The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (19 page)

He smiled in agreement. “When you put it as such, it seems you might be correct, Lady Eleanor.”

“Then you are saying I am right?” Ella's answering smile met the corners of her eyes. “I love being the one who is right.”

James grinned largely. “If you tell any of my friends I allowed you to win this argument, I will be the laughingstock of White's.”

“It will be our secret, Lord Worthing.” Unable to resist a little jab, she added, “Have you noticed, my Lord, that you speak Persian when you are frustrated?”

“Do I now, Lady Eleanor?” He teased, feeling a bit easier about their relationship.

“You must teach me some day. I have always wanted to see the world.

“And since I met you, Ella, I have wanted to give you the world.”

 

Eleanor and James returned to their seats after the play began, which eased their party's questions, but not the close scrutiny
of the
ton
, which now made them the newest point of interest. “Watch the play,” James instructed as he adjusted his seating. “We are being observed.”

“I have noticed,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

 

After the third act, when the house lights were relit, the audience began to stretch and mingle for the intermission. “Will you join us for some refreshments, Ella?” Her brother asked emphatically as he assisted Aunt Agatha to her feet.

“I think not.” She reached for her fan and reticule. “I have asked Lord Worthing to introduce me to Mrs. Cavendish.”

She noted that both her brother and Godown fought the urge to openly react. Bran caught her hand and leaned in close. “It is unacceptable, Eleanor. Viscount Worthing knows better.” He shot a look of warning in James's direction.

“Lord Worthing and I will have no secrets between us,” she insisted. Her eyes told her brother this issue was not one upon which she would look favorably for his interference.

Fowler pointedly released her hand, registering his objection. “If you must do this, do so with class,” he whispered.

Ella simply nodded her understanding before turning to Worthing's proffered arm. James caught her hand to his side, and directed her through the curtained opening, and then led Ella on a slow, ambulatory circle of the lobby. Periodically, they paused to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances, but they had a destination, and they moved accordingly.

Finally, in a less brilliantly lit passageway, they found the people they sought. Mrs. Cavendish and her escort stood outside their seating area. Mary blushed when she saw him approach, but she did not look away, a small act of defiance. It was one of the qualities James had always admired in the widow.

“Lord Worthing,” Mary intoned as she dropped a curtsy.

“Mrs. Cavendish.” James bowed properly. “It is pleasant to see you, Ma'am. Would you do me the honor of introducing your friend?”

Mary looked uncomfortable. As she was his mistress, Worthing should not be seeking her company, especially with a lady of fashion on his arm. “Lord Worthing,” she began unsteadily, “may I present my late husband's brother, Sir Neville Cavendish. Sir Neville, this is Viscount Worthing.”

“It is of the greatest honor to have your acquaintance, Lord Worthing. I have met so few of Mary's acquaintances on this London trip.”

James turned to Ella and smiled with a close familiarity, signaling their relationship. “Sir Neville, Mrs. Cavendish, may I present Lady Eleanor Fowler of Thorn Hall in Kent.”

Mary gestured her understanding with the simple raise of an eyebrow. This introduction of Brantley Fowler's sister would serve as an acknowledgment of Ella as his own.With the simplest of acts, James told Mary that her status as his mistress had changed.

“Lord Worthing speaks of you with the highest praises.” Ella offered Mary a compliment, an act unheard of among the
ton
.

Mary dropped a quick curtsy. “I thank you, Lady Fowler.”

James addressed Sir Neville. “How long are you in London, Sir?”

“A brief fortnight, Viscount Worthing. I have made a special journey from Warwickshire to reacquaint myself with Mary. It is foolish of an old man, but I have hopes of convincing her to return with me. We were friends—she and I—before she married my younger brother, and I think we might do well together.”

James saw Mary's eyes dart from him to Sir Neville. “I have explained to Sir Neville that I have obligations.”

Ella tightened her hold on his arm, but James realized what he must do. “Far be it from me, Mrs. Cavendish, to offer you advice, but Sir Neville seems a reliable fellow, and his offer appears an honest one. If I were you, I would consider it before replying with a refusal.” He owned her and settlements needed to be addressed, but he released her publicly from his protection: Mary could choose Sir Neville as her own, just as he obviously did with Eleanor Fowler.

She stammered,“I…I have many legal and monetary issues with which to deal before I might respond.”

Ella told Mary and James what she expected. “I am sure, Mrs. Cavendish, that if you need legal advice, His Lordship would be happy to assist you. Perhaps one day next week he might call on you to set your affairs in order.” James recognized the lack of resentment in Ella's tone. During the play's three acts, he had observed how Eleanor spent time considering this situation with Mrs. Cavendish. He did not fool himself: Ella knew Mary provided him sexual favors, but she also knew him to possess many layers to his character. In fact, she knew him better than anyone. He had never regretted his time with Mary: She had helped him to reconcile his loneliness. If he had not done so, he and Ella could not be falling in love now. Ella would not resent Mary's time in his life, but she would not share their marriage with anyone in that way. That was blatantly clear, and James had no qualms in declaring his absolute loyalty to her.

“That is right decent of you, old Chap,” Sir Neville was saying. “I am sure Mary would be agreeable to your kind offer, Lord Worthing.”

“I will send word, Mrs. Cavendish,” James brought the encounter to a close, “when I will be able to address your business.”

Mary looked relieved, but also a bit disconsolate. “I shall be expecting your card,Your Lordship. It was an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Fowler.”

Then it was over—both their exchange and his relationship with Mary Cavendish. She had served him well—helped him deal with Elizabeth's loss, but his future lived in Eleanor Fowler—a woman of strong opinions and undying trust—a woman to match his passion and challenge his intelligence—a woman devoted to family—a woman to love. Unlike many of his fellow aristocrats, James had found a true love match—there would be no marriage of convenience for him. “Thank you, Ella,” he whispered close to her ear. They returned to the duke's box. “You are incomparable—beyond imitation.”

Ella smiled openly. “It is I who should thank you, James. You have changed my perspective of the world.”

Noting the empty hallway, he impulsively pulled Eleanor into a darkened box. “Ella,” James murmured as he trailed a line of heat from her temple to her mouth's corner with his fingertips. “I have seen portions of this world, but I never saw the beauty of England until I saw you.You changed my perspective of home.” He reverently lowered his mouth to caress her lips. “We must return to His Grace's box.Yet, I would be happy to spend the night in this empty one with you in my arms.”

Ella sighed deeply. “Nothing could compare with such perfection.”

The ballroom swelled with floral arrangements, the smell of an English garden comforting and enticing. Yellow roses and daisies and lavish greenery filled every vase and urn in the room. Two crystal chandeliers and wall sconces every three feet lighted the room with hundreds of candles. French doors and windows stood open to the late spring night, where outside colorful lanterns and ribbons adorned the garden walkways and balustrades. The orchestra, on the raised dais, tuned their instruments and arranged sheet music upon stands.

Fowler, all in black, except his white linen, stood aristocratically at the receiving line's head, followed by Aunt Agatha, who wore a dark green—nearly black—gown with matching hair plumes and who looked remarkably handsome for a woman of her age. Velvet chose a shimmering gown of the palest lavender, accessorized with silver about her neck and woven within her dark curls.

Ella wore a creamy satin gown, with short puffy sleeves and a low décolletage, draped with a golden mesh and making her look very royal. Gold picks sporting yellow petals were woven into piled-high hair—a double gold chain and locket draped about her neck. When he saw her, James's first thought was of the goddess Ishtar. He once saw a statue of the Babylonian goddess of love and
war, supposedly shedding her garments before entering the nether world. Covered in the thinnest gold, he thought it a splendid representation of artistic excellence, but it paled in the brilliance of Lady Eleanor Fowler. She was elegant and ethereal. Of late, he found himself impatient to claim Eleanor as his own and to make his life perfect. Seeing her beauty increased his desire for her. James purposely matched her in choice of clothes this evening; after Velvet let it slip Ella would wear cream and gold, he ordered his fawncolored breeches and black and gold waistcoat.

The opening dance belonged to Fowler, but James never removed his eyes from Eleanor. She flashed him a smile across the crowded floor, and his heart leapt in response. He championed one of the other debutantes from his home country for the set; and although she was very pretty, Miss Alice Westerly lacked the exuberance found in
his Amazon
.

 

As before, James appeared to claim Ella's hand for the supper waltz. “Lady Eleanor,” he bowed politely, “I believe this is our dance.”

Aunt Agatha snorted. “Lord Worthing, do you not think another should have the pleasure of my niece's company for the waltz?”

Without missing a beat, James bowed ridiculously low to Ella's aunt. “As I assume you plead for my attentions for yourself, Lady Norfield, I would beg off from Lady Eleanor in order to please you.”

Agatha meant to chastise him for increasing the gossip regarding his relationship with Ella, but his feigned seriousness caught her off guard, and the Duchess barked out a laugh. “I should call you a Renaissance man and claim the dance for myself just to quell your impertinence,Your Lordship,” she threatened.

“I beg to differ. I am never impertinent with you,Your Grace. I speak the truth.”

Blowing out her breath in exasperation, the Duchess shooed him away with a flip of her wrist. “Go on with you, you wretched man, but you must guard my Eleanor's reputation.”

“With my life,Your Grace,” he murmured.Then James conspiratorially winked at Ella's aunt. The music began as he walked Ella onto the floor. Tonight he would dance with an Amazon goddess.

“You are spectacular,” he breathed the words close to Ella's ear. “My eyes never tire of looking upon you.”

Ella blushed, “Lord Worthing, it is too much. I cannot contend with your words.”

James held her gaze, assuring Ella of his sincerity. “I am a man who has been taught by a frugal father to manage his estate and his title wisely. I live comfortably, but not necessarily extravagantly. I see to my tenants and my staff. I provide for my family, but I rarely see to my own needs beyond food and clothing. However, with you, I find I am a greedy man. Eleanor, you have quickly become essential to my existence.You must recognize that fact.”

“Is it truly possible?” she asked again for the hundredth time.

It would take James a lifetime to convince her of his devotion. To emphasize his intent, he used his fingers to edge Ella a bit closer. “You must learn to trust me, Eleanor, and to trust yourself.You know my nature, and I fancy that I know yours. Can you imagine either of us allowing anyone or anything to take what we have away from us?”

 

He led Ella into supper after waltzing together before the
ton
's inquiring eyes. The gossip swirled about their relationship, but they kept most of the tongues from wagging with their attention to propriety, at least in public. Tonight, they sat with their inner circle—Fowler, Aunt Agatha,Velvet, and Crowden.The only difference was that Fowler brought the widow of a childhood friend to the table, the first time he had showed attention to anyone, including Velvet. Mrs. Lucinda Warren recently left behind her widow's weeds. At three and twenty, her husband had fallen in a past campaign. A bit plain in her appearance, except for her mesmerizing eyes, the lady had followed the drum until her husband's passing and only recently returned to London. Fowler met her purely by accident at a soiree; tonight he singled her out with his attentions.