Page 67 of A Sham Engagement

Thank goodness he wasn’t going back after Reuben Sharpe. Elenora heaved a sigh of relief and continued on up the stairs to the night nursery.

No one was in it, but a warm fire glowed in the hearth as if Edward’s speedy return had been expected with confidence. Elenora rang the bell and, within minutes, Meg, the nursery nurse, was helping to carry buckets of hot water upstairs to fill a bath for Edward.

While this was going on, Elenora sat on the end of his bed holding him on her lap, his little arms still firmly wrapped around her neck as though he feared to let her go. He needed that bath. Six or seven hours locked in that room with only a pile of filthy rags to sit on had left its mark and she had to wonder if he’d need delousing too. If she’d need delousing. Even if Jack would need it too. Her skin and hair itched at the thought and she wriggled her shoulders, longing to dunk her body in hot water as well.

When the bath was half full, Meg, all soft, comforting warmth and kindness, took her small charge and removed his offending smelly clothes without protest from him. “They can be burned,” was all Meg said, tossing them with evident disdain into an empty bucket. He must have been exhausted, but the hot water revived him, as did the forcible washing of his hair in carbolic soap. Several times. It seemed Meg had the same worries about what had hitched a ride home with him as Elenora did, and Edward’s complaints about soap getting in his eyes rose unheeded to the stuccoed ceiling.

From the other side of the screen Meg had put up for Edward’s modesty, Elenora listened to sounds of splashing and good-humored banter from her charge. He, at least, seemed to have bounced back with rapidity, the rigors of his captivity forgotten. At least he hadn’t been held there for long.

She looked down at herself. The hems of her dress and pelisse, the latter of which she’d removed in the warm nursery, were so thick with mud and dirt as to be irredeemable, and the rest of her apparel was liberally splattered with things unmentionable. Perhaps they’d need burning like Edward’s clothes. And if Edward smelled, then so did she.

The nursery didn’t possess a mirror, but she could imagine what her face and hair must be like. She unfastened her bonnet and discarded it on the floor with her pelisse. She could never wear that particular bonnet again, ingrained as it was with the stink of the slums. But what could she do about her appearance? Nothing. She stifled a yawn and tried hard not to think of what Mama would say, and how shocked Aunt Penelope would be. Lady Amberley was bound to tell them both what she’d discovered. But did she care?

Oh well. What was it her old governess had liked to say? It’s no use crying over spilled milk. So true. She would just not think about things like that. It was too… irritating.

Edward at length emerged from behind the screens in a clean nightshirt and with his curly hair wet and wild, and Meg trying to catch him to dry it with a towel. “You can’t get into bed with it wet, Master Edward, you’ll catch a chill. Everyone knows that if you go to sleep with wet hair you get ill.”

“Very true,” Elenora said. “My mama says exactly the same.” Edward bounced onto the bed, a different child from the one Jack had carried back from the slums and who’d huddled close to Elenora for comfort. She held out her hands for the towel. “If you won’t let Meg do it, will you let me dry it for you?”

Meg handed over the towel without any ado. “Shall I run and get a bath ready for you in the guest bedroom, miss?” Her speculative gaze ran over Elenora’s filthy gown and boots. “I’m thinkin’ you can’t be goin’ home like this or you’re goin’ to shock whoever you meet.”

Elenora sighed as she began to rub Edward’s hair. “Very true, but I have no other clothes to put on. If I have a bath, what am I supposed to wear afterwards? I can’t put these things back on again and nor do I want to. I’m of half a mind to suggest they’d better go in that bucket for burning, along with Edward’s clothes, only my aunt paid for them and she might be a bit annoyed at the waste.”

Edward bounced up and down in excitement, making it hard for her to keep rubbing his hair. “I know, I know. You can wear my mother’s old clothes. Papa has some of them still in her room. I’m not supposed to know, but I go in there sometimes and sniff them, in case they still smell of her.” He beamed. “I’d very much like you to wear my mother’s clothes because you’re going to be my new mother now you’re to marry Papa.”

Hot color rose to Elenora’s cheeks, the discomfort of living a lie that was going to hurt Edward almost unbearable. But would wearing the long dead Mary Warren’s clothes be a good idea? “I don’t know…”

Meg clearly thought it was. “That’s arranged then. I’ll go and get the housemaids to fill a bathtub for you in the best guest room, and make sure the fire’s lit. And I’ll find out where Master Edward’s supper’s got to.” And she was gone, leaving Elenora more than a little shocked.

“It’s quite all right,” Edward said, peering up at her from inside the towel which she’d stopped rubbing his hair with. “I’m sure my mother’s clothes will fit you. She has some very pretty gowns. Nicer than the ones the ladies who pass in the street wear. You’ll look pretty in them. I think she must have looked very pretty, but Papa says there aren’t any portraits of her. So I don’t know what she looked like.” He paused. “I wish I did.” He clapped his hands in delight. “And when you’ve had your bath and I’ve had my supper, will you come back and read me a story?”

Elenora didn’t answer but rubbed harder at his hair as they waited for the promised cake and cocoa to come up from the kitchen.

Chapter Twenty-Six

At Amberley House, his mother waved him into her parlor and sent her butler for a tray of port. “I think we all need a pick-me-up after tonight, don’t we?”

Jack stood by the fireplace until the port was delivered and his mother was pouring generous glasses for them both. She shot him a sharp glare. “Do sit down, Jack. Your restlessness is grating on my nerves. Whatever is it that’s dragged you away from your just returned son? Whatever it is, it must be important.”

Jack eyed the empty space beside his mother on the chaise longue and opted for the single upright chair next to it, noting the frown she gave his dirty boots, but ignoring it.

“Well?” she said, never one to clutter conversation with preamble. “And what have you done to the sleeve of your coat?”

His hand went to where Warren’s bullet had grazed his arm. “Caught it on a nail.” An easy lie. Probably not a good idea to tell his mother someone had shot him.

She grunted. “You need to be more careful. The coat is ruined. Now. What did you want to talk to me about?”

He’d better get it out now, if he was going to. “It’s Elenora.”

His mother’s pencil thin eyebrows arched. “You’ve seen the light? Changed your mind about your engagement when you saw what kind of a girl she is?”

Jack shook his head, annoyed at her assumption. “Not at all. Nothing of the sort. No.” Why wasn’t he able to come out with it? He was brave about everything else. As was Elenora. “Quite the opposite.”

Her already sharp gaze sharpened further. “And what do I infer from that garbled statement?”

There was nothing for it. He’d have to tell her the truth. “I find that quite unexpectedly, and contrary to my intentions, I’ve fallen in love with her.”

“Good heavens.” His mother came from the era of arranged marriages for whom falling in love was not expected. “That is a turn up for the books.”