Lady Fortingham had been in Bath for the past month, and was keen to put the worst possible construction on every social interaction she had observed. Mrs Westinghouse and Lady Ramsunn, with many sideways glances at their hostess, offered alternative interpretations without much enthusiasm. If they were not trying to curry favour with Eleanor, they would be joining their bosom bow in tearing reputations apart without concern for mercy, justice, or truth.
For what seemed like the thousandth time, Eleanor considered not being ‘at home’ when these old acquaintances called, and yet again rejected the notion. Knowing what Society’s worse gossips were saying helped her mitigate the damage they could cause.
At least Lady Fortingham seemed to have no inkling of the twin scandals that threatened the House of Haverford, and Eleanor found some respite from her own worries in considering the interests of others. She had always believed that her position as one of the premier ladies in the land required her to set an example to Society, and she had carried out that duty as well as she could.
“He compromised her, of course. Ran off with her in a carriage borrowed from her mother’s lover, if you can believe it. I don’t know what pressure was brought to make the man marry her, but—”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor said, firmly. “Lady Emilia Lloyd-Marshall has always been a woman who knows her own mind, and the Chevalier is besotted with her, by all accounts.”
“She must have had her parents’ blessing,” ventured Mrs Westinghouse. “They seem very pleased with the match, and the Chevalier…”
“Bah. He is nothing but an imposter! An actor! It is an outrage—”
Eleanor interrupted again. “You are mistaken, Lady Fortingham. Lord Somerton vouches for the Chevalier. Yes, he made his living as an actor — a very fine one, as I well remember — but many French aristocrats were reduced to such measures when they reached our shores. He is a distant connection of the Somertons, and I trust that you will remember that fact.”
Lady Taffy, as Society insisted on calling the poor girl, had found a man who treasured her just as she was. Intelligent, capable women whose beauty did not fit the fashionable mold had a hard time of it, and Eleanor was delighted she had made the match she wanted, whatever Sebastian’s origins.
The silly harridan was silenced for a moment, giving Mrs Westinghouse the opportunity to say, “Lord and Lady de Courtenay are reconciled, I’ve heard. Were they at the Valentine’s Day Ball, Lady Fortingham?”
“They were.” Lady Fishingham puffed out her chest. “And so was Mrs Bouchard! I saw Lady de Courtenay speak with the widow. Saw it with my own eyes! I could not hear what they said, but I saw how upset that poor little girl was. That is what comes of trapping a rake into marriage. He is back with his mistress again; you mark my words.”
“That is not what I have been told,” Mrs Westinghouse argued. “Lord and Lady de Courtenay seemed very pleased with one another, I have been told, and he has brought her here to London with him. Furthermore, Mrs Bouchard has not returned to London. I am told she has gone to the Continent!”
Excellent. Eleanor had been concerned about dear Celia — and Adrian, that naughty boy, who loved his young wife far more than he had been prepared to admit. She would invite them to her next ball, so that the whole of Society could see for themselves how the pair were together. Better invite them to tea here, first.
“The Beast has also wed,” Lady Ramsunn observed.
“If, by the ‘Beast’, you mean the Earl of Wayford,” Eleanor said, coldly, “I understand he had married his childhood sweetheart.”
“Charis Fishingham is a nobody,” Lady Ramsunn snorted, “and her mother is an encroaching mushroom.”
“Charis, the Countess of Wayford, is the wife of an earl,” Eleanor responded, “and I understand her younger sisters are delightful.” Another note to herself. She would invite, not just the Wayfords, but also the Fishingham sisters, to her ball. Two of them were out, she had heard, and the youngest was of an age to visit with her own schoolroom daughters.
“Surely Your Grace does not countenance what Wayford did to his own mother?” Lady Fortingham inquired, sounding shocked.
If Lady Fortingham knew all, she already knew what the dowager had attempted. The woman was clearly either mad or bad, and probably both. “Do you countenance what the dowager Lady Wayford tried to do to her son? And to her son’s intended?”
Lady Fortingham flushed and changed the subject.
“What of this match of Dr Hartford’s? The girl will drive him mad inside of a week. Lady Ross is all cock-a-hoop about it, claiming all credit for her Umbrella. Ridiculous. Just because a few matches have occured when Lady Ross was around! This one will prove that the magic is all in Lady Ross’s head, for two more different people, you could not hope to meet.”
“I think Emma Fortingham is a delightful young woman, and just the person to complement Dr Hartford’s nature. You are right that they are very different, Lady Fortingham, but those very differences are what they need. He will provide stability and the voice of reason. She will give his life a lightness and joy he lacks.”
Another couple for her ball. Yes, and she would invite the d’Aubbusons (more properly the Virtues, but she would not share that particular secret), too.
She would love to invite a fifth couple who had found happiness in Bath this past month, but they would not thank her. It had once been Esther’s milieu, but a certain Viscount had destroyed that for her, the cad. Now, the dear girl had found happiness, but not in her own class. Just as well. She would face all kinds of censure if she appeared where these harpies could tear her to pieces.
How could she help the kind sergeant who had saved Esther and her baby? Ah, yes. She had it. She would instruct all of her housekeepers, in every Haverford residence, to order their candles from March Candle Works.
Such an order would only hold until Aldridge took a bride, which he showed no sign of doing, even though dukedom was about to descend on his shoulders. He had spent more than two years in pursuit of a woman who repeatedly rejected him, and who had now disgraced herself with another man. Aldridge was refusing to believe it, and Eleanor herself had doubts.
Not that the Haverfords couldn’t face down such scandal. After all, they had much practice. But the ensuing furore would tear the new marriage apart unless they were deeply committed to one another. Given Lola had refused Aldridge and Aldridge had responded by diving deep into dissipation, Eleanor could not be confident that theirs was a love to grow deeper in the face of opposition.
That prompted another thought. What would Aldridge do if she told him that she was adamantly against the match? And what of Lola? What was it she really wanted? Opposition might be just what these two needed.
She set the thought aside to ponder until she got rid of these guests, but it cheered her mightily. Yes. At least one of the scandals on their doorstep might yet work to give her beloved son the happiness that had so long eluded him.
