Eleanor stared in frustration at the flint she usually handled with such dexterity. She snapped it again, but no spark appeared. “This stupid thing must be broken,” she said aloud, talking to the empty room, trying to convince herself.
Of course, she knew that wasn’t true. The onset of evening deepened the shadows that lurked in the corners of the luxurious bedchamber Mr. Knight had assigned her, but her fingers trembled too much to successfully light even one of the candles. She tried again to ignite the wick. A spark sprang from the flint, but the candle remained stubbornly dark. “It’s the wick. The wick must be damp.”
A knock sounded, the door swung open, and Lady Gertrude stuck her head in. “Dear girl, may I enter?”
Eleanor jumped in alarm, then stared wildly at Lady Gertrude’s kindly face. “Yes! Please! Do!” She didn’t know when she had started speaking so emphatically, but she would wager it was soon after she’d laid eyes on the inscrutable Mr. Knight. She looked over Lady Gertrude’s shoulder, half-expecting him to be there, lounging in the corridor and waiting for his turn to enter…which, if she had her way, would never happen.
Unfortunately, since she’d arrived in this household, she’d not had her way even once.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your unpacking.” Lady Gertrude seated herself on one of the elegant chairs near the fireplace. She was so petite that her feet dangled, and she pressed her toes to the floor to stay in her chair. “I understand you didn’t bring a maid. So unlike you, dear Madeline! When I knew you, you were unable to mend a seam or fix your hair. You depended on Eleanor for everything!” Lifting her lorgnette, she examined Eleanor. “Of course, that’s the Madeline I remember. Probably you’re quite different after the rigors of travel in such difficult circumstances.”
Eleanor stared at her and wondered what to say. How much to say. Lady Gertrude was a kindly woman with a delightful sense of mischief, but this trick Eleanor and Madeline had perpetrated could only be called ramshackle.
Lady Gertrude prattled on. “I must tell you why I accepted this position of chaperon when you must be dreadfully unhappy about the betrothal to Mr. Knight. I always said your father could make a cake of himself better than any man I ever met…excuse me, dear, I know you’re fond of him, but if he didn’t have his ducal title, people would call him a fool to his face. Not that he would take offense, he’s too amiable by half, but nevertheless…I say, this is quite a lovely room. Mine is beautiful, too, but not nearly so elegant.”
Eleanor peered around. “It’s grand,” she said flatly. Sky blue walls and midnight blue drapes presented a sense of the outdoors, and the abundance of fresh flowers on every surface gave the room a fresh, country scent. The rug was rich with amber and azure hues mixed in a Persian’s graceful pattern. The furnishings were delicate, ladylike, and airy…yet she added, “It’s oppressive.”
“It’s dark, certainly. Why don’t you ring for a maid to light the candles and make up the fire?”
Eleanor stared at Lady Gertrude. Of course. Ring for a maid. For someone who had done everything for herself and the duchess for eight years, using a maid for such a simple task was unprecedented. Eleanor hurried to the bellpull and gave it a yank. “An excellent idea. Thank you, Lady Gertrude.” Faintly she heard a jingle beyond the door.
Almost at once, a sturdy young girl appeared and, with a curtsy, proceeded to efficiently use the recalcitrant flint. “I’m Beth, Yer Grace, the upstairs maid, an’ Mr. Knight says I’m t’ serve yer every need. If ye need anything, anything at all, please let me know.”
“Thank you.” Eleanor hoped she didn’t need another thing ever. She hated being waited on. Most of all, she hated being called Your Grace.
But Lady Gertrude broke into the conversation. “Her Grace seems to have left her lady’s maid behind. Do any of the girls below stairs have training in clothes and hair?”
Beth broke into a wide grin. “Aye, ma’am. I ’ave. I’m good with an iron an’ never put ’oles in the silk stockings. Best o’ all, I can cut and arrange ’air in the newest styles. I coiffed Lady Fairchild’s ’air until she went lunatic and ’ad t’ go t’ Bedlam.”
Lady Gertrude tapped her cheek as she thought. “Lady Fairchild was well turned out.” She looked Eleanor over with a critical eye. “And, my dear, your hairstyle could be freshened.”
Eleanor touched the severe bun at the base of her neck and brushed her fingers around the wings of hair that framed her face. “I like this.” This coiffure was proper for a companion, and regardless of what anyone in this house thought, a companion was what she would always be.
“But if I trimmed it a little around the face.” Beth made a clipping gesture with her fingers. “The color’s so grand, an’ tis so thick.”
“Yes.” Lady Gertrude stroked her chin. “A cut would give you a whole new look.”
“Not that ye need one,” Beth added hastily. “But every lady likes a change now and then.”
“I don’t,” Eleanor said.
“Think about it,” Lady Gertrude urged.
“Why did Lady Fairchild go insane?” Eleanor couldn’t help asking. Had Lady Fairchild been trapped in such a crazy situation, too? Had she perhaps been exposed to Mr. Knight?
“All of the Fairchilds are insane one way or the other,” Lady Gertrude said.
The maid made a humming noise that sounded like agreement.
“Very well, Beth, you can wait on Her Grace.” Lady Gertrude gestured the girl out the door, and when she had gone, Lady Gertrude said to Eleanor, “The Fairchilds’ family tree doesn’t split, you know. Now, where were we? I remember. I was going to explain why I took the position as your chaperon.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Eleanor said, and wondered, should she admit her true identity to Lady Gertrude? Or should Eleanor have faith that Madeline would appear at any moment and make confession unnecessary?
“How very unlike you, Madeline! You’ve always been so properly aware of your position and your title. Even as a child, you understood your importance and demanded clarification for the least of matters.” Lady Gertrude slid down on the hard cushion until her toes touched flat on the floor, then sighed and used her arms to scoot back up.
“Here, ma’am.” Eleanor brought a stool and placed it beneath her feet. “That will help.”
Lady Gertrude brightened. “Thank you, dear. How kind of you to notice. Such a tribulation to be short. One wants to saw the legs off of all the chairs.”
“I can imagine.” Actually, she couldn’t. Eleanor hadn’t been so petite since she was eleven.
“I must explain myself and my position to you, and besides, you’ll want to know what happened to your uncle. Uncle Brinkley, remember him?”
“No.” Eleanor had never seen Lady Gertrude’s husband. He had a nasty reputation for arrogance and womanizing, and he did not deign to visit the family even for Christmas.
“Well, he died.”
Startled by that blunt declaration, Eleanor halted in the process of seating herself. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was shot in Lady Bertelot-Stoke’s bed by Lord Bertelot-Stoke, although why his lordship took exception about Brinkley when so many others had usurped his place, I will never know. At any rate, Brinkley left me in penury. Dreadful place. Worse than Cornwall. So I’ve spent the last two years living in genteel poverty. Mr. Knight’s offer came at just the right time. I was about to get a”—Lady Gertrude glanced around as if fearing listeners—“job.”
Eleanor covered up her half-hysterical laugh with a fit of coughing. “Heaven forefend.”
“Exactly, since I have no skills except needlework and gossip.”
Eleanor picked up her own needlework and stared at it. Needlework was her cure for worry, for idleness, for any kind of problems. Any time she faced a dilemma, she worked on a pattern of flowers, and eventually the solution presented itself.
She didn’t think a solution to her current dilemma was going to present itself.
Lady Gertrude continued, “At any rate, Mr. Knight is paying me well, providing me with a clothes allowance, and I am to lend your presence here countenance.”
Without the supervision of the girl’s parents? Impossible! Eleanor picked up her needle and in the politest tone possible, said, “I apologize, Lady Gertrude, but betrothed or not, the fact Mr. Knight and I are living in the same house is going to cause talk.”
“And I will crush it. I am not without influence, you know. My bedchamber is right next to yours.” Lady Gertrude gestured at a hitherto-unseen door. “Our rooms connect. Also, I made Remington move upstairs. Until your wedding day, when he may move his things back into the master’s suite, he is banished from this floor. I take my responsibilities seriously. Your person is completely safe.”
“I’m glad to know you’ll be sleeping so close.” Eleanor was, for otherwise she hadn’t a doubt Mr. Knight would ensure the marriage in a most physical way. The man, for all his elegant clothing, was a primitive to his bones.
Leaning forward, Lady Gertrude lowered her voice. “Although I must warn you, my dear, I believe Remington has underlying reasons for his deeds, especially concerning you.”
To hear her own suspicions echoed by Lady Gertrude sent a chill up Eleanor’s spine. “I believe you’re right.”
In a salubrious tone, Lady Gertrude added, “Furthermore, I fear they may be shady.”
Eleanor wanted to be sarcastic about the obviousness of that observation, but Lady Gertrude nodded so earnestly and seemed so serious that Eleanor could only say, “I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will, Madeline. You were always such a forthright and levelheaded girl, running your estates and trying to keep your father from running amok, and you should continue to be sensible with Mr. Knight. I’m convinced that’s the way to handle him, with a firm hand and strong convictions!”
“I have the very strong conviction I shouldn’t go to any society events with him.” Because, despite the years that she and Madeline had been gone and their strong resemblance, surely someone would recognize that Eleanor was not the duchess. Even if Eleanor successfully made her way through those dangerous waters, when Madeline did appear, it would be obvious they had made a monkey of Mr. Knight. That, Eleanor was convinced, would be a bad idea. He would wreak a terrible vengeance.
Lady Gertrude shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I don’t see that you have a choice, dear. He isn’t touchy about his consequence, he has too much self-worth for that, but he would take your refusal badly.” Fretfully, she said, “I don’t know what you were thinking when you came here alone.”
Eleanor had hoped, had prayed, that Lady Gertrude would realize the switch she and Madeline had pulled, but apparently she had not. And she had to be told. Surely she would know what to do. Taking a quivering breath, Eleanor made the plunge. “I have something to confess.”
Lady Gertrude held up her wrinkled hand. “Don’t!”
Startled, Eleanor stammered, “Wh…what?”
“I’ve pledged to keep Remington informed of everything about you, and you must admit that’s what a proper chaperon should do.”
“If he were my guardian!”
“He’s worse than that. He is your future husband. He holds you in the palm of his hand. He can control you, he can discipline you, he can clutch your purse strings so tightly you go to bed hungry or rob you of your inheritance.” Clearly, Lady Gertrude was remembering her own circumstances. Considering her own well-being.
But more than that…she knew. Eleanor saw the truth now. Lady Gertrude’s frown, her emphatic refusal, her reasons—all pointed to the fact that she knew!
And she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help Eleanor.
In a kind but firm tone, Lady Gertrude said, “Mr. Knight is my employer, the man who pays my wages. I owe him my loyalty. So please—if you have secrets, keep them to yourself.”