Miss Ophelia was climbing a rope that was secured to the ceiling of the drawing room in some manner. A blonde woman, presumably Lady Rascomb, was standing with her hands on her hips, evaluating Ophelia’s ability. The blonde woman leaned against the wall, next to a cane. Tristan was sprawled on the settee, covering a smile with his hand. And then she spotted Lord Rascomb in the corner sorting through a pile of items that looked to be samples of ropes of different calibers and colors and lengths.
“Even without the damned hoop, how am I supposed to climb with all the fabric of petticoats and skirts? This is ridiculous!” Ophelia said, catching sight of guests as she threw herself off the rope. “Oh! People.”
The butler announced Eleanor and her mother, only to have the other family all snap to proper positions. Tristan bolted to his feet, Lady Rascomb’s hands floated down in front of her, Ophelia smoothed her skirts, and Lord Rascomb dropped the ropes and stood.
Eleanor glanced to her mother, wondering what she made of the chaotic scene. Her mother’s face was implacable, and Eleanor was suddenly jealous of her ability to be so even tempered.
“Mrs. Piper, Miss Eleanor, welcome. I’m so glad you took the time to visit,” Lady Rascomb said, her tone even and gracious and not at all embarrassed. She bid them sit with a wave of her hand, and shooed Tristan and Lord Rascomb out of the room.
“Miss Eleanor,” Tristan murmured in a low voice as he walked past.
“Mist—mist—mist—” Eleanor couldn’t even manage his name as that fresh air scent that heralded his person wafted close as he passed her on his way out the door. Oh, dear.
Her mother covered for her and properly acknowledged Lord Rascomb and Tristan Bridewell, while Eleanor bobbed her curtsy before settling her gaze on Miss Ophelia and Lady Rascomb.
“Refreshments will be up shortly,” Lady Rascomb said, ushering them in. “But in the meantime, please sit, tell us how you found last night’s ball.”
“Very lovely,” Mrs. Piper said with a bland smile. “We met a great many wonderful people, such as yourselves.”
“Yes,” Miss Ophelia piped up, settling next to her mother on the opposite settee. “I feel as if it were the hand of Providence that guided Miss Eleanor to me.”
“Don’t blaspheme,” Lady Rascomb whispered to Ophelia. Ophelia returned her mother’s comment with wide eyes as if she couldn’t believe the scold.
Considering the cursing Eleanor had witnessed while Ophelia was up on the rope, she was surprised too.
“Please excuse my daughter, Mrs. Piper. I let her spend a great deal of time with her father. They both believe in the unconquerable adventure, and I fear that has influenced her speech.” Lady Rascomb batted her eyelashes.
No wonder Miss Ophelia was not married nor connected to anyone. They had a hard time behaving decently. Eleanor quashed her own glee. Ophelia’s glow of enthusiasm was refreshing, and Eleanor wished she had it as well. Maybe they could be friends, regardless of whatever the mess of this adventure Society was.
“Quite all right,” Mrs. Piper said, looking about the room. It was a beautiful room, with exceptional curtains, portraits in gilded frames, and the exact pristine wainscotting that Mrs.Piper wanted for her own drawing room. “My Eleanor also spent a great deal of time at my husband’s office, and no doubt has some choice phrases that she won’t utter in my presence.”
A partially true statement, that. Eleanor had spent a great deal of time at her father’s office, Piper Shipping & Co., but Mr. Smythe’s presence and knot lessons kept her from wandering amongst the former sailors on the bottom floor who had the truly colorful language. Had she heard snippets? Yes. Did she know curses in some interesting languages other than English? A few.
But she mostly kept herself upstairs, busying herself with intricate knots and creating lever pulls similar to the ones that loaded the heavy crates onto her father’s boats. It was obvious why she did it—it was the play that garnered praise from her busy father.
“Is that where she learned her extraordinary skills?” Lady Rascomb asked.
“I believe so. Eleanor?” Her mother prompted.
“Yes, Lady Rascomb.” Eleanor wasn’t sure what she should say. In fact, she was surprised they were talking about this at all.
Fortunately, a servant walked in with a tray, and suddenly, it was all business of tea and scones and cream.
Miss Ophelia poured, no doubt to showcase her skill, lest Mrs. Piper doubt Ophelia’s feminine training. After handing Eleanor the final cup and saucer, Ophelia glanced at her mother and then back to Eleanor.
“We have a salon later this afternoon, if you would like to join us. I do hope you will.”
“A salon? For your Society?” Eleanor asked.
“The Ladies’ Alpine Society,” Ophelia corrected. “Yes. It is open to the public, but our members will be there. We discuss our upcoming project and teach basic skills that might prove interesting to other attendees.”
“Do you get a great many of the public?” Mrs. Piper asked.
Miss Ophelia actually looked abashed. “Not many. Mostly those who just want to see the inside of the house.”
Mrs. Piper frowned.
“They are mostly ladies, these attendees from the public,” Lady Rascomb added. “Often in hopes of finding my eldest son, Lord Berringbone.”
