Page 17 of Oddity of the Ton
Eleanor resumed her attention on her work, making a few more strokes with her pencil. Then she held the sketchbook at arm’s length.
“May I see?” Lavinia asked.
“Of course.” Eleanor handed over the sketchbook.
Lavinia’s eyes widened. “How do you manage to include such detail?” She turned a page. “What’s this?”
Eleanor’s stomach flipped. Had Lavinia seen the latest sketch of…him?
Her friend held up the sketchbook. “You’re drawing tree stumps?”
Eleanor nodded, swallowing her relief. “They’re fascinating,” she said. “Look at the texture of the bark—it’s uneven, yet it forms a pattern. And each tree is different.”
“They look the same to me.”
“That’s because you’re not looking close enough,” Eleanor said. “The bark of a birch, for example, is different to that of an oak.”
“Is it?”
“It’s smoother—papery, almost, with pieces that curl and peel, like the skin of an onion. But the bark of an oak is thicker, with a deep, rough texture.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Lavinia laughed again, placing the sketchbook on her lap. “More tea? I can ring for some.”
At that moment the door opened and Lavinia’s husband appeared. Eleanor’s gut twisted in apprehension, as it always did in the presence of a powerful man.
“Peregrine, darling,” Lavinia said, “are you checking on my state of health, or have you come to prevent me from eating all Mrs. Brown’s biscuits?”
“Both, my love.” He took her hand and bowed to Eleanor. “Miss Howard, a pleasure. I take it you’re well?”
“Yes, thank you, Lord Marlow,” Eleanor said, rising.
“Please don’t stand onmyaccount, Miss Howard,” he said. “May I join you?”
Eleanor resumed her seat, opened her mouth, then hesitated and swallowed her discomfort. It would do no good to respond truthfully. The truth was, after all, a concept that Society caredlittle for. What ought she say—something bland and benign, perhaps?
“I-I’d have no objection, sir.”
He nodded and smiled.
Thank heavens!Her response had been acceptable, though it meant she had to endure his company.
“Excellent!” he said. “I’ll ring for more tea.” He tugged at the bellpull beside the fireplace then sat next to Lavinia. “I hear London’s been enjoying very fine weather in our absence,” he said.
Lavinia rolled her eyes. “Peregrine—for heaven’s sake! Eleanor’s not one for aimless remarks. If you’ve nothing of substance to say, then keep quiet.”
“I find myself admonished,” he said. Then he turned toward Eleanor. “My poor wife has suffered my company these past three weeks, and has been at her wits’ end. She’s been craving intelligent conversation, which, though rarely experienced among London Society, can, I believe, be found in your company. But I’m afraid I’ve disappointed her by inflicting social inanities upon you.”
Eleanor stared at him. How was she expected to respond? Was he ridiculing her?
Then he leaned forward and gave a conspiratorial wink, and she struggled to contain a smile.
“Bravo!” he said. “I find myself forgiven, and will refrain from discussing the weather with you in future. Neither will I discuss the cut of a woman’s gown—or the latest fashion for lace tucks.”
Lavinia tapped him smartly with her fan. “That’s enough, Peregrine. I wouldn’t want Eleanor to think I married a fool.”
“I fear I’ve already presented her with irrefutable evidence,” he replied. “Do forgive me, Miss Howard.” He gestured toward the sketchbook. “May I see?”
“Please do.”
