good dress was pathetically dowdy compared to the cousins’ ostentatious mourning dresses and the under-chambermaid assigned to assist her had no experience being a lady’s maid, so Ellie had simply twisted her hair into a bun at her nape as she always did. At Whitworth none of this mattered, but here...
Perhaps she should plead a headache?
She sighed, gathering her courage as Pruitt opened the door to the yellow salon just as the clock finished chiming the hour.
‘You are late, Miss Walsh. I said five o’clock.’ Lady Ermintrude announced before her foot even crossed the threshold.
‘But...’
Henry raised his hands behind his aunt’s back and Ellie swallowed her words.
‘My apologies, Lady Ermintrude.’ She curtsied, something she had not done in years, wobbling a little on the way up. Henry stood by the window next to Mr Sinclair and the setting sun encased the two men in a red-gold halo, making Henry look more angelic than ever, in stark contrast to Mr Sinclair’s sharply hewn face, deep-set grey eyes, and black hair. Together they could have modelled for a painting of Gabriel and Lucifer.
Though perhaps not—one wouldn’t want to have Lucifer dominating that painting and Mr Sinclair certainly took up more than his fair share of space. He had changed out of his riding clothes and was dressed in a style she would have found hard to describe, but next to Henry’s tightly nipped waist and high shirt points he looked both less fashionable and much more elegant. Perhaps it was his sheer size. He appeared even taller in the civilised pale-yellow and walnut-wood colours that dominated the drawing room than he had in the shambolic room in the Folly. Without his greatcoat she could see the impressive breadth of his shoulders had nothing to do with its many capes.
It was strange that after the first disorienting moments of his appearance at the Folly and earlier in the parlour she hadn’t felt any real apprehension, but now in the safety of the yellow salon he suddenly looked dangerous.
He raised his glass as he met her eyes, his mouth quirking slightly at one corner. Lady Ermintrude’s eyes narrowed and Henry stepped forward hurriedly.
‘Eleanor, may I introduce my cousin, Mr Charles Sinclair. Chase, this is Miss Walsh.’
Mr Sinclair put down his glass and Ellie straightened her shoulders and waited for the man to add to her destruction in Lady Ermintrude’s estimation.
‘Miss Walsh.’ He bowed slightly, his voice cool and polite and nothing like the familiar tones he had employed in the Folly or with Henry. But just as her shoulders dropped a little he turned to Henry.
‘I didn’t know you had it in you, Cousin.’
Henry floundered at the ambiguous comment and there was a moment’s awkward silence, but Chase Sinclair merely went to stand by the fireplace, watching them as if waiting for the next act to commence.
There was a sudden stifled giggle from Fenella and both Lady Ermintrude and Drusilla directed a dampening look at her.
‘The betrothal is not yet a public fact, Charles,’ Lady Ermintrude said in her most damping tones. ‘It is hardly appropriate to be contemplating such matters while still in mourning. We would all appreciate if you refrain from referring to it in public or in front of the servants. Indeed, in any setting.’
Mr Sinclair arched one dark brow, but he gave a slight, mocking bow. Ellie indulged in some very satisfying silent rejoinders to Lady Ermintrude, but went to sit meekly on the sofa. Henry approached the sofa as well, but at a lift of Lady Ermintrude’s veined hand he chose a spindly chair instead.
For a moment there was no sound but the rustle and snap of the fire and Ellie battled against the absurd urge to succumb to giggles like Fenella even as she struggled to think of something, anything to say that wouldn’t make matters more uncomfortable. She caught sight of a book on the low table between the open fashion plates of La Belle Assemblée. She knew nothing of fashion, but surely Ovid was unexceptionable?
‘That is my favourite translation of the Metamorphoses.’ The words tumbled out of her and into a silence more awful than before.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Lady Ermintrude demanded. ‘You have been permitted to read such salacious blasphemy?’
‘I don’t think it is quite fair to call Ovid’s Metamorphoses blasphemy, Aunt Ermy,’ Mr Sinclair interjected. ‘His Ars Amatoria, on the other hand, can be safely called salacious, but I sincerely doubt Miss Walsh has read that. Or have you, Miss Walsh? If not, I recommend the third volume in particular.’
Ellie met her tormentor’s gaze, not at all certain she should be grateful to him for drawing Lady Ermintrude’s fire.
‘I won’t have you discussing such topics in front of my dear Drusilla and Fenella, Charles Sinclair! And you may take that book and put it with the rest of Huxley’s belongings. I do not know why it is here at all.’
‘Yes, Lady Ermintrude.’
Mr Sinclair obediently took the book and went to sit on a chair across from Fenella. Fenella giggled again, but subsided under her aunt’s glare.
‘How long do you believe it will take you to sort through the East Wing, Charles?’
‘I will try to be as quick as possible and not allow myself to be distracted by any salacious antiquities, Aunt Ermy,’ he replied and her ladyship snorted.
‘I sincerely doubt Huxley had anything salacious there aside from those horrid books. You will need help. I suggest that since Henry is engaged in estate matters and since Miss Walsh appears to be proficient in Latin and all that heathenish nonsense, she may be of some use in helping you sort through Huxley’s belongings. I do not believe in sitting idle.’
Ellie stared at her and Henry roused himself.
‘But Aunt, surely...’ His voice dwindled under her gaze.
‘Surely what, Henry? Speak up! I detest mumbling. Drusilla and Fenella are hard at work helping me with the embroidering for the parish’s Poor Widows and Orphans Society and do not have time to entertain your...betrothed. And since she so charmingly admitted she cannot set a stitch she will hardly be of use to us in our duties.’
‘Surely I could help with the housekeeping; I am...’
‘I oversee the housekeeping,’ Lady Ermintrude snapped. ‘You are not yet wed and until that day I see no reason to upheave Mrs Slocum’s routine. Meanwhile you may either be of use assisting the clearing of the East Wing or entertain yourself while Henry is engaged elsewhere. Now it is time for supper.’
‘Sorry, Eleanor,’ Henry whispered as they stood to follow Lady Ermintrude into supper. He looked so miserable she smiled and patted his arm.
‘Never mind, Henry. We shall laugh about it later.’
‘You might. This is my destiny.’ He sighed.
‘Coming, Henry?’ Lady Ermintrude barked and Henry took Ellie’s arms and propelled her after his cousins.
Inside the supper room Ellie realised Lady Ermintrude had taken another step in her battle to separate her from Henry. Leaves had been added to the already impressive table, lengthening it by several yards. Now Henry sat at one end, flanked by Dru and Lady Ermintrude, while she was seated at the other end with Charles Sinclair and Fenella. At least that meant she was far from Lady Ermintrude’s sharp comments and Drusilla’s brooding silences, but she felt sorry for Henry. If he’d hoped Mr Sinclair would swell the ranks of his supporters, he’d underestimated the superior tactical skills of his enemy. Though Ellie was a little surprised Lady Ermintrude felt Fen was safe in her sinful cousin’s presence, especially given Fen’s rather mischievous streak. This was immediately in evidence as Fen demanded ‘Cousin Chase’ regale her with London gossip, though she kept her gaze demurely on her plate, hiding her giggles behind her napkin.
* * *
In the end supper was not as horrid