Page 45 of A Sham Engagement

Elenora burst out laughing. “Not one bit, but do call me Elenora, as calling me Miss Wetherby all the time makes me feel as though I’m about a hundred.”

Edward beamed. “I don’t think you’re that old. I’ll go and get my soldiers. Meg made me tidy them away yesterday.” He shot a glare at the nursery maid, who was again employed in mending his clothing. With two older brothers, Elenora well knew how boys the world over could get holes in their clothes at the drop of a hat. Girls too, if she was honest.

She dropped to her knees on the rug, and peeked up at Jack. “Come on then, Harold Godwinson. You must get down on the rug with your opponents and try to beat us. Be warned, that as your treacherous brother Tostig, I shall play dirty and try to change the course of history by winning.”

Edward came back with some of his soldiers clutched to his chest and tossed them in a rather cavalier fashion onto the rug. “Norwegians, I think. Those’re mine and Elenora’s. I’ll get you some Anglo Saxons, Papa.”

“They look more like French soldiers to me with those blue coats,” Jack remarked as he too got down onto his knees and picked up one of the small warriors. His comment went ignored. Edward must have an excellent imagination.

Elenora watched Edward as he went back for more soldiers, of which he seemed in possession of a good supply, a warm feeling she wasn’t quite used to welling up into her heart. A feeling of being included, of belonging, of fitting in. Not something she’d ever felt within her family, not even with Papa. She was going to enjoy this afternoon.

Chapter Seventeen

The battle was short but sweet, and Jack, in his guise as Harold Godwinson, managed to keep history on its true course and win. Harold Hardrada and Tostig died in heroic fashion, knocked over by a wooden bowling ball Jack rolled across the rug at them. Edward, in high dudgeon, protested that huge balls like that weren’t historically accurate, he didn’t think, and thus his father had cheated, but the whole thing ended amicably, and Harold Godwinson was dispatched southwards toward Hastings and his ultimate ocular fate.

Just as they were finishing, Miss Douglas, who must have finished marking Edward’s work and planning the next day’s, came bustling in, all good-humored efficiency. She was a thin stick of a woman, with her graying hair scraped back from her face almost aggressively, but Jack would never have employed her had he not been certain of her gentle heart. “Good afternoon, my lord, Miss Wetherby. If you’ll excuse me, it’s past time for Master Edward’s walk, and although he finds historical reenactment so interesting, he mustn’t miss out on his fresh air every day.”

Jack, who’d removed his coat during the battle, scrambled to his feet, pretending he hadn’t noticed the barely disguised smile of approval on Miss Douglas’s stern but kind face. She liked him to show an interest in his son, which wasn’t something he could do as often as he would have liked, and he guessed at her approval of Elenora as a possible stepmother for his son.

A small pang of guilt that this was just a deception, and he was depriving Edward of something he deserved, coursed through him for a brief moment. That he had to depend on the kindness of servants as stand-ins for the care of a mother seemed suddenly unfair. Not that Edward knew what he was missing, though.

He smiled. “Of course, Miss Douglas. We don’t want to interfere with the smooth running of the nursery and schoolroom. Go and fetch your hat and coat, Edward. Gloves and scarf too. It’s cold out and, thanks to us, your walk is running late. Off you go.”

Edward, his defeat forgotten, beamed in delight. “Can we go and see the cows again, Miss Douglas?” He turned back to Elenora, effortlessly including her in his little coterie as though she’d always been a part of it. “I love cows nearly as much as dogs, Elenora, but I’m not allowed a dog.” He paused, a frown marring his brow. “Or a cow. Would you like to come and see them with me and Miss Douglas? She says they’re all going to be having calves soon and I can hardly wait. But Papa says they’re going to turn Marylebone Park into a Town park like Hyde Park but only for a few people, and there’re no cows in Hyde Park. Which I think is a bad thing. Only people on horses and a big pond. Although I like horses too and at Broxbourne Park I have a pony of my own. And there’re lots of cows.”

Jack burst out laughing. “Stop, stop, stop. Elenora is staying here with me. You could talk a horse’s hind leg off, young man. And you know you can’t have a dog here in London. Unfair for a dog, and as for a cow… If you’re good, I’ll take you down to Broxbourne Park in the spring and you can see all the cows you want. We’ll even choose one of the new calves for you to have for your own and feed with a bottle. And there are plenty of dogs down there, but for going out to shoot pheasants, not having in the house.”

Edward mock pouted. “The kind of dog I’d like is one who’d sleep on my bed, not in a kennel.” He shot Elenora a pleading glance. “Maybe you’ll come tomorrow and you can see the cows then? I’d like that. Yes, I’m coming Miss Douglas.” He ran off after his governess, his booted feet clattering on the oak floor.

Jack extended a hand to Elenora, who was still sitting amidst the detritus of battle. Indecision flashed across her face before she took it and let him pull her to her feet.

He kept hold of her hand, and, to his relief, she made no effort to snatch it back. Was that because she was getting used to his touch and might even like to have him hold it? He could but hope. “I did intend to take tea in the nursery with Edward, but as we’ve put poor Miss Douglas quite out of order with her timetable, and nursery tea will be late, perhaps you’d like to take it with me in the drawing room? I hear Cook has made some fine cakes.”

Elenora smiled, those beautiful eyes shining. Alas, most likely at the thought of cake. “I should love that. I’ve had such a wonderful afternoon. You’re very lucky to have Edward. He’s such a…” She paused as if deep in thought. “An unusual little boy.” Praise indeed from an equally unusual young lady.

To his surprise, and delight, she still didn’t try to recover her hand, so Jack held it a little more firmly and headed for the door. She came with him, perforce because she had to as he had her hand, but perhaps also because she wanted to. Still hand in hand, they descended two flights of stairs to the drawing room, and Jack rang the bell for tea.

Still with her unprotesting hand clasped in his, he guided her to the chaise longue and they both sat down. Silence fell, but it wasn’t an awkward silence, for once, and Jack felt no urge to break it. Instead, he enjoyed the warmth of her soft hand in his own, her fingers gently curved around his. How was it that such a simple thing as this could give so much pleasure? None of his other relationships had begun like this… No. He must not gull himself. This was not the start of a relationship. At least not the sort he was used to. If anything, it was the cementing of a friendship they would have to sustain for the length of the season. Wasn’t it?

Tea came, with the promised selection of cakes, and he was pleased to note that Elenora was not a nibbler, despite her delicate frame. She liked cakes and she tried every one of Cook’s offerings, even to the extent of licking her fingertips and picking up the crumbs off her plate. Like a little girl. Another new sensation came to him as he watched her, as his heart swelled with… what was it? Not that little word, no, it couldn’t be. But contentment washed over him like a warm balm as he listened to her excited chatter. This was what it was like to truly get on with a woman for no other reason than friendship. Or was he gulling himself?

Their conversation lent itself in no way to encouraging how he was beginning to feel, but nevertheless remained relaxed, varying from discussing the Antiquities of Athens books to the newly released Specimins of Ancient Sculpture Aegyptian, Etruscan, Greek and Roman; selected from different collections in Great Britain by John Samuel Agar. Once Elenora had professed her longing to visit Egypt for herself, time flew by as Jack told her all about the Dilettanti Society, to which he belonged, and of which John Samuel Agar was also a member, and from which the author had harvested most of the specimens mentioned in his book.

Time fairly flew, and darkness had fallen outside when their tête-á-tête was interrupted.

The door into the hallway swung open so hard it banged back against the wall, and Alcock came staggering in, red in the face and supporting a battered and filthy Miss Douglas around the waist, one of her arms drawn over his shoulder.

What the hell? Jack was on his feet in a second, the plate he’d been holding on his knee clattering to the floor in a shower of crumbs, lumps of cake and broken pieces of china. Miss Douglas had lost her bonnet, her hair hung in a bedraggled mess, and her once prim and pristine gown and pelisse were both smeared liberally in mud. Blood streaked one side of her face, which was swollen and a mottled gray in color. She looked near to fainting.

But Jack’s first thought was not for the governess. His voice rose in uncontrollable panic. “Edward. Where is Edward?”

He was dimly aware of Elenora jerking to her feet beside him. More galvanized to common sense than he was, she hurried to Alcock and Miss Douglas. “Sit her down here. Where is the brandy? What’s happened?” She drew Miss Douglas down onto the chaise longue she’d just vacated, mud from her dress smearing unheeded across the velvet upholstery. “Alcock, quickly fetch the brandy. I fear Miss Douglas is going to faint. Or smelling salts. Mama always has smelling salts to hand when she thinks she’s going to faint. Put your head between your knees, Miss Douglas.”

“Where is Edward?” Jack repeated, his voice as icy as his frozen heart. His mind churned as the possibilities jangled through it: an accident with a carriage, his son lying mangled in the street, thieves who’d attacked Miss Douglas and left Edward, who, brave as ever, had tried to defend her, dead in the street. In every scenario, Edward was dead. Or why else was Miss Douglas, in such a terrible state, here alone? She would never have left him had he been alive.

Miss Douglas squinted up at him out of one eye, the other being swollen shut. “They took him, my lord. I tried to fight them off, but they took him.” Her voice shook and tears streamed down her face. “They were too strong for me. I couldn’t save him.” Her head fell forward and Elenora put a comforting arm across her back. A little tentative, as though she were doing something she knew she ought to do, not something she wanted to do. Odd, the things one noticed when a crisis arose.

He clenched his fists. “Who took him. Quick, woman. And where? And how long ago?”