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As Eleanor watched Octavius leave, a crest of sourness burned up her throat. She couldn’t blame him for escaping. She wanted desperately to follow, not just to get away herself but to explain her actions. She didn’t want this matter to linger between them.
“He always was a dyspeptic boy,” Lady Lexden remarked to Eleanor as the other guests resumed their loud conversations, crowded the dance floor, and assaulted the refreshments table once again.
Eleanor turned back. Of medium height, the woman was gowned in a deep blue satin and net dress that was up-to-the-minute in its styling. Her hair, dark and thick, was swept up into a pretty knot. All in all, she was an attractive woman in her middle fifties who had kept her gently curved figure. After Octavius’s description of her, Eleanor had expected someone a bit more...cronish.
“Your arrival caught us by surprise, my lady. If we’d only known you were coming...”
Lady Lexden laughed and waved a negligent hand. “Where is the fun in that? I do so love a good surprise.”
Octavius did not. Most especially not when that surprise involved his despised parent. Eleanor hadn’t invited her. She hadn’t. She’d written, yes, but nowhere in that letter had she issued an invitation.
She had no idea what to say to the countess now, but she must speak to Octavius. The longer he had to brood and cultivate his anger...
Lady Lexden saluted Eleanor with her glass of sherry. “Splendid! Just splendid. I couldn’t have produced a finer crowd nor gayer music myself.” Her bright gaze flashed at something behind Eleanor. “Well, look who has returned.”
Octavius, preceded by Portia. The girl wore a nervous smile, while his features were set in stone. Eleanor marveled at his return, but still she wanted to hide her eyes from what was to come.
“Oh, aren’t you lovely,” Lady Lexden exclaimed. Then she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Goodness, you can’t possibly be...”
Portia dropped a stiff curtsy. “Lady Portia Mayne.”
Her mother threw back her head and laughed with relish. She pressed a hand to her bodice. “Darling Portia! Do forgive me. I haven’t seen you since you were a wee thing toddling about.”
“Why wouldn’t Lexden let me come live with you?” Portia blurted out, casting a scathing sideways glance at her brother.
“Oh dearest, Edinburgh was no place for a little girl. My calendar was so terribly full, I was rarely about. It just wouldn’t have done.” Lady Lexden seemed to find nothing odd—or better still, hurtful—in this statement. Her voice dropped to a murmur as she also shot Octavius a look. “Too, your brother has never shown me the respect I deserve. After he assumed your guardianship, there was no point in asking him to let you visit me, not even when you were old enough to join me on my social rounds.”
Octavius made an unintelligible sound which, all in all, Eleanor admired for its lack of clarity.
Portia’s eyes boggled. “You...you never asked Lexden if I could come live with you? You never insisted that a little girl needs her mother? You never wrote to me?”
Eleanor took the girl’s gloved hand just as Octavius laid one on her shoulder.
The countess drew back as if offended. “I knew you were well cared for. The steward sent a note every six months assuring me.” She offered a brittle smile. “If you’d like, I’m sure I could lead you on a merry chase through Edinburgh society and have you married off to the wealthiest duke in Scotland by the spring.”
“How surprised I am that you haven’t remarried after all these years,” Portia replied with a sudden unexpected sarcasm.
Lady Lexden failed to notice. “Once is enough for any woman.”
Somehow, Eleanor managed not to put a hand to her throbbing forehead. This ball was the complete opposite of what she’d dreamed. First Drummond arrived uninvited, then her mother arrived invited but begging, then the Robsons had to depart early and for the foreseeable future, and now Lady Lexden shocked them with an appearance. At least the rest of the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves.
“Eleanor, I can’t thank you enough. It is so lovely to be back in London,” the dowager countess declared. “I really must replenish my wardrobe. We must go shopping this week. I’m sure invitations to all the latest affairs will be flooding my doorstep, and I cannot be unprepared.”
Octavius bristled beside Eleanor. He was furious, and Portia wasn’t far behind. How did one gracefully oust one’s mother-in-law from an event at her former home? Better yet, how did one gracefully end a ball early? Eleanor surveyed the room, hoping for an answer.
Across the room, the Duke of Burnham met her gaze. After a quick word in Alice’s ear, the couple approached. Eleanor was glad to see the duchess’s friendly face, but she had no idea whether to be relieved or to steel herself for some new horror.
The duke spoke first, to the countess. “Lady Lexden, I haven’t seen you in years, but I don’t think you look even one day older. That nasty Scottish climate must be good for something.”
“Burnham, you old devil.” Lex’s mother wagged a finger at him. “I see you haven’t changed either.”
The duke introduced the dowager countess to his wife, and Lady Lexden made a comment about Alice’s youth. The duchess flushed, but her husband passed the remark off as a compliment. He then winked at Eleanor on the sly.
“Would you all mind if I stole the countess away for a few moments? I know there are some other guests here who would love to renew their acquaintance with her.”
Gratitude nearly overwhelmed Eleanor. He was offering to take her away, even if only for a brief time. She nodded vigorously.
Lady Lexden reached out to pat Portia’s arm, but the girl backed away, right up against Octavius, who steadied her. “Portia dearest, it’s been nice chatting with you. Do think over my invitation, unless you’d prefer Lexden to choose your husband.”
The dowager countess flitted off with the duke and duchess before Portia could even blink at that statement.
“Seventeen years, and that’s all she has to say to me. Even you, Lex, came to visit me once a year,” Portia lamented.
“Don’t give me credit for that paltry effort,” Octavius grunted.
Portia’s bottom lip began to quiver.
Before Eleanor could pull her into an embrace, Octavius tucked his sister up against his chest. “You are free to retire for the night, Lady Porcupine. Shall I escort you upstairs?”
She nodded wordlessly, and tears began to fall as the two of them slipped out of the room.
Eleanor was left alone. As usual, she must carry on.
What a disaster. She felt stretched to the snapping point and it hadn’t escaped her notice that her husband hadn’t so much as looked at her. The Duke of Burnham was still steadfastly leading the countess around the room, but Eleanor couldn’t fail to see the line of exasperation running across his forehead. She directed a heartfelt smile his way that he accepted with a nod. She must give the housekeeper permission to bash her over the head with a pot if she ever proposed hosting a ball again.
“Will this night never end,” she mumbled to herself.
“Bored by your own ball? Tsk, tsk.”
“Mr. Robson...” Andrew had snuck up behind her, all charming grins and light-hearted quips as usual, but Eleanor was in no mood for the likes of him.
He looked at her and immediately sobered. “What’s happened?”
Eleanor gave him an incredulous look. “Where have you been?”
“I stepped out into the garden. A man needs a respite from the dancing now and then.”
Eleanor sighed. “We’ve had an unexpected guest. Lady Lexden joined us.”
“Lady...?” Andrew snapped his head up and scanned the crowd. “You must be quizzing me. He’s never said much about her, but I do know Lex would never allow such a thing. Where is he, by the by?”
“He accompanied Portia upstairs. The evening has been...rather trying.”
Andrew scrutinized her. “Would you like to be rid of her?”
“What do you mean?” Eleanor asked, afraid to show too much hope. From what she had seen, Mr. Robson wasn’t good for much except a laugh and a compliment. That was probably too harsh, but with her head pounding and her heart devastated by her husband’s anger, she wasn’t feeling too charitable.
His answering smile was almost wolfish. “I’ll wager I can get her, and possibly a large percentage of this crowd, to leave. If, that is, you really wouldn’t mind seeing the end of this affair?”
Eleanor would pay all her pin money for just such an outcome. “Please, do it. Thank you so much, Mr. Robson.”
“My pleasure. Anything for my friend Lexden—and in turn, you. Point me towards her ladyship.”
Eleanor discreetly directed him to where Lady Lexden was in conversation with the Burnhams and Eleanor’s own mother. Andrew bowed with a flourish and made his way toward his target, though he stopped short of her and began talking to the two gentlemen nearest. Eleanor watched raptly, which was undoubtedly bad form, but not many were paying her any mind.
Andrew spoke to the gentlemen with great gestures, and, it seemed, a carrying voice, for the countess’s group all looked his way. Within moments he and the other two gentlemen came back towards Eleanor. They bid her a quick adieu, which included a cheeky wink from Andrew, and then they left.
Lady Lexden wasn’t far behind. She approached with an apologetic shake of her head. “I fear I am overtired from the journey, my dear. I’ve taken a room at the Pulteney—didn’t want to presume on your hospitality—so I am set for the night. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
Lex’s mother had glanced at the door at least three times during that speech, and she barely waited for Eleanor to say goodbye before she escaped. Furious whispering behind cupped hands proceeded from one small group to another, and soon Eleanor was saying goodnight to a large majority of her guests. Soon after that, as the stragglers noticed the thinning crowd, they too began leaving.
Alice returned with her husband, who smiled.
“Well,” the duke said, “that was masterful. There is no better way to entice a crowd away than to hint at an affair that is bigger, better, and even more scandalous—the Prince Regent, a pig, and a poke bonnet.” Burnham chuckled. “Mr. Robson was enthusiastic and convincing, I’ll give him that.”
“I owe him a great debt—and you too, Your Grace,” Eleanor said. “I thank you, and I hope that I may count you as a friend, as I count your dear duchess.”
He bowed over her hand. “I would be flattered, my lady. The duchess and I would love to have you and Lexden to dinner soon. Now that he’s socializing once again, I would like to get to know him. His father was an interesting fellow.”
Eleanor wanted to ask, but she did not. “We would be honored by your invitation, sir. Alice, it was lovely to see you again.”
The ducal couple left, along with a few final others, and then, blessedly, all the guests were gone except for one.
“Goodness, I’ve never seen a crowd disappear so quickly,” Eleanor’s mother exclaimed as the musicians packed away their instruments. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor. Lexden’s mother practically begged everyone to go with her to another ball. Very rude of her, if you ask me.”
Eleanor almost laughed. “It’s all well and good, as I’m nearly done in. I hope you won’t mind if I excuse myself?”
She’d fully expected a set-down for turning her mother away yet again, but instead she received a pat on the arm. “Of course, dear. But may I call upon you tomorrow afternoon? Perhaps we could...” She paused as if thinking hard, then opened her eyes wide. “Spend some time with Henry in the nursery.”
“C-certainly,” Eleanor said, shocked. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Mother.”
Her mother nodded and left.
Alone at last, Eleanor let out a sigh, more than ready to wilt into a heap. But she could not. First she must check on Portia and then her husband.
Portia was already abed, but the girl answered Eleanor’s soft knock. Inside, Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed and said, “I don’t even know what to say, little sister. That was...”
“A dream and a nightmare colliding,” Portia murmured into her pillow.
“I’m so sorry you had to meet your mother that way. I started the correspondence with her, but I did not invite her to the ball.”
“I should have listened to Lex,” Portia replied with a sniffle. “He tried to stop me from going back to the ballroom.”
Ah. And when he couldn’t, he’d followed his sister back—an act that Eleanor knew must have cost him much. She hoped that sign of emotional strength boded well for their imminent discussion.
She let Portia vent her spleen about the whole situation, and eventually the girl ran out of steam and tears. Eleanor leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before leaving, and outside the door she yawned. No rest for the weary, though.
Eleanor made her way to her bedchamber in search of Octavius. It was empty. His own chamber was occupied by a sleeping Henry, so she gave the boy a whispery kiss and then snuck down to the ground floor. Octavius must be in his study. Except that he wasn’t. And the morning room was empty as well. Had he left the house entirely? The only rooms remaining, besides the kitchens and servants’ quarters, were the sitting room and the nursery.
The nursery. Where Octavius had sat for hours distracting his little sister from the devastation their parents had wrought. This didn’t bode well.
With goose pimples spreading across her flesh, Eleanor flew up the three flights of stairs. She found Octavius sitting on the window seat, his back to the glass, head in his hands. She approached slowly, but froze when he growled out, “Don’t.”
She reminded herself he had a right to be upset. With her.
“I am sorry I wrote to your mother behind your back. I did not, however, invite her here.”
Since Henry wasn’t sleeping here, the fire hadn’t been laid in days. Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill. Then she added, “I wrote her a fortnight ago, right after Portia arrived and when I learned she was still alive. She wanted to know her mother. We didn’t think it was fair that you kept the two of them apart.”
Octavius rose abruptly, towering over her. “I am not a monster.”
The words whipped out and lashed her. “I know, but at the time—”
Looking up into his face, she broke off. This wasn’t Octavius. His eyes were dark shards that had cut out all his humanity; his scowl was hardened and ingrained. This was the man who’d believed the worst of her and banished her to Essex after just a few months of marriage.
“I cannot believe you did this to me. You. I thought Drummond had done this. But you...”
His hot breath and bitter disillusionment washed over her. Nothing she could say would reach him right now. As before, nothing would sway his opinion. She’d thought they’d come farther than this.
Chest heaving with indignation, he brushed past. She didn’t turn around but stared out the darkened window as a bellicose silence dominated the room. If she could hold her tongue long enough, the Octavius she loved would reemerge. The key was to avoid engaging in his self-pitying rants.
The carpet muffled his tread, but there was no mistaking the heated anger that nearly suffocated her as he approached from behind. He inhaled as if gathering every last drop of discordance hovering in the air then said, “I never wanted a house full of Society’s hypocrites. I never wanted a family. I wanted to be left alone, and yet here I am, hosting a ball for you and my sister, taking our son to the park, bribing your mother to stop treating you like a moneylender, doing my damnedest to give you what you want even though much of it is difficult and uncomfortable for me. And this is what you do for me in turn?”
Bribing my mother? Eleanor pushed the question aside and turned to face Octavius, still barely recognizing the man. Yes, he’d made an effort over the last fortnight or more, but so had she. So had she. She tried to regulate her voice but six years’ worth of frustration coated her words.
“I left you alone when you wanted to be left alone. I came running to London at your beck and call. I lied to people I respected. For you. I forgave you for believing that snake Drummond. I loved you. And what do I get in return? Your refusal to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
“You could have told me after you’d written her. You had ample opportunity after you knew what she was. Hell and damnation, you knew what she did to me and Portia! I can understand that you wouldn’t care about me, but what about my sister? She was shattered tonight.”
Eleanor’s grip on any sort of hopefulness was slipping out of her grasp. She softened her tone and made one last try. “Octavius...”
“My name is Lexden.” His rebuttal was swift, low, and brutal. “This is what you call love? No thank you.”
He didn’t mean that. Her love was everything to him; she knew it.
Or was that simply the wish of a twenty-year-old girl reappearing at the most inopportune moment? He had never uttered a single word about returning her love. There was certainly nothing resembling love in the harsh planes of his face right now.
“Love is not some passive thing that just lies there between us,” she said. “We must actively keep it alive. We. Not just me. Love means we are beholden to each other, beholden to giving the other what they need, not what we think they should need. All I ever needed was your love. I can see now I had my head in the clouds. I am not certain such a thing as your love even exists.”
She was loved to some degree. By Henry, by Portia, by the Robsons, by her father in his own distracted way. She was mature enough and wise enough to realize she could hope for no more. And she was strong enough, at last, to not allow her husband, however much she might love him, to tread all over her dignity.
Shoulders back, gaze direct, voice unwavering, she said, “I will be returning to Mayne Castle tomorrow.” She paused, daring him to gainsay her. When he stayed wisely silent, she continued, “Portia and Henry will come with me. There is nothing for us here. Unlike some people, I haven’t time to throw temper tantrums in the nursery.”
She swept past him then and out into the corridor. Once she’d pulled the door shut behind her, she sank against it. Though she’d had no other choice, it had taken all her willpower to walk away from him. Somewhere inside that hulking brute was the man she loved, and whether or not she’d ever see him again she had no notion.
Pushing away from the wall, she stumbled down the stairs, the tears coming fast and furious. She must blot out the memory of his distorted expression. The pain was there, but it had been subsumed by the anger. If he ever wanted to talk about that pain in a rational manner, he knew where to find her.
Her mind numb with exhaustion, fury, and heartache, Eleanor found her maid and submitted to the woman’s sleepy assistance as she, bless her, worked silently. After an interminable twenty minutes, she was finally alone in her bedchamber. She crossed over to the door that led to Octavius’s room, for after a quick peek at Henry she intended to sleep like an adolescent.
Poking her head around the door, she spied Henry nestled in the center of the enormous bed. Sprawled next to him, Octavius slept on his side, one hand stretched out to rest on her son’s chest.
That wasn’t fair.