Chapter 2
As the footman headed up the staircase in the entrance hall, Miss Eloise Stratham stood in the doorway of the antechamber and felt the weight of misconduct lying heavily on her shoulders. She shivered from the chill in the air and wished she hadn’t surrendered her cloak to the servant. Why had she allowed herself to be talked into making this call?
She had been caught off guard, that was why. Without warning, her cousin had instructed the coachman to stop. There had been little time for Ellie to voice an argument against it.
The moment the footman vanished upstairs, she turned to address her younger cousin, who strolled around the elegant room, examining the objets d’art on display. “We shouldn’t be here,” Ellie hissed. “This is entirely too forward of you.”
Lady Beatrice Stratham looked up from her inspection of an alabaster dish on a table. She might have been a princess in the pastel-blue gown with its lace trimming. With a wave of her kid-gloved hand, she said, “Not another dreary lecture, Ellie. We’re here and that’s that.”
“But it’s beyond the pale to call on a lady you’ve never met, let alone one who is a pillar of society. You’re not even officially out of the schoolroom yet.”
“Oh, pooh, I’ll be making my debut in a matter of weeks.” Beatrice went to a gilt-framed mirror to preen at her reflection. She removed her bonnet and dropped it on a table, then primped her strawberry-blond hair. “Speaking of which, I intend to secure the most brilliant match of the season. Lady Milford can help me accomplish that.”
The zeal in her cousin’s blue eyes spelled trouble for Ellie. Beatrice was far too headstrong for her own good. When she wanted something, she always found a devious means to achieve her desire. The girl had been a constant headache ever since Ellie had lost her parents and had come to live in the household of her uncle, the Earl of Pennington.
“If his lordship finds out about this visit, he’ll be furious,” Ellie warned. “You know what a stickler he is for propriety. Since you’re only seventeen, he might very well decide to postpone your season for another year.”
Beatrice loosed a trill of laughter. “Don’t be silly, I can always persuade Papa. Besides, he’s at White’s, and he won’t return home for hours.” Clearly bored with the quarrel, she glided toward a pedestal in the corner. “I say, have you ever seen such an exquisite Chinese vase? Lady Milford has truly impeccable taste.”
Ellie remained standing by one of the green marble pillars that flanked the doorway. She longed to stalk out of this house, climb back into the waiting brougham, and leave Beatrice to her own folly. Regrettably, she could do nothing of the sort. Uncle Basil was depending on her to see to the well-being of his motherless daughter.
Over the years Ellie had fallen into the role of governess to the younger two of her three cousins. Devoting herself to that task, along with doing errands for her grandmother, made her feel less of a burden on her uncle. She had always been acutely aware that the earl had been obliged to settle the debts of his younger brother, her late father. Consequently, Ellie had worked hard to repay her uncle with her labor. Now, with Cedric off at boarding school, she had only the mission of guiding Beatrice’s launch into society.
Begging favors of the exalted Lady Milford was hardly an auspicious means to achieve that purpose. One mistake, one thoughtless comment, and the foolish girl might see herself ostracized. And Ellie feared that she herself would be held to blame.
Worse, if Beatrice’s season were postponed, that would mean another year’s delay to Ellie’s plan for her own future. Nothing disheartened her more than the notion of being forever dependent on her uncle’s charity. At the age of six-and-twenty, she yearned to claim her independence and pursue her secret dreams.
The footman descended the stairs, bypassed Ellie, and bowed to Beatrice. “Her ladyship will see you now. If you’ll follow me.”
So much for hoping that Lady Milford wouldn’t be home to them.
Resigned, Ellie took the tail end of the procession up the staircase. The servant hadn’t even glanced at her, but Ellie was accustomed to not being noticed in social situations. Her dowdy attire marked her as a woman of reduced circumstances. Anonymity suited her, for if no one paid her any heed, she was free to watch people’s expressions and mannerisms, to store them in her memory for future reference.
No one had the slightest inkling how she used those observations. Nor would they anytime soon. Ellie had kept secret the project she toiled on late each night in the privacy of her bedchamber. The family would learn of it only at the appropriate moment.
After Beatrice’s betrothal and wedding.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Ellie told herself to stop fretting. Perhaps this meeting might prove fruitful for Beatrice, after all. Lady Milford did have a reputation as a matchmaker, having discreetly arranged a number of successful marriages among the nobility.
Ellie strove to recall everything she’d heard about the woman. People spoke of Lady Milford with awe and admiration. A legendary beauty, she had the ear of the prime minister as well as the royal family. According to rumor, she had once been mistress to one of mad King George’s many sons.
That scandalous tidbit tweaked Ellie’s curiosity. Despite having a shocking past, the lady commanded respect in the highest circles. How had she managed to foil the gossips? Ellie didn’t know, but one thing was certain. Lady Milford’s life must have been far more exciting than Ellie’s was at present.
They proceeded along a sumptuous corridor and into a sitting room decorated in pleasing pastel shades of rose and yellow. There, a woman sat reading in a gilt chair by the window. A ray of winter sunshine crowned her upswept black hair and illuminated the deep claret silk of her gown.
Ellie realized at once that hearsay hadn’t prepared her for Lady Milford. There was an elusive, ageless quality to that smooth face and slim figure. Seeing those high cheekbones and arresting features made Ellie long for a pencil to capture that classic beauty on paper.
As the footman announced them, Lady Milford set down her book and rose to her feet. With feline grace, she came forward to greet them. A slight smile curved her lips, though her aristocratic bearing spoke more of impeccable manners than warm welcome.
She must be wondering why two strangers had come to interrupt her afternoon, Ellie knew in dismay. It was clear Lady Milford possessed a sophistication that Beatrice lacked. Such a woman wouldn’t be easily cajoled by a girl barely out of the schoolroom.
Apparently feeling no such misgivings herself, Beatrice dipped a pretty curtsy. “My lady, what a great pleasure it is to meet you. I hope you don’t find me too presumptuous in calling here.”
“I confess, you have me intrigued,” Lady Milford murmured. “Pray sit down, both of you, and warm yourselves on this chilly day.”
She escorted them to the hearth, where a fire radiated heat beneath a mantel of carved white marble. As Beatrice seated herself in the center of a chaise, she narrowed her eyes at Ellie in a warning glance. Ellie recognized that look. Beatrice wanted her cousin to sit elsewhere. And to keep silent.
The girl’s audacity irked Ellie. However, asserting her authority would cause a scene and turn this visit into certain disaster. Lips compressed, she took a chair by the wall where she could observe the proceedings. If Beatrice landed herself in hot water, Ellie had every intention of interfering.
“You must be Pennington’s daughter,” Lady Milford said to Beatrice, taking the seat opposite her. “I’d have known that shade of red-gold hair anywhere. May I say, it’s quite beautiful and distinctive.”
A twinge of envy stirred in Ellie. Though she, too, had a version of the famous Stratham hair, hers was more auburn than golden, with an unfortunate tendency to curl wildly in damp weather. In her younger days, she’d also wished for Beatrice’s milky-pale complexion instead of the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her own nose.
Beatrice reached up to smooth a perfect lock. “I do hope it isn’t a detriment. Some gentlemen don’t care for redheads, and I confess to being quite determined to secure a betrothal in my first season.”
Ellie groaned inwardly. At times Beatrice had no sense of subtlety. And it was clear from the astute gleam in Lady Milford’s eyes that she had surmised the purpose of this visit.
“I see,” Lady Milford murmured. “Well, that is a worthy goal for any young lady of rank.”
“I’m pleased that you agree, my lady.” In a pose of angelic sweetness, Beatrice folded her gloved hands in her lap. “Heaven knows, the coming weeks will be a whirlwind of preparation. There are dress fittings, dancing practice, deportment lessons. A girl cannot help but wonder if all the effort will result in victory … or defeat, with nary a proposal in sight.”
“Rest assured, the gentlemen will flock to a lovely ingénue like you. I doubt you’ll have any difficulty in attracting suitors.”
Beatrice dipped her chin in feigned modesty. “Your ladyship is most kind. Yet I have it on good authority that quite a large number of girls will be making their debut this season. I fear I shall be only one face among many. That is why I thought to come here and beg your assistance.”
Lady Milford raised a cool eyebrow. “Has your father been tightfisted with your marriage portion? Shall I have a word with Pennington?”
“Oh, no, my lady! That isn’t it at all. In truth, I wouldn’t wish for him even to know that I’m here…”
At that moment, a footman wheeled in a tea tray. Thankfully, Beatrice had enough discretion to bide her tongue in the presence of a servant.
Rising, Lady Milford picked up the pot and filled three porcelain cups. Ellie came forward to save their hostess the trouble of bringing one to her. As she did so, she took the opportunity to study the woman.
Lady Milford was even more striking at close perusal. She had remarkable eyes, a deep violet rimmed by black lashes and showing only faint lines at the corners. There was a timeless quality to her fine bone structure that defied Ellie’s ability to gauge her age.
Then she realized that Lady Milford was giving her a keen perusal, too, taking in the ill-fitting gray gown of kersey wool with its long sleeves and high neckline. Ellie refused to quail under the frank assessment. So what if she was a drab sparrow beside Beatrice’s peacock beauty? There was no shame in being the poor relation.
“You are also a Stratham,” Lady Milford said to Ellie. “Would I be correct in presuming you’re the daughter of the earl’s late brother?”
“Yes. Lady Beatrice and I are cousins.” Noticing that Beatrice was frowning from the chaise, Ellie added, “If you’ll excuse me, my lady.”
Turning, she retreated to her solitary chair against the wall. It was best to avoid being drawn into conversation. Beatrice would become peevish if she wasn’t the center of attention, and Ellie preferred not to face a fit of the pouts on the way home.
The hot cup warmed her chilly fingers. Savoring a sip, she watched as Lady Milford resumed her seat across from Beatrice.
“Now,” Lady Milford said, “you were telling me that you hope to lead the other girls in the race to the altar. And I was saying that a girl as lovely as you are is certain to attract scores of suitors.”
“Oh, but I don’t need scores. If I may confess something, my lady?” Without waiting for an assent, Beatrice set down her teacup and leaned forward in a confiding pose. “There is one man in particular who intrigues me. Perhaps you know him. The Duke of Aylwin.”
Ellie concealed a start of surprise. She hadn’t realized that her cousin had settled on a prospective candidate for husband. Over the past few months, Beatrice and their grandmother had spent hours bandying the names of eligible bachelors, looking up possibilities in Debrett’s, and assessing the soundness of each man’s finances. Ellie found it all quite tedious. She had become adept at half-listening while her thoughts traveled their own course, usually dwelling on her secret project.
“Aylwin?” Lady Milford said musingly. “I was acquainted with his late father. However, the present duke isn’t one for social gatherings. He keeps to himself, and I must caution you, he has shown little interest in marrying.”
“So I’ve heard.” Beatrice released a wistful sigh. “His Grace spends all of his time cooped up in Aylwin House, studying relics from ancient Egypt. It must be a very lonely life. I can’t help but think that he needs a wife to keep him company.”
Lady Milford looked amused as she took a sip of tea. “Girls are often drawn to mysterious gentlemen. It is in their romantic nature to presume the man must be pining for love. However, the reality seldom matches the daydream. In Aylwin’s case, he’s nearly twenty years your senior and a scholar with no use for frivolities. I would counsel you to set your sights on someone closer to your age.”
“You may be right, my lady. But how will I ever know for certain unless I actually meet the duke?” Beatrice pushed out her lower lip as she often did when wheedling a favor from her papa. “I shall have to spend the rest of my life wondering if I might have been the one girl that Aylwin could have loved. Is there no way at all for you to help me?”
Lady Milford shook her head. “I’m afraid not, my dear,” she said in a firm but gentle voice. “My acquaintance with Aylwin is slight. I have no favor of friendship with which to persuade him to do anything.”
“But what if … what if you were to give one of your exclusive parties? People clamor for an invitation to come here. If you were to host an event and invite both of us, then at least I would have the chance to charm him.” Beatrice clasped her hands to her bosom. “Oh, please, my lady, don’t refuse me, I beg of you. You’re my only hope.”
That, Ellie decided, was the last straw. Her cousin’s behavior had grown worse than bold; it was downright disgraceful! What must Lady Milford think of the girl’s impudence in making demands?
Ellie set down her teacup on a table and stepped quickly to the chaise. “We’ve disturbed her ladyship long enough, Beatrice. I believe we should go now.”
Her cousin cast a disgruntled glance up at Ellie. “Not yet. Lady Milford and I are engaged in a very cozy chat.”
Ellie turned her gaze to their hostess. “Pray accept our sincerest apologies, your ladyship. We’ve some errands to complete and I fear that if we tarry, we won’t be home in time to dress for dinner.”
“Errands?” Beatrice asked, her pert little nose wrinkling as she allowed Ellie to draw her to her feet. “Why, what do you mean?”
“I’ll explain in the carriage. For now, we must take our leave, so kindly say your good-byes to her ladyship.”
While Beatrice grudgingly complied, Ellie couldn’t help but notice that Lady Milford’s gaze rested on her, rather than her cousin. Those dark slender brows formed a faintly quizzical expression as if she were pondering a topic that required thoughtful consideration.
Ellie blushed to think that she might be held to blame for Beatrice’s misconduct. It was, after all, her responsibility as governess to teach her cousin proper behavior.
“Miss Stratham,” Lady Milford murmured to Ellie, “if you might delay your departure for a moment, I have something that may be of use to you. Pray, wait here.”
Ellie’s lips parted in surprise as she watched Lady Milford glide out of the sitting room. Something of use to her? What could she mean?
In a rustle of petticoats, Beatrice minced into view and planted her hands on her hips. Her reddish-blond ringlets framed pretty features marred by a disgruntled expression. “Why did you have to spoil everything? I was just about to convince Lady Milford to help me. Instead, she wants to give you something.”
“A pamphlet on manners, no doubt,” Ellie said. “She must have concluded that I’ve neglected your education.”
The more she considered it, the more likely the possibility seemed. How mortifying to be judged as deficient in her duties! But that was precisely the way the situation must have appeared to their hostess. And as humiliating as it might be, Ellie would have to gracefully accept the instruction book.
Beatrice’s lower lip thrust out in a pout. “Do you mean to imply that I’ve misbehaved?”
“Well, let’s see.” Ellie ticked the points off on her fingers. “You presumed upon Lady Milford’s good nature to assist in your marriage scheme. You demanded that she expend time and money in hosting a party. You even dictated who should be on the guest list.”
“It’s a brilliant plan,” Beatrice declared. “Pray tell, how else am I to become a duchess? There aren’t any other eligible dukes!”
“Then turn your mind to a marquess or an earl. Besides, you should be more concerned with the character of a man, not his rank. Whomever you choose to wed, you’ll be bound to him for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, la! Perhaps a title matters little to a spinster without prospects. However, I intend to marry well and be the envy of all society.”
A spinster without prospects. The careless description stirred an ache in Ellie’s bosom. The sensation startled her, for long ago she had buried her girlish dreams of love and marriage, when she had faced the hard truth that few gentlemen were willing to wed an impoverished nobody. Instead, she had devoted herself to repaying her father’s debts through serving the family in whatever capacity was required of her.
Yet she had no intention of enslaving herself forever. Not a living soul knew it, but Ellie had conceived a bold, enterprising plan to earn her own way in the world …
A movement drew her attention to the doorway of the sitting room. Lady Milford entered, carrying a blue velvet purse in her hands. Reaching into the bag, she drew forth an article that glinted in the wintry afternoon light streaming through the windows.
Ellie blinked in surprise. A shoe? It appeared to be a fine, heeled slipper made of garnet satin, frosted with tiny crystal beads and bearing a dainty, filigreed buckle.
Lady Milford brought out its match and placed both shoes into Ellie’s hands. “This pair was an old favorite of mine from my younger years,” she said. “I believe they may suit you, Miss Stratham.”
Ellie’s fingers closed automatically around the shoes. Having expected an etiquette manual, she could not have been more flabbergasted. Never in her life had she seen anything more beautiful—or more wildly impractical. “You’re very kind, my lady, but … where would I wear such shoes? They’re far too elegant for a governess.”
“You’ll be accompanying your cousin into society, I presume. Surely you’ll need slippers for dancing at balls and parties.”
“That may be true for most ladies,” Ellie said. “However, I’m afraid my gowns are rather plain and I’ve nothing in my wardrobe to—”
“As my chaperone, Ellie won’t be dancing,” Beatrice interrupted. Her covetous gaze flitted to the slippers. “And my feet are daintier than hers. Which means that I am far more likely to wear the same size as you, my lady.”
An enigmatic smile curved Lady Milford’s lips. “Indeed? Then perhaps you should sit down. You shall each have the chance to see if they fit.”