so little consequence as myself for Thomas’s bride, however supportive you and Aunt Beatrice might be now that we are faced with this scandal. Yet Thomas followed his own wishes in the face of family opposition and married me with as much public display as he could achieve.’ She smiled a little sadly as she remembered the festivity and ceremonial of her marriage. ‘All I am trying to say is that social standing does not seem to me to be a good enough reason for Thomas to hide Octavia away in the country—if he truly loved her and wished to marry her.’

Judith had flushed uncomfortably at her companion’s devastatingly accurate reading of family opinion on her marriage to Thomas, but patted Eleanor’s hand, for once all the careless flippancy quite gone from her face. ‘Of course Thomas never married Octavia, dearest Nell. You must never allow yourself to think that. And as for your lack of rank—all I can say is that marrying you was one of the best decisions Thomas made in his whole life.’

‘Thank you, Judith.’ A faint smile touched Eleanor’s pale lips. ‘At least that is something for me to hold on to!’

In the entrance hall Eleanor’s path crossed that of Henry and Nicholas as the two gentlemen prepared to leave the house and look in at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Academy in New Bond Street before repairing to Brooks’s for a hand or two of whist.