head on her graceful shoulders. Eleanor envied the women's closeness and hoped to become an intimate member of their circle someday.
Knowing Billy would keep her confidences, Elea nor left the young groom to see to her horses and mounted the short flight of steps to the house. She was admitted by a very proper-looking older footman, who showed her to an elegant parlor, where Fanny was hard at work at her writing desk.
“Ah, welcome, Lady Eleanor,” Fanny exclaimed with a warm smile over her shoulder at her visitor. “I promise I will only be another moment. Please make yourself at home. Then Thomas will bring us tea so that we may have a comfortable coze.”
As the footman bowed himself out, Eleanor obliged, settling on a rose velvet settee.
Eventually Fanny set down her quill pen, blew gently on the page to dry the wet ink, then rose to join Eleanor.
“Forgive me,” she said, sinking into an opposing wing chair. “I was completing a scene in chapter seventeen. I believe I finally struck on the right course for my plot, and I needed to write it down while it was still fresh in my mind.”
“Your plot?” Eleanor asked curiously. “Are you writing another book?”
Fanny smiled as if harboring a secret. “Yes, although I have been reluctant to tell anyone until I know for certain if I can manage it. I am trying my hand at writing a Gothic novel, you see.”
“How intriguing,” Eleanor said with all sincerity. “I should think writing fiction would be very different from your first endeavor in publishing.”
“Indeed-and much more difficult than sharing advice on how to deal with the male sex. But my publisher says Gothic novels by female authors are in great demand just now, and are highly lucrative as well. Ann Radcliffe developed a wide audience in past years, and Elizabeth Helme and Regina Roche, among others, followed in Radcliff's footsteps.”
“I know,” Eleanor responded. “I have read works by all three ladies.”
Fanny's expression intensifying, she leaned forward in her chair. “And did you enjoy them?”
“Well…” Eleanor pursed her lips. “The stories definitely held my interest, although I found some of the actions exaggerated to the point of disbelief. I doubt such melodrama happens often in real life-” She broke off with a smile. “But then I suppose that is why novels are deemed ‘fiction.’ ”
The footman returned just then with a laden tea tray, which he deposited on the table before his mistress. After dismissing the servant and pouring her guest a steaming cup, Fanny continued. “It would seem your tastes are similar to Tess's.”
“Miss Blanchard's?”
“Yes. Since Arabella and Roslyn and Lily are away in France, Tess has been reading my manuscript and giving me her criticisms.”
Miss Tess Blanchard, Eleanor knew, was also a good friend of the Loring sisters, and a fellow teacher at their Academy for Young Ladies. Additionally she was a distant relation of Damon's-third or fourth cousins on their mothers’ side, Eleanor recalled.
Fanny paused to sip her tea, then went on. “As it happens, I would value another opinion, Lady Elea nor. Would you possibly consider reading my draft when I am finished?”
“Of course. I would be honored.”
“But you must tell me honestly what you think, with no attempts to spare my feelings.”
Eleanor smiled. “Surely you know by now that I am known for my frankness, Fanny.”
“True, but you are also quite kind, and you might feel obliged to soften your criticisms. If I am to continue with this career, I want my work to sell well. To be truthful… I hope that I may eventually earn enough from my writing so that I may marry where I choose.”
It had surprised Eleanor to learn that Fanny intended to leave the demimonde. But she was looking to the future, since the life of a Cyprian was uncertain, and beauty and youth were fleeting. And recently, a most unlikely romance had developed between Fanny and her longtime friend and former Hampshire neighbor, Basil Eddowes-a serious, scholarly sort of gentleman who earned his living as a law clerk.
“I have heard that Mr. Eddowes has a great fondness for you,” Eleanor said, “but I didn't realize it had grown so serious as to contemplate marriage.”
Fanny's perfect ivory complexion warmed with a becoming blush. “The thing is… he has not proposed yet, and he may never do so. But I hope to persuade him to eventually. Yet practicalities stand in the way of our marrying. Naturally Basil doesn't wish me to continue in my profession, and neither do I. And we must be sensible about finances. Thanks to the generosity of Lord Claybourne, Basil has obtained a post as a nobleman's secretary, which will provide him a significantly greater income, but I must do my part to support us. You have been extremely generous to promote my
“It was my pleasure, truly. And many of your readers are grateful to you now since they are having remarkable success employing your techniques. Several of my friends say their husbands have never paid them such devoted attention as now.”
“I am glad to have aided their cause,” Fanny said. “Females have too little power with men-and in marriage particularly. It does my heart good to think I can help wives be a bit happier.”
“My unmarried acquaintances,” Eleanor added, “have expressed relief with your advice that they needn't rely solely on beauty or fortune to engage a gentleman's interest.”
Fanny nodded sagely. “Beauty and fortune might attract a man initially, but disposition and manner will
The question was no surprise to Eleanor, since during her last visit here she had sought Fanny's counsel regarding the prince. But her efforts had not quite gone according to plan, Eleanor remembered, wrinkling her nose with wry humor. “In truth, I thought it was going well until this morning…”
Briefly she told Fanny about the morning's disastrous carriage accident and how Lord Wrexham had come to their rescue-and how she had done her best to soothe the prince's ruffled pride.
Fanny saw the difficulty at once, and her eyes danced with amusement. “It is fortunate that no one was injured, but
“As do I,” Eleanor said feelingly.
Fanny hesitated. “I also hope Wrexham does not cause you undue pain by his return to England.”
With pretended ease, Eleanor waved a dismissive hand. “Not in the least. Wrexham's reappearance just now is untimely, nothing more.”
No doubt Fanny had heard the tale of the dissolution her betrothal, Eleanor mused as she raised her teacup to her lips to hide her frown. It occurred to her that Fanny might be acquainted with Damon's former mistress, the beautiful widow, Mrs. Lydia New ling, who was occasionally mentioned in the society gossip columns. In Fanny's profession, the two women might have easily crossed paths.
But Eleanor quelled the urge to introduce so utterly inappropriate a topic. Besides, it mattered not a whit to her if Damon kept a dozen mistresses, then or now.
She cared nothing for him any longer, so whatever dalliances he enjoyed were none of her affair.
And if she still harbored any remaining feelings of attraction or tenderness or love for him… well, Eleanor vowed fiercely to herself, she intended to conquer them immediately, once and for all!
The trouble was, forgetting about Damon was much easier said than done. Eleanor left Fanny's house in good spirits, having further discussed her strategy for appealing to Prince Lazzara. She was disappointed, however, that she saw no sign of the prince that evening when she attended a musical concert with her aunt.
And she was exceedingly vexed when fantasies of Damon intruded on her sleep for the second night in a row. Even worse, she dreamed about the time shortly after they became betrothed, when she'd taken Damon to see her special place-the rose garden that her brother had given her-and foolishly confessed her love to him…
Writhing with humiliation at the remembrance, Eleanor woke early the following morning, furious at herself for not having better control over her mind and her heart. Damon was no longer the man of her dreams-so why the devil would he not leave them now?
