to face him.’
‘Ellie, my dear. I beg of you, do not do anything you may live to regret.’
Too late for that, dearest Aunt, if you did but know.
Eleanor headed for the ballroom, Aunt Lucy on her heels.
I wonder what he did.
I do not care. He is not a suitable acquaintance for me and that is that.
As they reached the door, Aunt Lucy clutched at Eleanor’s arm.
‘Do not forget that nobody, other than James and Ruth, knows we are already acquainted with Matthew Damerel. Just follow my lead when we are introduced.’
Eleanor patted her aunt’s hand. ‘Do not fret. I am not about to ruin my chances of acceptance by enacting a vulgar scene. I shall be above censure at all times, you may trust me on that.’
‘Lady Ashby.’ A tall, russet-haired gentleman was bowing before her. Lord Derham. ‘We meet again. If you are not engaged for this dance, would you do me the honour?’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Thank you, my lord. I should be delighted.’
This is more like it. An earl. Tall. Very handsome.
Eleanor gazed into green eyes...eyes that did absolutely nothing for her. No shortened breath. No quickened pulse.
Mayhap I simply prefer blue eyes? It means nothing.
As she skipped down the line of dancers, a figure at the edge of the floor—talking to Aunt Lucy—caught her attention. Her heart squeezed, then lurched, and she missed her step. She hastened to catch up with the music, concentrating fiercely on the steps of the dance until the end.
Lord Derham returned her to Aunt Lucy, still standing with Matthew and his brother.
‘My dear, you remember Mr Damerel?’ Eleanor could hear the anxious undertones in her aunt’s voice.
‘Indeed. Good evening, Mr Damerel.’
‘And this is his brother, Mr Matthew Damerel.’
Eleanor forced a gracious smile as she nodded her head at both men. She could feel the trace of those ice-blue eyes as they travelled from her head to her toes and back again. How very impolite! She tilted her chin and focused on Lord Derham.
Only to find a wide-shouldered figure blocking her view.
‘Might I beg your hand for this dance, Lady Ashby?’ Matthew leaned in, lowering his voice. ‘As long as you do not consider a third son beneath your touch?’
Had she imagined that hint of a warning? Could James be right? Was he another fortune hunter? After all, what did she know of him? She was a fool—she had kissed him, told him her secrets and, in return, he had given her a false name and now she discovered he was hiding a disreputable past. Well, she was wise to him now and this one dance would give her the opportunity to tell him so, and to caution him to keep his distance from her. After that, she would banish him from her life and her thoughts, for the sake of her reputation if nothing else.
‘Of course, Mr Damerel.’ She stretched her lips in a sweet smile. ‘I should be delighted.’
It was a country dance. As soon as the opportunity arose she whispered, ‘You lied.’
As he opened his mouth to reply, she carried on. ‘No, I do not want to hear your excuses. From now on...’ The steps of the dance forced them apart. When they came together again, Eleanor continued, ‘...you are to leave me alone. I do not want my name associated with yours in any way, shape or form.’
His lips thinned. ‘That was not your view when you thought me a humble merchant.’
Oh! How ungentlemanly, to throw that at her, even though it was exactly what she had feared he would think.
‘I have my reputation to think of,’ she whispered at the next opportunity.
‘And you want vouchers for Almack’s...and association with the likes of me might spoil your chances?’
The steps of the dance separated them. They came together again. Eleanor hissed, ‘Precisely!’
Then, after a brooding silence from Matthew, she said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’
They parted. Came together again. His fingers curled around her gloved palm as he took her hand.
‘We cannot talk here. Meet me upstairs. I will tell you everything.’
‘No! How can you even ask...what if we were seen?’
So far, her evening engagements had gone well, with only one or two barbed comments about her mother, which she had fended off with ease. She had even exchanged pleasantries with Maria Sefton and Emily Cowper, both patronesses of Almack’s, and although there had been no promises made, Eleanor harboured the hope that their approval of her membership would be forthcoming. Her confidence had begun to grow.
‘We can be careful—’
‘No! Do not ask again.’
They finished the dance in tight-lipped silence and relief flooded Eleanor when it ended.
* * *
A succession of partners—and supper—came and went. Eleanor was in control of her emotions and her behaviour. Not one person could point an accusing finger at her and say ‘Like mother, like daughter’. It was not so bad—now she was over the initial shock of Matthew’s appearance in the ballroom and the fact he had lied to her, even though she could not quite suppress her conjectures over the scandal Aunt Lucy had mentioned. Surely the scandal couldn’t have been too dreadful, or Matthew’s brother would not openly acknowledge him like this.
And then Arabella Beckford appeared. Or, as some kind soul informed her, Arabella, Lady Tame, as she now was—a wealthy widow. Of all the girls who had tormented Eleanor during her come-out, it was Miss Arabella Beckford who had stuck in her memory. The acknowledged beauty of the day, Arabella had been—and still was—petite and delicate, with golden curls, big blue eyes and pouting rosebud lips. In London for the first time, Eleanor had towered over Arabella, feeling utterly unfeminine—all clumsy angles and awkward silences—and she had suffered many unkind gibes from the other girl.
No wonder, thought Eleanor sourly, as she watched Arabella pouting up at Matthew—gazing at him through fluttering eyelashes—she had hated her come-out. The old feelings of inadequacy washed over her.
Why can I not be feminine, like Arabella? Why would any man prefer a huge lump like me?
Eleanor turned abruptly from the sight of Arabella flirting with Matthew.
‘Excuse me, Aunt.’
Aunt Lucy looked round from her engrossing conversation with Sir Horace Todmorden, a dapper gentleman with luxuriant side whiskers. ‘Yes, dear?’
‘I am just going
