‘No, Papa, I will not apologize.’
‘I am afraid I insist, Eleanor.’ At the use of her full name, Ella knew her father was seriously displeased, but she didn’t care; she didn’t consider she had done anything wrong. She tilted her chin defiantly. As father and daughter glared at each other, they looked remarkably alike though neither of them would be pleased to hear that. ‘I have done nothing to apologize to Walter for.’
‘You did not behave as a young lady of good breeding, an affianced young lady should.’
‘I did nothing wrong….’ Stubbornly, Ella reiterated her innocence. ‘I was at a ball and a gentleman asked me for a waltz. As Walter appeared to be otherwise engaged, I could see no harm in accepting. Surely one goes to a ball to dance?’
‘When you are betrothed, you dance only with your fiancé, or gentlemen in your own circle, certainly not with unknown “persons” who have the effrontery to accost you and ask for a dance.’
Ella sighed. ‘Papa, it is ridiculous to make such a fuss over one short dance. Walter, my betrothed fiancé, as you keep reminding me, is an indifferent dancer far more interested in speaking with you and his business friends than stepping out with me. And I do not need reminding that we are engaged. We have been now for four years which seems to me a long time to live in this nothing state.’
‘What on earth are you talking about – nothing state?’ Richard Wagstaff demanded testily. ‘You can hardly describe being promised in marriage to one of – no, the most eligible bachelor in the district as a “nothing state”.’
‘I can and I do. As Walter’s fiancée, I am no longer an unattached young woman, nor am I a married woman. What is more, I have been in this unenviable state for nearly four years which is a great deal too long. I am getting bored with both my situation and with Walter which does not bode well for a happy union.’ Until she said the words out loud, Ella had not realized just how bored she was with the estimable Walter Crutchley and, as if to remind her, she saw again the laughing brown eyes of the man who had, however briefly, rescued her from her boredom. ‘To tell you the truth, Papa, I am not at all sure that I will marry Walter after all.’
For the briefest of moments, Richard looked truly shocked at his daughter’s words, but of course she didn’t mean it.
‘Your betrothal is not a matter for levity.’ His voice was curt. ‘I am afraid you are a little overwrought, my dear. Get to bed and we will say no more on the matter.’
Eleanor sighed. She had not been joking – well, not completely – but she did wish her father would accept that she was no longer a child to be told what and when to do every little thing. ‘Goodnight, Papa.’ Her kiss on his cheek was feather light and with a whisk of the long skirt of her ball gown, she turned and made her way to her room.
As she prepared for bed, she wondered what demon had made her answer her father back as she had. The same one she supposed that had urged her to her dance with William Weston. She slid further down the bed and pulled the sheet higher as if by so doing she could delete the memory. But she could not forget that startling moment when she had looked across the ballroom and her eyes had met that hard, brilliant stare. Their glance had held and she had known in that instant not just that he would ask her to dance with him and that she would accept, but that he would in some way change her destiny. It was one of those startling moments of knowing that had come to her just a few times in her life; knowing that had always proved correct. By the time she was twelve years old, she had learned to keep her own counsel at such times; talking about her premonitions even when, or especially when, they were proved correct only brought ridicule, or worse, anger.
She could not see why the fact that she was usually right annoyed people. Instead of being grateful for the warning, they looked on her as weird and seemed to think that because she had predicted an event, she had also made it happen. She certainly did not regret dancing with William (already she thought of him in this familiar way in her mind), but she was sorry that she had probably caused her gentle mother distress. Her father, she knew, would heap coals of fire on her defenceless head for allowing her daughter to behave in such an inappropriate manner. Sorry as she was, she had no real regrets, for dancing with William had been the most exciting thing to happen to her since Walter had proposed. After a few moments’ reflection, she decided that it had eclipsed that proposal.
‘Good morning, Papa,’ Ella said to her father’s back as she moved to the sideboard. She poured herself coffee, selected toast, butter and marmalade and took her place at the table.
Richard glanced up from his bacon and eggs as he grunted a barely audible ‘Morning.’ Ella would have assumed that he was still annoyed with her for the previous evening except that this was his normal morning greeting. Her mother was not at the table, but this was not unusual.
Richard finished his breakfast in silence, snatched the white linen napkin away from his neck and flung it down on the table without bothering to fold it. He glared at Ella down the table as he pushed his chair back.
‘When you have finished your breakfast, you had better go and attend to your mother. She is “indisposed” this morning. Your behaviour last night was upsetting.’
Ella thought that it was likely to be her father’s reaction rather than her behaviour that had upset her mother. But she kept her thoughts strictly to herself, merely murmuring a meek, ‘Yes, Papa,’ as, without another word, he left the room.
‘Ah, it is you, dear.’ Lillian Wagstaff smiled at her daughter, her voice much stronger than the one she had used to say, ‘Come in,’ now that she could see who had tapped on her door.
‘I thought it might be your father,’ she explained hesitantly.
‘No, Mama. He has already left for his office.’
The smile that passed between mother and daughter was one of understanding, almost conspiratorial. Lillian patted the bed. ‘Tell me about the ball,’ she invited.
Ella sat down, smiled at her mother and tilted her chin. ‘I danced with someone other than Walter,’ there was a ring of defiance in her voice, ‘but of course Papa will already have told you that.’
‘Indeed he has. I am afraid you have really annoyed him, Ella.’ Lillian raised her eyes and smiled again at her daughter, and Ella knew that her mother had weathered the storm of her father’s indignation and anger and that he had not won her sympathy. ‘Especially as, according to him, you dared to be impertinent and argued with him.’
Oh, Mama, I didn’t intend to be impertinent. I just pointed out to him that one went to a ball to dance and that as Walter quite obviously preferred talking business to taking the floor, I accepted an invitation to waltz from … someone else. Besides,’ she added defiantly, ‘poor Walter is really such a bad dancer and Will … Mr Weston is excellent.’
‘I do not see that was such a terrible crime,’ Lillian murmured, ‘however, your father also told me that you spoke of your fiancé in a very disrespectful manner. That you even….’ Here she lowered her voice until it was barely audible. ‘That you even intimated that you were not sure you really wanted to marry Walter. Is that so, Ella?’
Ella looked down and missed the glint of humour in the grey eyes regarding her so closely. ‘Well, yes, I did,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘It is not that I dislike him, Mama. It’s just that he is so very dull.’
‘There are many worse vices in a husband, Ella, than mere dullness,’ Lillian sighed. She feared at times for this somewhat rebellious daughter of hers. It had been her own experience in life that a woman could often achieve more by quiescence than rebellion. Walter may not be the most exciting of suitors, but he was, she felt, safe. Probably a kind man, even a good man, but – yes – indubitably dull. She could not understand why he was dragging out this engagement; it was small wonder that Ella, never famed for patience, was getting restless. Maybe a change of scene would be a good thing; it might also prod Walter into action.
‘Perhaps you would like a change, my dear?’ she suggested gently.
‘A change, mother?’ Surely her mother could not mean that she change Walter for – well, someone else. William, for instance?
‘A change of scene, a change of air, a little holiday.’ Lillian smiled gently. She had watched the hope flit across Ella’s pretty face and guessed the thought that had prompted it. ‘Perhaps you would like to spend a short while with your Aunt May. You could,’ she added pointedly, ‘buy things for your trousseau. Your aunt has excellent taste and would so enjoy shopping with you. I am afraid it might be too tiring for me.’
Lillian determined that while Ella was away, it must be made clear to Walter that his affianced bride was getting restless – it behoved him to do something about it. The wedding date must be fixed and if Richard would not speak to him then she would have to, well, hint at it at least.
‘Do you really mean that, Mother, that I may stay with Aunt May and shop for … for my trousseau?’ Ella clasped her hands together and gazed at her mother with shining eyes. May was her mother’s much younger sister. She was married to a wealthy businessman and lived in London. Although she had three young children, she also had a house full of servants. Ella adored her and the visits she paid her were highlights in her existence.
Lillian nodded. ‘I will write to her at once and arrange it,’ she promised.
The affection between Ella and her young aunt was a two-way thing. In spite of Gordon’s money and the servants it paid for to make her life easier, in spite of – or maybe because of – her three lively young children, May often found life restricting, almost boring. Her husband was a good deal older than herself and his friends, if possible, were even more staid than he was. Her mother had also recently sold up her own home and moved in with her younger daughter. May sometimes wished Gordon were not quite so kind and obliging, but it had actually been he who had made the suggestion that his mother-in-law make her home with them. May sometimes suspected that his motive was as a minder for herself. It would be good for her to have Ella staying; she always enjoyed her visits. Not so very distant in age and very akin in spirit, they were more like sisters than aunt and niece. To be entrusted with the purchase of things for the younger woman’s trousseau was likely to be an enormous pleasure as well as an honour.
Most of this she conveyed to her niece as she escorted her to the guest bedroom upon arrival. Ella looked round at the spacious, comfortably appointed room with delight. She clapped her hands lightly together and beamed at her aunt. ‘Oh, Aunt May, this room is quite lovely. I am sure I shall never want to go home.’
May looked pleased. ‘It has been decorated since you were here last, I am glad you like it. You must be tired after the journey. I will send a maid up with some hot water for you to refresh yourself and she can unpack for you. Would you like a rest, or would you prefer to come downstairs for afternoon tea?’
‘Oh, come down, please. I am not at all tired, just a bit dusty from the journey.’ Ella did not want to waste a moment of this precious visit in unnecessary resting. She almost protested that she could unpack for herself then thought better of it. May had so many servants she probably had difficulty finding enough for them to do. Thus, with her conscience salved, she left the young maid who brought her hot water, putting her clothes away in the huge oak wardrobe and tripped lightly downstairs to seek out her aunt.
Her spirits were only slightly dampened by the sight of her grandmother, dressed as always in black, sitting bolt upright in a straight-backed chair, her wrinkled and jewelled hand resting on the head of the silver-topped cane that she used more to attract attention, by banging it briskly on the floor, than to help her walk.
‘Good afternoon, Eleanor.’ Her eyes raked her granddaughter from head to toe and back again and she tilted her head in such a way that suggested, correctly, that she expected a dutiful peck on the cheek. ‘So, your mother has sent you to us to get your trousseau, has she?’
Ella threw a glance at her aunt after dutifully performing the required salutation. At the thought of her grandmother helping purchase her trousseau, she had a wild vision of herself appearing at the altar in black, beneath which she wore depressingly plain and serviceable underclothes. May’s warm smile was reassuring. In actual fact, Ella did not dislike her grandmother and was certainly not afraid of her as most of the family appeared to be. On the contrary, she rather enjoyed the old lady’s acerbic tongue, especially when it was directed at someone else. Ella alone, of all the family, dared to answer her back, something her grandmother liked. She thought Ella had spirit, a quality she felt sadly lacking in her daughters.
‘Yes, Grandma. At least that is the reason she gave for allowing me to visit.’
The old lady gave a snort of appreciation, approval or merely agreement. Ella was not entirely sure which. ‘And what other reason could she have, pray?’
‘I don’t know, Grandma,’ Ella replied demurely, but when her eyes, too wide for total ignorance or innocence, met those of the old lady, a spark of mutual understanding flashed between them.
‘Well, my girl, if you ask me, it is high time you were safely married.’
‘Yes, Grandma,’ Ella replied meekly to this enigmatic remark. Unconsciously she made a slight moue at the prospect of being safely married to the worthy Walter. Even shopping for a trousseau could not make it seem in the least exciting.
‘Let us hope your parents will convince him that your engagement has lasted quite long enough.’ She banged her stick on the floor so hard to lend emphasis that Ella actually jumped.
‘Yes, quite long enough,’ the old lady repeated. ‘I can see that your nerves are playing up.’
‘Yes, Grandma,’ Ella answered absently only to jump again as once more the end of the stick hit the floor, even harder this time.
‘Haven’t you anything else to say but “Yes, Grandma”?’
As of course she had intended, this threw Ella into a quandary. Whether she said ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in reply, it was bound to be wrong. She kept silent but looked her grandmother squarely in the eye and smiled, she hoped beguilingly.
The old lady looked her up and down; Ella looked back. ‘Your mother says you have annoyed your father by your behaviour at some ball or other. She did not think you had done anything so terrible and neither did I when she told me, but she did think that maybe it was time you were married. And so it is – that is, if you really want to marry that good but extremely dull man you have been engaged to for so long.’
Ella murmured another meek ‘Yes, Grandma’ while wondering whether she really did want to marry Walter. But of course she did; wasn’t she here to buy her trousseau? That would be fun anyway.
‘Oh, go away with you, girl!’ The old lady’s voice was tart, but there was a surprising look of concern on her face as she watched her favourite grandchild. For some reason, she was worried about her.
Ella and May set out the very next day on their buying spree. May instructed the children’s nurse to meet them later on in the morning in Regent’s Park and it was there that Ella came face to face with William once more.
Her three young cousins were playing with a rather large, red ball and Jonathon, the eldest, brought it to Ella with a request that she play with him. She jumped up and for a few moments, they threw the ball happily to one another, then May called out something and Ella, distracted, threw the ball to the little boy rather too vigorously and somewhat wide of the mark.
‘Oh!’ she gasped in horror as she saw it fly over the head of a man sitting on a bench with his back to her, engrossed in his open paper. The ball landed fair and square in his lap and the paper flew out of his hand. He jumped to his feet and looked around to find the source of this missile.
Ella, afraid that Jonathon might be blamed, hurried forward to apologize. ‘Oh!’ she repeated. ‘I am so sorry, I – I didn’t mean …’ her voice trailed away as she recognized the man staring at her. His angry stance had now changed to one of delighted surprise.
‘Miss Wagstaff!’ he exclaimed. ‘What an extraordinary – what a very pleasant surprise!’
‘Mr Weston!’
For a moment, they stared at one another in mutual astonishment. Ella dropped her gaze in a belated attempt to behave in a seemly fashion. She was all too aware of the warm colour flooding her throat and cheeks and was sure that the frantic beating of her heart must be visible through her clothes. For a wild moment, she thought she might swoon in the finest tradition of fictitious heroines. But swooning was not Ella’s style so she breathed deeply and slowly raised her eyes. He was still staring at her, his deep brown eyes almost as soulful as those of a spaniel, but their expression belied by the smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
‘Miss Wagstaff,’ he repeated, ‘this is a truly delightful surprise. I heard you were staying with your aunt in London, but I did not expect, or even dare to hope, that I might have the pleasure of meeting up with you. May I….’ His voice was hesitant. ‘Would you allow me to walk with you?’
‘But certainly, Mr Weston. I do apologize for – for the ball landing on you like that. It must have given you quite a shock.’ She dimpled up at him, barely attempting to hide her amusement. ‘I would be delighted to walk with you, just a little way, here in the park. I am with my aunt. It was my nephew who sent the ball flying into your lap.’
‘As you say, quite a shock. But well worth it when I saw you.’ He looked around for the aunt she mentioned and was surprised when a stylish and very young-looking woman approached them.
Ella introduced her. ‘And this, Aunt May, is Mr Weston.’
May didn’t need the meaningful look that Ella bestowed on her to know at once that this was the young man whom all the fuss was about. Meeting his warm smile and looking directly into those melting eyes, she understood her niece. Who in their right mind would want to marry the good and worthy Walter Crutchley when this man was expressing an interest.
‘I am charmed to meet you, Mr Weston.’ She half turned to Ella. ‘I have to get back home with the children, but there is no need for you to hurry if – that is, if Mr Weston would be kind enough to escort you back to the house.’
And so Ella found herself alone with William Weston, walking first in the gardens and then demurely back to her brother-in-law’s residence. By the time they arrived there, he had suggested another meeting and Ella had joyfully agreed.
That was how it began; innocently enough with a gentle walk in the park. But within a few weeks, Ella had returned Walter’s ring and her father had come storming to London intent on bringing his daughter home. However, Walter, although he generously returned the ring to Ella, refused to renew the engagement and William found himself in honour bound, taking his place.
So the wedding plans went on, the trousseau was bought, albeit less extensive and splendid than originally planned as Richard drastically reduced the amount he was prepared to spend. In spite of this, William had high hopes that his father-in-law might see fit to set him up in some way. He did, but not quite as the young couple had envisioned. He paid their passage to Australia and settled enough money on his new son-in-law to set up in business.
Lillian wept copiously at the wedding then retired to her room. Aunt May put a good face on things though in truth she was more than a little dismayed at the turn of events and vowed never to meddle in other people’s affairs again. Grandma told Ella sternly that now she had made her bed, she must lie on it, thinking even as she said it that maybe she should not have used that particular phrase under the circumstances. Ella floated through the wedding ceremony on a romantic cloud, only wishing as she and William headed for Southampton that someone had explained a little more about marriage to her; she knew she would be expected to share a bed with William from now on but had only the very haziest notion of what happened there.