CHAPTER FIVE

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                               CHAPTER FIVE 

‘Dunstan!’

Lady Constance Dunstan’s rather hawk-like countenance was white with consternation and anger.

    ‘Dunstan! Something must be done!’

    Lord Dunstan looked up from his detailed inspection of the household accounts with a grunt of impatience; his small button-eyes almost invisible within the creases and jowls of his face.

    It was said by those who were placed to know such things, that he was as rich as ten nabobs. While those same neighbours and friends acknowledged that he kept the best table in the county, they also knew him to be frugal and penny-pinching in other matters, supervising the outlay of every half-penny with utmost care.

    ‘Constance, what it is?’ His tone was scratchy. ‘Cannot you see that I am occupied with important matters? For example, the cost of candles for this establishment is ruining me. We must manage with less light.’

    ‘Fiddlesticks!’ Lady Constance’s tall, gaunt frame; some had been unkind in calling her scraggy; quivered in her fine muslin morning gown.

    ‘Madam! I must protest...’

    ‘Fiddlesticks, I say again,’ she cried passionately. ‘There is nothing more important than the future happiness of our daughters. How can you bide there and let them be humiliated?’

    It was the mystery and the bane of her life that she, so slender in her youth, had produced progeny of such lumpy proportions, and concluded it to be some freak of nature.

    Nevertheless, she loved her three daughters dearly. For years she had fought hard for them against the meanness of their father. For they were biddable girls, and what they lacked in form and face they made up for in amiability and good sense.

    Lord Dunstan sighed and threw down his quill.

    ‘Oh, what can they need now?’ he grumbled. ‘The last London Season neigh ruined me. Gowns, fripperies, not to mention the innumerable assemblies I had to pay for. Yet, there they are still unwed; a drain on my dwindling resources.’

    ‘Fiddle-faddle!’ Lady Constance had heard it all before. ‘If last season was not disastrous enough, now they have to face humiliation in their own home.’

    ‘You talk in riddles, madam, and I have no time for it.’

    ‘Eleanor!’ Lady Constance’s voice vibrated with heart-felt emotion. ‘Eleanor has betrayed my hospitality.’

    ‘I think you mean my hospitality, madam. Have I not been brought to penury with an extra mouth to feed?’

    ‘Dunstan, attend me!’ Lady Constance exclaimed shrilly. ‘Eleanor has had the audacity to purloin the affections of Mr Brimbleton from under the very nose of Honoria. Your eldest daughter, my lord, is in acute distress.’

    Lord Dunstan scowled. ‘The devil you say! Ah! I knew taking in strays must be a costly business. How many more of your destitute relative must I succour?’

    ‘Never a one!’ his wife declared stoutly. ‘Eleanor must be got rid of. I am writing to Lady Susan Birkett. Her girls are to be out next season. They need a chaperone. Eleanor will suit them nicely. Let her steal suitors there if she can.’

    ‘But is she not to take Brimbleton?’

    ‘The chit has refused him, and he has taken himself off to Devonshire. Oh! I am in such a dash over it all. Before he set eyes on Eleanor, Brimbleton was about to ask for Honoria, she’s sure of it.’

    ‘Is he such a loss?’ Lord Dunstan asked. ‘I mean he has no title.’

    Lady Constance sniffed. ‘That is true, but he is heir to impressive estates in Devonshire and has a goodly fortune, even if it is got out of leather.’

    ‘No more than a tradesman then!’ Lord Dunstan scowled. ‘I cannot see Honoria as the wife of a tradesman, madam.’

    Lady Constance gave a little sob. ‘It seems the girls must get what they can.’

    It cut her to the quick to admit it even to her husband.

    ‘And that is another matter I would tax you with, my lord,’ she continued, compressing her lips. ‘You must settle a fortune outright on each of the girls directly. Say, fifty thousand apiece.’

    Lord Dunstan sprang to his feet, his jowls quivering.

    ‘Madam! Are you mad?’

    ‘As young women of independent means they will seem more attractive to suitors,’ Lady Constance argued strongly. ‘With their own fortunes and their prospects of inheritance they will have few to oppose them next season.’

    ‘What! Am I to beggar myself in this quest for husbands?’

    But Lady Constance had matched wits and wills with her husband too often to be defeated now. She came away from the negotiations with thirty thousand pounds each, plus handsome settlements on marriage.

    She was well pleased until she laid eyes on Eleanor again.

It was a week after the unfortunate incident of Mr Brimbleton’s hasty departure to Devonshire when Eleanor stood outside Lord Dunstan’s study, feeling not a little apprehensive of the coming interview.

    What had occurred with Mr Brimbleton was regrettable indeed, but she did not blame herself for it by one jot.

    Lady Constance, however, did, and had shunned her ever since, although not before making it plain that there was to be a parting of the ways.

    While this did not distress her over much in the circumstances, her apprehension was acute when considering where she might be sent next, and in what capacity.

    Gathering her courage, Eleanor knocked and entered. Lord Dunstan was at her desk as always. She stood before him in an ill-fitting cast-off gown of Lady Constance’s, feeling very vulnerable and uneasy.

    His lordship looked up eventually.

    ‘Ah! Eleanor. My wife has reported to me that you have transgressed upon her...my hospitality. You have lured away the affections of Brimbleton at the expense of Honoria. What have you to say, miss?’

    ‘Lady Constance is mistaken, my lord.’ Eleanor clasped her hands tightly together before her, determined to stay calm. ‘I have hardly said two words to Mr Brimbleton in the few weeks I have been here. No one was more surprised, indeed shocked, than myself when he offered for me.’

    Lord Dunstan raised his bushy brows. ‘But you refused him. I dare swear you have missed a golden opportunity, Eleanor. Brimbleton’s twenty thousand a year, not to mention his prospects of inheritance, would have set you up in style. Am I to take it that you refused him for Honoria’s sake?’

    ‘No, my lord.’

    ‘Then why?’

    ‘Since I hardly know him, I do not love him. Mr Brimbleton seems a pleasant enough young man, with gentlemanly ways; however, I know I could not be happy with him.’

    In truth she could not take his offer seriously, apart from any other consideration, and was convinced that he would have been floored had she accepted him.

    Mr Brimbleton was a young man of mediocre intelligence, and while not yet a sprig of fashion, had leanings that way, being more concerned with the cut of his coat than anything else.

    Lord Dustan sighed and shook his head, making his jowls quiver.

    ‘Eleanor you have a lot to learn. Take my advice. Put romantic nonsense out of your head. Accept the next man that offers for you. Your own establishment must be better than serving in that of another woman.’

    Eleanor stood with her gaze lowered, unwilling to comment further. She had known she could not remain in the Dunstan household indefinitely, but had thought her stay might have been longer than two weeks. What was in store for her now?

    ‘Make ready to travel to Gloucestershire tomorrow,’ Lord Dunstan said. ‘Lady Susan Birkett of Willington House is expecting you. My coach and coachman will be at your disposal first thing after breakfast.’

    ‘What will be my duties, my lord?’ Eleanor asked with apprehension.

    ‘Chaperone to her twin daughters, as I understand it from Lady Constance.’

    Eleanor swallowed. Chaperone. That did not sound too onerous. Of course, it could only be temporary until the daughters found suitable husbands.

    ‘Thank you, my lord.’

    He regarded her for a moment, an expression of pain on his face.

    ‘Eleanor, do you have money for the inns along the way.

    The pained expression increased as Eleanor shook her head. With obvious reluctance he opened a cash box on his desk and counted out three guineas.

    ‘This winter the roads are worse than usual,’ he said, ‘you may need to put up for two nights.’

    Knowing how much it aggrieved him to part with money, Eleanor thought it very generous.

    ‘Thank you, my lord, I am very grateful.’

    ‘Then heed my advice, Eleanor. Waste no more opportunities.’

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