than that, she was suddenly unhappily aware that she was following the same path as Ned—and that would never do. The deeper implications of her friendship with Nat and her own thoughtless conduct were presenting themselves to her for the first time. Later she was to think that her life changed fundamentally on that afternoon—and all because Nat Swain had brought her a ferret!
She found Sir Hartley Hatton standing by the window looking out over the moors: his favourite position. He was in his late seventies but was still a handsome man, nearly as straight and tall as he had been in his prime.
‘Pray sit down, Eleanor.’
She chose a high-backed chair opposite to his desk, clasped her hands loosely in her lap and hung her head. Sir Hart thought that she might be so subdued because for the first time she was questioning her own conduct, and was wondering, perhaps, why she had behaved so wildly. It was plain that she was feeling shame for more than the silly prank itself. It was a good sign.
He came straight to the point. ‘I don’t often give you an order, Eleanor, but I gave you one over young Swain. Why did you disobey me?’
His voice was so kind that the tears threatened to fall immediately.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Grandfather. I thought that it was unkind of you, when I was lonely once Ned and Stacy had gone, to deny me Nat as well.’
‘Why do you think I gave it?’
Sir Hart’s voice was still kind, but there was a hint of sternness in it.
Eleanor twisted her hands, and said painfully, ‘I suppose it was so that I shouldn’t play a silly prank, as I did with the ferret. It wasn’t intended, though, Grandfather, and it wasn’t Nat’s fault. Please don’t punish him for it.’
Her grandfather waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, the business with the animal was stupid, and caused distress, but that was not the fault, only the symptom. Pray answer my question.’
Her eyes full of tears, Eleanor murmured, ‘I suppose because I’m too old to play childish tricks and run wild…’ She faltered to a stop.
‘Indeed, but more than that you are being unfair to young Swain. He is not of your world, Eleanor. What was innocent and passed the time when you were children became less so as you grew older. It was positively wrong once Ned and Stacy had left and you were on your own.’
Sir Hart paused. It was plain to him that Eleanor did not know what a temptation she presented to the lad now that she was growing into a beautiful young woman. What she must also understand was that he could not agree to young Swain going unpunished.
‘You must be aware that you have left me with no alternative but to instruct Hargreaves to give him a thrashing. He was expressly ordered not to associate with you once Ned and Stacy had grown up. He disobeyed me, so he must be punished as well as you. How shall I punish you, Granddaughter?’
‘In my grandmother’s day they did not hesitate to thrash naughty young ladies,’ she said steadily, her face white.
‘That is true, but it is not the fashion now, and I do not think that it is required. I believe that you understand that you have done wrong, and worse, I suspect, than you intended. No, what I have in mind for you is both more and less severe. I propose to send you to your great-aunt Almeria Stanton in London—without your mother. She cannot control you, I know, and that is bad for you, for you can control her. Almeria will teach you to be a young lady and prepare you for life. She is strict, but kind. You shall have your come-out, and she will make you ready to marry young Stacy—which is, as you know, my dearest wish.
‘Stacy is both good and steady, which is what you need in a husband. You have a fine mind, Eleanor, but you have been misusing it. On the other hand, apart from this folly with young Swain, you do not lack application. I have no wish for you to go the way that Ned is going.’
Eleanor was now crying bitterly. ‘Oh, no, Grandfather, I don’t wish to live in London. I’ve always hated it there. Please let me stay here. I promise to be good in future.’
‘No, Eleanor. You would have had to leave soon in any case, with or without your mother. You are merely going earlier than I intended. Your mother has been told and she does not like this, either, but she lost control of both you and Ned long ago, and we must all, I fear, pay for our failings as well as our sins.’
That was the end. There was no use in pleading—and no dignity, either. Kind Sir Hart might be, but he was also firm, and what he decreed was law.
‘You may go, Granddaughter. Tomorrow you must prepare to leave.’
Eleanor rose and walked to the door, where she turned and looked at him. Her face was white but the tears had stopped falling.
‘I will be good, I promise. I don’t want to be a fine lady, I despise them, but I will become one for your sake, Grandfather.’
‘And for yours, too, Eleanor. For yours, too.’
Chapter One
London, 1841: Monde and demi-monde
M r Alan Dilhorne, ‘the person from Australia’, as some butlers were later to call him, stood in the foyer of the Haymarket Theatre, London, on his second night in the capital.
Tired after the long journey from Sydney, he had gone straight to bed at Brown’s Hotel when he had arrived there, but a day’s sleep had restored him to full vigour and a desire to explore the land which had exiled his father. He looked eagerly about him at the fashionable crowd, many of whom stared at his clothing which, however suitable it had been in Sydney, branded him an outsider here.
Curious stares never troubled Alan. His confidence in himself, helped by his superb physique and his handsome face, was profound. It was backed by the advice offered him by his devious and exacting father.
‘Work hard and play hard’ was his maxim, which Alan had no difficulty in following. He had come to London to carry out a mission for his family which promised him a busy time in the old country. He was not going to allow that to prevent him from enjoying life to the full while he executed it.
He had walked through the demi-monde on his way to the theatre, and it was obviously much larger and livelier than its counterpart in Sydney.
A hand fell on his shoulder and spun him half around. A man of his own age, the late twenties, fashionably dressed, slightly drunk already, was laughing in his face.
‘Ned! What the devil are you doing here so early, and in those dam’d awful clothes, too?’
‘Yes,’ chimed his companion. ‘Not like you, Ned, not at all. Fancy dress, is it?’
‘Ned?’ said Alan slowly. ‘I’m not Ned.’
The small group of young gentlemen before him looked suitably taken aback.
‘Come on, Ned. Stop roasting us. What’s the game tonight, eh?’
‘Not roasting you,’ said Alan firmly. ‘I’m Alan Dilhorne, from Sydney, New South Wales. Don’t know any Neds, I’m afraid.’
He had deepened his slight Australian accent and saw eyes widen.
‘Good
