Thank God for the cottage, or she and her sisters, her mother, and even the few servants they’d kept would all have been homeless.
Obviously, Grayson’s prevarication was not on the same caliber of seriousness. But she didn’t like to think she hadn’t been able to tell the truth from his lies.
After a few hands ofécartewith Lady Angsley, unable to focus and losing each time, Eleanor bid her hostess good night.
Tomorrow, she would approach Mrs. O’Connor first thing, knowing she was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise person. They could get as much learning in as Grayson’s mother could handle.
Climbing under her covers, not in the mood for any of the Gothic romances piled beside her bed, Eleanor picked up Mrs. Lovechild’sCobwebs to Catch Flies.The introduction began with “To my little readers: Do not imagine that, like a great spider, I will give you a hard gripe and infuse venom to blow you up.”
Eleanor laughed out loud.Gracious!That seemed a little scary for being a children’s primer, but it worked to lure her to read more. Thumbing through it, she enjoyed the writer’s cheeky and, at the same time, cheerful tone in the stories, combined with a little menace to keep the children alert and interested. It seemed there was a hint of danger at the fair, and a naughty boy who didn’t listen to his father on the way to school.
Indeed, there was a touch of Gothic everywhere. When she drifted off to sleep, she had a terrible nightmare about spiders.
*
As expected, Mrs.O’Connor was a natural. Eleanor thought it was the woman’s attention to tiny stitches during her whole life, but she never wrote anowhen anawas needed, and she did not mix up heru’s with herv’s. Her script looked as though she’d been writing for years.
Seated beside Grayson’s mother while she practiced and asked questions, Eleanor finished her letters to her family and her brief note to Maggie. And then she thought better of sending it. It would be more fun to surprise her sister in a day.
She’d had a little surprise of her own that morning. Mrs. O’Connor had not been at home upon Eleanor’s early arrival. Deciding to wait, she’d stood happily drinking in the sights, sounds, and fresh smells of the morning, leaning a little lazily against the granary wall.
Suddenly, she’d seen Grayson’s mother appear as if approaching from the main house, on the very path Eleanor had just traversed.
How strange!Even stranger when Mrs. O’Connor startled at seeing Eleanor and had a decidedly flustered air. They entered the suite of rooms, which were cool and closed up.
Plainly, Mrs. O’Connor had not vacated her home earlier that morning for a quick visit with Cook at Angsley Hall. Eleanor would wager her Wellies Grayson’s mother hadn’t slept there the night before.
Though it was absolutely none of her business, Eleanor’s next thought was of Mr. Stanley. And she took another look at Mrs. O’Connor. She was not old, after all, nor was the butler. In fact, they were both fit and healthy, and of approximately the same age, as near as Eleanor could tell.
Though she couldn’t think of them behaving in the manner she and Grayson had in the library, or in the lean-to—definitely not!—Eleanor could imagine them enjoying a warm and happy companionship.
And, why not?
Hoping to ease any embarrassment Mrs. O’Connor was feeling, Eleanor had remarked on what a wonderful morning it was for a brisk walk and said yes to a cup of tea. Then, they had plunged into their lessons, the first of three sets they would have that day.
By mid-morning, two days later, Mrs. O’Connor looked at Eleanor with tears in her eyes.
“I believe I have learned all I need in order to write to my son.”
Eleanor nodded. “It is inspiring how quickly you have picked this up. I’m sure you can have more paper from the writing desk when this runs out. And Mrs. Wendall said you can return the primers to the nursery at your leisure.”
With a hug and a promise to see her again soon, Eleanor asked her maid to begin packing.
Feeling extremely grown up, she refrained from returning to the bishop’s hostel and did not attempt to climb the tree where she had plainly seen some type of skull high up overhead.
If it was all a farce, then what was the point?
After the short carriage ride, Eleanor arrived to emotional hugs and kisses from Maggie, who glowed, not because she was with child, but because she always radiated a dewy beauty, which was the envy of every woman in London.
Her husband was a handsome, charming man. Eleanor suspected he’d been a bit of a rake before Maggie won him over and tamed him. The earl caught Eleanor up in a hug and twirled her around.
“I’m going to be a father!” John said to her.
“You already are,” she reminded him with a laugh as he set her down.
“Twice blessed,” he said. “And each time will be just as big a blessing. Turvey House has room for twenty children.”
“Twenty?” Maggie shrieked before they all laughed.
