A Duke of Her Own(67)

"Oh, I made it up," Lisette said. "I never liked the idea of the basket falling. Why, the babe would be hurt!" She tugged his hand gently. "Come on, Leopold. My aunt has returned home and she'll be vexed with me if I'm overly late."

She called him Leopold so easily, as if they had been intimates forever.





Chapter Seventeen


Eleanor entered the drawing room and was greeted by a tall, thin woman wearing a towering, snowy white wig. "Darling, it's been years! I haven't seen you since you were in pinafores, and look at you now. Utterly gorgeous."

"Lady Marguerite," Eleanor said, dropping into a curtsy. "It's such a pleasure to see you again. I may have changed, but you have not."

Marguerite laughed at that, but it was true. She was not only beautiful, but stylish, with arching dark eyebrows that sharply contrasted with her white wig. She had to be in her forties or even her early fifties, but she dressed with the eclat of a young woman.

"It's such a pleasure having visitors, even though several of them are confined to their chambers.

Apparently your mother has a toothache," she said, leading Eleanor into the room, "and dear Anne refuses to leave her bed. So we're very thin company tonight, with Lisette, Villiers, and myself. But I must introduce you to my good friend, the Honorable Lawrence Frederick Bentley the Third."

Bentley was from Yorkshire, with stiff white whiskers and very bright eyes. He looked as if he enjoyed galloping the moors shouting Tally-Ho! "How do you do?" he said with a flourishing bow.

"We've been discussing the endlessly fascinating subject of matrimony," Marguerite said, seating herself. "I myself have never been married, as you know, and I shall never choose to be at this point in life. I prefer to have devoted friends."

"But what of love?" Lisette said, cocking her head to one side and regarding her aunt as if she'd never seen her before.

"Love is all very well in its way—Eleanor, dearest, do have one of these small tarts; they are delicious—as I was saying, love is fine, but friendship is much more important." Marguerite shot an amused smile at Bentley. "Which is not to say that there can't be love in friendship... at least devoted friendship."

"Without marriage no one would have children," Bentley said. "Family, what? Important, that sort of thing."

"Bentley has two children, though of course they're grown now," Marguerite informed the rest of them, speaking for him in a comfortable way that made it clear that while she may have declined to marry Bentley, the contours of their relationship weren't unfamiliar.

"One can certainly have children without marriage," Lisette said, with her unerring gift for saying what most people think, but never utter. "Just look at Villiers's children. Your girls have startlingly beautiful eyes," she said, turning to him.

"Children? Didn't know you were—what, ho!" Bentley said, stopping in some confusion.

"I'm not married," Villiers said calmly. "But I do have children. Three of whom are upstairs, and about whom Lady Lisette has kindly expressed some admiration."

"Do you have any children born outside your marriage?" Lisette asked, turning to Bentley. "You must have had a wife earlier in life, before you met Marguerite, I mean."

Bentley was clearly used to Lisette; he didn't even flinch. "My wife died many years ago. I don't have any children other than those Marguerite mentioned, but a brother has one. Nice lad; we set him up as a cartwright and he's as fine as fivepence. A sturdy fellow too, not at all like my nephew."

Marguerite laughed. "Poor Erskine! Bentley's nephew is in love with the daughter of a colonel, and all he does is mope and carry on for the love of her."

"They are both your nephews," Lisette pointed out.

Eleanor felt very glad that her mother felt a toothache; this was not a conversation that she would enjoy. What's more, the Honorable Lawrence and Marguerite were holding hands now, and the duchess wouldn't approve of that either.

And Villiers was smiling at Lisette, likely because of her defense of the illegitimate cartwright.

Eleanor felt a stab of jealousy. He was hers—except he wasn't. "Did Sir Roland happen to stop by while we were at the orphanage?" she asked Marguerite.

"Of course he did," Marguerite said with a wicked twinkle. "I gather you have captivated the attention of our local bard. I invited him to join us after supper for a musical interlude. Which reminds me, we really should go to supper now. Popper seems to be quite unnerved. I think it'd be best if we do exactly as he requests tonight."

"Did you bring back any interesting stories from London?" Lisette implored, after they were seated around the table.