Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 5
The front parlor of Sherbourne House resembled a fragrant conservatory, with vases sprouting from every surface. Lady Gregory’s solstice ball had brought the kind of attention neither Eliza nor Lydia knew how to address, with cards arriving in a near-constant stream. They pored over each one as soon as it was delivered, but none bore the name Eliza was hoping to see.
Lydia wove her way through the flowers, exclaiming over the blushing folds of a damask rose or the perky face of a violet, while Eliza watched from the window seat, anxious to see if another messenger was coming up the path.
“These flowers came from Dr. Fawcett.” Lydia tipped her nose into the petals of a white rose and inhaled. “I have never smelled such a divine fragrance. You simply must experience this!”
Eliza sneezed. “I shall take your word for it.”
“Lord Eastleigh is coming to tea today. Do you remember him? He led you in that marvelous polka.”
“Oh, yes. The most eligible bachelor in Hampshire. How could I forget? I nearly fainted again after dancing with him. I had to go out and take the air.” Eliza gave up her vigil by the window and joined her sister, taking the shears Lydia offered and clipping the stem of a peony.
“That’s where you disappeared to. I wondered. I was left alone with Miss Moseley. She didn’t have anything pleasant to say about anyone. I’d the feeling she was vexed by our presence.”
“I’d agree. Sarah warned me about her. She’s certainly pretty. She should have little cause to feel threatened by us, though I’d warrant many of the ladies felt the same as she—they were only too polite to say so.” A sheepish grin pulled at Eliza’s mouth. “We did steal a lot of the attention, didn’t we?”
“It was grand! I don’t think I’ve ever had a dance card so full.”
Eliza bit her lip and threaded the peony’s verdant stem between a cluster of gladiolus in a crystal vase. “I met Viscount Havenwood. On the balcony.”
“Oh? Did Sarah introduce you?”
“No, we were alone.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “Liza! Did anyone see you?”
“No, cher—we were only outside for a few moments, but he was more charming than I expected—and wickedly attractive in an eccentric sort of way.”
Lydia gave her a stern look. “Of course you’d fall for the scandalous one. You read far too many novels.” She snipped the stems off a cluster of pinks and pushed them into a drinking glass. “Well, I’ve yet to see flowers or a card from him.”
“The day isn’t over yet. He did say he’d call.” Eliza thought of the way Lord Havenwood had looked at her during their brief conversation and wondered if she’d imagined his interest.
“At any rate,” Lydia said, “Lord Eastleigh will be here in less than an hour, and we’ll be entertaining Mr. Dix and Sir Tate later this afternoon. Our social calendar is filling.”
“It’s a good thing we’ve gotten the gaslights working and the parlor shipshape. I’d like to take the silver out and polish it before asking anyone to dinner. It needs doing.” Eliza’s eyes flitted to the dusty gilded cherubs above the mantelpiece and the grate that needed a fresh coat of blackening. “I’ve a feeling something will always need doing in a house like this. Perhaps we should consider hiring help after all.”
After helping Lydia arrange a few more of the bouquets throughout the room, Eliza excused herself to freshen up. As she slipped into her lilac tea gown trimmed with Valenciennes lace, she cast a look toward Havenwood Manor. Gray clouds hung low over its chimneys and the arched windows seemed darkly pensive, the shadows long under its eaves. It gave the structure an air of almost human melancholy. Eliza shook her head at her silliness. It was foolish to imagine a house could have feelings.
The tinkling doorbell rang, announcing Lord Eastleigh’s arrival. She blew out an annoyed breath, put on her best debutante smile, and went down the stairs.
“My father said to me, ‘Charles, that chap has a foul temper and arms the size of an oak tree. Best to move on like a gentleman.’ Alas, letting other people win isn’t my strong suit.”
Lord Eastleigh, impeccably dressed for the day in gray serge, was proving himself to be a blowhard and a braggart. Though the breeze on the open veranda was cool with the promise of rain and brought with it the fresh scent of summer roses, Eliza’s mood was growing hotter by the minute. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide in a man, it was abject arrogance, no matter how charming he might otherwise be.
“I rolled up my sleeves, handed my coat to my man, and engaged in a bout of fisticuffs right there at the betting counter,” he continued. “Do you know I was undefeated as a boxer during my turn in the Royal Fusiliers? That chap soon found out why.” Charles laughed. “I knocked him dead out with a single left hook to the chin.”
Lydia batted her lashes over her teacup. “Lord Eastleigh, now that we’ve heard all about your exploits, perhaps you’d care to ask my sister about her own?”
Charles turned to Eliza, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, delicate as any woman. “Yes, Miss Sullivan—please, do tell us about your latest square up.”
“I hardly engage in fistfights, my lord. I tend to lean more toward the interest of business. Our family owned Thoroughbred stables in Louisiana. I was in charge of keeping our studbook and overseeing the breeding program.”
“Is that so?” Charles asked. “I didn’t take you for the horsey sort.”
Eliza didn’t know if the horsey sort was meant to be compliment or criticism. “My father came to America from Ireland as a young man, with nothing more than his knowledge of horses. He started out mucking stables for the plantation owners in Kentucky and got a good break, as they say. He became determined to create demand all over the world for the very best bloodlines. Our breeding stock has produced champion horseflesh as far away as India and even here, in England. I believe one of our derivatives won your Ascot Diamond Jubilee last week, making several of your compatriots quite wealthy—perhaps even that fellow you knocked out.”
The earl looked at her, slack-jawed. “I had no idea . . .” He shook his head. “Should a woman really be versed in equine husbandry? It’s all a bit coarse, don’t you think?”
“My lord, women where I’m from learn to be savvy about agriculture at a young age—our mothers survived a war in which many of the menfolk died, after all. But I promise you, I do all the usual things as well. I embroider, I play the harp, I pour tea.” She topped off his cup. “As a daughter of the old Creole aristocracy, my mother was quite eager to teach us those sorts of things.”
Charles nodded, looking relieved.
“Our father, on the other hand, was keen to teach us how to survive in a man’s world.” Eliza fixed the earl with her gaze and gave a sweet smile. “Why, it’s only natural for a stallion to cover a broodmare in estrus, if that’s what you’re considering coarse. I’ve never been fazed by it. I only see the vast amounts of money to be made.”
Charles wrenched his mouth as if he had a sudden bout of indigestion and coughed into his napkin. Eliza went on. “In fact, I was hoping to begin a new enterprise right here, in Hampshire. The local gentry could benefit a great deal from my knowledge of horses.”
“Right,” Charles said. “But, if you were to marry—say an earl, or even a baronet—you’d inherit a large estate with as many grooms and servants as you’d see fit to employ. Your days would be spent in leisure, not at work. You’d need not lift a finger but to play your harp or embroider at your loom.”
“You’ve forgotten about the work of bearing children, my lord. Wouldn’t a countess be required to do that as part of her marriage contract?”
The red-faced earl was spared having to answer by Nigel, who appeared through the gates, his bicycle wobbling up the gravel drive. Eliza rose to greet him, her pulse quickening in anticipation. He parked his cycle against the hitching post and climbed the steps to present the envelope in his hand. “For you, Miss Sullivan.”
The envelope was heavy, the weight of its paper demonstrating an eye for luxury. She turned it over, and a thrill went through her at the sight of the insignia on the wax seal—two serpents twining around a myrtle tree. The same crest adorned the gates of Havenwood Manor. Gates she’d visited on more than one occasion since her arrival, her fingertips skimming over the raised metal scales of its serpents as she peered through the bars to catch a glimpse of whatever mysteries lay beyond.
As Eliza turned back to the veranda, Lord Eastleigh stood, his blue eyes flickering with unease as she tucked the envelope inside the lace folds of her gown. “Are you well, Miss Sullivan? Your color has gone quite high. Feverish, even.”
“Yes, my lord. Only, if you’d please excuse me for just a moment. This letter brings a matter of urgent import I must attend to.”
“What is it?” Lydia asked, concern creasing her brow as she rose. “Bad news or good?”
“I’ll explain later.” With a hurried curtsy to their guest, Eliza went into the perfumed foyer, shutting the door behind her. She broke the seal with trembling fingers. Inside was an engraved card bearing a coat of arms and a message written in a decisive, bold stroke.
Malcolm Winfield
5th Viscount Havenwood
My dear Miss Sullivan,
I should very much like to call on you this Saturday evening if your calendar is not full. Even if it is, I should still like to whisk you away from your other suitors. It is most advisable to choose a worthy mount. Apollo likes to let loose at a run, as do I. Shall we?
Regards,
Malcolm Winfield,
Lord Havenwood
She pressed the cool paper against her heated face, smiling so hard that her cheeks ached. He’d made good on his word. His interest had been no vague imagining, and here was the proof. Aglow with infatuation, she took a few breaths to compose herself, then went out.
Lord Eastleigh stood. “I see from your smile your letter brought good news.”
“Indeed, sir. It did.”
“Oh,” he said, lifting her hand, “it seems you’ve injured yourself.” Sure enough, a slow trickle of blood ran between her thumb and forefinger and dripped onto the pavers. “One must be careful opening letters, Miss Sullivan,” Lord Eastleigh chided. “Some of them can cut like knives.”
After the teapot had been drained for the day and their final caller departed with hat in hands, Eliza sat at her desk to compose her response to Lord Havenwood. She sought the right words, studying the plaster ceiling and its latticework frieze. When she finally put her pen to paper, she grasped the barrel too tightly, snapping the nib within the first few strokes of her writing. She crumpled the ink-splattered paper into a ball, attached another nib, and, after dipping it into the inkwell, began again.
Lord Havenwood,
I would very much enjoy entertaining you Saturday evening. Come after dinner, at eight o’clock. I’ll pack a picnic and we shall ride to the meadow to watch the sun go down.
Fond regards,
Miss Elizabeth Sullivan
Eliza sat back, her rickety chair shrieking its displeasure. Did she sound too easy, too presumptuous? She wished courtship weren’t such a game. He interested her far more than any of the others, but she mustn’t seem entirely wanton, either. How quickly her mood had changed—from recalcitrant spinster to nervous maid—all because of a pair of wicked green eyes and a clever turn of phrase. She crumpled the letter in her hand and started yet again.
Lord Havenwood,
I would be pleased to ride out with you on Saturday evening. Come after eight o’clock.
Regards,
Miss Elizabeth Sullivan
There. Simple, polite, and succinct. Before she could talk herself out of sending it, she sealed the envelope and addressed it. With a sigh, she flexed her fingers around the bandage she’d applied to her paper cut and turned to the pile of calling cards on her desk, trying to recall the faces belonging to the names. There was a sharp knock at her door. Without looking up, Eliza muttered a hasty “Come in.”
Lydia padded in on stocking feet and sat on the foot of Eliza’s bed. “Look at all your cards! Is there anyone else you’d like to invite for tea?”
“Only Lord Havenwood. I’ve just written my response.”
“I do wish you’d consider entertaining others, even for propriety’s sake,” Lydia said. “I’m having two of the gentlemen I danced with over tomorrow—one of them is a barrister and the other a navy lieutenant. Isn’t it funny how the British say lieutenant?” She giggled and stretched her arms overhead with a voluptuous yawn. “Lord Eastleigh is intriguing, isn’t he? He’s completely smitten with you. I’ve invited him to dinner Saturday evening. I learned today while you were inside that he has three estates and may soon acquire another!”
“That’s all very well, and while he may be rich, his arrogance is off-putting. He also strikes me as something of a playboy. He’s every bit of thirty, yet unmarried. We’d be ill suited, I’d warrant. He sparks nothing in me but anxiety and irritation.”
“I’ll admit, he’s a bit brash for my tastes, but perhaps you should give things a chance. What did you think of Mr. Dix and Sir Tate? I found both to be polite and steady.”
“And boring.” Eliza flopped down on the lumpy mattress next to Lydia, kicking her slippers off. “Mr. Dix is so soft-spoken I could barely hear him, and Sir Tate is but two moons from the morgue. Besides, you’re one to talk. All I’ve heard since this courtship business began is Dr. Fawcett this, Dr. Fawcett that.” Eliza rolled onto her back, gazing up at the faded velvet canopy. “I’m afraid no one else has intrigued me in the way of Lord Havenwood. I was surprised how intensely I was drawn to him—it was positively magnetic, Lyddie. Like I’d been hit with a galvanic charge!”
Lydia frowned. “You’re being impulsive. For someone who was so contrary to courtship and marriage just a day or so ago, you’ve gotten yourself nearly betrothed to him. Don’t the rumors bother you? Polly told me more. It’s all scandalous. Every last thing.”
“I really don’t care to know what she said. She’s a gossip and I’d rather hear the story from Lord Havenwood himself before I make any judgments.” Eliza turned onto her side and linked her fingers with Lydia’s. “I’m learning to trust my gut, sister. I feel he’s only misunderstood and perhaps a bit lonely. There’s something maudlin in his eyes—it makes me want to learn more about him. And that house! It’s really something, isn’t it?”
“Something haunted and falling down! Remember—a bit of a rivalry between suitors would do no harm. I’ve a feeling Lord Eastleigh won’t be easily persuaded from courting you. You’d do well to consider his attentions, if only to annoy Polly Whitby.” A slow smile spread across Lydia’s lips. “I hear she’s struck on him.”
Eliza laughed and sat up. “Now that would be entertaining. He’s certainly pretty to look at, and I am on a tight schedule. Have him round for dinner if you’d like on Saturday, but I’ll be riding out with Lord Havenwood afterward.”
“By yourself?”
“We only have one horse.”
“Which we could attach to the gig.”
“Lydia, I’ll be fine. I have two sharpened hatpins and I’d wager my right hook is meaner than Lord Eastleigh’s left.”