Page 80 of Thief of the Ton
“What is it?” she asked sharply.
“Ahem…” The footman hesitated. “Begging your pardon. Miss Howard is here.”
He stepped to one side to reveal Eleanor, discomfort in her expression.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Have I come at a bad time?”
Lavinia leaped to her feet. “No, dear Eleanor!” she cried. “Come in, please.” She turned to the footman. “Would you be so kind as to bring us some tea? And perhaps some cake for my guest?”
“Very good, miss.” The footman bowed, then retreated, closing the door behind him.
“Sit, do,” Lavinia said.
Eleanor hesitated for a moment, then crossed the floor and took a seat. “Have you heard the news?” she asked. “Henrietta’s to be married.”
Lavinia nodded. “Lady Thorpe told Aunt Edna today. I can’t imagine Henrietta and Giles together—she’s so full of adventure, while he’s such a stuffy creature, though I confess his cousin Beatrice is delightful.”
“Perhaps their union was not unexpected,” Eleanor said. “The two of them were always at odds—isn’t that supposed to be a sign of love?”
“Is it?”
“Oh, yes,” came the reply. “An adversarial relationship is often driven by a deeply rooted attraction that both parties strive to deny. Their struggles manifest in outward conflict.”
“So, you’re saying that we must find our ideal partner by arguing with him?” Lavinia laughed. “I cannot imagine you arguing with anyone, Eleanor!”
“I’mhardly likely to find a partner.”
Lavinia’s heart ached at her friend’s stricken expression. In all likelihood, Eleanor had been subject to yet more criticism from her mother—and spite from her sister—about her lack of allure to the opposite sex.
The door opened and a maid entered, carrying a tea tray.
“Ah, thank you, Bessie,” Lavinia said. “Put it on the table, would you?”
“Yes, Miss Lavinia,” the maid said. “Cook said I was to bring a slice of her fruitcake, on account of Miss Eleanor being here—what with Miss Eleanor being one of her favorites.”
Eleanor’s face illuminated with a smile. “Please thank Mrs. White for me.”
Bessie set the tray on the table, bobbed a curtsey, then slipped out of the room.
“Our cook has a soft spot for you,” Lavinia said.
Eleanor colored. “I’ve met her once or twice while out walking. I rather wonder at her recalling it.”
Lavinia smiled to herself. Mrs. White had regaled her with tales of how her friend was “the kindest young woman in London” after Eleanor had stopped to assist when she tripped in the street, suffering her mother’s admonishments as a consequence. While Eleanor feared Society gatherings, she thought nothing of kneeling on the ground, in full view of the world, to help a servant she barely knew who’d fallen in the street, even though such an act of kindness risked her reputation.
After serving tea, Lavinia waited for her friend to shake off the awkwardness she always carried when entering into a social occasion—even an intimate tea between friends. At length, Eleanor, finished a slice of cake, then relaxed back into her seat, teacup in hand.
“That cake was delicious,” she said. “It’s not often I’m allowed any at home.”
“Take another slice.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Mother would never approve.”
Doubtless she wouldn’t. Mrs. Howard was the sort of woman who believed that a slender frame was the height of sophistication and that a healthy appetite was evidence of a lack of control. Poor Eleanor, with her natural curves, was doomed to disappoint her mother.
Lavinia leaned forward. “Can I trust you to keep a rather wicked secret?”
Eleanor nodded. “Of course.”
