Chapter Twelve
The following week
Hugh had ordered an Argand lamp from London, and it finally arrived. He wished using it were a bit less complicated, but after he figured it out himself, he would teach Eleanor. The industrious Ned had purchased two wrought iron candlestands for him, and Hugh had experimented with mirrors as reflectors. The problem was, in the small cottage, there wasn’t enough space for a large enough mirror. Perhaps he could find a piece of hardware to accommodate one. In the meantime, he could present Eleanor with the candlestands and lamp.
All this took his mind off the missive he’d received this morning from the clerk of the parish. The citizens of Haslemere wished to honor him with a ball. Of all the crackbrained ideas, this one claimed the prize. He’d dreaded having to appear at Court to receive his knighthood, and now to be subjected to a ball was too much. But how could he refuse without seeming churlish? The organizers were already forging ahead, even sending him a guest list for his approval. His mother and brother, of course, were on the list.
A light tap on the door, and Ned entered. “Are you ready to go?”
Throwing the letter down, Hugh sighed. “Yes. Should we take a cart?”
“I think so. Though it’s not far to Miss Broxton’s cottage, the wrought iron is heavy, as is the lamp. And the tin of oil.”
Hugh nodded. “Let’s see to it, then.”
…
Eleanor was attaching a flounce to the hem of a ball gown while the light held. The end-of-season demands were killing them. Jane and Minnie arrived by eight o’clock and worked until four or five, with barely a pause for a bite at midday.
Though she had not had time to visit Lili again, Edith Abbot had sent Eleanor a short note telling her the child had recovered from her earache. It had not been necessary to summon the physician.
Thank God.
As for Hugh, Eleanor hadn’t seen him since he’d escorted her to her parents’ and kissed her in the woods. She spent half her waking hours dreaming of it, reliving the kiss. It simply would not do. She couldn’t keep changing her mind about him, one minute putting him off, the next assuring herself they could simply be friends. Friends didn’t kiss like that. Or touch each other with such abandon. Her rational mind told her that where Hugh was concerned, a friendship would not be possible. And if they became intimate, she wouldn’t be able to keep Lili a secret from him.
Concentrate on your work, Eleanor. One stitch. Another. She was weary of it, and lately, especially at night when exhaustion set in, she didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the long workdays. But she must be able to provide for Lili before she could bring the child to live with her.
And therein lay another predicament. She hadn’t the slightest idea of how she would explain Lili to friends, neighbors…Hugh. Lately she’d been thinking the best solution would be to move to another part of England. Her mother would probably approve, since any revelation of Lili would disgrace the family. There were Broxton cousins in Devon. Her parents had sent her to them once her pregnancy had become obvious, and Eleanor had given birth there. They were kind, and they already knew about Lili.
A knock at the door interrupted her train of thought. Drat. Who could that be? They’d no time for visitors. While Eleanor remained hunched over her work, Jane rose and went to see who it was.
When she heard Hugh’s voice, she looked up. For pity’s sake, she was a mess. Her hair was falling from its knot, and her face was pinched in concentration; the dress she’d donned this morning was one of her oldest and most worn frocks. A work dress. Ugh. A less than inspiring sight. She got to her feet, only then noticing another man had entered behind Hugh. Ned Martin, whom she had known for years.
“Don’t let the kitten in!” Eleanor shouted, too late. The energetic little ball of fluff hurtled past them before anybody could stop her. Eleanor, used to this by now, ran her to ground rather quickly. “Beatrice, you minx. You know you’re not allowed in here.”
“Beatrice?” Hugh said.
“When you gave her to me, you said she was a fair lady. So I named her Beatrice.”
Hugh grinned. “Much Ado About Nothing.”
She nodded, glancing toward the others. “Sir Hugh. You have met Jane and Minnie, I believe.”
“Of course. Ladies.” He nodded in their direction, producing blushes and giggles from the girls. “Miss Broxton, do you know Mr. Martin?”
“Of course.” Eleanor stepped forward and shook his hand. “Hello, Ned. I hope you and your family are well.”
“Very well, Miss Broxton. I am Sir Hugh’s steward now.”
“And general factotum,” Hugh said, laughing. “The man can do anything. And does.”
Hugh’s face, even at this hour, was shadowed with dark stubble, which served to enhance his rugged attractiveness. While her dowdiness was on display for all to see, Hugh looked every bit the handsome country gentleman, in buff britches, bright linen shirt, ivory waistcoat, and the green coat she’d seen him in before. He wore it so well.
Stop it, Eleanor. She was staring, for pity’s sake. And standing there like a helpless ninny.
When nobody spoke, Hugh said, “We’ve come to assist with the lighting.”
“You have?” Eleanor replied stupidly.
Hugh laughed. “I told you I’d ponder it, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word.”
“We’ve tried various solutions before. Nothing really works.”
“But I—that is, Ned and I—have never tackled the problem. And we have a few ideas.”
Eleanor’s face must have shown her skepticism, because Hugh said, “I have the smartest architect in England working for me. As well as the cleverest steward in the county.”
Why not let them get on with it? Then they’d leave and she and the girls could get back to work. “Very well. Perhaps you’ll have more luck than we did.” Why was she being so obstinate? They only wanted to help, after all. But Eleanor knew it was because she had just, for the umpteenth time, dismissed the idea of Hugh. Of herself and Hugh. And now he was complicating things again. Encroaching on her life.
The two men disappeared out the door and returned with two large wrought iron candlestands. Eleanor had seen them in private homes occasionally, but had never thought of using them here. While Ned was inserting the beeswax candles they had brought into the holders, Hugh slipped outside, coming back in with a lamp of a kind she’d never seen before.
“It’s an Argand lamp,” he said. “It burns whale oil, and doesn’t smoke or smell bad.”
“But the wick…”
“Only needs to be trimmed a few times a day. And the flame is brighter than you’ll have seen before.” He took her arm and led her to the table. “Allow me to show you how it works.” They all watched while Hugh demonstrated how to fill the reservoir, trim the wick, and clean the mechanisms.
As if they’d worked it out ahead of time, Ned began to light all the candles while Hugh poured oil into the reservoir and got the lamp going. Ned asked the three women where they thought the candlestands would be most effective, and eventually, they all stepped back and surveyed the newly lighted work area.
“By all the saints,” Jane said, “we can see! Look, miss, what an improvement it is!” Minnie clapped her hands in excitement.
But Eleanor said nothing. God said, let there be light. And there was light. She felt tears gathering in her eyes. “I’d like a word in private with Sir Hugh, if you would pardon us for a moment.” Her voice sounded as if it was coming from a long way off. Before she knew it, they were gone, and she and Hugh were alone, facing each other.
“This was so kind of you, Hugh. I don’t know what to say.” She brushed a tear off her cheek.
He edged closer. “Don’t cry, Eleanor.”
She reached out a hand and flattened it against his chest. “But how could I fail to? Nobody has done anything like this for me in such a long time. I don’t know when, or even if, I can repay you.”
Now he was smoothing her tears away with his thumb. “This is a gift. I don’t want you to repay me.”
“A lady cannot accept gifts of such great expense from a man. You know that.”
“They’re hardly personal. And nobody needs to know.”
“The girls will talk. It will be all over Haslemere by tomorrow.”
“Ask them not to. Or tell them you’re paying me for everything. I don’t care what you say, just don’t let it be no.” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her toward the light. “Look, Eleanor. Have you ever seen the like?”
She laughed through her tears. “No, indeed, I have not.”
She turned toward him. “I see what you’re doing, Hugh Grey. You’re trying to worm your way into my life. You think if you make my work easier, I shall tell you everything about myself, because, well, how could I not? I’ll owe you so much and be so grateful. So bloody grateful, you’ll own me. Isn’t that what this is really about? Isn’t that why you want to help me?” She ended her rant on a gasping sob.
Hugh looked stunned. “You’ve got it wrong, Eleanor. Most of it, anyway. I don’t care about your secrets. I don’t want to own you. Yes, I do wish to make your life, your work, easier, because frankly, sometimes it hurts like hell to see you so tired all the time. And sad. In case you haven’t already guessed, I’m exceedingly fond of you, and it vexes me no end.”
Eleanor felt a little blip in her heart. She grabbed him by the lapels and kissed his lips, his face, every surface she could reach. And he let her, his breath coming in short bursts, until finally he gently pushed her away and called the others back inside.
…
Two weeks later
The final weeks of May were hectic. Hugh had reluctantly accepted the offer of a ball in his honor, to be held at the assembly rooms in Haslemere on June 16, and after adding a few names, approved the guest list. While he could not pretend he was looking forward to the event, he’d made peace with his decision to allow the plans to proceed.
Work on his house had progressed rapidly, thanks to a long spell of fine weather. The roof was on, and plastering of the interior walls was under way. With the builder’s approval, Hugh had been moving his personal belongings into his new bedchamber. He had ordered a bed, due to be delivered any day, from a specialty furniture maker in London.
Hugh wondered if he would ever get Eleanor into that bed.
Just thinking of it set up a pulsating throb of pleasure that went straight to his groin. When he considered it might never happen, his chest felt hollow.
Since the day of the lighting scheme at the cottage, Hugh had been ruminating about Eleanor and the way she’d lashed out at him. And, almost simultaneously, had thanked him over and over and smothered him with her sweet kisses. Something was amiss with her. Whatever it was pushed her to work herself half to death and put that sadness in her eyes. He’d told the truth, perhaps unwisely, when he’d said he couldn’t stand seeing her that way, and most of the time she appeared far worse than he’d described.
Since the morning he’d first seen Eleanor, after his return from Canada, he’d sensed something different about her. When he had met her at the house party three years ago, she had been young and immature. He’d been fascinated by her naiveté, her girlish charm. So completely opposite from him. And then, later the same year, their liaison. She’d been like a different person, no longer a girl, but a mature woman, confident in what she wanted. Full of sensuality. Neither time had she seemed burdened by some unnamed sorrow as she did now.
What had driven her to move from her family home and work impossible hours? The one time he’d questioned her about it, the day they’d gone driving in Hyde Park, she had claimed she wanted her independence and a life separate from her parents. He’d countered by saying most ladies achieved that by marriage. As he recalled, she had a poor opinion of the matrimonial state. She had said she wanted her life to have purpose.
All well and good, but did she need to cut herself off from the joys of young womanhood and let her “purpose” consume her? There was more to it, he was sure. Heartbreak, or a misfortune she was concealing. Why else would she drive herself so unmercifully?
Several times during these last few weeks, he’d wanted to call on her. He had gotten halfway to her cottage two or three times, only to turn around. How would she receive him, after she’d scolded him about intruding on her privacy? But he wished to banish his doubts. If she didn’t want him near her, she could say so. She required someone to turn to, and who else was there? What if he weren’t there when she needed him?
Ned walked in, interrupting his reverie, and Hugh threw the dregs of his tea on the hearth. “How are you fixed for ball dress, my friend?”
Ned looked baffled. Hugh, laughing, clapped him on the shoulder, and they headed for the building site together.
…
Later, when the sun was in the first stages of its descent, Eleanor made her way toward Longmere. If Hugh, stubborn man, wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him. She was tired of waiting on him to call. She had sent the girls home early and gone up to the house to bathe and change. There’d been no need to explain herself to anybody, since her father was out and her mother was resting.
Now here she was, approaching the site, wearing her best walking dress, one she’d made herself. A soft blue cambric, with a square décolletage, the very one she’d had on that day at the mere when she’d watched Hugh bathing. An involuntary sigh escaped. Best not to dwell on that. Because she wanted her hands to be occupied, she’d begged some apple tarts from the cook and tucked them, along with the empty milk jug, into the basket Hugh had left her the night he’d brought her the kitten.
Although Hugh couldn’t have heard her, he glanced up from his work as if he’d grown a pair of antennae and sensed her approach. He and Ned Martin were at either end of a two-man saw. Hugh’s sleeves were rolled up, and thick cords of muscle bulged as he wielded the saw. Before his look turned sheepish, she detected an appreciative gleam in his eye. After saying a word to Ned, he walked toward her.
“Eleanor. Welcome. Will you excuse me for a moment?” Before she could respond, he dashed into the house. Probably to change, but she rather wished he wouldn’t. Seeing him wearing nothing but formfitting britches and an unbuttoned shirt pulling loose at the waist had its attractions. Not to mention the mussed hair and sweating brow.
He was back, adjusting his coat sleeves as he approached her, before she’d even finished her wicked fantasies about him. “What is in the basket?” he asked, relieving her of it.
“Some apple tarts, made by our cook, and the milk jug you brought over with Beatrice. Empty. I decided to accept your offer of showing me the progress you’re making.”
“Ah. My thanks. For the tarts. Would you like to see the house? It’s perfectly safe inside if we dodge the laborers going about their work.”
“Please. I want to see everything.” She paused a moment, gazing up at the newly built structure. “I can hardly take it in, Hugh, the old place gone. Somehow I didn’t expect that.”
“You did not realize I’d had the house razed?” Hugh winged his arm, and she grasped it. “That was not my original plan, but after inspecting it, the architect deemed it unsafe.” Gesturing to an expanse of ground, he said, “This will be the front gardens. Whatever was once here is long gone.” When they entered the house, they were greeted by a cacophony of hammering, sawing, sanding. Hugh dropped the basket onto a table.
“It’s a bit difficult to envision everything, but I’ll try to explain.” He glanced up. “We are standing in the entry hall. As you can see, it has a high ceiling. I haven’t made up my mind how to decorate it, but nothing too grand.”
He went on. “To your left is the dining room, with kitchens and larder to the rear.”
“Kitchens on the ground floor?” Eleanor said. “That’s unique.”
Hugh laughed. “I prefer my food hot. Transporting it upstairs from the basement doesn’t allow that, and it amounts to more work for the servants who must carry it up.”
He touched her shoulder, gently turning her toward the opposite side. “Over here is a parlor or morning room, whatever you prefer to call it.”
“Lovely,” Eleanor said. “It will get plenty of light.” It was hard to concentrate when he kept touching her.
“Let’s walk toward the back. We’re in the central hall now. On your right is a billiard or card room.” They had arrived at the rear of the house. “French doors here, leading to the terrace and gardens. Not constructed yet, of course.”
“And what’s this on the right? It looks like a large space.”
“This, I have the feeling, will be my favorite part of the house. The library and study.”
“Oh, Hugh, this will be a wonderful room. The windows face your back gardens. So very cozy on cold winter days.”
He eyed her speculatively, a sparkle in his eye, and she thought he might have kissed her if they’d been alone. Instead, he said in a low voice, “Cozy, yes.” His breath was featherlight against her ear, and she felt her face flood with warmth. Hugh smiled. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They had to walk back to the front to get to the stairs, and he grasped her arm again. “Mind your step. The floor is littered with building debris.” He didn’t let go of her until they’d reached the first floor. “As you can see, this is a gallery of sorts.” Again, he glanced around, as if he couldn’t quite believe this belonged to him. “Not for portraits; the Grey family hasn’t any.”
The space looked down over the entry hall. “I love it,” Eleanor said. “And maybe you will have portraits someday.”
His smile was wry. “Perhaps. At the back, through these doors, is a drawing room. This space, taken in its entirety, could be opened up for entertainments, if the occasion arises.”
Now he took her hand and guided her down a hallway off the gallery. He stopped at the first room, and Eleanor peeked inside. “Oh!” This was obviously Hugh’s bedchamber, which was partially furnished. Embarrassed, she spun around, but not before she’d caught a glimpse of the rumpled shirt and worn britches he’d been wearing when she arrived. They lay in a heap on the bed, which was an impressive piece of furniture. Made from a dark wood, mahogany most likely, and massive. It made quite a statement. The bed of the lord of the manor. Could she help it if her heart beat a little faster?
“My personal domain,” Hugh said, lifting an eyebrow at her.
“I gathered as much,” she said, ducking her head. There was no one about up here, and the noise of the workmen would drown out any sounds. If they… Oh, Lord, pull yourself together, Eleanor.
Hugh was gazing at her as though he was thinking the same thing she was. “That’s a fetching dress you’re wearing, Eleanor. One I believe I’ve seen before.”
Oh, dear God, he remembered. Blood rushed to warm her cheeks.
“I wish you weren’t wearing this bit, here. What’s it called? A fish-something?” He glided a finger along the inner edges of her bodice.
She sucked in a breath. “It’s a fichu.”
“Yes, that’s it.” He stepped closer. “I quite like it. The dress, I mean. Minus the fichu.” He gave her a devilish smile, then said, “We should go back downstairs.”
“Yes, of course,” Eleanor managed to stammer, doubting her ability to walk on her trembling legs.
Once they were outside, he pointed out the various materials yet to be incorporated into the house. “The glaziers haven’t started yet, but soon. The first floor windows are not yet hung.”
He pointed out the brickmakers, and then took her over to some long tables where carpenters were hard at work constructing cupboards, shelves, moldings, and doors. Just then, Ned called to Hugh.
“Pardon me for a moment, Eleanor,” he said, striding off.
While she watched, one of the carpenters glanced up, and Eleanor found herself looking into the malicious eyes of Jacob Abbot.
She nearly shrieked.