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Miss Eleanor Milford stopped briefly before the mirror in the kitchen hallway to repin her chestnut curls. She could hear the bustle of the maid setting out the teapot and muttering ominously from the vicinity of the stove. The dowager duchess, Eleanor's grandmother, was in the drawing room, the first time in years that her grace came here to the modest home of her second son in
Branden-under-Wrotham.
There wasn't time for Eleanor to change into something more becoming than the sprigged muslin she wore to teach the village girls in the remodeled shed out back. Giving her hair one last futile pat, she straightened her shoulders and stood tall. Whatever the dowager had on her mind, it was probably not her granddaughter's clothing. Eleanor prayed her grandmother had not come to express her wrath at learning of the existence of the school, for her students had truly grown to be the most important matter in Eleanor’s life.
When Eleanor entered the drawing room, the dowager seemed to be appraising the quality of the draperies with less than approval, a look of distaste on her wrinkled countenance. "Good afternoon, Grandmother." Eleanor closed the door behind her
and met the dowager's gaze head on.
Her grandmother peered down her long nose, looking up and down at Eleanor as though she were assessing the worth of a new lap dog. "Come over here and sit down, young lady. You look disgraceful, Eleanor. Like a dairymaid or a
laundress.”
Eleanor followed instructions, stifling a grin at the error of her previous expectation. Grandmother never missed a blemish in anything she encountered. At least the furniture had a fresh coat of polish and the lamp chimneys were sparkling.
The dowager, wearing a sober black gown in the fashion of the last century, waved a hand at her long-suffering companion. "Wait for me outside, Mason. Tell John to walk the horses."
When Mason was gone, the dowager pursed her lips and frowned as she raised her quizzing glass for a better view. "Now that I see what a lamentable hoyden you have become, I wonder if you will do."
"I was about to say what an unusual pleasure it is for me to welcome you." Eleanor put on her sweetest smile.
"Fustian! Do not try to humor me." With a shrug, the dowager released the eyeglass. "There is no one else to accomplish this stratagem, so you will have to rise to the occasion."
"The occasion?"
"Priscilla's presentation. You will accompany her and that peagoose Violet to London next week. Later, I shall come myself for the Queen's drawing room and the ball, but I expect you to oversee all the preparations and take her to the proper gatherings."
"Grandmother, I cannot possibly leave Father alone."
"Nonsense! I will not be defied, Eleanor. Priscilla is spoiled and headstrong. Violet makes no pretense of control, and she will no doubt take to her bed with a megrim most days. What Lawrence was thinking of when he married that empty-headed ninny I have never perceived. She is quite insufficient as the Duchess of Branden. But that is neither here nor there. Priscilla is the
youngest of my grandchildren and she must have a suitable Season."
Lawrence, the seventh Duke of Branden and Eleanor's uncle, married the fragile Violet only a few years ago. Secretly, Eleanor agreed with her grandmother's assessment. The new duchess, younger than her oldest stepchild by several years, had neither the disposition nor the accomplishments to fulfill her obligations. And her beauty had already given way to plump indolence.
"But certainly one of my aunts could help. Or Priscilla's sister Prudence."
"Prudence is increasing again. As for my daughters, I assume they have responsibilities elsewhere. You are at hand, and I see no reason why you should oppose the task. After all, you have not been in London for several years. You should welcome the
occasion to renew your acquaintances."
Eleanor had no desire ever again to visit town, but that was not the most compelling reason to resist her grandmother. The only way Uncle Lawrence allowed her to start the school was to keep the dowager from knowing about it. She didn't believe in education for females. Amalia, Dowager Duchess of Branden, could hardly read or write herself. Mason handled her extensive correspondence. Eleanor had never seen the dowager with a book in hand nor heard her comment on anything other than the fashion plates in the ladies' magazines.
"I shall take this up with Father at dinner."
The dowager vigorously shook her head, dislodging a hairpin from her elaborate coiffure. She jabbed it back in place at once. "Where is he? Out wandering in the shrubbery, I suppose."
"I do not know..."
Molly entered with a tray bearing the best china cups. "Yer papa is in the library, Miss."
"Fetch him, Eleanor, while I see what I can do with this tea."
As she rose, Eleanor felt her shoulders slump. Her father would never defy his mother, no matter what inconvenience she caused. She hoped to convince him later to let her stay in Hertfordshire, but faced with the dowager's domineering presence, he would not hesitate to accommodate her wishes.
Eleanor peeked into the library, and motioned to her father. "Grandmother wishes to speak to you."
He put down his quill, looked up from his manuscript and grimaced. "I hoped she would think I was out."
"Molly gave you away. But if you sneak out through the terrace, I may truthfully say you have gone."
"What does she want?" He moved quickly to side door.
"Something to do with Violet and Priscilla."
"What the deuce! They are entirely Lawrence's concern. I need none of that."
"Then hurry." Eleanor watched him disappear outside.
She took her time returning to the drawing room.
* * *
Griffith Preston, Baron Bromley, rolled up his meticulously drawn map and stared over the valley of Ribblesdale. His carriage was waiting, but he wanted to engrave this lovely view upon his memory before he finished his last job as a Royal Draughtsman and Surveyor. The sky shaded from deep azure to a silvery blue at the horizon. The meandering river wound its careless way through golden fields and past clumps of trees so dark they were nearly black. From now on, the existence he had known for six years would be only a memory. He did not relish his future as the heir to his family's estates and dwindling fortune. That the eventual responsibilities of an earl of the realm had meant little to his late brother only emphasized the irony of fate. Griff had gone off to war and survived; James only waged battle upon the gaming tables of London or in meaningless curricle races, one of which had cost his life. James's death had driven their father ever deeper into dementia. His mother had a new fixation, making sure he, Griff, found a wife to fill his nursery, and soon!
Griff knew he should be grateful he was able to complete the government contracts in Yorkshire before going back to his childhood home in Sussex to take over the estates. In fact he would rather make maps, as he had in the Peninsula and in Belgium with Wellington's army.
Since the end of the war, he had learned to appreciate the subtleties of Britain's landscape, refining the maps drawn decades ago. He had the skill, the accuracy and the temperament to make every detail perfect. Living in tents or in village inns with a few associates suited him well.
Now that life was over. He would have to content himself with making maps of his new irrigation ditches and paddock fences. Or whatever his new duties would bring.
Then, there was the matter of finding a suitable wife. He had no hope of finding love. That he had once tried and the resulting regret at losing her still haunted his memories. No, love was not to be an ingredient of the match. In fact, his mother would most likely chose the young lady who would eventually succeed her as Countess of Edenhurst. She would concentrate on the most important qualities of a potential bride, rather than allow Griff’s tendency to compare every female he met with the chestnut-haired, blue-eyed beauty to whom he lost his heart. And for whom he still yearned.
He stared over the peaceful valley and squared his shoulders. The road before him was clear and he pledged himself to accept all the responsibilities of his new life. I may be a fish out of water to begin with, but I shall learn to run the estate as well as I have mapped this terrain.
* * *
Eleanor paced the small classroom, now empty of children, while her fellow teacher Jane Wilson, daughter of the vicar, watched with eyes full of concern.
"Jane, I am beside myself with irritation. Grandmother has ordered me to London for the season to supervise Priscilla's come-out."
"The Prima?" Jane used the title they secretly concocted to describe Eleanor's missish young cousin. "I wondered what the dowager duchess was up to."
"It is beyond anything. I am so distracted I feel like should run away, escape and never return."
"What is wrong with the Prima's stepmama? Should she not be the one to see to her stepdaughter’s come out?"
Eleanor stopped and fumbled with her hair ribbon. "Violet is a widgeon, or to my thinking, simply too slothful to concern herself with another person's needs for more than a moment."
"If the dowager has decided, I suppose there is no recourse. Unless your father can convince..."
She resumed her steps. "Oh, Jane, Papa will not express a word of dissent. Nothing trumps the dowager’s whims around here."
"Norrie!" Jane’s horrified tone belied her wide smile.
"Oh, you know what I mean. She says Priscilla is spoiled but no one compares to the way Grandmother imposes herself on others. I have not consented yet, and I will do my best to resist."
"But you should be happy to return to London for a visit. There must be many changes since you were last there."
"Perhaps enough to interest me for a week or two, but for a stay of several months? In a way I can hardly blame Violet for falling into a decline at the thought of town."
"You could run into some of your old suitors."
At last Eleanor drooped into a chair. "Pray that I do not. Nothing would be more distasteful, unless they are married with a passel
of children under foot. The very last thing I need in my life is a man who could question my desire to teach our girls and boys."
Jane had a dreamy look in her eyes. "Not even if you saw that one fellow you rather favored, Norrie?"
Eleanor feigned nonchalance. "If he was not lost in a battle somewhere, he has probably gone to India or the colonies."
"Following the suggestion of your mother, as I recall."
"That was a half dozen years ago. I have not thought of him for ages." Only every time the familiar fragrance of lavender mixed with roses, or when she looked at the faded flowers she pressed in her diary. Then the face of Griffith Preston made her heart race and her eyes begin to water. These were troubling reactions, and Eleanor did her best to suppress them.
"You might meet someone new."
"Jane, I would be only a chaperone for the Prima. I would be busy trying to keep her from disgracing the family. Anyway, today's men are seeking chits just out of the schoolroom. Many are the fellows who think they can mold a wife to their wishes before she is flawed by gaining interests of her own. From my observations, this is a fallacious assumption. But, be assured no one would
bother with someone of my age. At twenty-five, I have been on the shelf for ages."
"You are foolish to think you will not attract any admirers, Norrie."
"La, Jane, you have no notion how feeble are my charms."
"If I were you, I should welcome an escape from my ordinary life."
Eleanor suddenly recognized the undercurrent in the conversation. "Why did I not think of it before? If I have to go, you can come for a visit. The dowager duchess and the duke will be in London for Priscilla’s presentation to the Queen and for her ball. Then they would leave me to chaperone her other merriments while the vanishing Violet attends to her precious nerves. You could
keep me company for a while. We might see all the sights of London, and perhaps between the two of us, we could keep the Prima from betraying her true nature as a self-centered twit, thus destroying any hope of a suitable match."
Jane’s face lit up. "Do you mean I could stay at Branden House?"
"Of course you could. There are at least a dozen bedchambers. Balls, dinners, musical afternoons and..."
"But I could not accompany you to any parties."
"Why not? You are delightfully accomplished. You might even play the harp for a gathering."
"Norrie, I would have nothing to wear. I should be confined to the house or I would embarrass you, not to mention Priscilla."
"We are about the same size. If I go up to town and order my own wardrobe, I could simply order a few things to compliment your dark hair and eyes. The Dowager says she will provide everything. She will broach no interference with dressing her granddaughters in the latest mode. No one would blink if I ordered twelve dresses instead of six. In fact I could have twenty
made, and there would be no complaints. But I am not promising anything yet. I must pay my usual obeisance at the dowager's Thursday Afternoon. I shall mount a last stand."
Jane squeezed her hand. "I must not fib to you, Norrie. I am just as selfish as the Prima. I hope your battle will be lost."
* * *
Arriving at the Dower House precisely at four, the appointed hour for her grandmother to receive her daughters, granddaughters, and nieces, Eleanor greeted seven of her relations with the expected compliments to their ensembles, all of which exhibited homage to the coming spring. Indeed the drawing room resembled a flower garden of pastel hues, as well as a dressmaker's catalogue of frills, flounces and fringes.
According to her usual practice, Eleanor's dress could not have been remotely considered a competitor in the Thursday rivalry for the highest approbation of the gathering, though she had taken considerable care to appear above reproach. Her peach-colored silk did not rise to the latest in design, but the matching ribbons woven through her shiny chestnut hair managed to garner a word of praise from Aunt Sophy.
The chattering stopped for a moment when Priscilla and Violet hurried in, always the last ones to arrive. Eleanor was not surprised to see her cousin arrayed in a shell pink confection with enough trimmings to adorn three or four less overloaded and more tasteful garments. Violet looked pale and clasped her reticule tightly to her bosom. No doubt the bag was full of headache powders, hartshorn and several vinaigrettes to see her through the next half-hour.
When the butler announced the dowager, all stood and curtsied in precisely the manner her grace preferred. Eleanor never failed to find amusement in the old-fashioned formality of the proceeding, repeated nearly every week of the year in the manner of a Royal Court, though everyone present was related by blood or marriage and lived within two miles of one another.
As always, the dowager spoke first. "Priscilla will make her formal entry into Society this year. Violet and Eleanor will spend the Season with her in London."
A chorus of "Ahs" greeted her comment.
“I myself shall present her to the Queen. All of you will attend her ball at Branden House in April."
Eleanor felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach. Of course Grandmother thought she was going to London, as instructed. But did she have to tell everyone already? She let the conversation buzz about her, nodding here and there to the few comments sent in her direction. All of them considered her peculiar to have shunned the haut tonfor so many years. They no longer enquired about her aspirations, and she knew they rolled their eyes and threw up their hands behind her back. None of them had the slightest sympathy with a woman who chose to remain unmarried. Not even cousin Olivia, who had mourned for five years after her betrothed died aboard one of the first ships sending troops to Portugal, saw Eleanor's reluctance to wed as anything but demented. Olivia finally settled for an older man, and claimed delight in her four stepchildren and two infants of her own, as she rarely abstained from reminding Eleanor.
The dowager's traditional style of pouring the tea never failed to bring declarations of admiration from her fawning onlookers. Eleanor vacillated between annoyance and hilarity at the antics of the ladies, all vying for a higher place on the fabled list of legatees Grandmother did not mention directly but kept in play by frequent innuendoes sprinkled through her conversations.
When Eleanor accepted her teacup, the dowager caught her eye.
"Please remain when the others have left."
"Yes, Grandmother."
Even this insignificant exchange swiveled heads in Eleanor's direction.
Lady Prudence guided Eleanor to a settee where they sat side by side.
"I offer my felicitations, Cousin," Eleanor said.
Prudence heaved a great sigh. "I cannot say I am ecstatic at having another child so soon. But Perry has great hopes for a male this time and so do I."
"Naturally." Eleanor thought Prudence quite fortunate to have three little girls who tended to resemble her instead of their rather frog-faced father.
"I am so happy you will be in London with Priscilla. Violet... " Prudence broke off to gaze upon her stepmother, who was
patting her heart as she talked to Aunt Sophy. "Look at her, pretending to be at death's door. She is the saddest excuse for a proper wife I can imagine. Father must rue the day he ever laid eyes on her."
Eleanor took a small sip of the bohea. "Perhaps, but I do admire his steadfastness. I have never heard him utter an unflattering word about her."
"He would not dare! Under that simpering exterior, she has a heart of stone and a Trojan's temper. Whatever you do in London, do not cross her."
"To be honest, I have not actually agreed to Grandmother's plans."
"You have a choice?"
Eleanor laughed wryly. "Probably not."
"I cannot imagine why you are not eager to go..."
"I have my..." She stopped herself before she mentioned the school.
Prudence lifted her cup to her lips and sniffed. "Nasty stuff, this."
"I believe Grandmother is still brewing from the supply she received as a wedding gift
sixty-some years ago."
"Eleanor, while you are keeping one eye on Priscilla, find yourself a husband. Just think, you might marry a man who lives in the Antipodes, and then you would be free of these wretched Thursdays."
"My dear Prudence, you may have a point there." Smiling, Eleanor took Prudence's cup and carried the two offending potions to a side table.
The room emptied within another quarter hour, and Eleanor prepared herself to argue with the dowager, never an activity to engender confidence in one's success.
When the footman had removed the tea tray, Eleanor sat in the chair next to her Grandmother and hoped her mood would not turn waspish.
The dowager rubbed her hands together as if ridding herself of all traces of her relatives. "Mason has a list for you, Eleanor. There are matters you must attend to before you leave with some to be accomplished within your first weeks in town. I will
send orders for the house to be opened before your arrival."
"Grandmother, I do not wish to leave Father alone, nor do I feel qualified to manage Priscilla's season. I cannot..."
"Rubbish! Do not think I am unable to recall your seasons. You were quite the Toast, is that not true?"
"But, I..."
"Do not interrupt. You comported yourself admirably for the most part. You received several quite respectable offers, which you inexplicably rejected. If your mother had not been so foolish to catch a nasty chill and expire well before her time, she would have had you appropriately wed to someone fitting to your station. I daresay you would not have defied both of us for long."
Eleanor nodded, for the dowager spoke the truth. It was only after her mother died that Eleanor saw her future in a different light, not as the appendage of a husband, but as an independent woman.
"She should not have left you so generous a portion. Money belonging to a girl too young only spoils her and gives her nonsensical ideas unsuitable for a granddaughter of the Duke of Branden."
So the dowager blamed her mother for Eleanor's situation! "I will not have you speak ill of my mother and her intentions."
Surprisingly, the dowager seemed to soften her tone. "I want only what is best for all my granddaughters. I have lived a long time, Eleanor, and I have seen the generations come and go in several noble families. I am a better judge of what young women need, my dear, than you shall be for at least another three or four decades. But be that as it may, my primary concern is Priscilla. You may have the sense to make the best of your spinsterhood, but she would not. Nor is she capable of judging who is and who is not a proper match for herself."
In spite of her opposition to the dowager's plans, Eleanor had to agree Priscilla's future would be a problem. "I believe this, Grandmother. You are by far the best choice to superintend her entry into the marriage mart."
"I am not up to spending the entire Season in town. I am not a hypochondriac like Violet, but I am old and my joints are not what they were."
"But surely, if you explained to Violet how Priscilla's success would enhance her own standing and please Uncle Lawrence..."
"Do not talk like a flibbertigibbet. You know very well that Violet lacks the capacity to see logic. Lawrence was a fool when he plucked her out of her first appearance at Almack's and carried her off in a trice. He did not wait long enough to see beyond those honey curls to her empty head. Of course her mother had not an ounce of sense either, so I can only be gratified that she never spawned a child. I could not bear to see the Branden name attached to such an abomination."
"Grandmother!" Eleanor grabbed her handkerchief to smother her laughter.
"Well you may be amused. But now you understand the depths of my concern. Since Violet arrived, Priscilla has been without any direct guidance. She pays my advice no heed whatsoever, and I cringe to imagine how she would appear in the ton unless she has a level head beside her."
"But I am not that person."
"Look here, young lady. You will do as I say. I know what you and the vicar's daughter are up to."
"What?" Eleanor swallowed and drew a deep breath. This indeed was unexpected.
"You know that nothing occurs in this neighborhood without my knowledge. I do not approve of your whims, but I prefer not to interfere as long as it amuses you. However, if you defy my tactics for Priscilla's come-out, I shall see that no further school claptrap is ever heard again."
Eleanor bristled at the outright challenge. "I did not believe you would stoop to threats."
"My husband taught me a useful epigram his own father acknowledged. 'The end must justify the means.' In this case, it applies quite appropriately."
Eleanor's heart pounded and she forced back a lump in her throat. "You would truly deny the children a chance to learn to read and write?"
"Unnecessary for most of them who will merely take up ideas above their station. But I will not allow youto teach them unless you agree to my plans."
"That is cruel!"
The dowager made no answer. Her countenance was as composed and commanding as always. Eleanor struggled to remain calm while her mind spun with instant defiance. This could not be happening!
Eleanor could not think of a single word to say. She stood and walked to the window, looking out over the peaceful park. The thought of losing her pitiful little efforts to help the children made her want to cry. But how could she give her Grandmother such
satisfaction? The older girls had just sewn curtains for the rather crooked windows the boys cut in the old shed. She and Jane had snuck off to the village to buy more slates and chalk. To think of losing all the smiles each morning...
She had been defeated by a master of the game indeed. But she still might salvage something.
She returned to her chair. "If I take on Priscilla's season, will you provide us a decent place for the school?"
It was the dowager's turn to grimace. "Now you are trying to bargain with me?"
"Yes. The means to an end, I believe you said?"
The dowager gave a bark of laughter. "Eleanor, you show the mark of your grandfather!"
"Do you agree?"
"On one condition. I want Priscilla betrothed by June. To someone I would approve of. I'll have none of these dandies or fortune hunters. It will not be simple, Eleanor, but I believe you have just shown you have the perspicacity to succeed."
* * *
"So you will have your sojourn in London, Jane." Eleanor completed her account of the dowager's tête-à-tête as the two friends sat before the fire in the vicarage.
"Yes. And we will have a new school for the children."
"Sadly, that remains to be seen. First I have to find some sapskull who is susceptible to Priscilla the Prima's questionable
charms."
"She is pretty enough." Jane's statement was almost a question.
"Unless one admires sense. She has no accomplishments whatsoever. Foremost among her questionable attributes is a complete lack of self-discpline."
"Certainly she must play the pianoforte."
"Not a note. Perhaps I can find her a foreigner who knows no English."
"Would the dowager stand for that?"
"Probably not, unless he was particularly obsequious. And rich besides. He would have to have an impressive title and a distinguished heritage."
"Certainly not a Frenchman or a Russian. Perhaps a Swede or a Dane?"
"I can see it now. Count Viking von Stockholm, tall handsome and blond, whispering, ‘My little flicka’in her delicate ear. She would probably slap him."
Jane giggled. "How about a dashing raven-haired Spaniard, sighing ‘buena senorita’ or something like that?"
"Sounds promising. But what such a one would be doing at Almack's is the question.”
"He might instruct young ladies in the art of playing the lute.”
"You will not find me at any music master's. If I have to subject myself to preparing the Prima for a performance of some kind, I shall give up our school immediately and enter a nunnery in the highest reaches of the Alps."
"Don’t forget the yodelers who inhabit that region, out calling for their goats."
Eleanor laughed, then adopted a pout. "Jane, how dare you best me for the second time today? Have some regard for my wounds."
"I apologize. I had no idea you were so browbeaten."
"I shall try to look on the sunny side of the situation. What colors do you prefer for your new gowns? I heard someone chirping
this afternoon about the latest hue. She called it 'aureolin' and from the context I imagine it to be some shade of yellow."
"Which will make my complexion sickly green. But truly, Eleanor, I cannot allow you to buy me clothing."
"So call them a loan. At Branden House there will be maids who excel at adapting dresses. In my first year in London, I had to have three gowns let out when I indulged in too many Viennese pastries for a few weeks. I even had to buy new slippers."
"There, think of that. My feet are much larger than yours." Jane held up her left leg. "As dainty as a plough-horse hoof."
"Never worry, dear Jane. When we embark upon this caper, we shall take all the time we need to find dancing slippers for you, no matter what the size."
"I shall begin working on Mama this very evening."
Eleanor’s love for teaching had developed accidentally, entirely the result of circumstance. Mere weeks after she refused Griff’s offer, her mother fell ill, and Eleanor returned to home to Branden to nurse her. The dowager sent her cook Mrs. Tibbits to their house in Branden-under-Wrotham to help take care of her second son, his ill wife and daughter.
Over the months, as they often sat at the bedside of Fanny, Lady Harley, Mrs. Tibbits confided to Eleanor her concern about her grandson Will. The boy, age twelve at the time, was particularly bright.
Jane Wilson, daughter of the vicar, tried to convince her father to include the boy in the group of lads he tutored in preparation for Eton, but Mr. Wilson believed Will’s background was inappropriate for associating with the sons of the local gentry. Too smart for them, Jane had observed.
Before long, Eleanor and Jane themselves tutored the boy whose appreciation brought Eleanor strong satisfaction. Will’s desire to learn about modern history, geography, and mathematics drove her to deepen her own knowledge.
The experience inspired Eleanor and Jane to invite other children of the estate workers and villagers to attend the classes they arranged, from learning their ABCs to Lives of the Monarchs. Jane held a newly minted certificate from a respected academy
for young ladies. As Lady Harley continued to decline, slowly but steadily. Teaching gave Eleanor’s life some purpose, a reason to go on each day, and it enabled her to keep cheery as she tended to her mother and tried to boost the spirits of her father.
Eleanor had tried to keep knowledge of the school from the dowager, for she was known not to favor such exploits. But she was really not surprised that the old duchess knew everything. There were many on the huge estate who kept her informed, without
question.
The more she taught, the more she wanted to teach, Eleanor found. The accomplishments of her students gave her immense pleasure. Opening young minds became her life’s work and she loved every minute of it. Only the possibility of
the dowager or the duke ending the practice gave her worry.
If she succeeded with Priscilla, found her a match this year, Eleanor knew the dowager would honor her promise to back the school. The effort would take her away to London for months, but the reward was well worth her time and energy.
##
Miss Eleanor Milford stopped briefly before the mirror in the kitchen hallway to repin her chestnut curls. She could hear the bustle of the maid setting out the teapot and muttering ominously from the vicinity of the stove. The dowager duchess, Eleanor's grandmother, was in the drawing room, the first time in years that her grace came here to the modest home of her second son in
Branden-under-Wrotham.
There wasn't time for Eleanor to change into something more becoming than the sprigged muslin she wore to teach the village girls in the remodeled shed out back. Giving her hair one last futile pat, she straightened her shoulders and stood tall. Whatever the dowager had on her mind, it was probably not her granddaughter's clothing. Eleanor prayed her grandmother had not come to express her wrath at learning of the existence of the school, for her students had truly grown to be the most important matter in Eleanor’s life.
When Eleanor entered the drawing room, the dowager seemed to be appraising the quality of the draperies with less than approval, a look of distaste on her wrinkled countenance. "Good afternoon, Grandmother." Eleanor closed the door behind her
and met the dowager's gaze head on.
Her grandmother peered down her long nose, looking up and down at Eleanor as though she were assessing the worth of a new lap dog. "Come over here and sit down, young lady. You look disgraceful, Eleanor. Like a dairymaid or a
laundress.”
Eleanor followed instructions, stifling a grin at the error of her previous expectation. Grandmother never missed a blemish in anything she encountered. At least the furniture had a fresh coat of polish and the lamp chimneys were sparkling.
The dowager, wearing a sober black gown in the fashion of the last century, waved a hand at her long-suffering companion. "Wait for me outside, Mason. Tell John to walk the horses."
When Mason was gone, the dowager pursed her lips and frowned as she raised her quizzing glass for a better view. "Now that I see what a lamentable hoyden you have become, I wonder if you will do."
"I was about to say what an unusual pleasure it is for me to welcome you." Eleanor put on her sweetest smile.
"Fustian! Do not try to humor me." With a shrug, the dowager released the eyeglass. "There is no one else to accomplish this stratagem, so you will have to rise to the occasion."
"The occasion?"
"Priscilla's presentation. You will accompany her and that peagoose Violet to London next week. Later, I shall come myself for the Queen's drawing room and the ball, but I expect you to oversee all the preparations and take her to the proper gatherings."
"Grandmother, I cannot possibly leave Father alone."
"Nonsense! I will not be defied, Eleanor. Priscilla is spoiled and headstrong. Violet makes no pretense of control, and she will no doubt take to her bed with a megrim most days. What Lawrence was thinking of when he married that empty-headed ninny I have never perceived. She is quite insufficient as the Duchess of Branden. But that is neither here nor there. Priscilla is the
youngest of my grandchildren and she must have a suitable Season."
Lawrence, the seventh Duke of Branden and Eleanor's uncle, married the fragile Violet only a few years ago. Secretly, Eleanor agreed with her grandmother's assessment. The new duchess, younger than her oldest stepchild by several years, had neither the disposition nor the accomplishments to fulfill her obligations. And her beauty had already given way to plump indolence.
"But certainly one of my aunts could help. Or Priscilla's sister Prudence."
"Prudence is increasing again. As for my daughters, I assume they have responsibilities elsewhere. You are at hand, and I see no reason why you should oppose the task. After all, you have not been in London for several years. You should welcome the
occasion to renew your acquaintances."
Eleanor had no desire ever again to visit town, but that was not the most compelling reason to resist her grandmother. The only way Uncle Lawrence allowed her to start the school was to keep the dowager from knowing about it. She didn't believe in education for females. Amalia, Dowager Duchess of Branden, could hardly read or write herself. Mason handled her extensive correspondence. Eleanor had never seen the dowager with a book in hand nor heard her comment on anything other than the fashion plates in the ladies' magazines.
"I shall take this up with Father at dinner."
The dowager vigorously shook her head, dislodging a hairpin from her elaborate coiffure. She jabbed it back in place at once. "Where is he? Out wandering in the shrubbery, I suppose."
"I do not know..."
Molly entered with a tray bearing the best china cups. "Yer papa is in the library, Miss."
"Fetch him, Eleanor, while I see what I can do with this tea."
As she rose, Eleanor felt her shoulders slump. Her father would never defy his mother, no matter what inconvenience she caused. She hoped to convince him later to let her stay in Hertfordshire, but faced with the dowager's domineering presence, he would not hesitate to accommodate her wishes.
Eleanor peeked into the library, and motioned to her father. "Grandmother wishes to speak to you."
He put down his quill, looked up from his manuscript and grimaced. "I hoped she would think I was out."
"Molly gave you away. But if you sneak out through the terrace, I may truthfully say you have gone."
"What does she want?" He moved quickly to side door.
"Something to do with Violet and Priscilla."
"What the deuce! They are entirely Lawrence's concern. I need none of that."
"Then hurry." Eleanor watched him disappear outside.
She took her time returning to the drawing room.
* * *
Griffith Preston, Baron Bromley, rolled up his meticulously drawn map and stared over the valley of Ribblesdale. His carriage was waiting, but he wanted to engrave this lovely view upon his memory before he finished his last job as a Royal Draughtsman and Surveyor. The sky shaded from deep azure to a silvery blue at the horizon. The meandering river wound its careless way through golden fields and past clumps of trees so dark they were nearly black. From now on, the existence he had known for six years would be only a memory. He did not relish his future as the heir to his family's estates and dwindling fortune. That the eventual responsibilities of an earl of the realm had meant little to his late brother only emphasized the irony of fate. Griff had gone off to war and survived; James only waged battle upon the gaming tables of London or in meaningless curricle races, one of which had cost his life. James's death had driven their father ever deeper into dementia. His mother had a new fixation, making sure he, Griff, found a wife to fill his nursery, and soon!
Griff knew he should be grateful he was able to complete the government contracts in Yorkshire before going back to his childhood home in Sussex to take over the estates. In fact he would rather make maps, as he had in the Peninsula and in Belgium with Wellington's army.
Since the end of the war, he had learned to appreciate the subtleties of Britain's landscape, refining the maps drawn decades ago. He had the skill, the accuracy and the temperament to make every detail perfect. Living in tents or in village inns with a few associates suited him well.
Now that life was over. He would have to content himself with making maps of his new irrigation ditches and paddock fences. Or whatever his new duties would bring.
Then, there was the matter of finding a suitable wife. He had no hope of finding love. That he had once tried and the resulting regret at losing her still haunted his memories. No, love was not to be an ingredient of the match. In fact, his mother would most likely chose the young lady who would eventually succeed her as Countess of Edenhurst. She would concentrate on the most important qualities of a potential bride, rather than allow Griff’s tendency to compare every female he met with the chestnut-haired, blue-eyed beauty to whom he lost his heart. And for whom he still yearned.
He stared over the peaceful valley and squared his shoulders. The road before him was clear and he pledged himself to accept all the responsibilities of his new life. I may be a fish out of water to begin with, but I shall learn to run the estate as well as I have mapped this terrain.
* * *
Eleanor paced the small classroom, now empty of children, while her fellow teacher Jane Wilson, daughter of the vicar, watched with eyes full of concern.
"Jane, I am beside myself with irritation. Grandmother has ordered me to London for the season to supervise Priscilla's come-out."
"The Prima?" Jane used the title they secretly concocted to describe Eleanor's missish young cousin. "I wondered what the dowager duchess was up to."
"It is beyond anything. I am so distracted I feel like should run away, escape and never return."
"What is wrong with the Prima's stepmama? Should she not be the one to see to her stepdaughter’s come out?"
Eleanor stopped and fumbled with her hair ribbon. "Violet is a widgeon, or to my thinking, simply too slothful to concern herself with another person's needs for more than a moment."
"If the dowager has decided, I suppose there is no recourse. Unless your father can convince..."
She resumed her steps. "Oh, Jane, Papa will not express a word of dissent. Nothing trumps the dowager’s whims around here."
"Norrie!" Jane’s horrified tone belied her wide smile.
"Oh, you know what I mean. She says Priscilla is spoiled but no one compares to the way Grandmother imposes herself on others. I have not consented yet, and I will do my best to resist."
"But you should be happy to return to London for a visit. There must be many changes since you were last there."
"Perhaps enough to interest me for a week or two, but for a stay of several months? In a way I can hardly blame Violet for falling into a decline at the thought of town."
"You could run into some of your old suitors."
At last Eleanor drooped into a chair. "Pray that I do not. Nothing would be more distasteful, unless they are married with a passel
of children under foot. The very last thing I need in my life is a man who could question my desire to teach our girls and boys."
Jane had a dreamy look in her eyes. "Not even if you saw that one fellow you rather favored, Norrie?"
Eleanor feigned nonchalance. "If he was not lost in a battle somewhere, he has probably gone to India or the colonies."
"Following the suggestion of your mother, as I recall."
"That was a half dozen years ago. I have not thought of him for ages." Only every time the familiar fragrance of lavender mixed with roses, or when she looked at the faded flowers she pressed in her diary. Then the face of Griffith Preston made her heart race and her eyes begin to water. These were troubling reactions, and Eleanor did her best to suppress them.
"You might meet someone new."
"Jane, I would be only a chaperone for the Prima. I would be busy trying to keep her from disgracing the family. Anyway, today's men are seeking chits just out of the schoolroom. Many are the fellows who think they can mold a wife to their wishes before she is flawed by gaining interests of her own. From my observations, this is a fallacious assumption. But, be assured no one would
bother with someone of my age. At twenty-five, I have been on the shelf for ages."
"You are foolish to think you will not attract any admirers, Norrie."
"La, Jane, you have no notion how feeble are my charms."
"If I were you, I should welcome an escape from my ordinary life."
Eleanor suddenly recognized the undercurrent in the conversation. "Why did I not think of it before? If I have to go, you can come for a visit. The dowager duchess and the duke will be in London for Priscilla’s presentation to the Queen and for her ball. Then they would leave me to chaperone her other merriments while the vanishing Violet attends to her precious nerves. You could
keep me company for a while. We might see all the sights of London, and perhaps between the two of us, we could keep the Prima from betraying her true nature as a self-centered twit, thus destroying any hope of a suitable match."
Jane’s face lit up. "Do you mean I could stay at Branden House?"
"Of course you could. There are at least a dozen bedchambers. Balls, dinners, musical afternoons and..."
"But I could not accompany you to any parties."
"Why not? You are delightfully accomplished. You might even play the harp for a gathering."
"Norrie, I would have nothing to wear. I should be confined to the house or I would embarrass you, not to mention Priscilla."
"We are about the same size. If I go up to town and order my own wardrobe, I could simply order a few things to compliment your dark hair and eyes. The Dowager says she will provide everything. She will broach no interference with dressing her granddaughters in the latest mode. No one would blink if I ordered twelve dresses instead of six. In fact I could have twenty
made, and there would be no complaints. But I am not promising anything yet. I must pay my usual obeisance at the dowager's Thursday Afternoon. I shall mount a last stand."
Jane squeezed her hand. "I must not fib to you, Norrie. I am just as selfish as the Prima. I hope your battle will be lost."
* * *
Arriving at the Dower House precisely at four, the appointed hour for her grandmother to receive her daughters, granddaughters, and nieces, Eleanor greeted seven of her relations with the expected compliments to their ensembles, all of which exhibited homage to the coming spring. Indeed the drawing room resembled a flower garden of pastel hues, as well as a dressmaker's catalogue of frills, flounces and fringes.
According to her usual practice, Eleanor's dress could not have been remotely considered a competitor in the Thursday rivalry for the highest approbation of the gathering, though she had taken considerable care to appear above reproach. Her peach-colored silk did not rise to the latest in design, but the matching ribbons woven through her shiny chestnut hair managed to garner a word of praise from Aunt Sophy.
The chattering stopped for a moment when Priscilla and Violet hurried in, always the last ones to arrive. Eleanor was not surprised to see her cousin arrayed in a shell pink confection with enough trimmings to adorn three or four less overloaded and more tasteful garments. Violet looked pale and clasped her reticule tightly to her bosom. No doubt the bag was full of headache powders, hartshorn and several vinaigrettes to see her through the next half-hour.
When the butler announced the dowager, all stood and curtsied in precisely the manner her grace preferred. Eleanor never failed to find amusement in the old-fashioned formality of the proceeding, repeated nearly every week of the year in the manner of a Royal Court, though everyone present was related by blood or marriage and lived within two miles of one another.
As always, the dowager spoke first. "Priscilla will make her formal entry into Society this year. Violet and Eleanor will spend the Season with her in London."
A chorus of "Ahs" greeted her comment.
“I myself shall present her to the Queen. All of you will attend her ball at Branden House in April."
Eleanor felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach. Of course Grandmother thought she was going to London, as instructed. But did she have to tell everyone already? She let the conversation buzz about her, nodding here and there to the few comments sent in her direction. All of them considered her peculiar to have shunned the haut tonfor so many years. They no longer enquired about her aspirations, and she knew they rolled their eyes and threw up their hands behind her back. None of them had the slightest sympathy with a woman who chose to remain unmarried. Not even cousin Olivia, who had mourned for five years after her betrothed died aboard one of the first ships sending troops to Portugal, saw Eleanor's reluctance to wed as anything but demented. Olivia finally settled for an older man, and claimed delight in her four stepchildren and two infants of her own, as she rarely abstained from reminding Eleanor.
The dowager's traditional style of pouring the tea never failed to bring declarations of admiration from her fawning onlookers. Eleanor vacillated between annoyance and hilarity at the antics of the ladies, all vying for a higher place on the fabled list of legatees Grandmother did not mention directly but kept in play by frequent innuendoes sprinkled through her conversations.
When Eleanor accepted her teacup, the dowager caught her eye.
"Please remain when the others have left."
"Yes, Grandmother."
Even this insignificant exchange swiveled heads in Eleanor's direction.
Lady Prudence guided Eleanor to a settee where they sat side by side.
"I offer my felicitations, Cousin," Eleanor said.
Prudence heaved a great sigh. "I cannot say I am ecstatic at having another child so soon. But Perry has great hopes for a male this time and so do I."
"Naturally." Eleanor thought Prudence quite fortunate to have three little girls who tended to resemble her instead of their rather frog-faced father.
"I am so happy you will be in London with Priscilla. Violet... " Prudence broke off to gaze upon her stepmother, who was
patting her heart as she talked to Aunt Sophy. "Look at her, pretending to be at death's door. She is the saddest excuse for a proper wife I can imagine. Father must rue the day he ever laid eyes on her."
Eleanor took a small sip of the bohea. "Perhaps, but I do admire his steadfastness. I have never heard him utter an unflattering word about her."
"He would not dare! Under that simpering exterior, she has a heart of stone and a Trojan's temper. Whatever you do in London, do not cross her."
"To be honest, I have not actually agreed to Grandmother's plans."
"You have a choice?"
Eleanor laughed wryly. "Probably not."
"I cannot imagine why you are not eager to go..."
"I have my..." She stopped herself before she mentioned the school.
Prudence lifted her cup to her lips and sniffed. "Nasty stuff, this."
"I believe Grandmother is still brewing from the supply she received as a wedding gift
sixty-some years ago."
"Eleanor, while you are keeping one eye on Priscilla, find yourself a husband. Just think, you might marry a man who lives in the Antipodes, and then you would be free of these wretched Thursdays."
"My dear Prudence, you may have a point there." Smiling, Eleanor took Prudence's cup and carried the two offending potions to a side table.
The room emptied within another quarter hour, and Eleanor prepared herself to argue with the dowager, never an activity to engender confidence in one's success.
When the footman had removed the tea tray, Eleanor sat in the chair next to her Grandmother and hoped her mood would not turn waspish.
The dowager rubbed her hands together as if ridding herself of all traces of her relatives. "Mason has a list for you, Eleanor. There are matters you must attend to before you leave with some to be accomplished within your first weeks in town. I will
send orders for the house to be opened before your arrival."
"Grandmother, I do not wish to leave Father alone, nor do I feel qualified to manage Priscilla's season. I cannot..."
"Rubbish! Do not think I am unable to recall your seasons. You were quite the Toast, is that not true?"
"But, I..."
"Do not interrupt. You comported yourself admirably for the most part. You received several quite respectable offers, which you inexplicably rejected. If your mother had not been so foolish to catch a nasty chill and expire well before her time, she would have had you appropriately wed to someone fitting to your station. I daresay you would not have defied both of us for long."
Eleanor nodded, for the dowager spoke the truth. It was only after her mother died that Eleanor saw her future in a different light, not as the appendage of a husband, but as an independent woman.
"She should not have left you so generous a portion. Money belonging to a girl too young only spoils her and gives her nonsensical ideas unsuitable for a granddaughter of the Duke of Branden."
So the dowager blamed her mother for Eleanor's situation! "I will not have you speak ill of my mother and her intentions."
Surprisingly, the dowager seemed to soften her tone. "I want only what is best for all my granddaughters. I have lived a long time, Eleanor, and I have seen the generations come and go in several noble families. I am a better judge of what young women need, my dear, than you shall be for at least another three or four decades. But be that as it may, my primary concern is Priscilla. You may have the sense to make the best of your spinsterhood, but she would not. Nor is she capable of judging who is and who is not a proper match for herself."
In spite of her opposition to the dowager's plans, Eleanor had to agree Priscilla's future would be a problem. "I believe this, Grandmother. You are by far the best choice to superintend her entry into the marriage mart."
"I am not up to spending the entire Season in town. I am not a hypochondriac like Violet, but I am old and my joints are not what they were."
"But surely, if you explained to Violet how Priscilla's success would enhance her own standing and please Uncle Lawrence..."
"Do not talk like a flibbertigibbet. You know very well that Violet lacks the capacity to see logic. Lawrence was a fool when he plucked her out of her first appearance at Almack's and carried her off in a trice. He did not wait long enough to see beyond those honey curls to her empty head. Of course her mother had not an ounce of sense either, so I can only be gratified that she never spawned a child. I could not bear to see the Branden name attached to such an abomination."
"Grandmother!" Eleanor grabbed her handkerchief to smother her laughter.
"Well you may be amused. But now you understand the depths of my concern. Since Violet arrived, Priscilla has been without any direct guidance. She pays my advice no heed whatsoever, and I cringe to imagine how she would appear in the ton unless she has a level head beside her."
"But I am not that person."
"Look here, young lady. You will do as I say. I know what you and the vicar's daughter are up to."
"What?" Eleanor swallowed and drew a deep breath. This indeed was unexpected.
"You know that nothing occurs in this neighborhood without my knowledge. I do not approve of your whims, but I prefer not to interfere as long as it amuses you. However, if you defy my tactics for Priscilla's come-out, I shall see that no further school claptrap is ever heard again."
Eleanor bristled at the outright challenge. "I did not believe you would stoop to threats."
"My husband taught me a useful epigram his own father acknowledged. 'The end must justify the means.' In this case, it applies quite appropriately."
Eleanor's heart pounded and she forced back a lump in her throat. "You would truly deny the children a chance to learn to read and write?"
"Unnecessary for most of them who will merely take up ideas above their station. But I will not allow youto teach them unless you agree to my plans."
"That is cruel!"
The dowager made no answer. Her countenance was as composed and commanding as always. Eleanor struggled to remain calm while her mind spun with instant defiance. This could not be happening!
Eleanor could not think of a single word to say. She stood and walked to the window, looking out over the peaceful park. The thought of losing her pitiful little efforts to help the children made her want to cry. But how could she give her Grandmother such
satisfaction? The older girls had just sewn curtains for the rather crooked windows the boys cut in the old shed. She and Jane had snuck off to the village to buy more slates and chalk. To think of losing all the smiles each morning...
She had been defeated by a master of the game indeed. But she still might salvage something.
She returned to her chair. "If I take on Priscilla's season, will you provide us a decent place for the school?"
It was the dowager's turn to grimace. "Now you are trying to bargain with me?"
"Yes. The means to an end, I believe you said?"
The dowager gave a bark of laughter. "Eleanor, you show the mark of your grandfather!"
"Do you agree?"
"On one condition. I want Priscilla betrothed by June. To someone I would approve of. I'll have none of these dandies or fortune hunters. It will not be simple, Eleanor, but I believe you have just shown you have the perspicacity to succeed."
* * *
"So you will have your sojourn in London, Jane." Eleanor completed her account of the dowager's tête-à-tête as the two friends sat before the fire in the vicarage.
"Yes. And we will have a new school for the children."
"Sadly, that remains to be seen. First I have to find some sapskull who is susceptible to Priscilla the Prima's questionable
charms."
"She is pretty enough." Jane's statement was almost a question.
"Unless one admires sense. She has no accomplishments whatsoever. Foremost among her questionable attributes is a complete lack of self-discpline."
"Certainly she must play the pianoforte."
"Not a note. Perhaps I can find her a foreigner who knows no English."
"Would the dowager stand for that?"
"Probably not, unless he was particularly obsequious. And rich besides. He would have to have an impressive title and a distinguished heritage."
"Certainly not a Frenchman or a Russian. Perhaps a Swede or a Dane?"
"I can see it now. Count Viking von Stockholm, tall handsome and blond, whispering, ‘My little flicka’in her delicate ear. She would probably slap him."
Jane giggled. "How about a dashing raven-haired Spaniard, sighing ‘buena senorita’ or something like that?"
"Sounds promising. But what such a one would be doing at Almack's is the question.”
"He might instruct young ladies in the art of playing the lute.”
"You will not find me at any music master's. If I have to subject myself to preparing the Prima for a performance of some kind, I shall give up our school immediately and enter a nunnery in the highest reaches of the Alps."
"Don’t forget the yodelers who inhabit that region, out calling for their goats."
Eleanor laughed, then adopted a pout. "Jane, how dare you best me for the second time today? Have some regard for my wounds."
"I apologize. I had no idea you were so browbeaten."
"I shall try to look on the sunny side of the situation. What colors do you prefer for your new gowns? I heard someone chirping
this afternoon about the latest hue. She called it 'aureolin' and from the context I imagine it to be some shade of yellow."
"Which will make my complexion sickly green. But truly, Eleanor, I cannot allow you to buy me clothing."
"So call them a loan. At Branden House there will be maids who excel at adapting dresses. In my first year in London, I had to have three gowns let out when I indulged in too many Viennese pastries for a few weeks. I even had to buy new slippers."
"There, think of that. My feet are much larger than yours." Jane held up her left leg. "As dainty as a plough-horse hoof."
"Never worry, dear Jane. When we embark upon this caper, we shall take all the time we need to find dancing slippers for you, no matter what the size."
"I shall begin working on Mama this very evening."
Eleanor’s love for teaching had developed accidentally, entirely the result of circumstance. Mere weeks after she refused Griff’s offer, her mother fell ill, and Eleanor returned to home to Branden to nurse her. The dowager sent her cook Mrs. Tibbits to their house in Branden-under-Wrotham to help take care of her second son, his ill wife and daughter.
Over the months, as they often sat at the bedside of Fanny, Lady Harley, Mrs. Tibbits confided to Eleanor her concern about her grandson Will. The boy, age twelve at the time, was particularly bright.
Jane Wilson, daughter of the vicar, tried to convince her father to include the boy in the group of lads he tutored in preparation for Eton, but Mr. Wilson believed Will’s background was inappropriate for associating with the sons of the local gentry. Too smart for them, Jane had observed.
Before long, Eleanor and Jane themselves tutored the boy whose appreciation brought Eleanor strong satisfaction. Will’s desire to learn about modern history, geography, and mathematics drove her to deepen her own knowledge.
The experience inspired Eleanor and Jane to invite other children of the estate workers and villagers to attend the classes they arranged, from learning their ABCs to Lives of the Monarchs. Jane held a newly minted certificate from a respected academy
for young ladies. As Lady Harley continued to decline, slowly but steadily. Teaching gave Eleanor’s life some purpose, a reason to go on each day, and it enabled her to keep cheery as she tended to her mother and tried to boost the spirits of her father.
Eleanor had tried to keep knowledge of the school from the dowager, for she was known not to favor such exploits. But she was really not surprised that the old duchess knew everything. There were many on the huge estate who kept her informed, without
question.
The more she taught, the more she wanted to teach, Eleanor found. The accomplishments of her students gave her immense pleasure. Opening young minds became her life’s work and she loved every minute of it. Only the possibility of
the dowager or the duke ending the practice gave her worry.
If she succeeded with Priscilla, found her a match this year, Eleanor knew the dowager would honor her promise to back the school. The effort would take her away to London for months, but the reward was well worth her time and energy.
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