‘I would rather not go,’ Eleanor stated, with every intention of following her statement with action, making a graceful withdrawal from the invitation. Taking the air in Hyde Park was one thing. So was an intimate family gathering. Even a private visit to the theatre. But appearing in public at so splendid an occasion, with the haut ton present, when she would draw the attention of, and need to converse with, any number of people without means of escape, was quite another matter.
‘If you will take my advice…’ Henry leaned heavily on the words, but with a bland expression ‘…you will present yourself with all the consequence you can muster as Marchioness of Burford and carry it off with the utmost assurance. I suggest you wear the diamond set, complete with tiara.’
‘But I don’t like the diamond set.’ Eleanor was momentarily distracted. ‘It is far too heavy, and the setting is very clumsy—it makes me feel like a Dowager of advanced years. And the stones need cleaning.’
‘You are a Dowager—so wear it.’ She silently dared him to mention her age, the glint of a challenge in her eyes. His lips twitched a little, but he desisted. ‘If you are carrying a fortune of badly cut diamonds on your person, personally designed by my grandmother, no one will dare treat you with anything less than supreme respect!’
‘But not the tiara!’ She might be prepared to compromise, but only to a degree.
‘Definitely the tiara!.’
‘It is not my choice of an evening’s entertainment either.’ Nicholas also would gladly have cried off. ‘Readings from somebody’s recent masterpiece. One of Lady Sefton’s protégés, I expect. A poet? Have mercy, Hal.’
But Henry took Nicholas aside when Eleanor had left the room with more than a suspicion of a revolt in her step. ‘You should attend with the rest of us, Nick. It might not be the easiest of evenings for her—we cannot know—and Eleanor needs all our support if any of Lady Sefton’s acquaintances takes it into her head to play the grande dame and turn the shoulder. Besides, it will be good to see the Faringdons out in force.’ His lips curved a little as he anticipated his brother’s reply. ‘It is not necessary for you to stay for the whole evening. I give you permission to leave before the poet takes centre stage!’
‘Very well.’ Nicholas laughed. ‘Whilst you, for your sins, can stay to the bitter end, to wallow in sentimentality and bad verse. Tell me, Hal. You seem to have come to some accord with Nell.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. Since your visit to Whitchurch.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And you intend to tell me nothing.’ Had Nick really expected his brother’s confidence on this issue?
‘Something like that.’ There was nothing to be learned from the bland reply.
‘Treat her gently, Hal.’ Nicholas was suddenly serious. ‘She has had an unenviable time since Thomas’s death. And now all this…’
‘I have every intention of doing so.’ Nicholas flinched a little at Henry’s fierce response. ‘Do you consider me to be so insensitive?’
‘Of course not.’ Nick decided to take a step on forbidden ground. ‘It’s just that—you will be leaving soon—and…’ He found it difficult to continue under his brother’s intense stare, but then Henry shrugged and allowed himself a smile.
‘I know. Don’t worry, Nick. I will treat her gently.’
‘Don’t break her heart, Hal. She is very vulnerable.’
‘I am aware.’ An icy reply. There was no chance. No chance at all of that.
Nick changed the subject with ease when it became clear that his brother would say no more. ‘I have discovered that you have a pronounced aptitude for management, Hal. I did not realise it—and must beware in future.’
‘I can only hope it pays off.’ But doubts crowded in. And not least that he was finding it increasingly difficult to disguise his emotions in his dealings with Nell. If Nick had his suspicions, he must be more circumspect. After all, who knew better than he just how very vulnerable she was? No, whatever was to come in the future, he must heed Nick’s warning and ensure that her heart remain intact.
Eleanor chose to wear a stylish evening gown of amethyst silk. She knew it was beautiful and could not but enjoy the sensation of restrained good taste in the silk shell with its muslin overskirt, patterned with tiny flowers, falling in soft folds. The low scoop of the neckline served as a frame for the diamond necklace and she clipped matching bracelets over her long gloves. She even pinned the heavy ring brooch to the lace on the bodice. But wear the tiara she would not, the corners of her mouth lifting a little as she contemplated Henry’s probable reaction. A lavender fan with silver sticks completed the ensemble. At the same time she cloaked herself in a veil of calm confidence, determined to smile and find enjoyment in the occasion since her family were so equally determined to support her. There would also be friends there, kind and supportive, as well as Lady Sefton’s warm compassion. Nothing to fear, nothing to make her heart beat in her breast like a trapped bird.
They gathered in the front parlour, Henry and Nicholas splendid and austere in black satin evening coats and breeches, white linen and subdued waistcoats. The Countess of Sefton might promise a small soirée, but they knew her of old.
Eleanor thought that they looked stunning together. Tall, broad shouldered, lean and well muscled, their physical power and attraction enhanced rather than disguised by the formal clothing, she knew that they would take every eye in the room. They looked, she decided, dark and smooth and dangerous. How could she be nervous? They were quite magnificent.
Quietly elegant in deep blue brocade with a heavy lace overslip, Mrs Stamford ran a critical eye over her daughter. ‘Very nice,’ she admitted. ‘Although, I have to agree, I have rarely seen so ugly a setting for fine stones. And so old-fashioned. What can your grandmama have been thinking of?’ She frowned at Lord Henry as if he were in some indefinable way to blame for his grandmother’s taste for the heavy and vulgarly ostentatious.
‘Impressive!’ was Henry’s only comment as Eleanor innocently arranged an embroidered stole around her shoulders, refusing to meet his eye. His brows arched at the lack of the tiara and knew that she was waiting. So he said nothing. But privately thought that she would outshine every lady present that evening. Her eyes glowed, reflecting the tint of her gown and her nerves gave her cheeks a delicate colour, with or without the careful and subtle application of cosmetics. She was lovely. He raised her fingers to his lips and bowed his silent appreciation, since he was in a position to do no other.
Lady Sefton’s town house in Berkeley Square, large, palatial and expensively furnished, and at the best of fashionable addresses, had been sumptuously decorated for the occasion with banks of flowers and silk swags. And as expected, the cream of society was present to hear the lady’s fledgling poet.
The Earl and Countess welcomed the Faringdon party, the Countess with a warm handclasp and particularly understanding smile for Eleanor. ‘Relax here tonight, my dear, and enjoy the company. I am well aware of what is being said. But you must not be embarrassed…’ She tightened her hold in warm affection and leaned closer for a private word. ‘I knew Thomas well. An estimable young man, of great integrity. As are all the Faringdons.’ She cast an admiring glance to where the gentlemen were still in conversation with her husband. ‘So attractive… My guests will respect your position, of course. I think you need fear no ill will here tonight.’
‘You are very kind.’ Eleanor felt her colour deepen as emotion welled. ‘It has not been the easiest of weeks.’
‘No. But you are here to enjoy the evening. A little conversation. Some music. A poetry reading, no less, by a remarkable young man. And here—’ she beckoned a passing