Page 81 of Oddity of the Ton
“But I do,” Eleanor said, untangling her hands and leaning forward. “Our acquaintance might be short, but he’s shown me more kindness in the past few days than I’ve experienced in a lifetime from others supposedly closer to me. Beneath the imposing exterior is a man with the capacity to besokind—but he’s unwilling to show it to others.”
The dowager leaned back, her eyes widening.
Eleanor glanced down, noticing that she’d been gripping the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening.
Sweet Lord!Most likely the dowager would have her sent back to London in disgrace. Eleanor held her breath, awaiting admonishment.
But it never came.
The door opened, and the footman returned with a dish of honey and a small jar containing a russet-colored powder.
“How do you take your tea, Miss Howard?” he asked.
Eleanor glanced at her hostess, who nodded. “Go on, Miss Howard.”
“Half a teaspoon of cinnamon and a teaspoon of honey, please.”
The footman obliged, and the aroma of spices filled the air as he stirred the cinnamon in.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said. “You’re very kind.”
The dowager’s eyes widened, and Eleanor silently cursed herself for committing yet another faux pas. She braced herself for an admonishment about how well-bred young ladies didn’t thank the staff.
“Miss Howard, I believe you’ve shocked my footman.”
Here it comes…
“Oh?” Eleanor glanced at the footman, who stared straight ahead.
“James isn’t used to compliments. Most of my guests refrain from speaking to him with any degree of cordiality, lest they run the risk of him getting ideas.”
“Such as a belief that members of Society treat their servants with consideration?” Eleanor couldn’t help saying. “I doubt he’d ever be at risk of harboring such outrageous views.”
“Should we ask him, Miss Howard?”
“I’d advise against it. Such a direct question would place him in a dilemma where he faces two choices, neither of which are acceptable.”
“And they are?”
“To be truthful or tactful.”
The dowager turned to the footman. “Which are you, James? Truthful or tactful?”
At that moment, the door burst open and several small furballs raced into the parlor, yapping excitedly.
A maidservant raced in after them. She stopped on seeing the dowager and dipped into a curtsey. “Begging your pardon, ma’am—the dogs escaped again.”
“I can see that for myself,” the dowager said.
One of the animals approached Eleanor and sniffed at the hem of her gown. Thankful for the opportunity to remove herself from the dowager’s direct gaze, she leaned over to stroke the creature’s head.
A pug—somewhat overindulged, given its portly frame.
“Careful, miss!” the maid cried. “She doesn’t take to strangers. She’s been known to bite.”
But the little creature seemed far from dangerous. Eleanor stilled her hand, and the dog whined and nudged her fingers with its nose. She scratched behind the animal’s ears, and it stretched out a hind leg, which began to twitch. Then, with another grunt, the dog rolled sideways and settled on Eleanor’s foot, its body warmth seeping through to her skin.
“Aren’t you a friendly lady?” Eleanor whispered.
