Holiday House Parties (13 page)

Elinor threw her mother a worried look. If there was anything she didn't wish to endure, it was going over the Julian matter with her mother. The two women were so close that each could feel the other's pain, and pain was not something Elinor wished to inflict on her mother.

But Martha Selby could not easily be put off. A plump, energetic woman with a round, open face topped by a head of wiry white hair, she was as unpretentious as the household she ran. She cared nothing for elegance or show and was happier spending hours in the kitchen kneading dough than sitting like a lady at her embroidery frame working small stitches in fine silk. She had a warm heart that embraced all the people in her world down to the lowliest scullery maid. But the center of that heart was kept inviolate, possessed solely and completely by her only child—her daughter, whom she loved beyond all else. If anyone or anything threatened her daughter's happiness or well being, she, like a lioness defending her cub, would rise in wrath, ready to do battle.

“It was nothing worth speaking of, Mama,” Elinor said, hoping her mother would not do battle over this. “I'm surprised you heard of it.”

“Heard of it? Everyone's heard of it, from your uncle Henry to Samuel in the stable. They're all whispering about it.”

“But why? There was nothing to it. Julian merely mistook Felicia for me at first glance. Merely a little misunderstanding, that's all.”

“Then why are you crying?” Lady Selby cocked her head at her daughter with a look that combined suspicion with concern.

“I wasn't! I … d-didn't—!” Elinor insisted bravely, but, quite against her will, her chin begin to tremble, a certain sign that she was about to cry again. She turned away so that her mother might not see.

But her mother could always sense her pain. “Oh, my poor, sweet Elinor!” she murmured in heartfelt sympathy, sitting down beside her on the bed and throwing her arms around the girl. Elinor dropped her head on her mother's shoulder and surrendered to sobs.

Elinor was not the sort, however, to indulge herself in waterworks for very long. After a few moments she lifted her head and wiped her cheeks. “You m-mustn't make too much of this, Mama,” she said, gulping down what remained of her tears. “I'm only c-crying for Julian, not myself.”

“For
Julian
? Why on earth—?”

“Because he's spent five lonely years dreaming of coming home to a lovely young betrothed, and now he finds himself faced with a faded
hag
!”

“
Hag
?” Martha Selby cried, outraged. “My beautiful daughter a hag?”

Elinor shook her head. “Look at me, Mama. Really look at me. Not as a mother, but as a man might see me who remembers me as I was five years ago. Then you'll see that I'm … I'm”—it was hard for her to say the word—“unrecognizable.”

“What balderdash!” Lady Selby rose to her feet in magisterial dignity and, taking her daughter's face in her hands, tilted it up and studied it. “No wonder Miles lost patience with you. I admit you're looking a bit peaked—after all, you've been troubled with a head cold all week—but anyone with normal eyesight and a grain of sense can see beyond the pallor of illness to the beauty in this face!”

“Oh, Mama, really!” the daughter objected, blowing her nose. “Beauty, indeed.”

“Beauty I saw, and beauty I mean! If you ask me, Julian Henshaw is a fool.”

“Well, he's the fool I love. And I'm afraid he's disappointed in me.”

“In that case, my love, we must do something about it. If you think I'll permit His Lordship Lovebourne—or any other man, for that matter—to think my daughter a hag, you're out in your reckoning. Get up, child, and let's brighten you up a bit. If Lord Lovebourne needs to be reminded of the girl he fell in love with, we'll remind him.”

3

By the time Elinor went down to dinner, she was indeed “brightened up.” Her mother had pinched some color into her cheeks and, against the girl's objections, had blackened her eyelashes with soot. “It makes you look less sickly,” Lady Selby had argued. And she'd brushed the girl's hair till it glowed, then braided it and wound it round her head like a coronet. Finally, she'd chosen a pretty new dinner gown for Elinor to wear—a jade-green peau de soie, with a low décolletage and a graceful flounce at the bottom. Elinor had intended to save the gown for Christmas Eve, but, as her mother had declared, “Desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.”

Julian, waiting at the drawing room fire for the dinner party to assemble, beamed at the sight of his betrothed. He crossed the room to her in four strides, smiled down into her eyes, and lifted her hand to his lips. “I've dreamed of this so often,” he murmured. “I knew I'd find you as lovely as ever.”

The words were soothing to her ears, although she couldn't help wondering if they were sincere. “Butter sauce, my love?” she asked, smiling.

“Never. You, my dearest, are not the sort to require flattery, nor shall I ever need to offer it to you.” He slipped an arm about her waist and led her to a chair. “When I speak to you, nothing but the truth shall pass my lips.”

Instead of making a proper response to those lovely words, Elinor had to pull a handkerchief from the bosom of her gown and sneeze into it. The cold she'd caught—blast it!—was refusing to disappear. She felt her eyes become teary and her nose sore. As she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, she saw a streak of black appear on the white linen. The eyelash blacking! She'd undoubtedly smudged it!

At that very moment, when Elinor's spirits were plummeting from the feeling that, besides looking pathetic and sickly, her eyes were smeared with soot, Felicia came in with her parents. The girl was a vision in her blue gown. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes danced, and her hair was brushed up in a charming topknot, with tiny curls escaping and framing her face. In fact, she was utterly adorable. Julian stared at her with a look that seemed to Elinor very much like longing. The look made Elinor's breath catch in her throat.

Julian caught the sound. At once he turned away from the vision at the door and knelt down beside his betrothed's chair. “Your cousin is a charming child,” he whispered in her ear. “In time she may be almost as lovely as you.”

Now that, Elinor thought ruefully, is butter sauce if ever I heard it. But it was cleverly done—a smooth, practiced cover-up. The Julian she'd known five years ago could not have done it. So, she thought in surprise, Julian, too, has changed. Five years ago she would not have questioned his sincerity; he would have been too youthfully ingenuous. Now, however, his manner was worldly and sophisticated, as if, among other things, the years had given him a great deal of experience in the art of dalliance.

Miles arrived shortly afterward. Elinor went up to greet him at the door. “I hope you're not still angry with me,” she murmured as she handed his hat to the butler.

He merely eyed her coldly. “I see you've taken pains to prettify yourself,” he remarked. “You'd have done better to stay in bed.”

“Really, Miles, must you be so churlish?” she chided with a smile. “You could at least have said my prettifying showed some success.”

“I don't have to say it. You are perfectly cognizant of how well you look. Even with a smudge of soot under your eye.”

“Oh, dear,”—Elinor sighed in embarrassment—“I was
afraid
I'd smudged that blasted lash blacking.”

“Lash blacking!” Miles shook his head in disapproval. “I wouldn't have believed you'd be so foolish as to think you needed such embellishments. But here, let me fix it.” He removed a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the smudge.

“Thank you, Miles,” she said gratefully. “You're the kindest fellow in the world.”

“For a churl,” he retorted.

She laughed. “Yes, for a churl.”

Dinner was announced at that moment. Elinor was glad of it. Perhaps doing something as mundane as eating dinner would keep her mind from dwelling on the discomfort of her head cold and the worry about what Julian was thinking of her.

The seven adults who took their seats round the table made an intimate, friendly gathering. Conversation flowed easily. Elinor's Uncle Henry, Lord Fordyce, encouraged Julian to relate some of his adventures overseas, which Julian was delighted to do. Most of the stories he told were colorfully amusing, like his account of his elderly native butler who insisted on wearing a pair of spectacles from which the lenses had been removed (the fellow explained to Julian that his eyesight was perfect but that wearing the rims made him look distinguished enough for his high post). The lively way he related another tale—of how he'd reacted to the first meal prepared by his native cook (the dish had contained hot peppers) by leaping from his chair with a cry of agony at the first bite—made the room ring with laughter.

All but two of the diners at the table were charmed. One of the two who found the dinner less than delightful was Elinor, who noticed how often Julian seemed to be directing his words to Felicia. The other was Miles, who spent the meal studying the speaker with an enigmatic expression that any perceptive observer would have interpreted as intense dislike. But with Julian taking center stage, no one, perceptive or otherwise, took notice of Miles.

The gentlemen did not linger very long over their brandies; a mere quarter hour after the ladies had excused themselves, the gentlemen joined them in the drawing room. Lord and Lady Fordyce, always partial to passing the time in modest gambling, organized a game of silver-loo with Elinor and Julian, while Miles buried himself behind the London newspaper, and Martha Selby took the armchair near the fire and busied herself with knitting. Felicia, not greatly addicted to cards, wandered over to the pianoforte and tinkled the keys absently.

Fanny Fordyce looked up from her cards. “Why don't you sing for us, my love,” she said to her daughter. “I know your aunt Martha would enjoy hearing ‘The Thorn.'” She turned to Julian and explained, “It's a ballad we dearly love, Martha and I. We could listen to it forever.”

Felicia blushed. “I don't wish to distract you from your cards,” she said shyly.

“You won't distract us,” her father assured her. “We can listen to your singing and still concentrate on the cards.”

Felicia good-naturedly began to sing. She had a soft, unexceptional voice and considerable talent at the keyboard. In this informal, unpretentious setting, her modest performance was appealing. Her music made a pleasant background for the other activities in the room. Martha tapped in rhythm as she knitted, Fanny hummed along happily as she sorted her cards, and even Miles put down his
Times
to listen. As for Elinor, she was glad that the music kept everyone from noticing her own too-frequent need to sniffle into her handkerchief.

At the card table Henry Fordyce led with his trump, followed by Elinor, with another. Then there was an unexpected pause. Lord Fordyce looked up from his hand. “Your play, Loveboume,” he prodded.

But Julian didn't seem to hear. Elinor raised her eyes from her cards curiously, to discover Julian staring at the singer. Even Madame Neroli, the acclaimed coloratura from Italy, would not have warranted so enraptured a response. Lord Loveboume was so riveted by the girl at the piano that he hadn't even heard Henry's reminder. What was particularly disturbing to Elinor was her betrothed's expression. It could only be called adoration. Oh, my heavens, Elinor thought with a sinking heart, Julian is really smitten!

4

By the next morning a bright sun shone down from a sky miraculously cleared of clouds. But the sunshine did not miraculously help poor Elinor to recover from her case of the sniffles. She came down to breakfast with eyes red-rimmed, nose sore, and throat tight. Nevertheless, she greeted her guests with a warm smile.

The brilliant sunshine also failed to melt the veneer of snow that covered the landscape, for the air was icy cold. Everyone remarked on it. Julian, however, did not think the weather too cold for riding. “It's been five years since I last had a winter-morning canter,” he said, peering out of the morning room window longingly.

“Then, by all means take out one of the horses,” Lady Selby urged. “Samuel will mount you. I'm sure that both horse and rider will benefit from the exercise.”

Julian happily accepted the offer and rose from the table. But before departing to change to his riding clothes, he asked Felicia and Elinor to accompany him. They both refused, Elinor explaining that she still had too many tasks to perform before his parents arrived that evening.

“But
you
have no such excuse,” Julian said to Felicia. “Why won't you come with me? A bit of fresh air is bound to do you good.”

In the end Felicia succumbed to his urging. Later, Elinor, who was watching from an upstairs window as the two of them made their way to the stables (leaving a trail of matched footsteps across the white lawn), found herself overwhelmed with a feeling of chagrin. Her betrothed hadn't spent half as much energy trying to convince
her
to ride with him as he had her cousin. No, she admitted to herself, she was more than chagrined. She was jealous, hurt, and angry.

But these were ugly feelings, feelings that were quite new to her and that she'd always considered beneath her. Giving way to them was not up to her standard of conduct, and the knowledge that she'd done so made her feel small.

The situation was depressing. She'd spent several sleepless hours that night trying to face the fact—and with every passing moment that fact was becoming more obvious—that Julian was infatuated with Felicia.

Painful as it was, Elinor was at last ready to accept the truth. The problem now was what to do about it. She could, of course, pretend not to notice that her betrothed no longer cared for her. She could close her eyes and mind to Julian's faithlessness and simply go ahead with the wedding. She would not be the first woman to take herself a reluctant bridegroom. But she had too much pride to choose that option. Besides, her nature was too generous and giving to wish to make him unhappy. For the sake of
her
pride and
his
happiness, she had to release him.