5

Elinor could not imagine why she’d told a falsehood merely to provide Julian with a name. She’d been a weak-kneed jellyfish to have surrendered to his urging. And why had she named Miles, of all people? Miles, who was a friend and neighbor and who would be spending much of the Christmas holiday with them! If she had to name someone, why hadn’t she had the good sense to choose someone far away—someone like Jeremy Hallworthy, her cousin from New York who was traveling abroad, or Sir Lionel Nethercomb, who’d been one of her suitors during her come-out year and was now living in India? She had no talent as a liar, that was the trouble.

And how she would ever again be able to look Miles in the eye she did not know!

What she did know was that she didn’t want Julian to be forever watching her when Miles was in their company. How very awkward it would be if Julian kept watch for signs of love in Miles’s eyes, or for the exchange of secret little glances, or for blushing cheeks and palpitating breasts. Good God, she would die of shame! What had she done?

Upset and disgusted with herself, she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her bed. Not only was she ill in spirit but in body: her throat was sore, her nose was stuffed, her head throbbed, and all her muscles ached. But she could not retire to her room, for there was still much to do to prepare for the arrival of Julian’s parents, who were expected in time for dinner. She tried to dismiss from her mind the matter of Julian and the aches of her body as she ran about busily assisting in the preparation of two more guest bedrooms, arranging for the extra places at table, and completing the hanging of the Christmas festoons.

The Earl of Lovebourne and his Lady, having received word that their son had returned from abroad, were so eager to see him that they arrived several hours early. In fact, the others had just sat down to tea when the Earl’s two carriages (one devoted solely to carrying their many trunks and bandboxes) trundled up the drive. Tea was forgotten as Lady Selby and all her guests hurried to the wide, high-ceilinged entry hall to greet them.

Lady Lovebourne, a very tall, imposing female wearing a huge feathered hat and fur-lined cloak, swept over the threshold in the manner of visiting royalty. She was trailed by her husband, Maurice Henshaw, the Earl of Lovebourne, an unassuming man of average height, who was quite accustomed to following in his wife’s wake. Lady Lovebourne’s eyes at once fell on her son, and she threw herself upon him with a cry of gladness. Meanwhile, as the other guests pressed round the new arrivals, Perkins and the footmen set about unloading luggage, and housemaids began to run up and down the stairs with cloaks and overcoats. Loud voices and shrill laughter rang in the air, combining with the sound of hurrying footsteps clacking on the marble floor. To add to the din, the Fordyce children, excited by the stir, took to dashing in and out among the adults, their shouts and hoots echoing in the rafters and making the scene more riotous than it already was.

In the midst of this commotion Miles Endicott appeared in the doorway. “I thought I was invited to a quiet family tea,” he remarked to Lady Selby as he surrendered his hat to a harried footman.

“We’re quite at sixes and sevens”—Martha Selby laughed, her good nature undisturbed by the tumult—“but don’t worry, my dear. We shall soon settle down and have a lovely tea.”

Julian, who’d noted Endicott’s arrival, extricated himself from his mother’s tearful embrace and drew Elinor aside. “Does Endicott know we’ve broken our troth?” he asked her in a whisper.

Elinor tensed. “No, of course not. When could I have—?”

“Then don’t say anything yet, please, Elinor. It has just this moment occurred to me that my mother may be very put out about this. She’s so fond of you, you know.”

“But, Julian, we’ll have to tell her sometime,” Elinor pointed out.

“Yes, of course, but can’t we put it off? You know how overbearing Mama can be. She might very well make a scene. We don’t want to spoil Christmas. Perhaps we should wait to make the announcement after the holiday.”

Elinor glanced over at the group still milling about near the door. The Earl and Lady Lovebourne, having embraced Henry and Fanny Fordyce and complimented Felicia on her blooming womanhood, were now greeting Miles, who was quite well known to them. The sight of Miles reminded Elinor of the embarrassing situation she’d created for herself, and it occurred to her that it would be to her benefit to agree to Julian’s suggestion. If the breaking of her troth were not announced until after Christmas (or, better still, just before everyone went home), Miles might never have to learn about her dishonest use of his name. “Very well, Julian,” she murmured. “Our news can wait.”

She turned away to search for Perkins, for it was clear that the tea service would have to be moved from the sitting room to the drawing room to accommodate the expanded number of guests. That chore accomplished, she left it to her mother to usher the guests to the tea table. Meanwhile she collected the noisy children and led them off to the nursery. There, after calming them and setting them to playing a game of spillikins, she sat down to catch her breath. Her throat burned, her head ached, and she felt dizzy. She knew she was feverish. She yearned for bed. But she was determined to make an appearance at the tea table to keep her mother from becoming concerned about her health. This was not the time to be ill—she could not let a little head cold spoil the holiday. So, with a determined effort, she got to her feet, straightened her tucker, smoothed back a tendril of hair that had fallen over her forehead, blew her nose, and made her way down to join the tea party.

At the drawing room door she found Miles waiting for her. “Elinor, my dear, you look terrible,” he said bluntly.

She threw him a rueful glance. “Thank you, Miles. I needed only that to make my day perfect.”

He ignored her attempt at witticism. “You are obviously more ill than when I saw you last. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“You know why. Nine guests—ten, counting you.”

“Your mother and the servants can take care of the guests,” he pointed out sourly. “I think it’s time I gave your mother a piece of my mind.”

“No, Miles, please don’t make a to-do! It’s only a little cold. Come in and let’s take some tea.”

He eyed her worriedly, shaking his head in disapproval, but knowing how she abhored being fussed over, he finally shrugged, took her arm, and led her to a chair. As soon as she was seated, Elinor looked up to find Julian’s eyes on her. He’d taken note of her entrance on Miles’s arm. Despite her dizziness and a growing feeling of sickness in the pit of her stomach, she felt herself blush. What was Julian thinking? Had Miles’s fatherly attention appeared to be loverlike affection to the onlooker?

The room was beginning to spin around. If a sip of tea failed to steady her, she would have to excuse herself and go upstairs; she couldn’t keep up this smiling demeanor for long. She hoped no one was watching her, but almost immediately Felicia, who was sitting alongside her, leaned over to her and whispered, “Are you well, Elinor? You look so tired.”

Before she could answer, Elinor heard herself being addressed by Lady Lovebourne. “Don’t you think, Elinor, dearest, that April will be a perfect time?” the countess asked.

“Perfect time?” Elinor echoed stupidly.

Felicia came to her rescue. “For the wedding.”

“Oh,” Elinor murmured. “Yes.”

“April is indeed lovely here in North Riding,” her mother said, “but perhaps you and Julian would prefer to have the nuptials sooner.”

Elinor’s color deepened, and her eyes flew to Julian. He merely smiled and stirred his tea. “What is an eager bridegroom to say?” he remarked smoothly. “Whatever Elinor wishes, of course, but I must admit that I prefer March. Or February, if that is possible.”

“February is quite impossible,” his mother declared firmly. “Since so many guests will be coming up from London for the ceremony, we must choose a time when the weather will not make travel too difficult. Prinny himself has said he’d make an effort to come—didn’t he say that, Maurice, my love?”

“Yes, my dear,” the Earl said obediently. “The Prince did say that.”

“So you see, it must be April,” the Countess insisted.

“If that is what Elinor wishes, I have no objection,” Martha said. “The garden and lawns will be greening then. April is a lovely time.”

Lady Lovebourne nodded in satisfaction and sipped her tea. Then she looked about the room with a change of expression. “You intend, I hope, Martha, to refurbish the public rooms.”

Martha Selby, in the act of popping a triangular cucumber sandwich into her mouth, stayed her hand. “Refurbish—?”

“Yes, indeed, my dear. Your furnishings are well enough, I suppose, for an ordinary country seat, but this house is, fortunately, a good deal better than ordinary. It has space and a certain rustic dignity. Even Maurice says so, don’t you, my love?”

“Yes, my dear,” the Earl said.

“It might even be considered fine,” her ladyship went on, “if it were properly decorated. I admit that you’ll have difficulty doing it over in only three months. If only Elinor had agreed to be wed in London, in our town house, you wouldn’t have needed to bother, which is not to say that I don’t respect Elinor’s wishes to be married in her family home. But since you will be hostess to the cream of the ton for the affair, you must agree that we wouldn’t wish them to be entertained in a setting that some might find … well, to be frank … shabby.”

“Shabby?” Martha cried, reddening furiously. “Shabby?”

“I mean no offense, of course,” Lady Lovebourne proceeded heedlessly. “These furnishings were probably quite fashionable when you came here as a bride. But tastes have changed, you know, and those unadorned country-style tables and sideboards are decidedly outdated. New furnishings in the Haute Egypte style would do wonders for this room, wouldn’t they, Maurice, my love?”

The Earl sighed. “Yes, my dear.”

“And your lovely windows would show to more advantage if those faded draperies were replaced,” the Countess continued. “The sofas and armchairs might be saved, I suppose, if they were properly reupholstered, but an Aubusson carpet would make all the difference to these floors.…”

On she prattled, ignoring or unaware of the effect her words were having on her listeners. Fanny Fordyce, who hated scenes but who knew her sister-in-law was capable of a formidable show of temper when irked, exchanged a nervous look with her husband. Elinor, although aware that the entire argument was moot (since there would be no wedding), was too feverish to think of something useful to say. But Miles Endicott was under no such inhibitions. “It seems to me, your ladyship,” he said curtly, “that everything in this house is pleasing to the eye just as it is. It’s designed for the comfort of inhabitants and guests, and no one should ask for more.” He turned to the Earl and asked in a tone of unmistakable mockery, “Don’t you agree, Lord Lovebourne?”

The Earl looked from Miles to his wife and merely shrugged.

Miles rose from his chair and put down his cup. “Furthermore,” he told the Countess as he started toward the door, “I can’t for the life of me understand what possible difference new draperies would make to the prospects of the bride and groom, nor how standing on an Aubusson carpet could affect the sincerity of the vows they will be taking.”

“Hear, hear!” Henry Fordyce muttered under his breath.

“Perkins!” Endicott shouted into the hallway. “Get my hat!”

“Well, really!” gasped Lady Lovebourne, who was not at all accustomed to being scolded. “I must say, Miles, I am surprised at you. Don’t you care what the prince might think?”

“Not in the least,” Miles retorted, “though I have no doubt he will find these surroundings perfectly satisfactory.”

“If you think that,” her ladyship snapped, “you’ve never been to Carleton House.”

“Enough, Mama,” Julian said, getting up. “Cut line! The furnishings in this house are not your affair. You must permit Lady Selby to make her own decisions about her household.” With that he turned to Miles, who was just taking his hat from the butler. “Wait for me, Endicott,” he said, crossing the room. “I’d like a word with you. I’ll see you to the door.”

Elinor, flushed and dizzy with fever, nevertheless sensed that she shouldn’t permit Julian to have a private conversation with Miles. “Wait, Julian!” she said, rising unsteadily. “I’ll see him out myself.”

But the two men had already left the room. She hurried out after them, but by the time she reached the entry hall, she was so wearied from the exertion that she had to lean against the wall. The two men did not see her in the shadows. Julian was occupied with shaking Miles’s hand. “I must congratulate you for your courage,” he was saying. “There aren’t many men who could take my mother on that way.”

“Hummmph!” Miles snorted, clapping on his hat. “It didn’t take courage. Only temper.”

“I must admit, old fellow,” Julian went on, “that I didn’t really approve of Elinor’s choice when she told me of it, but now that I know you a little better, I fully understand why—”

“Julian!” Elinor gasped, but her cry was too weak to be heard in the huge hall.

“Elinor’s choice?” Miles asked, bewildered. “What on earth are you babbling about, Lovebourne?”

“It’s all right, old fellow,” Julian assured him. “You needn’t hide your feelings from me. Elinor and I won’t announce it for a few days, but we’ve agreed to sever our connection. So you see, the way is cleared for—”

With the greatest effort of will, Elinor took a few steps into the hallway. “Julian, for heaven’s sake, stop!” she tried to say, but her voice emerged from her constricted chest in an unrecognizable croak. She put out her hand to stop the world from spinning so crazily about, but it would not stop. The ground shifted beneath her feet, and then, with Julian and Miles staring at her in horror, she did what she’d never in her life done before—she fainted dead away.