Paradise Lost

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 21

Epilogue

Winshire House, London, January 1813

Eleanor had not visited her friends in Winshire House in nearly a year; had not seen them since they quit London in July, after the series of attacks on the family.

Today, she was going to ignore the prohibitions of the despot who ruled her family. He was convalescing in Kent, and would be away for at least another month. By the time he found out that she had made a condolence call on Grace and Georgie, it would be far too late for him to stop her. She hoped to see her goddaughter, too, who had married James’s eldest son just before the turn of the year, a day before the Duke of Winshire died.

At first, she had thought to go on her own, but Matilda and Jessica wanted to express their sympathies to Georgie’s daughters, who had been their friends since the cradle. Rather, they seized on the excuse to visit with the girls, whom they had sorely missed during the feud between Haverford and Winshire. No one could possibly imagine that anyone in the Winshire family actually mourned the sour old man who had just died.

Since she was going for precisely the same reason, she agreed, and then Aldridge announced that he planned to escort them. “When I am duke, Mama, I hope that the new Winshire and I will be able to work together, and I like what I’ve seen of his sons.”

In the end, they all went, late in the afternoon. Only Jon was missing. A month ago, he had sailed from Margate in Aldridge’s private yacht, and just this morning, a package had been delivered by a weary sailor, with a report from Aldridge’s captain for the marquis, and a brief note from Jon for his mother. “Married. Safe. More news later.” Aldridge grinned at the scrawled words. “Jon has landed on his feet again, Mama,” he told her. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know how he always manages to do that!”

The Winshire drawing room was crowded, of course, but the Haverfords were invited to remove themselves to a private parlour, where their hostesses joined them after the other visitors had completed the polite fifteen minutes and been shown out.

“Do stay for refreshments,” Grace begged, and before long Lord Andrew Winderfield had carried Aldridge off for a game of billiards, the girls from both families had gone up to the twins’ little sitting room, and the older ladies settled in to catch up on all that had happened in their lives while they had been separated.

James joined them part way through the conversation, staying when his sister assured him he was not intruding. I did not come to see him. Of course, she had not. And yet, here he was and she felt herself turn towards him, a sunflower to his sun. She hoped her reaction was hidden from her friends. Thank goodness, my all-too-perceptive son is out of the room.

The new Duke of Winshire. Had my father accepted his offer for my hand, I would still have become a duchess, in the end. And there would be no Aldridge. No Jonathan. Perhaps none of the charities she had brought into existence out of her own urge to make the world an easier place for women.

David would still exist, if his grandfather had not beaten him to death in childhood. He’d been conceived before the Duke of Haverford even set eyes on Eleanor.

None of James’s wonderful children, though.

Perhaps Matilda, Jessica, and Frances might have been born, too, though who knew whether they would have survived and what they might have become without her intervention.

As if her thought had conjured them up, the girls came back into the room, and immediately, the Winderfield girls began telling their elders about “Aunt Eleanor’s house party to support women’s education.”

“Matilda and Jessica have been telling us all about it, Papa,” the elder of James’s daughters told him, perching on the arm of his chair and leaning trustingly against his shoulder. “I want to help girls who want to acquire medical knowledge. What do you think, Papa?”

James looked past his daughter to smile warmly at Eleanor. “Your wards are powerful advocates of your cause, Your Grace.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Ruth, it is your money to invest. Perhaps you could fund a scholarship?”

The others broke in with objections about finding teachers, and strategies for overcoming that obstacle. Eleanor sat quietly in the warmth of James’s smile. Yes, they could be friends. It would be enough. And the charities she had sponsored as Duchess of Haverford would be in safe hands for the next generation. What wonderful daughters her three were.

THE END

(But, as you all know, heroines deserve a happy ending, as since Eleanor is not yet happy, it is not the end. Watch out for Paradise at Last, the final novella in the three that tell the story of the mountain king and the duchess who loved him.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 20

Thank goodness she had been strong enough to hold out for the right to keep the children. As long as he never saw them, was not expected to acknowledge them in any way, and provided nothing extra for their support, he chose to treat her fostering as an eccentric hobby.

Frances had been the third, her birth a scandalous secret even Haverford did not want disclosed. Eleanor loved the three girls with all her heart, loved them as fiercely as she loved her two sons. And she could not regret bringing them into her home, selfish of her though it was.

She had learned better, especially after the disastrous end to David Wakefield’s time under the Haverford roofs. For years now, she had been quietly settling her husband’s by-blows in less scrutinised households, carefully supervised to ensure they had the love and care she wanted for those who shared blood with her sons.

As for the three sisters, their origins and the prominence of the family meant they would face many barriers in a quest for a fulfilling life. If only they did not so strongly bear the Grenford stamp! Still, with her support and that of her sons, all would be well. She hoped. She prayed.

Time to announce her presence. “Miss Markson, is this a good time for an interruption? I have come to take tea with the young ladies.”

***

Hollystone Hall, December 1812

Eleanor smiled at the family gathered in her private sitting room. Matilda was pouring the tea, and Frances was carefully carrying each cup to the person for whom it had been prepared. Jessica was sitting on the arm of Aldridge’s chair, regaling him with stories about the kitten she had adopted from the kitchen. Cedrica sat quietly, as usual, but the distracted smile and the glow of happiness were new, and her thoughts were clearly on her French chef, whom she had, unless Eleanor missed her guess, kissed in the garden last night.

Jonathan—dear Jonathan, back in England and arriving by surprise on Christmas Eve—was making Jessica laugh with faces he was pulling out of Aldridge’s view, though from the quirk in the corner of Aldridge’s mouth, he was well aware of his brother’s antics.

Eleanor smiled around the room at her children, her heart at ease to have all five of her children with her. Two sons of her body, and three daughters of her heart. Deciding to bring the girls into her nursery had been one of the best decisions she had ever made.

Eleanor accepted another cup of tea from Frances, exchanged a smile with Matilda, and saluted the other three with her cup. How fortunate she was.

If she had been a cowed and obedient wife, her life would have lacked much richness. She had regrets—who didn’t? If she’d been braver, she would have permitted the girls to call her ‘Mama’, rather than ‘Aunt Eleanor’.  But that would have been a red rag to the duke’s bull. The safer path was, probably, the right one.

Eleanor caught Frances’s eye and patted the seat beside her. “You did that very well, my dear,” she told the girl. Frances was much younger than the other two, and Eleanor was pleased she’d be at home for a while longer. Perhaps, by the time Frances married, one of the others would have given her grandchildren. She smiled again at the thought. Yes, Eleanor had been very fortunate.

 

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 20

Chapter Nine

Hollystone Hall, December 1812

The Duchess of Haverford waved her dresser away and stood so she could better see Matilda, Jessica, and Frances. Yes, even Frances was to go to tonight’s fancy-dress ball, for a short while and under the strict supervision and care of her sisters.

How lovely they were! Matilda and Jessica had faced a difficult first Season with grace and courage. Even Eleanor’s influence could not overcome their murky origins. Society could be remarkable stupid.

Eleanor had had high hopes of the Earl of Hamner, although he also showed an interest in Lady Felicity Belvoir. If he did not stay the course, somewhere out there was a man who would look past Matilda’s parentage to her beautiful nature: her kindness, her intelligence, all the wonderful qualities that made Eleanor so proud of her.

Jessica was more of a worry in a way, covering her hurt at any snubs by layering on more charm, until she skirted the edge of flirting. Perhaps there was someone here at this house party who could give Jessica the love she needed?

At least Frances was safe for a couple more years, and perhaps, by the time she made her debut, her sisters would be married and able to help her.

In some ways, Eleanor wished they were all still in the schoolroom.

Haverford Castle, July 1810

Eleanor paused in the doorway of the schoolroom, where her three foster daughters were drawing under the supervision of their governess. The subject was a collection of objects: a flower in a rounded glazed bowl, a trinket box open to display a set of coral beads that trailed over the edge onto the polished surface of the table, a delicate statuette of a gun dog, with proudly pointing muzzle.

A difficult composition for such young girls, though little Frances was talented, and the older two girls competent enough. At thirteen, Frances had inhabited the Haverford nursery floor for nearly eleven years, and by the time of her debut, in three or four years, the scandal of her existence was likely to be minimal. Except that she, the youngest of the three, most resembled their shared father.

Matilda would face the ton first. At sixteen, she was as much a beauty as her mother had been, with the dark hair and stunning figure that had made her mother a reigning beauty of the demimonde, though she was only an opera dancer. A courageous one, too, who—given the chance to start a new life back in her homeland of Ireland—braved Haverford House to beg for a safe home for her daughter, perhaps a tenant farm on an out-of-the-way Haverford estate.

It was just chance that Haverford was away on that occasion, and that Eleanor had just been arriving home. Or an intercession of the divine. Haverford would have turned his full ducal rage on the intruder, and denied everything. But Eleanor took the baby in her arms and fell in love.

She smiled as she watched the three heads bent in concentration. It had taken His Grace nine months to realise that his nurseries were once again occupied, and by then Jessica had joined them, some six months younger and the daughter of a pretty maid who once attracted Haverford’s attention. The combination of youth and prettiness was lethal, for the girl had died in childbirth, and the grieving grandmother brought the baby to Haverford House, to Eleanor. No-one could doubt Jessica’s parentage. She and Lord Jonathan, Eleanor’s second son, were as alike as male and female could be.

Haverford, of course, denied that he’d sired the two girls, and ignored them completely. His solution to the unfortunate results of his careless whoring was to blame the female, a bag of coins (carefully measured to their social position) the only assistance they could expect.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 19

 

Aldridge put down his cup. “Wales is not best pleased with His Grace at the moment. A matter of a loss at cards.”

Eleanor and her elder son grinned at one another, and her younger son perked up, looking from one to the other.

“Should one be grieved by the loss of a fosterling,” Eleanor mused, “and take one’s sorrows to, let us say, a Royal princess who might be depended on to scold her brother for the behaviour of one of his favourites…” Eleanor stopped at that. Jonathan did not need the entire picture painted for him. He gazed at her, his eyes wide with awe.

“His Grace will not dare make a fuss. If His Royal Highness finds out that the very man he sent to save him from the offended citizens left a cuckoo chick in the nest of an esteemed leader of the community…”

“Precisely,” Aldridge agreed. “Mama, you are brilliant, as always.”

The duchess stood, leaving her cup on the table, and both boys. “Let us, then, go up to the nursery, and make sure all is well with your new baby sister.”

***

Haverford Castle, Kent, November 1812

Haverford had not even hinted at coming to her rooms since Jonathan had brought Frances to join her nursery—the little girl a greater gift than her son could ever know. The scandal of the child’s existence was a secret Haverford needed to keep from his royal cousins, and she had been able to use her knowledge of that secret to secure her wards’ future under Haverford’s reluctant and anonymous protection, and to ensure her continued freedom from his intimate attentions.

It had been an unpleasant negotiation, determined on her part and rancorous on his—not that he much wanted his aging wife, but he resented having his will forced. In return for his agreement, she had promised to continue as his political hostess, and to maintain the myth of a perfect Society marriage.

Why was she spoiling a perfectly good afternoon thinking about His Grace? She came up here to explore quite different memories.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 18

It was much as Eleanor already suspected, though the villain in the piece was neither of her sons. Lord Jonathan Grenford, arriving in Fickleton Wells to inspect and pay for the offspring of a horse pairing that he coveted, found that the whole town, except for the owner of the horse, gave him a cold shoulder, and no one would tell him or his groom why.

Only on the last night of his stay did he hear the story. He came back to his hotel room to find a woman waiting for him. “A gentlewoman, Mama, but with a ring on her finger, and quite old — maybe 30. I thought… well, never mind that.”

Aldridge gave a snort of laughter, either at Jon’s perspective on the woman’s age or at his assumption about her purpose.

Jon ignored him. “Anyway, I soon realised I was wrong, for there on the bed was a little girl, fast asleep. The woman said she belonged to Haverford, and I could take her. I argued, Mama, but I could see for myself she was one of us, and that was the problem. The woman’s husband had accepted Frances when she was born, but as she grew, she looked more and more like her father.”

“He resented being cuckolded, I suppose,” Eleanor said, “Men do, my sons, and I trust you will remember it.”

Both boys flushed, the younger one nodding, the older inclining his head in acknowledgement, the glitter in his eyes hinting he did not at all appreciate the gentle rebuke.

“He took his frustrations out on Mrs Meecham, which she surely didn’t deserve after all this time when I daresay he has sins of his own, and on little Frances too, which was entirely unfair. Mrs Meecham said that if Frances remained as a reminder, the Meechams could never repair their marriage, and that she feared one day he would go too far and seriously hurt or even kill the baby. So, I brought her home. Can we keep her, Mama?”

Eleanor looked at Aldridge, considering.

“She is not mine, if that is what you are thinking, Mama,” her eldest son told her. “She might have been, I must admit, but she was born fifteen months after I was last in Fickleton Wells. I’d been in Scotland for six months when Mrs Meecham strayed outside of her pastures again.”

Six months after the scandal, His Grace the duke had travelled back to Somerset, to pay damages to the gentlemen of Fickleton Wells who claimed that their females had been debauched. He had greatly resented being made a message-boy by the Prince of Wales, and had been angry with his son and the females he had shamed for their indiscretions and beyond furious at the cuckolded gentlemen of the town for imposing on his ducal magnificence with their indignation. The mystery of Frances’s patrimony was solved.

“She is so sweet, Mama, and has been through so much. She needs tenderness and love. Don’t tell me I must give her to foster parents or an orphan asylum. I know His Grace will not be pleased, but…”

Eleanor smiled. “The problem with Fickleton Wells, Jon, as I’m sure Aldridge is aware, is that it is a Royal estate. Wales was mightily annoyed at what he saw as an offence against his dignity. He insisted on Haverford making all right.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped. He clearly thought this presaged a refusal.

Aldridge was seven years more sophisticated and had been more devious from his cradle. His eyes lit again with that wicked glint of amusement. Eleanor nodded to him. “Yes, Aldridge, precisely.”

 

 

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 17

Chapter Eight

Haverford Castle, East Kent, November 1812

Eleanor was pleased to spend a few hours on her own. Haverford, having recovered his senses, was making up for lost time at some scandalous house party. Aldridge was in London, though he had not shared his reasons. Eleanor’s wards had accompanied her to Kent, but they had gone to stay with friends for a few days, even Frances, who at nearly fifteen was old enough to begin venturing into polite company in the more relaxed environment of the country.

She smiled at the escritoire that travelled from home to home with her. Hidden in its depths were the first booties she had ever knitted. And reknitted, multiple times, until she got it right. Matilda had worn them, and then Jessica.

Frances, though, was already out of infancy when she joined the Haverford household. There was never any doubt Eleanor would keep her, of course. She could not deny Jonathan and Aldridge; and besides, she fell in love with the little girl at first sight.

Haverford Castle, East Kent July 1806

The Duchess of Haverford examined her two sons as they waited for her to pour them a cup of tea each. To an outsider, they would seem totally at ease — Aldridge relaxed on the sofa, an amused twist to his lips and his cynical eyes fond as he teased his brother about the horse the boy had bought on a jaunt into Somerset; Jon laughing as he defended his purchase, suggesting warmly that the marquis’s eye for a filly blinded him to the virtues of a colt.

To their fond Mama, they appeared worried. Eleanor saw strain around the younger man’s eyes, and quick darting glances at her and then at his brother when Jon thought she wasn’t watching. Aldridge had that almost imperceptible air of being ready to leap to Jon’s defence in an instant; a watchfulness, a vague tension.

Aldridge’s cup was prepared as he liked it, and he came to fetch it from her hands, thanking her with a smile.

She would let them raise the subject, if that was their plan, but she did not intend to let them leave this room without knowing about the new addition to her nursery: a nervous withdrawn little girl of three or four years old. “If she was a bumptious little lordling and not a poor trembling mouse,” Nanny said, “she could be one of my lads come again. Same shaped face and eyes. Same colour hair with the curls that won’t brush out. Their lordships have your eyes, Your Grace, and this wee sprite doesn’t, but I’ll tell you who has eyes just that colour: so close to green as never so.” Not that Nanny did tell the duchess. She did not need to. Those eyes were more familiar to Eleanor than her own.

She handed a cup to the younger son of the man with those eyes.

The child came from Somerset. Jon had brought her home in his curricle, leaving his groom to ride Jon’s horse and manage the colt. On finding out about the little girl, and learning that Jon had deposited her in the nursery and then gone straight out to search town for his older brother, Eleanor had been tempted to question the groom.

However, she wanted Jon to tell her the story.  Or Aldridge, perhaps. It was more likely to be his story than Jon’s, given the age of the child. Jon was only 19. Furthermore, it was in Somerset that a certain outrageous scandal blew up five years ago, resulting in the exile of the sons of two dukes: Aldridge to a remote Haverford estate in northern Scotland, and his accomplice overseas.

Nanny didn’t think the little girl was old enough to be a souvenir of Aldridge’s visit to the Somerset town, but her size might be a result of neglect. She had been half-starved, poor little mite. The bruises might be from falls or other childhood accidents. Nanny suspected beatings, which made Eleanor feel ill to think about.

She sat back with her own cup, and took a sip. As if it were a signal, Jon gave Aldridge another of those darting glances and spoke.

“Mama, I expect you’ve heard about Frances.”

Ah. Good. She was to be told the story. “Is that her name, Jon? Nanny didn’t know it, and little Frances isn’t talking.”

Jon nodded, and smiled. There was a sweetness to the boy that the elder never had, perhaps because he was a ducal heir from the moment of his birth. “She is a little shy, Mama.” His smile vanished and he frowned. “She has been badly used, and for no fault of her own. I could not leave her there, Mama. You must see that.”

Eleanor arched one brow, amusement colouring her voice as she answered. “If you tell me her story, my son, we will find out.”

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 16

Eleanor turned. Behind her, a lady as exotic as her garden stood on the steps of a pavilion, raised to give a sheltered place from which to enjoy a view over the garden. “I am asleep and dreaming, I think,” the lady said, “for it is afternoon by the sun, and at such a time my garden is full of my children and my ladies.” She waved to indicate the deserted space, her lips gently curved and her face alight. “We should enjoy the peace while it lasts. Will you join me for coffee, or perhaps tea?”

Eleanor nodded and mounted the stairs to join her, following her into a space as alien as the garden, the stone-paved floor almost invisible under brightly coloured rugs and cushions. “Is it your dream or mine? For when I went to sleep, I was in Haverford House, in London. And this is not England.”

The lady raised both brows, and then let them drop, her face suddenly bland. “You are, perhaps, the Duchess of Haverford?”

“Forgive me, I should have introduced myself. Yes, I am Eleanor Haverford.”

If Eleanor had any doubts that this was a dream they were dispelled in the next instant, when a small table appeared from thin air, laden with a tea pot, a long full-bellied coffee pot, two cups, and plates of small delicacies.

The lady gave a brief huff of amusement. “The dream reminds me of my manners. Please be seated, duchess. Your Grace, is it not? I am Mahzad.”

Now it was Eleanor’s turn to wipe all expression from her face as she inclined her head. “Your majesty. Is that the correct form of address? Cecily McInnes spoke of you when she returned to England.”

“Please call me Mahzad. After all, we have a lot in common, you and I. Tea? Or coffee?”

“Coffee, and please call me Eleanor. Cecily said he was well, and very much in love with his wife.” And Eleanor was happy for the man she had once loved with a maiden’s ardent passion. Of course, she was.

Mahzad smiled and placed a protective hand over her belly, where a slight rounding indicated yet another child on the way to join the already large family. “You have a generous heart, Eleanor. You have not been as fortunate as James and I; I think.”

Eleanor waved away the sympathy. “I have my children and my work. I am content. But tell me about your family. Who knows how long the dream might last, and I wish to know all about them.”

Haverford House, London, July 1812

It was her imagination, of course, building on the stories that Cecily had told, and Grace and Georgie before her. But the following morning, Eleanor had found a newly unfurled rose in the castle gardens that was the precise shade of the roses in one part of Mahzad’s garden.

Now, it was fragile, dried and faded, adorned with yet another tear to join all the others she had wept on it in the past eighteen years. James had loved his wife, but he had loved her first. He had assured her that he had fully intended to come home and claim her, but that his father denied to pay his ransom, despite his captor’s threat to execute him without it.

To add insult to injury, Winshire had told James that Eleanor was already married to Haverford. It was true, but only because Winshire and Eleanor’s father had assured her that James was dead.

Eleanor gently laid the flower back into the box. Once, she had loved and been loved. That, at least, would never change.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 15

Chapter Seven

Haverford House, London, October 1812

Despite hundreds of servants, the house seemed quiet. Haverford was in Kent with his own attendants, though his condition appeared to be improving. Aldridge was touring the ducal estates, keeping a tight hand on the reins of the vast lands that underpinned the Haverford wealth.

She was used to their absence. But for once, she had no one else. Her current companion was off with friends, finishing the initial planning for this year’s Christmas house party and New Year’s Eve Ball, and the girls were visiting friends in the country.

She had seen James again, today. This time, it had been planned. She had sent him a note to tell him she would be at the bookshop, and giving the time her meeting ended. Afterwards, she had been sure he wouldn’t come, and if he did, he would think she was chasing after him.

She pushed away the tea tray; she didn’t want it. What she wanted was in the secret compartment; a memory she could not quite believe and could never forget. She found the little box, and extracted a crumbling faded rose. She had plucked it from her garden at Haverford Castle after a memorable dream, as a reminder that James had given his heart elsewhere.

Haverford Castle, near Margate, July 1795

Cecily was older. Of course, she was. More than fifteen years had passed since the season they shared; the season that ended with Eleanor’s broken heart and Cecily’s marriage. She and her husband Alec had taken a long wedding trip, to see the Orient, they said. And then… nothing. Until she appeared again in England, just a few weeks ago.

Through the ritual of greeting, of inviting her guest to be seated, of preparing a cup of tea for each of them, Eleanor kept shooting glances, comparing the composed and still lovely woman before her with the gangling clumsy teen Eleanor had taken under her wing at first meeting. She glowed with happiness, but the lines barely visible on her brow and around her eyes spoke of suffering and pain. What had happened in all those years away?

They spoke of nothings: the weather, the fashions, who was and who wasn’t in Town, until all of the maids had left the room and they were alone. Then they both spoke at once.

“Did you wish to hear of…?” Cecily began.

“Lady Sutton and Lady Grace Winderfield tell me…” said Eleanor, stopping herself and waving her hand for Cecily to carry on.

Cecily nodded, as if Eleanor had confirmed what Cecily had been about to ask. “I met with Lord James Winderfield late last year. That is what you wished to know, is it not, Your Grace? Where I saw him, and how?”

“It is,” Eleanor agreed, grateful that decades of training and practice allowed her to keep her face and posture from reflecting her inner turmoil. “His sisters told me he was alive, but little more.” Married. To an Eastern princess. With children. Happy, or so Cecily had told them. It was silly to feel hurt. Did she expect him to wear the willow for her for a lifetime? She did for him, but look at the alternative! She had never been given the least incentive to fall in love with the tyrant she had been forced to marry. She was glad James was happy. Of course, she was. Or would be, given time.

Cecily had kept on talking while she scolded herself, asking her something. Ah. Yes. Was she certain she wished to know the details?

“You loved him, once,” Cecily said, her voice kind.

She could answer that. “He was a dear friend, Mrs McInnes, and I have grieved him as dead these many years. I would dearly love to know how he survived, and how he now lives. And he has children, his sisters say. Many children. Please. Start at the beginning and tell me all about him.”

That night, Eleanor had a very vivid dream.

She found herself in a beautiful garden. It was a long rectangle, walled on three sides and on the fourth bounded by steps up to a house. Or perhaps a castle, though unlike any castle Eleanor had ever seen. A fort of some kind, its arches and domes giving it an exotic air entirely in keeping with the garden.

A pool divided the garden in half; no, in quarters, for it had two straight branches stretching almost to the walls from the centre point of the walled enclosure. Eleanor had woken to find herself in one quadrant of the garden, surrounded by flowers in a myriad of colours, some familiar and some unknown. Not woken. She could not possibly be awake. Nowhere in England had the mountains she could see over the walls, and nor was this an English garden.

She must have spoken the last thought, because a voice behind her said, “Not English, no. Persian, originally, though I am told they are found from Morocco to Benghal. It is a chahar bāgh; a Paradise garden.”

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 14

Haverford House, London, 1794

The two ladies having tea with Eleanor clearly had something on their minds. They kept exchanging glances, and frowning at the servants who bustled in and out. Eleanor was entertaining two dear friends on this lovely day in 1794; Lady Sutton, daughter-in-law to the Duke of Winshire, and Lady Georgiana Winderfield, his daughter.

As the servants wheeled in the refreshments Eleanor had ordered, and made sure that the ladies had everything they required, the three friends spoke of the fashions of the current season, the worrying events in France, the reopening of the Drury Theatre, and their children.

As the last of the servants left, Eleanor spoke to her companion-secretary, a poor relation of her husband whom she was enjoying more than she expected. Largely because she had decided to find the girl a match, and was gaining great entertainment from the exercise. Eleanor could hit two birds with a single stone if she sent dear Margaret to her husband’s office, where his secretaries currently beavered away over the endless paperwork of the duchy. “Margaret, Lady Sutton and Lady Georgiana have a wish to be private with me. I trust you do not mind, my dear, if I send you on an errand? Would you please ask that nice Mr Hammond to find the accounts for Holystone Hall? I wish to go over the coal bills.” Margaret blushed at the mention of Theseus Hammond, and left eagerly. Very good.

Grace was diverted. “Matchmaking, Eleanor?”

“A little. He is as poor as a church mouse, of course. We shall have to see if we can find a position in which he could support a wife. But what is it you wanted to tell me?”

Grace and Georgie exchanged glances, then Georgie leaned forward and took Eleanor’s hand between two of hers. “We thought you should hear it from us, first. Word will undoubtedly be all over Town in no time.”

Georgie’s unexpected touch alarmed Eleanor. Embracing — even touching — was Not Done. A kiss in the air beside a perfumed cheek, but nothing more. Except for her son Jonathan, who was fond of cuddles, no one had held Eleanor’s hand since Aldridge crept from the schoolroom to sit all night with her after her last miscarriage. “What can possibly be wrong? Not something Haverford has done?” But what could such a powerful duke do to give rise to the concern she saw in the eyes of her friends.

“Not Haverford.” Georgie again exchanged glances with her sister-in-law. “His Grace our father received a letter of condolence on the death of my brother Edward.” Another of those glances.

“Out with it, Georgie,” Eleanor commanded. “I am not a frail ninny who faints at nothing. Tell me what you think I need to know.”

Georgie sighed, and firmed her grip on Eleanor’s hand. “Eleanor, the letter was from James.”

Who was James? Not Georgie’s brother, the one love of Eleanor’s life. James was dead, killed by bandits nearly fifteen years ago. They got the letter. The Duke of Winshire himself told her. She was shaking her head, shifting herself backwards on the sofa away from Georgie, whose warm compassionate eyes were so much like those of her missing brother. Missing?

“Not dead?” Her voice came out in an embarrassing squeak, as emotions flooded her. Joy. Anger. A desperate sadness for so many years lost to grieving.

“Alive,” Georgie said. “James is alive, Eleanor.”

The room spun and turned grey, and Eleanor knew no more.

***

Haverford House, London, July 1812

After that, from time to time, her friends had shared smuggled letters with her. Not often. A year or more might pass before another message made its way across the vast distance between James’s mountain kingdom north of Persia and his sister in England. Often enough, though, that Eleanor shared in the delight of two more children, the grief of his wife’s death, weddings for four of his children and the birth of grandchildren.

She hadn’t told him that she knew much of what he told her today.  Hearing the stories in his own dear voice was such a pleasure. She smiled again. Yes. Surely, one day they could be friends?

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 13

Haverford House, London, July 1812

Her strategy had worked very well, and she had gloried in her two little girls. Haverford’s disinterest had the benefit that she did not need to counter his influence in choosing servants or selecting tutors. She had no need to fear he would suddenly command the children’s attendance and carry them off to activities that no child should witness.

Indeed, the presence of their little sisters had much to do with the sweetness of character both of her sons managed to retain, and the truth that their treatment of women was so much better than their father had taught them.

She could trust Aldridge to manage this situation with Haverford. Her son would get Haverford to the castle, and Eleanor must go and prepare for an evening in Society. The future of her girls might depend on the social alliances she strengthened tonight.

It was some time later that Eleanor realised Aldridge hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t explained, why she needed to hear that Sutton was unhurt before the rest of Society got hold of the story. Had anyone been listening, they would think that Sutton was more to her than a fond memory.

 

Chapter Six

Haverford House, London, July 1812

As soon as she arrived home, Eleanor ordered a tea tray to her room and then sent the servants away. Her visit to Miss Clemens’ Oxford Street Book Palace and Tea Rooms had left her trembling, but gloriously happy.

Grace and Georgie had been unable to attend their arranged meeting, but James had come in their stead. No, Sutton. No, James. She would call him James in her own thoughts. She had seen him, of course, in the street or at various entertainments. But to see him up close—to touch him, even with her gloved hands! To talk with him for upwards of half an hour, just the two of them, alone!

Ah, she was every kind of fool. The Earl of Sutton was famous for having defied his father to remain with the Persian princess he married; the mother of his children. They had spoken of her today, the Princess Mahzad. James loved her still; it was in every word he spoke of her. Poor James, a widower for more than a decade.

But they had talked! It was a gift beyond price. Perhaps, when all this nonsense with Haverford was over, she and James could be friends?