they did not pass by.
No, they stopped, and Lady Alice turned the lovely force of her open smile on Eleanor and her mother. If nothing else, Eleanor hoped that perhaps there might be some snideness to Lady Alice’s tone—some nasty upturn to her mouth or a disagreeable conversation which would sanction a justifiable dislike of her.
“Oh, Your Ladyship, Lady Eleanor—it’s so good to see you,” Lady Alice said with delicate and authentic pleasure. “Lady Eleanor, your bonnet suits you so very well. Isn’t it the loveliest day you’ve ever seen?”
The expression on Lady Alice’s face was sweet enough to bring to mind visions of angels. She even paused to offer a smile for Amelia.
Eleanor inwardly sighed. Of course she would not be lucky enough to find fault with Lady Alice, who was, as she’d always been, agreeable, kind and absolutely perfect.
And she was right. It was a fine day. Even with Eleanor’s stolen future standing so happily in front of her she could not deny the beauty of the day.
“It truly is lovely,” she conceded.
“Good day, Lord Ledsey.” The Countess of Westix’s tone was cool in her address to Hugh.
Don’t look at him.
If he replied to her mother Eleanor did not hear him. She intentionally gazed in the direction of the Serpentine River, where Lady Alice was looking with a wistful expression. The water glittered under the sun and reflected the wide stretch of the cloudless sky. A weak breeze swept from the river and brushed away some of the heat from Eleanor’s blazing cheeks.
She would stare at the Serpentine for ages. Anything to avoid looking at Hugh. But, dash it, her traitorous eyes immediately disobeyed the direct order and slid over to the face which she’d one day anticipated being that of her husband. An ache began in the center of her chest, where her heart was still raw and wounded. She kept her smile small, for it felt brittle enough to crack if given too much effort.
Her mother had been so proud of Eleanor when Hugh had directed his affections toward her, and the pressure of the ton had eased from her shoulders. Lady Eleanor, with her garish red hair, had finally found a man who might be willing to wed her.
Except he had not been willing. And his newfound affection for Lady Alice had left her scalded with mortification.
Eleanor should have expected such fickleness after his intentions toward her had come upon her so abruptly. At the time she had been too grateful to think on it.
She was not grateful any longer.
Hugh looked at Eleanor—a momentary flick of a glance, as if she were not worth his time. And when he had a woman such as Lady Alice on his arm surely she was not.
It was at times like this that Eleanor was thankful for her father’s insistence that she never show emotion. Because at times like this Eleanor agreed that one must appear strong. She wore her indifference like a shield, staunchly guarding her wounds from prying eyes.
Hugh’s hand came up suddenly and waved at a man several paces away. “Ah, here he is now.”
Lady Alice gave an excited clap. “Oh, wonderful—he’s made it after all.”
The man stopped between Eleanor and Lady Alice. He was tall enough to block the sun from where it shone into Eleanor’s eyes, but not so tall that she had to peer up at him foolishly. His hazel-green eyes crinkled nicely at the corners.
Hugh clapped the man on the back. “This chap went to school with me several years back. May I introduce the Marquess of Bastionbury?”
A part of Eleanor—a sad, pathetic part—perked up at the mention of his name. According to the Lady Observer, the Marquess was the most eligible man on the marriage mart. A man Eleanor had not yet had the opportunity to be introduced to.
The ladies all nodded their amenability. “By all means,” said the Countess.
Hugh indicated Eleanor’s mother first. “My Lord, may I present the Countess of Westix?”
Her mother offered a stiff curtsey and nodded.
Hugh’s eyes met Eleanor’s and her pulse gave a pitiful leap. “And the Countess’s daughter, Lady Eleanor Murray.”
Lottie’s voice sounded in Eleanor’s head, reminding her to meet the man’s eyes. Eleanor nodded and held his handsome stare, but the smile trembled on her lips.
The Marquess nodded and then his attention slid away. To Lady Alice.
Hugh squeezed Lady Alice’s slender arm with an embarrassing show of affection, which Lady Alice did not chide him for. “And now may I present Lady Alice Honeycutt, my betrothed?”
Lady Alice nodded and let her regard linger on the Marquess, much in the way a butterfly might over a choice bloom. A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “It is so very good to meet you, My Lord. I’ve heard such great tales.”
Her smile was dainty and her eyes practically danced with the sincerity of her joy. She held out a hand to the Marquess, who readily took it and let a kiss whisper over her gloved knuckles.
The Marquess was genuinely engaged in Lady Alice’s attention. Even her mother had a whisper of a grin teasing the corners of her stiff mouth. Lady Alice was warm and endearing, while still maintaining her cultured poise. An impeccable balance of breeding and manners and kindness.
And a glaring reminder of what Eleanor had been doing so very wrong.
In truth, Eleanor found Lady Alice’s behavior bordering on inappropriate. Her father would have been appalled at such behavior, and no doubt would have been violent in his distaste for it. But he was not here now. He was dead, having left them with no fortune, Evander missing, and a wall of ice to melt.
Alice’s open warmth was the line Lottie had mentioned in the lesson—the acceptable level of flirtation. Skirting propriety, subtle and delicately danced, therefore being socially acceptable.
Was this the kind of woman men wanted?
Eleanor didn’t have to ask the question. She already knew. It was in the tinkling laugh Lady Alice did not suppress, in the measured, meaningful way her gaze met those she conversed with, and how men swarmed to her side, eager for any scrap of attention she was willing to offer.
Regret nipped at Eleanor with sharp teeth. Perhaps she ought to have let herself be introduced to Lord Charles several times more. She should have been more patient with the process.
“If you’ll excuse us?” said the Countess. “We must be on our way.”
Eleanor let her mother lead them in the direction of a group of the Countess’s friends, where they clustered together in an array of colorful pastels, chatting under a tree by the river. Conversations blended around her, but her mind was unable to focus on any single one.
“Ah, there is Lady Stetton.” Her mother nodded toward the shore of the Serpentine River.
Energy hummed through Eleanor’s veins. She did not want to stop the steady rise and fall of her feet as she walked. To do so might give her mind cause to churn. And to think of all her failings—those she did not wish to ponder over.
“Do you mind if I go on a bit further with Amelia?”
Her mother eyed the path and gave an approving nod. “Join us once you’ve collected yourself.”
Her mother swept off the trail and headed in the direction of Lady Stetton, leaving Eleanor and Amelia to continue onward. The absence of her mother’s barrage of questions was a balm to Eleanor’s racing brain, and she filled all her tumultuous thoughts with the rustling of trees and the twittering of birds.
“Forgive me,” Amelia said in her gentle maternal voice. “But there is a man watching you.”
Eleanor followed Amelia’s stare to where a tall dark-haired man was indeed watching her, his eyes brighter