She felt so sorry for such as Nancy.When the inevitable happened she would be thrown out to live as best she might.Beyond a warning, however, Eleanor was powerless.She carefully locked the door before hurrying back under the blankets.
The bed felt pleasantly warm after the chill of the air, and the aroma of the spiced milk lifted Eleanor’s spirits.She sipped.Goodness, there seemed to be a little rum in it, too.It was overly sweet for her taste, but it was comforting and she drank it down.She snuggled under the covers again.
The drink had relaxed her, and she soon found herself dozing, less bothered by the sounds from below.She did not know whether she had slept or not when a noise teased at her consciousness.
A lock scraping.
The long-unused door to the dressing room was squeaking open.
To her horror, Eleanor found that her limbs seemed to be weighted and nerveless, her mind tangled in wool.Her vision was blurred even though she blinked to clear it.Worse still, she could only focus on one small spot at a time, and that only by great effort.Struggling, she heaved herself up a little in the bed and saw the girl, Nancy, come over to her.
“Happen you’re not comfy with that plait, Miz,” Nancy murmured with a smirk as her fingers went to work.Eleanor would have liked to object, but it seemed too much effort.If she slept with her long hair unbound, it would be in a terrible tangle in the morning.The girl was only trying to be kind, though.But what on earth was she doing to the buttons of the nightdress?
Nancy pushed her gently down again.“There, miz.That’s right pretty.”
Eleanor gratefully allowed sleep to claim her again.
Meanwhile, in the disordered drawing room below, a stranger to Lionel Chivenham’s set was finding the night equally nightmarish.
Christopher Delaney, Lord Stainbridge, had intended only a peaceful evening at White’s, but as he left he had been gathered up—that was the only way he could think of it—by Chivenham and some of his cronies gaily celebrating the end of Napoleon and the return to power of the Bourbons.Short of violence, he had found no way to disentangle himself.He was not a violent man, and after all, he and Chivenham had been in the same form at Eton, though he had never liked the man.
Though he had permitted himself to be swept along to Chivenham’s house, one look at the company there had determined him on an early exit.To his surprise, however, he had found one kindred spirit, a Frenchman with an interest in Chinese porcelain and art almost as strong as his own.Somehow the time had passed and a quantity of wine had been drunk as they explored the subject.
They’d studied a few select items that Monsieur Boileau had brought for Sir Lionel’s consideration.Only later would it occur to Lord Stainbridge to wonder why a debt-ridden Philistine such as Chivenham would be interested in valuable works of art.
Sir Lionel came over to join the pair.He picked up a graceful jade horse.“A delightful piece, is it not, Stainbridge?”
“Exquisite.”Lord Stainbridge felt the word did not come out with quite the precision he would have wished.He feared he might be slightly foxed, a most unusual occurrence, for he was moderate in drink.
“Exquisite as a lissome boy, you might say, eh, Stainbridge?”That was Lord Deveril, a loathsome man.A shiver of fear stirred within Lord Stainbridge.He looked up to see he was the focus of malicious eyes.Even Monsieur Boileau was smiling cynically.
He found his brain did not seem to be working with its usual swiftness.Repartee was beyond him.“No,” he said, taking refuge in terseness.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Lord Deveril amiably.“Some of those delightful young men are incomparably beautiful, are they not?”He leant forward confidingly.“Such as the ones in a certain house in Rowland Street?”
Lord Stainbridge fought to keep his panic from showing.What they were suggesting was a capital offense, and even if his rank protected him, he could never endure the scandal.
He couldn’t seem to think straight … even more alarming, it was as if a stranger had invaded his mind and was saying that none of it mattered anyway.This surely was not only wine working on him!
With resolution he rose to leave, and his suspicions were confirmed.He had reasonably good control over his muscles.It was his mind that was awry.Somehow, when Chivenham put his arm around his shoulder, he found himself going with him without resistance.
“Don’t be shy, my dear friend.See, we have someone special for you.”
Lord Stainbridge found himself face to face with the charming young man he had recently encountered in that certain house in Rowland Street.
The lad had remarkably large brown eyes framed with long lashes, and retained the ability to blush.Young Adrian smiled with the seemingly genuine delight that had first attracted the earl, but with great effort, Lord Stainbridge did not respond.Terror sat like ice in his heart.
“I fear you have made a mistake, Chivenham,” he said, grateful to have gained some control over his wandering wits.“I’m a ladies’ man, myself.Been married, you know.”
“My apologies, Stainbridge.”Sir Lionel fairly oozed contrition as he turned them both away from the bewildered youth.“I have been grievously misinformed!I only wished to please you after you have been so good as to enjoy my hospitality.I must make amends,” he gushed.“Tell you what!I have a lovely lady above stairs, a virgin no less, anxiously awaiting my pleasure.I give her to you.”He swung around to announce his generosity to the crowded room.It was met by a raucous cheer.
Lord Stainbridge felt he was in hell, surrounded by grinning, jeering faces made macabre by the flickering light, by swirling smoke from the fire and the candles.
His mind was weaving out of control again.He wanted only to be gone.“Too kind.There’s no need.I’m sure—”
“Not at all, dear friend.I will be bereft if you don’t.”Sir Lionel was steering him toward the door.“After all, some of these gentlemen might take my earlier words amiss.If you serve the doxy well, what can they say?Come along.Please.”
“Aye!”shouted some anonymous voice.“Show your stuff.Don’t like to think I’ve been drinking with a backgammon player.”
