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Eleanor and Portia dressed for the evening in a flurry of sarcenet, lace, ribbons, and giggles. Though concerned about the Robsons’ imminent departure and Octavius’s state of mind, Eleanor maintained a carefree demeanor for Portia’s sake. Her sister-in-law had got into the spirit of things and seemed to overcome her worries of the morning.
After donning their gowns, having their hair dressed, and deciding on the appropriate jewelry, they spent an inordinate amount of time placating Henry and persuading him that he wasn’t missing much by going to bed before the ball began. Two cheesecakes and a glass of lemonade improved the situation immensely. However, when Eleanor and Portia at last made it downstairs, Octavius was nowhere to be found.
Bickley, in the midst of overseeing last-minute details in regard to the arrangement of the rooms, informed them his lordship had not yet returned.
“Where did he go?” Portia asked, her voice rising in panic.
Eleanor took her arm and steered the girl into the sitting room, which had been torn apart in preparation of redecoration but was at least out of the way of the scurrying servants. She had so hoped Octavius would return with good news and Portia wouldn’t need to hear that the Robsons were leaving. Alas...
“Dearest, an unfortunate situation has come up. The Robsons have been asked to return to America. Believing this directive to be unfair, your brother went to see the Foreign Office minister.” Eleanor smiled bravely. “Let’s hope his prolonged absence means he’s making progress.”
“Why would the government care that the Robsons are here?” Portia blinked in confusion, and Eleanor was only too glad it wasn’t petulance.
“Politics. Mr. Robson’s background has convinced the government he might be up to no good here. It truly doesn’t make a lot of sense, which is why Octavius went to sort the matter out.”
“Will Andrew have to leave as well?”
Ah, this was more like Portia. “I am not certain, but I don’t believe so. Mr. Robson indicated only he and Justine were told to leave. They were given permission to attend the ball tonight, however, so we can send them off in style. If it comes to that.”
For Octavius’s sake, she hoped it did not.
“A farewell ball won’t be nearly as much fun,” Portia said. “Especially for Lex. He enjoys Mr. Robson’s company.”
At this statement, Eleanor’s heart lightened. The girl had a long way to travel but at least showed signs of maturation. Until she opened her mouth again.
“I hope he can control himself,” the girl continued, crossing her arms under her chest. “He promised he would, but of course he didn’t know that the Robsons would be sent away. I’ll be mortified if he weeps at their departure.”
How ironic. Eleanor would once have given just about anything to see such deep emotion from the man.
A footman burst into the room, slightly out of breath. “My lady, the first carriage is just arriving. Mr. Bickley wants to know what is to be done, as his lordship hasn’t returned.”
Portia’s already disgruntled expression transformed into a perfect imitation of her brother’s scowl. Eleanor herself had no wish to greet their guests without her husband by her side. Even if he was discomfited by the crowd invading his house, Octavius would be a solid presence and would support her no matter what. If he were here. But he wasn’t.
She straightened her shoulders. “We will be there in a trice. Thank you, Richard.”
After the servant exited, Eleanor took Portia’s hands in a firm grip. “I need your assistance, dear sister. At any moment, members of the ton are going to walk through our door. I have no idea if they will be here to celebrate with us or to castigate us, but we must face them and I think we’ll be much more formidable if we can do so together. May I count on you?”
“Everyone will notice Lex isn’t here!”
“He will be. I know he will be. Until then, I need you.” Eleanor tugged on her hands. “Portia?”
The girl shook her head, clearing the mulishness from her face. Eyes a softer, somewhat bemused blue, she asked, “Have you ever had a negative thought?”
Eleanor laughed and pulled her into a hug. “All the time. The secret is to not express them. Come, we can do this!”
She led the way to the top of the staircase, where they would greet their guests. Bickley had stationed himself at the foot of the stairs to announce everyone. Richard the footman stood sentinel at the door to let them in.
Portia slipped her arm through Eleanor’s. Eleanor smiled and squeezed her hand, hoping to calm her own nerves as well. Ruthlessly she quashed those negative thoughts Portia didn’t believe she had; Octavius would show up. Their guests would be charming and amusing, never disdainful or cutting. All would be well.
“The Duke and Duchess of Burnham,” Bickley announced.
She and Portia traded relieved looks. A friendly face. The perfect way to start the evening.
Eleanor watched Alice ascend the steps in a stunning ice blue sarcenet gown with silver trimmings, and the duchess’s shy smile dashed away her anxiety. “It’s lovely to see you again, Your Grace. Thank you for coming.”
“We were pleased to accept your invitation,” the duchess replied. “May I present my husband?”
The duke was not what Eleanor expected. Though tall and fit, he was at least forty years Alice’s senior. Thick white hair crowned a long, well-lined face. His cheeks were red, his eyes a friendly bright blue. Eleanor curtsied.
When she rose, a movement at the bottom of the stairs caught her eye. Octavius had just slipped in the front door. Despite the flutter of curiosity in her stomach, she nonetheless forced her attention back to the duke, greeting him earnestly and introducing him to Portia. Only when he stepped aside to bow over the girl’s hand did Eleanor cut her gaze back toward the entry hall, seeing Octavius near the newel post staring up at her. His eyes held an apology. She gave him her warmest smile, but, from the stiff way he nodded and the exhaustion apparent in the slump of his shoulders, she knew he hadn’t succeeded in his quest.
He held up a finger then waved a hand down the length of his body: He needed to change. At her acknowledgment, he disappeared down the back corridor, presumably to take the servants’ staircase to avoid running into the guests before he was properly dressed.
He was just in time, for Richard threw the door open wide and a bevy of Society’s best-dressed crowded in. They had apparently decided to ignore the previous scandal and come en masse.
Just before the newcomers swarmed the stairs, Eleanor leaned over to whisper in Portia’s ear, “Octavius is back. He’ll be with us in a moment.”
The girl’s eyebrows flew up and she almost looked...happy. So Eleanor resolved to let Octavius know just what his promise meant to his sister.
The guests continued to arrive apace. Though most must have noted Octavius’s absence, only one or two commented. Eleanor handled these remarks truthfully, with replies about a late meeting at the Foreign Office, and after awhile Portia relaxed into the charming manner she usually reserved for gentlemen.
At a lull in the receiving line, Octavius slipped between them. Eleanor could feel the tension thrumming through his body, but his voice was soft when he turned to his sister. “Apologies for my tardiness. Portia, you look lovely this evening. Blue suits you.”
Eleanor wanted to grab him by the lapel and kiss him senseless. He couldn’t have uttered more perfect words if she had told him what to say.
Portia thanked him with a generous smile. “May I head into the ballroom now?”
They gave permission, and off she went with a happy swish of her skirts. Neither of them had a chance to speak again before they had to return their attention to more guests.
When another pause occurred, Eleanor touched her husband’s sleeve and shot him a questioning look. He put a hand to her back and leaned down. “The government won’t relent. The Robsons must leave.”
“Oh no.” She reached up and embraced him briefly before the next couple mounted the stairs and required attention, and once the pair was off to the ballroom she squeezed his arm again. “Did you discover why?”
Before he could answer, the Robsons themselves were announced. Octavius took a deep steadying breath as they approached, and Justine took Eleanor’s offered hands and pulled her close, enveloping her with warmth and friendship. Eleanor returned the embrace wholeheartedly, squeezing her eyes shut against the sting of tears.
Octavius and Mr. Robson were shaking hands, while the latter said, “It’s the damnedest thing. If they suspected me of being a spy, why didn’t they bar me from the country when we first arrived?”
“At that time, no one had impugned your honor,” Octavius ground out. “I regret to say that you have become embroiled in a personal matter between me and another. I apologize for the turn the situation has taken.”
“No,” Eleanor implored, turning. “Drummond did this?”
He jerked his head in reply.
How could Eleanor ever have thought him her friend? She had misjudged him to a frightening degree.
Mr. Robson shook his head. “Most regrettable.”
“Mr. William Drummond,” Bickley announced then, in an almost panicked voice.
The two couples turned in stunned silence to see that very jackanapes ascending the steps as if he owned the place. Eleanor immediately reached for Octavius’s hand, but he shook her loose and headed down to confront Drummond.
Mr. Robson shot her a questioning look. With the slightest motion of her head, she declined his assistance. She had faith in her husband. He had promised to be here, and he was. He had promised to control himself—and he would. She didn’t doubt him. Still, she gratefully inched closer to Justine when that fine lady linked their arms.
––––––––
LEX PLANTED HIMSELF in front of the interloper and lowered his voice. “We issued no invitations to snakes. Get out, Drummond.”
That familiar pernicious smile formed on the man’s face. “I assumed my invitation was lost in the post. You cannot be so ungracious as to deny me the opportunity to bid a fond farewell to your American friends.”
From the frenzied chatter behind him, Lex realized their other guests had noticed the arrival. He fervently hoped that Portia was too preoccupied to remark this confrontation on the staircase. If he wanted to keep her unaware, Drummond must be dealt with elsewhere.
Lex took another step, putting him on the same step as his enemy. He threw his arm around the blackguard’s shoulders and walked him down the stairs toward the study as if they were the oldest of friends. Drummond was too surprised to protest.
After steering him where he wanted, Lex closed the door and backed Drummond against it. “I warned you the other night and you didn’t heed me. You’ve done irreparable harm to the Robsons. The only reason I’m not tearing you limb from limb right now is because my family deserves to have their reputations respected. Something you know little about.”
“I simply wanted to speak to my sister.” Drummond’s sneer returned. “And dance with your wife again.”
Lex drove his fist into the man’s stomach. Then, while Drummond was doubled over, gasping for breath, he strode to his desk in hopes the distance would weaken the urge to finish the beating the bastard deserved. This could have been such a pleasant night if only the man had an ounce of decency. Instead it fell to Lex to attempt rationality, for Eleanor’s and Portia’s sakes, when his temper was near the boiling point.
He inhaled and glared into Drummond’s red face. “I told you this feud was over. I meant it. If you care for your mother as you say you do, you will end it on your side as well.” He withdrew a sheaf of papers from a locked drawer and slapped them down on the blotter. “These are mortgages on your father’s London townhouse and your family’s estate. It’s a shame your father broke the entail. I can call in these notes at any time, and if I do, your mother will no longer have a place to live.” He lifted his head and pierced Drummond with a glare. “Leave here and go to Lord Castlereagh. Retract your lie. After that, leave my family and friends alone. If you do all this, the mortgage on your mother’s residence will remain uncollected—at least until after her death.”
Drummond stood tall, though it obviously pained him to do so. “Don’t try to pretend you’re better than me, Lexden. You’ve been planning to ruin my family all along.”
“Yes, I have.” Six years of planning and countless hours of fuming, all would be thrown to the wayside. And doing so wasn’t nearly as wrenching as Lex would have thought. His friends and his family were worth his time and emotion. Drummond wasn’t.
“How do I know you won’t change your mind and put my mother out on the street anyway?”
Lex sighed. He didn’t want to waste another minute on this blackguard. “It’s time we acted as the gentlemen we are, Drummond. I give you my word. If you do the same, I’m prepared to honor this agreement. If you don’t, you’ve been given fair warning.”
“Portia...”
Always trying to take one more inch. If the very act itself wouldn’t destroy his family, Lex would call out Drummond there and then. He dug his nails into his palms, searching for calm. Eleanor’s face came to mind, and his temperature cooled a degree. “Don’t push me. We’ll discuss Portia at a later date. I have guests waiting.”
Drummond’s expression darkened. A minute ticked by. Then at last he stepped forward, hand out. “This has nothing to do with you, Lexden, and everything to do with my mother.”
Lex skirted the desk. “Believe it or not, I’m glad you care enough about her to acquiesce.”
They shook hands, and Drummond headed for the door.
“Have Castlereagh send a note after you speak with him.”
Drummond nodded but kept walking.
The rhythm of Lex’s breathing slowly returned to normal, and the rousing sounds of the orchestra playing a quadrille in the room above registered. Right, guests. He must return to the ball. Thank goodness returning there meant returning to Eleanor. He proceeded up the stairs and, with one final deep breath at the top, plunged into the yawning social pit that had once been his drawing room.
Everything looked as usual. Eleanor was chatting with a large group, Mr. and Mrs. Robson were dancing with fervor, Portia was flirting with a young man, and quite a large number of guests turned to stare at him. If they had come to witness a scandal, they were out of luck. And, despite wanting to clear them out so he could spend a quiet evening with his family and the Robsons, he would endure their presence for the rest of the evening. Eleanor and Portia deserved no less.
In that vein, he approached his sister. His sister. Drummond could to go to hell and back, but he wasn’t ever going to get near Portia again.
“May I have the pleasure of the next dance, my lady sister?”
Surrounded by two young bucks and another young woman, Portia turned to him with her lower lip pulled in. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline. You see, I am already promised to Mr. Somers.” She inclined her head toward the taller of her admirers.
Lex smiled. “Then by all means, do enjoy yourselves.”
He bowed and backed away, more than relieved by the reprieve. He would have done his duty by Portia, but dancing wasn’t an especially favorite activity of his. Being near Eleanor was.
At first he simply watched her. She smiled charmingly at everyone, even those who had a distinct hint of distaste on their faces. Graciously she leaned closer to the elderly Lord Darnley so that he could hear her. She guided Andrew Robson—he must have just arrived—to a shy-looking young lady from whom he soon coaxed a smile and a dance. She was everything a countess should be, and Lex hadn’t even yet remarked on how lovely she looked this evening. At last she wore a gown made specifically for her and in the current mode. The squared green velvet bodice perfectly framed her breasts. The rest of the gown, a creamy satin, draped her curves in a sinful way that made him once again wish all these guests to perdition.
He started toward her but paused here and there to speak to their guests. It wasn’t difficult to thank the cheerful ones for coming. He truly was grateful that not everyone had shunned them or showed up in the hopes of seeing another Lexden debacle.
When he arrived, his wife greeted him with a brilliant smile—which surprised him with a frisson of terror. I love you. The intoxicating feeling of that night had dissipated considerably, and her words were now something of a threat. He had no idea how to be loved.
She interrupted his reverie with a squeeze of his arm. “Thank you so much for keeping your promise to come back in time. It meant the world to Portia. You should have seen her smile when you arrived.”
More expectations. Yet, the returns were worth it, or so Robson said. Hadn’t he begun to believe it himself?
“Lex.”
Eleanor was gazing up at him with a frown creasing her forehead, and he matched her expression. “Please don’t call me that.”
“I thought you preferred it.”
“Not from you.” Her use of his given name marked an intimacy that he now quite willingly embraced. Not to mention it reminded him of the impudence he’d come to enjoy. “Never from you.”
“Is that so, Octavius?” She nearly purred his name and leaned closer, impudent as always. “Do you know what I wish to do after all the guests leave?”
“No,” he replied, “but I think I would like to join you.”
Her soft laugh rode the waves of his pounding blood to every corner of his body. “That’s good, because I would like us to retire to my bedchamber, light every last candle, and make love in the blazing brightness.”
This part of her love he could handle. “It would be my pleasure to grant your wish. And your pleasure as well.”
Heat smoldered between them, and her eyes turned as dark as the velvet of her gown. Then the spell was broken as Justine Robson approached.
“Such a lovely ball,” the woman exclaimed. “I am so glad we were able to attend. The memories of this night, and your friendship, will keep me company during the long journey home. And to add to my hoard”—she tapped Lex on the arm with her folded fan—“I’m going to be presumptuous and ask you for a dance, dear Lexden.”
As little as he liked to dance, there was no refusing this woman tonight. The way life progressed, he had a feeling he might need these memories just as much as Mrs. Robson—and in all honestly, possibly more.
He executed a regal bow. “I would be honored, madam.”
The two of them, along with three other couples, were soon squared up for a quadrille. Mrs. Robson was light on her feet and took Lex’s more stilted moves in stride, and at one point, as they came together down the line, she turned with a serious glint in her eye. “This will end well, Lex. Have faith. Once our countries have decided to lay down their weapons and seek peace, will you visit us in America? All of you.”
Lex had no time to answer, as they turned in opposite directions, but he couldn’t fail to note the optimism in her question. To Mrs. Robson, this separation was a mere bump in the road, a frustration to be endured until they could meet again. To him it was another bond cruelly ended by the machinations of the Drummonds. At least, it would be ended if his sacrifice did not work, and Lex would not know until he heard from Castlereagh. He could not say until he’d heard for certain. Drummond might yet decide their vendetta was worth risking everything.
They finished the dance in a flurry of hops and skips. Lex kept hold of Mrs. Robson’s hands and gave them an earnest squeeze. He wished more than anything that he could embrace her hopefulness, but with images in his head of Drummond’s perfidy, their ship sinking and the war raging endlessly on, of Robson being tossed in jail by his government, it wouldn’t be easy. For Mrs. Robson, though, he would try.
“We accept your invitation to visit. Henry will be over the moon with the adventure of sailing. And I...” He swallowed past the sudden thickness in his throat. “I will look forward to reuniting with the two of you. I genuinely hope the wait is not too long.”
Mrs. Robson grinned. “We’ll have such fun in Baltimore! You can meet the rest of our children, we’ll go apple-picking, hunting for seashells by the shore. Oh! A visit to Washington is a must. I think you will be impressed by our growing capital.” She was about to say more, but something over his shoulder caught her eye. “I think I spy Andrew over there. Would you excuse me, Lex?”
He bowed, and she was gone.
Turning, he scanned the room looking for Portia and found her relaxed and happy, in conversation with the Duchess of Burnham. Excellent. Next, he searched for Eleanor. She was near the window, so Lex headed that way.
Before he reached her, Mrs. Dryden beat him there.
“Mother!” Eleanor’s eyebrows rose in perfect arches. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived. Thank you for coming.”
Mrs. Dryden made a show of surveying the room, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. “This is quite a gathering, my dear. The decorations are so exquisite. And the refreshments... I’m sure I haven’t seen such an extravagant display in many a year.”
Lex wasn’t quite sure of her point, but he already didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading. He hung back out of sight.
Eleanor smiled, seemingly with effort. “Has Papa accompanied you?”
Her mother sighed and placed a hand over her heart. “He’s unwell again. The house is so difficult to keep warm. The exorbitant price of coal, you know.” She waved her hand in front of Eleanor. “Not that such things matter to you. You clearly have money enough to burn on grand balls and gowns that must cost more than three months’ worth of coal. Of course, I’m ever grateful you even thought to invite your poor mother. I wish I’d had something else to wear besides this old rag. I do hope I’m not embarrassing you, but I could not afford to have a new dress made, not with paying the doctor and keeping decent food on the table for your father.”
Eleanor seemed to shrink in upon herself, and she glanced uneasily from side to side. It seemed to take much effort for her to open her mouth in a reply, but the energy was wasted as Mrs. Dryden continued on.
“I just wish you had more concern for your father’s health, Eleanor, and would take steps to ensure that our needs are taken care of. I shudder to think what would happen to him if I fell ill too.”
Lex stiffened with anger. Good God, was Eleanor nothing to her mother but a pot of treasure to be dipped into again and again? Mrs. Dryden’s concern for her husband rang so falsely even Henry would probably see through it.
“Mother...,” Eleanor began ineffectually.
His wife was never ineffectual. Lex marched toward her as fast he could, intent on arriving before Mrs. Dryden could say another word. He’d not allowed Drummond to ruin this ball, and he certainly wasn’t going to let Eleanor’s mother do so. This was the Countess of Lexden’s night to shine.
His mother-in-law had just taken a deep breath in order to spew forth God knew what when Lex stepped up and took her arm. “Mrs. Dryden, how wonderful to see you tonight. Let me escort you to the refreshment table. You will not believe how delicious the lobster cakes are.”
He turned the older woman away from Eleanor, gave his wife a wink over his shoulder, and headed toward the corridor. At an alcove near the top of the stairs, his mother-in-law looked perplexed. “The food is the other way, my dear Lexden. Now that you mention it, I am quite famished.”
Lex rounded on her. “You can eat to your heart’s content, after you’ve agreed to stop this nonsense.”
She blinked innocently. “What nonsense?”
“Do you even know your daughter? Do you know how socially adept she is, even in the most trying circumstances? Do you realize what a bold sense of humor she possesses? Can you not admire how even-tempered she is, a trait she has thankfully passed on to Henry?” The woman’s mouth had gone slack, and for once she appeared incapable of speech, so Lex pressed on. “Of course you don’t. Because all you ever do is hound her for money. More and more money. You do the same to me, but I do not give a fig.”
Alas, she found her voice. “Lexden! This conversation has passed the bounds of good taste. Are you about to have another of those dreadful episodes like you did at the Ardmores’ last week?”
This was not about him. Lex shoved his hands behind his back in a more relaxed stance and dragged in a breath. “We are discussing you and your daughter, and your decided lack of variety in conversation with her. She is not a bank, Mrs. Dryden.”
“I never!”
“You do. Always.” He paused, swallowing his frustration that Eleanor deserved more, so much more from her parents.
Mrs. Dryden took advantage. “You have no idea what it’s like to do without. Every time I think we have a little extra, poof! It’s gone. He thinks he needs another painting, or a pair of boots, or a new horse to replace the one he bought two months ago. Meanwhile the house is so cold, and I can’t put a decent meal on the table...”
The woman trailed off as her eyes filled with unshed tears that Lex did not want to fall. Nor did he want Eleanor harangued by a mother she couldn’t bring herself to hate.
“Mrs. Dryden, let’s make a deal.”
“A deal?” the woman said with a sniffle.
He dutifully handed over his handkerchief. “Yes, a deal. Believe me when I say that Eleanor and I do not have any desire to see you living in misery. Therefore, I will set up an annuity—in your name—that will pay you a quarterly sum more than sufficient to cover your household needs and more besides.”
She brightened considerably. “Oh, Lexden—”
He cut her off. “In return, you will talk to your daughter about anything but money. Ask her about Henry. Give her advice about her next ball. Let her complain to you about her beast of a husband. Do not ask her for money. If you have concerns about your financial situation even after I’ve set up the annuity”—he would surely regret this, but better him than Eleanor—“come to me directly.”
He’d loosed his hands from behind his back, and Mrs. Dryden seized them, squeezing tight. “How can I thank you? I never would have guessed you could be so...”
Best she not finish that sentence. “You can thank me by not mentioning this conversation to Eleanor. I’ll tell her, and you can speak of other things.”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Dryden waved his handkerchief in a flurry of gratitude. “How much are you thinking...?”
St. Bartholomew save him. “I’ll meet with my solicitor next week and then be in touch with the details. For now I’d suggest you fill a plate from the buffet and enjoy yourself.”
In a move that surprised him, she drew herself up straight, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Lexden.”
He watched her walk off, noticing for the first time how she moved like Eleanor: graceful, and now with purpose. He couldn’t quite say he held any affection for the woman but perhaps now that her fears had been alleviated her true character would shine through. Only time would tell.
Lex turned, feeling surprisingly satisfied. Two dragons slain with no guests the wiser. He might be a muddled mess on the inside from his encounters with Drummond, Justine, and Mrs. Dryden, but at least he’d kept his madness at bay on this very important night. Now there was only...
“There you are,” Elliot Robson said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid we must return to the hotel now. We must be aboard the ship by first light. Might I have a word with you in private, though, Lex?”
He hadn’t heard from Drummond one way or the other. He’d have to assume the Robsons still had to leave. If he didn’t agree to this conversation, if he didn’t say goodbye— No. At least this time he had a chance to say farewell.
He nodded mutely at Robson and turned to lead the way to his sitting room. No. Not the sitting room. He veered to the left and headed toward his study instead.