Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 105
Ellie touched the elderly man’s arm to stop him. “I do know my way about.”
A puzzled expression covered the man’s face, only to be replaced a moment later with a look of utter terror. “This is not an afternoon tea, Lady Ellington,” he whispered, aghast. “I will announce your arrival.”
She’d asked to escape having her name called out as she and the Craven House ladies descended into the ballroom, though her sister would likely not follow through on her promise.
“Chins up, girls,” Marce called in her singsong voice as she brushed her long, blonde hair from her shoulder. “And, remember to smile.”
Ellie glanced nervously to both sides, feeling no security even though Marce and Payton flanked her on one side and Sam and Jude on the other, sensing how much she needed them. “I was a fool to agree to this,” Ellie said.
“Lady Ellington,” Lady Haversham called from inside the ballroom before their party could be announced. “And you must be Miss Davenport, and these, your sisters. Thank you so much for joining Ellington this evening. We are overjoyed to have you in our home.” The woman, large with child only a couple of months before, stood adorned in what appeared to be spun gold, her slender form returned—it put Ellie’s gown to shame.
“Thank you for including my sisters and me.” Marce dipped a curtsy. “We are honored to accompany Lady Ellington on such a special occasion.”
Lady Haversham reached forward, dragging Ellie into her embrace. “When Ellie spoke of such dear friends, Ruby and I knew we must have you all here…if only to guarantee Ellie’s attendance, which would greatly please her sister.”
Pulling back from her hug, Ellie watched as each girl showed her respect for their hostess by curtsying and giving their name.
“I suspected you would be more at ease if we entered the room from the side door—skip the receiving line.” She winked at Ellie and turned to Marce once more. “Ruby has been anxiously awaiting Ellie’s arrival. I fear she is a ball of nervous energy.”
Marce laughed as if they shared some secret between the pair of them. “I do remember my first ball—it was rather overwhelming, to say the least.” Next, she turned to her sisters who excitedly waited behind her, trying to peek over her shoulder to the grand room. “Girls, please stay close…and remember your manners. We would not like Lord and Lady Haversham regretting their kindness.”
With that, Marce took hold of her gown skirt, raising it ever so slightly, and stepped into the room, her sisters following her lead, leaving Ellie with Lady Haversham, right outside the door.
They listened as the foursome’s arrival was announced.
How Ellie wished she were brave enough to have her name called loudly and enter the room with her chin high. She wasn’t ready for that, nor might she ever be.
“How is your arm?” Lady Haversham asked as they began to move down the corridor to a set of closed double doors farther down. At Ellie’s startled glance, she continued, “Alex is here—and his back has needed some care.”
“I am sorry about—“
“There is nothing for you to be sorry about.” The woman gave her a gentle smile. “He is a grown man seeking his own way in the world. With that determination comes obstacles. He is a strong, steadfast gentleman. The exterior wounds will heal, I only hope his spirit does, as well.”
They reached the double doors leading into the ballroom before Ellie could ask Lady Haversham what she’d meant. The light strings of a song could be heard through the thick wooden doors.
“My cut was insignificant and does not call for your concern,” Ellie said. “It is my fault Alex was injured—he was to be under my protection, and I failed him.”
The woman had been nothing but kind and generous to Ellie since they’d met; she deserved the truth and some sort of guarantee that it would never occur again. Yet, it could never happen again.
Alex had vacated his position at Drake House—and left her.
“Rest assured, he does not see it the same way as you, my dear.”
Ellie could only hope that held true over the coming days.
“Are you ready?” Lady Haversham gave her a reassuring smile and awaited a servant who opened the door, revealing the crowded ballroom beyond. “Shall we?”
She spied her sister, Harold at her side, standing a few feet inside the doors, greeting the long line of guests as they entered. Marce and her sisters had already made their way down the line and stood along the wall bordering the dance floor, Jude and Sam likely awaiting the dancing portion of their evening. The stately pair, gowned in varying shades of green with their fiery hair drawn high to reveal their matching slender necks, smiled at each passing gentleman while quietly speaking back and forth. Ellie felt compassion for the poor gentleman the pair targeted, for he stood no chance when the sisters turned their female charms on him.
Payton stood near the wall in the shadow of a potted palm, fretfully fussing with her gloves, switching between nervous and envious looks at the more outgoing guests in the room. While she was lovely in her own right, it was difficult to compare to the sophisticated air Marce gave off and the elegantly stunning duo that was the twins.
Marce expertly kept a close watch on the trio, while making sure her gaze did not meet those of the ton surrounding her. It hadn’t escaped Ellie’s notice, the awkwardness Marce faced being in the same room as many gentlemen who sought entertainment at Craven House; another horrid thing Ellie must apologize for at some point in the evening.
Taking her last long look at the room, Ellie smiled as she stepped around Ruby and greeted the couple. “Good evening, sister.” She was rewarded with a quick peck on the cheek from Ruby and a tight hug from Harold. “Brother,” Ellie said as she slipped from his embrace.
“Your dress suits you admirably, dear sister. Does it not, my love?” Ruby beamed. “That particular shade of blue compliments your skin marvelously.”
“It is a gown,” Harold mumbled in response to his wife’s overzealous words. “And her skin looks the same shade of cream mixed with freckles as it did last week.”
Ruby swatted at her husband’s arm, irked. “Men!” she declared, as if Ellie knew what sentiment should mean. “If it were a bottle of French port, you would notice the tiniest scuff on the bottle.”
“Right you are, my wife, but then again, your dear sister looks exquisite in anything.” He exaggerated looking about the room to the two farthest corners, bringing his hand to his forehead as if shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “Oh, speaking of scuffed bottles, do not look now, but my eyes behold such a creature—awaiting its rescue.”
Ellie laughed as she followed his line of sight. The drink table stood near the terrace doors for guests to retrieve refreshments before stepping outside for fresh air or quiet conversations.
“My dear, young sister,” Harold bowed in her direction. “May I request your company on my adventure to liberate the port kept yonder by foul natives?”
Restless to be away from the receiving line, lest Ruby ask her to stay, Ellie placed her hand on Harold’s proffered arm. “I kindly accept your offer,” she said, playing along.
“Harold, you rascal,” Ruby sighed. “You will search for any reason to be away from your wife.”
“There is not another place I’d rather be than by your side, my sweet.” Harold placed a kiss to Ruby’s crown. “But what sort of gentleman would I be if I did not offer our guest refreshments?”
“Oh, be gone with you,” Lady Haversham chided. “Ruby and I will manage well enough without you. I see my dear husband has wandered off, as well.” She craned her neck to see Lord Haversham speaking intently with a portly gentleman close to the dance floor.
“Do promise to return quickly.”
“I shall, do not fear.” Harold led Ellie toward the refreshment table at a leisurely pace. “Thank you for coming, Lady Ellington.”
He was known for his jests and easy nature, so his formality took her off guard, as it was something she was unaccustomed to.
He nodded to an older couple as they passed, and Ellie couldn’t stop from asking, “Do you know all these people?” The room was filled to bursting with more guests entering every minute. She’d lived in London her entire life, but only counted a handful of people as anything more than mere acquaintances.
“Barely a single one, my lady,” he chuckled. “I doubt Lord and Lady Haversham know half of the people in attendance.”
“Then why are they all here?”
Harold led her along the edge of the ballroom, on the opposite side from where Marce and her sisters congregated. “To be seen. To overhear the latest gossip. To spy this lord or that about town with his mistress on his arm.”
Ellie pulled away sharply to get a look if he were jesting.
“Now, now.” He held her securely, drawing her back to his side. “Society is a funny flock.”
“Flock?”
“Mob. Horde. Gang.” They neared the refreshment table as Harold rattled off words. “One thing I have realized since moving in Lord Haversham’s circle is that members of the ton move in large groups. They attend the same parties, meet the same crop of debutantes, and spread the same gossip year in and year out. They all graciously accepted Lord Haversham’s invite into his home to survey the fresh meat.”
“Fresh meat?” Ellie understood the nature of people—she’d been around London streets long enough to know that like-minded people tended to attract one another, either for safety or for fear of being left out, but her mind swam at his continued train of conversation.
“Simply put,” he continued as he handed Ellie a flute of sherry before accepting his own from the servant before them. “They have all gathered to see what scandal Lady Haversham may present them with this night.”
“But Ruby said the ball was to introduce you and her to the ton.”
“Very true, yet all still hold their breath, for age-old gossip and shame are not easily erased from society’s mind.”
She sipped her drink before continuing, the sherry bubbling in her nose. “Lady Haversham is one of the most gracious and kind women I have met.”
“Which makes her past all the more titillating to her guests.”
Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. If everyone was focused on Lady Haversham, then none would notice the bastard child walking amongst them. No one would denounce her as an impostor for daring to enter the front doors of a grand London home—that of an earl, no less.
“I will freely admit I was taken by surprise how readily you accepted Ruby’s invitation to attend.”
“I find I enjoyed myself at Foldger’s Hall and decided to show my appreciation for Lord and Lady Haversham’s thoughtfulness. Do not share that with Ruby, I beg of you.”
“Certainly not.” He shook his head, gravely. “Your confidence and ability to experience a bit of enjoyment will remain safe with me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jakeston.” She’d originally decided to attend the ball to ask after the current Lord Chastain, to judge his mettle before making her decision to willingly hand over the Drake estate or…there truly was no other option left open to her as a female—and bastard child of the late marquis. But since reading through all the papers from the solicitor, and discovering all she had, Ellie wasn’t sure of her reasoning anymore. “I find the need for a distraction every now and again, besides, how often am I given the opportunity to wear such a lovely gown?”
“Very true.” Harold led her toward Marce and her sisters. “After your year of mourning, I am certain you are embracing a more colorful wardrobe.” They stopped before Marce, and Harold bowed. “It is lovely to make your acquaintance once again, Madame Marce.”
Marce tipped her head in his direction, a wicked smirk capturing her lips. “And you, as well, sir. I do hope you have been taking better care of your wife than last we met.”
Harold’s eyes grew as round as tea saucers at the mention of their last meeting—and Ellie had to squash her urge to laugh.
“I most certainly am.”
“That is good to hear.”
“I will bid you both a wonderful night.” With a quick bow, he hurried back to Ruby’s side where she continued to greet guests—he was likely more agreeable to his hosting duties than being stared down by Marce, who’d once thought the worst of him.
“You are rotten, Marce,” Ellie scolded, finding it hard to keep her own mirth from spilling over. “He must be dreadfully frightened of you.”
“As well he should.” Marce plucked the flute from Ellie’s hand and drank the remaining sherry. Marce had met Ruby and Harold before the pair had wed when Ellie’s sister had been struck in the face during a foolhardy plot to enter White’s Gentlemen’s Club. Ellie had delivered them to Craven House in hopes that Marce would have something to reduce the swelling and bruising to her sister’s face. “Enough stalling. It is time all four of you find dance partners. The floor—and your cards—should fill quickly.”
“And what about you?” Ellie knew little about Marce’s personal life beyond caring for her sisters and Craven House; yet she seemed at ease in the crowded ballroom, certainly more than Ellie or Marce’s sisters. “Will you find a partner?”
Marce peeked at Ellie from the corner of her eye, keeping her attention on the rest of the room. “When shall I do that?” she asked with a soft laugh. “While I am keeping Payton from the card tables…or ushering Jude away from the exquisite painting in the hall…or better yet, after I dissuade Sam from attaching herself to the first man who shows her any interest? No, Ellington, I will be content to secure a successful evening for the four of you.”
“Are we so much trouble?” Ellie had invited the sisters because she owed them much for the kindness they’d shown her over the years.
“Ellington, you do not worry me as much as my wayward siblings,” she confided. “And I hope it stays that way. I suspect, with both Mrs. Jakeston and I looking after you, you will do just fine.”
“I do not need a—“
“I know,” Marce interrupted. “You are not in need of a nursemaid, but how about a friend?”
Ellie had never thought of them as friends, only an obligation Marce had agreed to many years ago—a promise to her mother, Madame Sasha, to look after Ellie, but the thought of calling her a friend was comforting. After Alex had left, Marce seemed all she had. Just as Sasha had been a friend to Ellie’s mother—now, Marce was to her.
“I would enjoy that,” Ellie replied. “Another question, how does one find a suitable partner?”
Chapter 16
Alex stood in the shadow outside the Chastain townhouse. No lights shone from the windows facing the street,; the draperies tightly pulled across every windowpane faded from the sun. The alley leading behind the house was clear of growth, but no carriage wheels or hoof prints marred the ground.
Pulling his coat tighter to ward off the coming night, he stepped forward, approaching the front door. He’d loitered outside long enough for the afternoon sun to set and evening twilight to take over. He’d seen no movement inside, nor any deliveries arriving on foot to the kitchens. No one came or left the property.
After the excessive activities about the Haversham townhouse he’d witnessed—and barely survived—today, it was odd that a duke’s residence, in the height of the season, appeared abandoned.
He’d come seeking answers—explanations.
But an empty house taught him nothing.
He’d debated most of the night and all day about what to do; he’d discarded the idea of paying the solicitor another visit because Ellie was in possession of all the papers pertaining to Drake, though he didn’t know if they also held information regarding Chastain. Similarly, he’d thought of returning to the Drake townhouse, though he knew distance was the best thing for now. He’d worried about Lady Ellington most of the night—in between dwelling on his own circumstances.
The evening grew late, and Alex had promised Mrs. Dutton he’d return early enough for them to sup together before bedtime came. For him, not her. Mrs. Dutton was certain to be kept awake by Jillian and Beatrice, for they attended the ball Lady Haversham was hosting. The girls were likely to be awake most of the night gossiping about their first London soiree.
With sure steps, he reached the front door of the Chastain townhouse, knocking before his nerves ran out.
His three sharp raps on the door echoed inside—but no footsteps answered them.
After a few moments, he knocked once more. If no one answered, he’d have naught else to do but return to Lord Haversham’s, no more the wiser for his time spent out, but his time was limited. Alex had only two days at most before he’d escort Mrs. Dutton and the girls back to Foldger’s Hall. He’d thought long and hard over Mrs. Dutton’s insistence that he remain in London, but he needed his own time and space to figure out what his life held next.
One thing he knew for certain, he would not take Ellie’s home.
He certainly did not deserve the Drake estate.
And he hadn’t learned enough about his mother and father to know if it were safe for him to claim the dukedom—or even if a child presumed deceased could prove their right to inherit. It was something he would need to speak with Lord Haversham about.
It was daunting to think about how much his life had changed in the last several hours—from an orphan to a lord.
Finally, he heard something from within. A person was shuffling their feet.
A key turned in the lock—the sound of grating metal against metal—and an elderly man opened the door just wide enough for one eye and his nose to be visible.
“May I help you, sir?” he inquired, his voice raspy as if he hadn’t spoken aloud in many years.
“I am here to see Lord Chastain.” If his father was deceased, and Alex was clearly not living within Chastain walls, then someone must have been noticed as the heir to the dukedom.
“He is not in town.” The man made to close the door, but Alex’s hand shot out to stop him.
