Chapter Three
The next morning
Eleanor and her father sat in companionable silence in the breakfast room. He was perusing the morning papers and giving her little tidbits of news every so often, mostly amusing bits of gossip. “Lady Henley’s garden party was interrupted by a marauding bull. A certain intoxicated Miss L. jumped into the fountain at Lady Sheridan’s ball and had to be rescued,” and the like. Eleanor sipped at her chocolate and then helped herself to eggs, scones, and fresh strawberries. At this rate she might have to give up modeling her new designs.
Last evening had gone better than she’d expected. A neighbor and his wife had dined with them, so her mother was constrained as to the nature and tone of her comments. After the guests left, they had all three retired. Eleanor had slept like the dead, exhausted from her day’s work. It seemed every day was like that.
Her mother entered the room and called for a fresh pot of tea. As was her habit, she refused any breakfast. Eleanor sometimes wondered how she got by without more sustenance. She was thin and, as far back as her daughter could remember, her figure had been slender bordering on skeletal.
“Good morning, Mama.”
Her mother eyed her suspiciously, as though her greeting carried some sinister meaning.
“Aren’t you eating?” Eleanor asked. Of course her mother would not be eating, but Eleanor couldn’t resist needling her about it, just as she knew her mother would needle her back regarding the great quantities she was consuming.
“And I see you have the usual full plate. Tsk, tsk. Nobody will want to buy their gowns from an unfashionably fat girl.”
Sir William dropped his paper at that. “My dear, Norrie is far from fat. In fact, she could stand to gain a few pounds.”
“That won’t be a problem if she continues to eat so much.”
Eleanor slathered butter onto her scone and bit off a huge piece, relishing the disapproval on her mother’s face. She recalled all the days she skipped meals because she was too busy to eat. Or simply too exhausted. Work was her raison d’être at present, because all she cared about was saving enough money to support herself and Lili. When she reached that point, she could leave Haslemere and purchase a modest home somewhere else. And she and her darling girl could be reunited under the same roof.
“I suppose you are hurrying away as usual this morning,” Lady Broxton said with her customary reproving tone of voice that so grated on Eleanor’s nerves.
“You know I have a business to run, Mama. I’m not off having fun.”
“Yes, you are in trade now. Heaven forbid you might want to enjoy yourself occasionally. I thought perhaps you could attend the Jensens’ reception with us this afternoon. It is in honor of their son, who’s returned from the Peninsula.”
Her mother periodically threw eligible men her way, even though she must know there was no chance Eleanor would show any interest. “I’m sorry, that won’t be possible. I am hoping to visit Lili this afternoon. We have three gowns almost completed, and I think I’ll have time after we finish putting the trim on them.” Eleanor paused a moment to consider what she was about to say, then plunged ahead. “Would you accompany me, Mama? You haven’t seen her in a long while.”
Her mother’s face flushed with anger. “No. Were you not paying attention? The Jensen reception is today.”
Eleanor’s father was watching them, looking uncomfortable. “We could make an appearance there, leave early. Those affairs are so tedious, my dear.”
“Wonderful idea, Papa! It would mean so much to me if you both came with me. I don’t want her to forget you.”
“Absolutely not. We can’t be seen at the home of those people.”
“‘Those people,’ as you call them, were handpicked by you and Papa to be Lili’s foster parents. And who would even notice?”
“It’s out of the question, Eleanor. What is the point? Lili will never be our granddaughter in the usual way. She’s a bastard, after all.”
“That’s enough, Kitty!” Sir William said, rising from his chair.
Eleanor, stunned, remained motionless, as though stuck to her chair. “You go too far, Mama.”
Her mother went on as though neither her husband nor daughter had admonished her. “And then there’s the matter of your father and I not knowing who sired her. I can understand,” she said, scrutinizing Eleanor, “why you would wish to protect the girl’s father. It is different here than in London. Among the ton, many men have by-blows. Some men acknowledge them; some do not. But here in Haslemere, it would cause a scandal. It is not simply your reputation at stake. If it became common knowledge, your lover would no longer be accepted in polite society.”
In a strained voice, Eleanor said, “What is your point, Mama?” I’m certain you have one.
Her mother leaned forward in her chair. “Simply this. You must tell your own parents who the child’s father is. The secret would be safe with us.”
So this was basically another attempt to learn the identity of Lili’s father. It was more egregious than usual. Never before had she called Lili such despicable names. Bastard. By-blow. Eleanor would never give her the satisfaction of learning the truth. She blinked back a hot rush of tears, refusing to let her mother sense any weakness in her. Pushing her chair back, she got to her feet. “If you’ll pardon me, I must be off.” On the threshold, before she lost her nerve, she turned and said, “Rest assured, Mama. I know who Lili’s father is.” Her voice broke on those words, but she wasn’t made of stone, was she?
“Will we see you tonight?” her mother called after her retreating form. She didn’t answer.
After leaving her parents’ home, Eleanor made a spur of the moment decision to visit Lili first, before she began her workday and grew too tired. Too many days to count, she’d postponed a visit because of exhaustion. She didn’t want that to happen today, and perhaps that was due to her mother’s attitude about Lili. How could she withhold love from such a precious child? It ignited Eleanor’s protective instincts and made her love Lili all the more.
Without permission, she asked one of the grooms to hitch up the gig for her. It would take too long to walk, and nobody used the small conveyance anymore. At one time, her mother had driven it for fun, back when she’d had fun, and Eleanor had sat up on the seat beside her as they tooled around the countryside calling on friends. What had happened? When had her mother become so joyless and cold? And unforgiving?
Bobby sat on the seat beside her, the wind ruffling his coat. Poor puppy looked frightened and edged closer and closer to her. It was a short drive to the Abbots’, who lived on the road to Haslemere. Eleanor half believed her parents had chosen them to be Lili’s foster parents because the approach to their home was long and therefore out of sight. She pulled up in front of the house and handed the reins to a young boy. He helped her down, and, after tucking Bobby under one arm, she made for the house. Before she even reached the door, it swung open. Jacob Abbot stood there with his usual sneer.
“The child’s sleeping,” he said, before Eleanor had a chance to greet him.
“Good morning, Mr. Abbot. I’m here to see my daughter, and since I can clearly hear her voice, I think you must be mistaken.”
He remained where he was, glaring at her. “You should notify us before you come. It upsets her routine.”
Eleanor’s hands fisted in her skirts. She tried to be polite, but this was wearing on her. Lately, every time she visited, he had tried to put her off in some way. Thus far, he hadn’t denied her entrance, but she felt it might come to that. The man had no right. “Come, Mr. Abbot. That was not part of our agreement.”
He was a bear of a man, and the odds were against Eleanor being able to force her way past him. Finally, he opened the door and stepped aside.
“Mama!” Lili spotted her and came running. Eleanor bent down so the child could pet Bobby, whom she adored.
“Hello, my beloved.”
Lili smiled up at her while her little hand stroked Bobby. “Goggie,” she said, with a jolly note in her voice.
After a minute, Eleanor said, “We’ll play with Bobby later, love.” She set the dog down and gathered the child into her arms. Dark-haired and lively, she was pure joy to her mother, from her soft skin to her milky smell and sweet voice.
Carrying her daughter, Eleanor walked toward the kitchen. Lili’s foster mother, Edith Abbot, could normally be found there. The woman was hard at work, as always. “Good morning, Mrs. Abbot.” And then, “Oh, heavens, should you be doing that?”
She was on her hands and knees, a bucket of water at her side, scrubbing the floor with a brush. It wasn’t the first time Eleanor had felt concern over the daunting tasks Edith Abbot undertook. She was with child, which was becoming more obvious now. About five or six months along, Eleanor estimated. Judging from their home, dress, and possessions, the Abbots should be well able to hire some help for Edith. With Jacob Abbot’s income as a carpenter, plus the funds the Broxtons were providing for Lili’s keep, they couldn’t be short of money, especially since they had no children of their own yet. Abbot was probably just too miserly to provide something he would consider a luxury.
Lili wiggled in Eleanor’s arms, eager to be set down. Eleanor let her go and squatted down herself, wondering why the other woman hadn’t spoken. When Edith looked up at last, Eleanor understood. Her face was bruised along one side, an ugly smear of black fading to purple. Eleanor sucked in a breath.
“Morning,” Edith said softly.
Lili plunged her hand into the water and then pretended to be scrubbing. Eleanor let her do it. “What’s happened, Edith?”
“Oh, this,” she said, pointing to the bruise. “It’s nothing. I fell on the steps and landed on my face.”
“I help,” Lili said, oblivious.
“Yes, sweet.” Eleanor didn’t believe Edith’s explanation for a minute. Jacob Abbot was in the drawing room still, or possibly in the hallway, listening to Edith’s account. Eleanor didn’t want to endanger her further. “I’m sorry. It looks quite painful. But should you be doing this kind of work in your condition?”
“She’s pregnant, not sick,” Jacob Abbot said, stepping into the room. “Edith’s always been healthy and strong.”
Eleanor rose. “We all have our limits, Mr. Abbot. I would be more than happy to find a girl from the village who can help her with this kind of heavy work.”
“Oh you would, eh? Would you pay her, too?” He took a step toward her, and for a moment she thought he meant to strike her. But she held her ground. She would not allow this man to bully her.
Apparently, he thought the better of it. “Keep out of our business, miss. Because we look after your girl doesn’t mean you can tell us what to do.”
Lili was fussing now, possibly sensing the menace in the room, and Eleanor bent down and scooped her up. “It was merely a suggestion.” She turned toward the back entrance, snapping her fingers at Bobby. “I’m taking Lili outside.”
Later, on the way home, Eleanor agonized over her arrangement with the Abbots. She hated leaving Lili at the end of her visits, but today had been worse than usual. Because now she’d discovered that Jacob Abbot was capable of physical violence. Yet, Lili did not seem frightened by him. She didn’t shrink from the man, though she’d started fussing when he’d picked his fight with Eleanor. How she regretted the day she’d given in to her parents’ demands that her child be fostered out.
After Lili’s birth, when Eleanor had returned to Surrey with an infant, she’d had little choice. Sir William had personally selected the Abbots and claimed to have thoroughly evaluated their fitness. She and her mother had given Lili directly into their care as soon as they’d set foot back in the county. Eleanor had allowed it, because she could not raise a child on her own. She had no money and nobody to rely on, other than her parents. And her mother reminded her daily that she would be ruined if word got out. That their family would be ruined. For a few months after Lili had gone to the Abbots, Eleanor had nearly been overcome with sadness and despair. Only after she’d attended a soiree one evening, at her mother’s insistence, and several ladies had complimented her on her gown, had she begun to think of becoming a dressmaker.
And that occupation was now all-consuming. Locally, word was getting out about her designs. In London, too. That was largely due to Cassandra Grey, for whom Eleanor had designed several gowns greatly admired by Cass’s circle of friends. The end of the Season was not far off, and Eleanor was receiving new orders every day. In fact, it was time to schedule a trip to Town, to confer with clients on the designs, take measurements, choose accessories. She could ill afford the time away from the actual sewing, but it could not be helped. Visiting the clientele was part of her work. And her work was everything. Her sole means to earn the money she needed to bring Lili home—although she didn’t yet have a home. But that was what drove Eleanor, pushing her to the brink of exhaustion most days.
She needed more help, but at present could not afford to hire another girl, and sewing wasn’t the only task she needed help with. The cottage required improved lighting. There must be a way, but Eleanor didn’t have the solution. She could also use a bookkeeper, since she had neither the time nor head for figures. Her father would help her if she asked. But she hated to ask when she knew he disapproved of her endeavors.
She left the gig at the Broxton stables and walked the footpath toward her cottage. The trail wound through woods interspersed with small clearings. Bluebell season was nearly over, and wild garlic now ruled, covering the ground so thickly it looked like snow and spread right down to the banks of the nearby lake. Eleanor loved the pungent smell of it.
Passing the lake, she heard a splash. Perhaps a fish had jumped. But then she heard a yelp, and unless fish had recently developed vocal cords, she didn’t think it had come from one of them. No, this sound was distinctly human. And male. There it was again. Perhaps someone was in distress?
She hurried over to the edge of the water, skirted by trees and low-growing foliage, and saw Neptune himself rising from the water. Minus a trident, but possessing other attributes. Quite impressive ones. God above, it was Hugh Grey, in all his naked splendor.
When they had made love, she hadn’t really seen any of him. It had been all touch and taste, scent, and sound. She stared without shame or guilt. He was holding something, and she quickly realized it was a cake of soap. While she stood rooted to the spot, he began to run it over his body. Slowly, sensuously, almost as if he knew she was watching him. Over his neck, and those magnificent shoulders. His sculpted chest and taut belly. And, yes, even there, his male parts. He dipped into the water to rinse himself. No yelping this time, so he must have gotten used to the water temperature, which certainly would be quite chilly. Eleanor stepped behind a tree. Hugh’s clothing and drying cloth were lying on the ground near her hiding place.
He bobbed back up, and glory be, he’d turned around so that his back was to her now. Slowly, he moved the cake of soap over his firm buttocks and thighs. He raised his legs in turn to wash them, and then ducked into the water again.
Eleanor felt warm, wet at the apex of her thighs, and knew that if anyone saw her, they would think she’d just come from an orgy. Her head canted to one side and her mouth hung open. After a moment, she came to her senses and saw that Hugh was swimming to shore, in smooth, long strokes, directly toward where she was concealed. Not very well concealed. She backed up quietly, right into something prickly, and whimpered loud enough to be heard. Hugh stopped swimming and rose partway, looking toward the shore. She did not move.
“Is someone there?” he called. “Who is it?”
Oh, good heavens. She couldn’t be caught. So she did the only thing possible. She turned and fled, running full-out and holding up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip. She did not stop until she reached her cottage.