“Hopeless,” Mrs. Ascot declared flatly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

As she watched her daughter flounce about the room in something that vaguely resembled a waddle (but looked nothing like a waltz), Lady Ward was forced to agree. Eleanor was a sweet-natured girl. Always happy, if a bit too optimistic at times. Pretty, if one didn’t mind orange hair and freckles. And absolutely, positively, horrendously hopeless.

“Ellie, dear, that’s enough,” she called out, waving her gloved hand like a white flag of surrender in the hopes of catching her daughter’s attention before she twisted her ankle and fell into the pianoforte. Or knocked over the bookshelf. Or sent the tea service crashing to the floor.    

The first time Eleanor’s clumsiness had revealed itself Lady Ward had attributed it to an uneven floorboard. The second time she’d blamed the wind (even though every window in the drawing room had been tightly closed). But when it happened a third time she was forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, the fault lay with Eleanor. Wanting a second opinion before her daughter’s debut into high society, she’d immediately sent for Mrs. Ascot, an old friend from boarding school who now ran a distinguished training academy for young debutantes. If anyone could help Ellie, it was Mrs. Ascot.

“There is a girl in my class with a wooden leg who moves more gracefully than your daughter,” Mrs. Ascot declared. Her thin black eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch when Eleanor began to flounce about in a circle, her arms waving madly in the air. “Send for a doctor at once, Helena. The poor thing is having a seizure.”

Lady Ward really shouldn’t have laughed, but it was either that or dissolve into a puddle of tears, and when had tears ever solved anything? “I – I believe she is attempting a simple rotation. I’m sure if she had a partner it would look more seemly.”

“Nothing could make what your daughter is doing appear seemly.” The corners of Mrs. Ascot’s stern mouth tightened into a disapproving frown. “I’m sorry, Helena. Truly I am. But there is nothing I can do.”

“Oh, but surely there is something.”

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes.” Lady Ward nodded so enthusiastically her lace cap almost flew off her head. “Yes, please. I know Ellie may seem a bit rough around the edges, but she really is a lovely girl. It’s just that dancing…well, as you can see dancing is not one of her strengths.”

“What are some of her strengths?” Mrs. Ascot asked bluntly.

Lady Ward smiled gamely. “There are almost too many to list, I’m afraid. She’s always had a brilliant head for numbers. Just brilliant. And she loves to read. Lord Ward has always said that if you are looking for Ellie just find the nearest book, and there she’ll be! She also has a great affinity for animals, and is a skilled rider.”

“What about the gentle arts? Painting? Singing? What instrument does she prefer?”

“Well…ah…You see, her pursuits have always been a bit more academic in nature.”

Mrs. Ascot’s frown deepened. “It almost sounds as if Eleanor is a bluestocking.”

“No, no, no” Lady Ward said, horrified at the very idea. “Certainly not!”

“I sympathize with you, Helena. Truly. But there is nothing I can do. Sometimes we must simply accept someone for who they are…and who they are not. Your daughter is not destined for a great match, but perhaps with a bit of luck she might find a suitable widower or the third son of a baron.”

“The – the third son of a baron?” Lady Ward sputtered. “Surely she can do better than that!”

Unfortunately, Eleanor chose that precise moment to lose her balance and fall back into the curtains. With a muffled shriek her feet flew up above her head and she disappeared into the heavy drapes. Lady Ward smiled weakly at Mrs. Ascot.

“So sorry to have wasted your time. Let me see you out.”

 

“Are they gone, Henny?” Waiting until the sound of disappointed footsteps had faded away, Eleanor untangled herself from the curtains and carefully scooped Mrs. Hensworth, her beloved pet hedgehog, out of her pocket.

She’d found the little insectivore – contrary to popular belief, hedgehogs were not rodents – in the garden stuck in the bottom of a pot. The victim of an attack from above, the little hedgehog had been missing a large chunk of her quills. After nursing her back to health, Eleanor had attempted to release her back into the garden. But Henny (having grown fond of warm milk and blueberry scones) had stubbornly refused to leave her pocket. She’d become Eleanor’s first pet, but not the last. Unbeknownst to her parents, Eleanor had quite the menagerie living in the old garden shed behind their townhouse.

Her beloved collection of orphaned animals, all of which required her daily attention, was one of the main reasons she’d just made an utter fool of herself in front of Mrs. Ascot. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be shipped off to some training academy for distinguished young women! Eleanor wasn’t distinguished. She was happy. And she saw no reason why her entire life should have to change just because she was now a debutante.

Debutante.

How she hated that word! Up until two months ago she’d only heard it a couple of times. Now it felt as though it were being thrown in her face every time she turned around.

“Debutantes do not slouch.”

“Debutantes do not eat in the stables.”

“Debutantes do not read during supper.”

“Debutantes do not speak unless spoken to.”

Frustrated beyond all bearing, she’d demanded to know what a debutante could do. And she’d gotten a very unwelcome glimpse at the future that awaited her when her mother had promptly replied, ‘Marry well, Ellie. A debutante can marry well.’

Well, she didn’t want to marry well. In fact, she didn’t want to marry at all!

“What do you think, Henny?” Lifting the hedgehog up to her face, she kissed the tip of Henny’s twitchy nose. “Do you think my life should be defined by a man? Because I don’t. Men are useless, dimwitted clods who–”

“ELLIE!” Lady Ward’s shrill voice rang through the entire downstairs. With a heavy sigh, Eleanor slipped Henny back into her pocket and prepared herself to face the music. Or in this case, the disappointment of a loving mother who genuinely wanted the best for her daughter…but was going about it in a very convoluted way.

“Yes, Mother?” she said when Lady Ward marched into the drawing room and regarded her only daughter with an expression torn between affection and exasperation. A kind-faced woman with hair several shades darker and straighter than Eleanor’s fiery red curls, Helena Ward had been regarded as a Great Beauty during her debut and time had done little to detract from her loveliness. An opinionated daughter who refused to adhere to the rules of Society, however, had begun to take a noticeable toll.

There were more lines around the corners of her mouth than there had been six months ago. Lines from frowning when Eleanor said something particularly outlandish. Lines from wincing when she tripped over something. Lines from shouting out in surprise when a little hedgehog went scurrying across the hall. Lines from staying awake at night with her mouth pinched in a tight line of worry as she fretted over Eleanor’s future prospects. For who would possibly want an outspoken girl who defied convention at every turn? A girl who would rather have her head in the stars than her feet planted firmly on the ground. A girl who had more pets than friends – she knew all about the garden shed – and who didn’t know a waltz from a quadrille?

“I am sorry to say that Mrs. Ascot cannot offer her support at this time.” With a loud, somewhat dramatic sigh Lady Ward collapsed into the nearest chair and brought the back of her hand to her temple. “She wanted me to extend her regrets, and to let you know that she is simply too busy.” 

“Oh, she isn’t busy.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “She simply doesn’t want her name attached to a complete and utter disaster.”

“You’re not a disaster!” Lady Ward protested. “Well, not a complete one anyways.”

“Thank you.”

“But I do wish you would try, Ellie,” said Lady Ward, gazing up at her daughter beseechingly. “I realize coordination is not your strong suit, but surely you can manage a simple waltz without doing yourself bodily harm.”

Seeing the strain in the corners of her mother’s eyes, Eleanor felt a twinge of guilt. “Maybe I could have tried a little harder,” she admitted. “But I fail to see how dancing is an accurate reflection of one’s character. Instead of balls, wouldn’t it be better if potential couples sat around a library and discussed famous literary works or current events or the most recent scientific discoveries?”

“Why ever would they do that?” Lady Ward asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Because those are real things that effect our real lives. Dancing is…dancing is superfluous.”

Lady Ward gasped. “Eleanor Rose, watch your tongue!”

“I’m sorry Mother, but it’s true. Furthermore–”

“Please,” her mother grimaced. “No more lectures on the inequality of women and their inferior status in Society. I feel a headache coming on.”

“I wasn’t going to lecture,” Eleanor lied. “I was just going to ask why men are allowed, even encouraged, to show off their mental and physical prowess in a variety of ways while women are expected to be silent and well behaved? We’re not vases meant to sit up on a shelf and be admired from afar. I don’t want to collect dust, Mother. I want to do what makes me happy. Life is far too short to be miserable.”

“I fail to see why you could not be perfectly happy as a viscount’s wife,” Lady Ward sniffed. “Mayhap even an earl if you really apply yourself. I’m happy, aren’t I? And I’ve been married to your father for twenty-four years.”

“Yes,” Eleanor conceded. “You are very happy, and it pleases me to see you so. But I’m not you, Mother.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lady Ward muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Eleanor said suspiciously.

“Nothing, dear.” She smiled fondly at her daughter. “Look at you. You’re a vision, Ellie. Any man would be lucky to have you. We simply have to find one willing to overlook your…quirks. There are dozens of eligible men this Season. How hard could it possibly be?”