She was resolved to speak honestly with him in the course of the day. Eleanor hardly knew how to broach such an indelicate topic, but they must have a plain conversation; and if Sir Charles was still inclined to know her better after he understood her motives, then she could proceed.
“Eleanor!” Alice cried, appearing almost as an apparition from behind a row of apple trees. “I have finished a chapter. Would you be good enough to tell anyone who asks that we walked the orchard together this morning?”
She laughed and agreed. “You could just tell them, you know, that you write novels.”
Alice pulled a face and shook her head. “Enough about me. Did you enjoy my little game last evening?”
She thought a moment before answering. “I appreciate your effort,” she said slowly, “and I think it was successful.”
“But Sir Charles’s kisses were not all you had hoped they would be? You might need more practice. We shall try something with more forfeits tonight.”
“Alice, please don’t,” Eleanor said gently as they entered the house. “I shall proceed in my own way.” She checked her watch and saw that it was three minutes to the hour. “Come along, we must not keep the general waiting.”
They arrived at the breakfast room in enough time not to anger General Tilney. By the time they entered, however, the only available seats were next to Philip, nearly as far from Sir Charles as the table would allow. Everyone seemed relaxed, with their letters, newspaper, coffee, or cocoa, except for Philip.
“Good morning, Mr Brampton,” she said. He nodded to her and stared at his plate. “How goes solving your mathematics questions forThe Diary? I know spring is a busy time—”
“Very well, thank you, Miss Tilney,” he interrupted, still without looking at her. “I shall complete the rest in Gloucestershire when I leave with Vaughan tomorrow.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You are not staying on at Welland after all?”
“I shall return home, and he will go on to Kent.” Philip finally looked her in the eye. “There is little reason to stay,” he added with a knowing look before angling himself away from her.
How she hated hurting her dearest friend in order to preserve herself from suffering more of her father’s harshness. How strange to feel alone while sitting next to Philip. Eleanor took a sip of tea and absently pushed some food around her plate as she looked down the table to Sir Charles.
He was talking loudly with Lord Dryden, eating quickly and gesturing a little haphazardly with his fork. How amiable a companion would the baronet be? She would likely be solitary at Colborne Park if he was set on a life of politics and thought little of a wife’s company.
But solitude was not the same as loneliness. One she could tolerate. She was always lonely—and unkindly treated—at Northanger. If she married a man who did not love her, she might have solitude, but that was not the same as being lonely or being always tyrannised by a cruel father.
“Oh, goodness me!” cried Lady Longtown. She held a letter, and Eleanor could see its seal was black. “My lord,” she said to her husband, “I have such sad news from Kent. Such sad news from my friends.” She brought a hand to her mouth and looked back at her letter.
She caught the attention of the entire table, and it took some time for her to collect herself, to stop repeating “goodness me” in order to share her “sad news.” “My friends from Kent—you know some of them, Lord Vaughan—my friend writes that her sister, Lady Anne, has died. Influenza, she says, and quite sudden. They always go to Tunbridge Wells, you know,” she added to her husband, “and then gather near Westerham for the rest of the summer. It was the influenza, and my friend says her sister succumbed two days ago.”
Eleanor watched Philip turn to Vaughan, who was on his other side, and say softly, “Lady Metcalfe lives near Westerham?”
She could just see Vaughan nod slowly.
“I am sorry to hear about Lady Anne, Mamma,” said Alice. “Her little girl might not even remember her.”
Eleanor thought she remembered something of Lady Longtown’s friends. “Lady Anne had an older child too, did she not?”
Lady Longtown was now only repeating “so sad” and “poor Lady Anne,” while her husband patted her hand, but Lord Dryden answered. “Yes, a boy. More than ten years his sister’s senior. He might be fourteen, fifteen at the most.”
Eleanor felt a pang in her heart at the thought of a child losing their mother. Philip brought a hand next to his chair and, without looking at her, gave her hand a brief squeeze under the table. He understood her melancholy from his own experience with loss. It was one of the many things that bonded them to one another.
Lady Longtown then rose, dashing her hand across her eyes and smearing her cosmetics horribly, and left the room. The marquess then looked round the table and said, “Make yourselves scarce. Her Ladyship will not feel like company,” before following her.
Alice looked round the table at everyone, save for General Tilney who had returned to his cocoa and his newspaper. “Well, Mamma is very sad, indeed.” She turned to Dryden and said, “Maybe we ought to do as my father suggests and find something to keep us occupied for the next day or so.”
Alice and Dryden began to talk of what they might do to take them from Welland. Eleanor heard Philip say as an aside to Vaughan, “With your asthma, shall you postpone your trip to Kent?”
“What? I will not avoid the entire county because one person caught influenza.”
Eleanor saw Philip lean back in his chair and heard his sigh of displeasure.
“If it is too late now, what if we left tomorrow?” Alice asked her brother, and Eleanor realised the siblings were considering an excursion. “We can keep to ourselves today, and then travel to Longtown Castle tomorrow.”
“You have also a castle?” Sir Charles asked with keen interest.
