“Play something soothing, my dears,” Aunt Patience said as she settled on the settee and pulled out a bit of fancy needlework. The other chaperones clustered around her. They drew Deirdre into their circle to make plans for the picnic the following day, which left Beatrix and Eleanor to chat with each other. In a blatant ploy to avoid that inevitability, Beatrix retreated to the chair by the empty fireplace and picked up a book from the nearby table.
Eleanor recognized the cut, yet felt as if she’d received a reprieve. She wandered toward the window and sat in the chair she’d occupied earlier to listen to the music. The girls took turns playing. Eleanor recognized Beethoven’s
“I could wish that sweet expression was for me rather than Mozart.”
Eleanor opened her eyes and blinked at Teddy who had seated himself on a footstool near her. “What?”
“Piano Concerto No. Twenty-One? Mozart?”
“Oh. Is that what they were playing?”
“You know, it’s quite depressing when my attempts to display my wit fail so miserably.”
“Sorry. My fault. My mind was … elsewhere.”
“I appreciate your wit,” Beatrix said as she arrived to stand at his side. While Teddy stood, she shot her rival a venomous glare that disappeared as soon as he was in a position to see her face. “Mama wishes to speak to you about a letter she received from Father.”
Teddy bowed and offered Beatrix his arm. As they left, Eleanor realized that if Teddy was no longer in the dining room, the rest of the gentlemen were probably not there either. She sat forward and peeked around the wingback of the chair—to locate Fleckart and avoid him, she told herself. She didn’t see Shermont. She tried to ignore her disappointment. When she leaned back, she spied him lounging on the window seat nearly hidden by heavy brocade drapes. He raised his snifter of brandy in salute.
“How long have you been there?” she asked.
“I confess I’ve been watching you listen to the music. I was content to enjoy the music vicariously,” he said. “I’ve not much of an ear. Do you play?”
“Not at all.”
“Perhaps another instrument? Harp? Flute?”
“No.”
“I thought every gentlewoman was required to have some musical ability on her list of accomplishments she displays in company.”
Eleanor leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “I have no musical talent. I can’t draw a tree in winter. I sing like a stuck pig. And I have two left feet. I have absolutely nothing to recommend my company.”
“If that is a ploy to elicit a compliment, I must admit I am flummoxed by the unexpectedness of the content.”
“I’m only being honest.”
“Then I am completely discombobulated and yet spellbound by your atypical candor.”
“I’m beginning to doubt we speak the same language.”
“You appear by all indications to understand me.”
She studied him for a moment. “Possibly better than you guess. I think your polysyllabic emoting is an attempt to distance yourself, for whatever reason, from the person to whom you are speaking.”
“Or simply to appear wittier than I actually am,” he said, even though he knew she’d hit the nail on the head. The annoying habit occurred when he was confused, which fortunately didn’t happen often. Why now? He recalled the strong feelings of protectiveness aroused by seeing her with her eyes closed. And yet, he’d recently added her to his list of suspects. If she were one of the foreign agents, how could he protect her and fulfill his mission?
“Just when I thought it was safe to draw near, Shermont starts scowling again,” Alanbrooke said as he approached. “The lieutenants have goaded me into this insanely brave act.” He bowed, took her gloved hand, and brushed his lips against her fingers.
“I’m honored you risked the frightful and dangerous hazards of crossing twenty feet of carpet,” she said.
“Scowl away, Shermont,” Alanbrooke said without breaking eye contact with her. “But face yourself in the direction of those two young pups to keep them at bay.”
Shermont made a low noise deep in his throat.
“He growls,” she said. “But I don’t think he bites.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Alanbrooke said. “I expect I shall pay for my audacity later at the gaming table. However, I will consider it worthwhile if you will but promise me two dances at the ball.”
“Then I’m afraid your travails are for naught. I can’t promise what isn’t within my power to deliver. As much as I’d love to dance, unless the poor dancing master recovers, I won’t have the slightest notion of the steps.”
“I assure you Mr. Foucalt will be recuperated by tomorrow morning,” Shermont said.
She had no idea how he could make such a statement without having been a consulting doctor on the ill man’s case, but she had no doubt Shermont could accomplish anything he set his mind to do. When she looked up at him, she saw only his profile as he turned and stomped away.
Major Alanbrooke chuckled. “That man is walking on quicksand and doesn’t even know it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Both of you?” Alanbrooke shook his head as he moved aside to make room for the lieutenants.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” she said.
His only response was to laugh.
Chapter Seven
Eleanor crawled into bed and immediately fell into a deep, exhausted sleep without figuring out what Alanbrooke meant. She woke in the middle of the night, the echo of his laughter all she could remember of her fading, uneasy dreams. She had no idea what time it was, but it was inky dark in the bedroom. She turned the pillow to put the cool side against her cheek and tried to go back to sleep.
With her eyes closed, the uninterrupted silence pressed in on her. Her apartment back in L.A. was in a residential area, but a certain amount of ambient noise was normal. The soft whir of the air conditioner, the faint ticking of her alarm clock, the cars and trucks on the not so distant highway, the infrequent sound of her neighbor’s stereo when the pilot was in town and entertaining, even the occasional siren or car alarm. None of those noises had bothered her after the first week in her new place. She pulled another pillow close and hugged it to her breast. Getting used to sleeping alone had taken a little longer.
The middle of the night was no time to think of the past. She tossed the pillow aside and sat up. Since she couldn’t watch TV, maybe reading something boring might make her sleepy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. If she opened the window drapes, could she find a candle and a match? She found her way across the room only to discover the drapes weren’t closed. If there was a moon, thick clouds hid it and any stars.
Now totally awake, she wished she had a glass of warm milk, her grandmother’s dependable remedy for sleeplessness. Her stomach growled, reminding her that Gram always gave her a few Oreos with her milk. And that she hadn’t eaten much at dinner.
Without a kitchen handy, how could she go about getting some milk? If she could find the bellpull in the dark, Twilla would probably come to see what she wanted, but Eleanor didn’t want to rob the hardworking servant of much needed sleep. Surely in a house this size somebody had to be awake, tending the fires or some such chore.
She made her way back, located her robe on the foot of the bed, and found her slippers next to the bed steps where she’d left them. Arms outstretched, she made her way to the door. If possible, the sitting room was even darker than the bedroom. She almost changed her mind and turned around, but spending sleepless hours until dawn loomed scarier than crossing the room. Moving slowly, she finally found the door. In the hall the dim light from a few widely spaced sconces seemed blindingly bright at first. Her eyes adjusted as she went downstairs.
