Chapter 2

Rap, rap, rap!

'Lady Eleanor, please open the door!' a voice called.

Eleanor continued to sleep - the soft plush pillows gently caressed her face while the silk duvets kept her warm and cosy. She was aware of the incessant knocking on her door but her mind was still on faraway adventures she would take, voyages she would go on as soon as she was free of society's shackles.

'Lady Eleanor, please!' the voice called again, worried. 'Your mother is beside herself with anger at your absence from the breakfast table.'

At the mention of her mother, Eleanor stirred awake. The dream had ended. However, the nightmare awaited her downstairs.

'Mary,' Eleanor called to her lady's maid, her voice still groggy from having just awoken. 'Why do you wait outside? Come in!'

'I can't, my lady,' Mary said, her voice having begun to take on a frantic note. 'I tried but the door is locked from your side.'

Eleanor sprang up into a sitting position on her bed. She never locked the door when she went to bed. Her mother forbade it. Slightly unnerved but fully awake now, she crawled out of the warm embrace of her bed and went to open the door which was, indeed, locked as Mary had said. It was odd she had done so but she didn't fully recall much of last night's ball with all the sherry and ratafia she and Gabrielle had imbibed. Wiping a palm over her face and wincing at the dull throbbing of her head, she unlocked and opened the door.

At the sight of her mistress, Mary's face flooded with relief. She pushed past Eleanor, carrying a breakfast tray in hand and set it on the small coffee table near the window that overlooked the gardens.

Eleanor, slightly puzzled, said, 'I thought I was to have breakfast at the table, Mary. Why did you bring it up to my room?'

Mary pushed Eleanor into the powder room and proceeded to make her bath. 'Lady Eleanor, I have been waiting outside your door for the past hour, calling your name and banging on the door! You only awoke now. Her ladyship was threatening to come up here herself if you did not waken in the next ten minutes.'

Eleanor suppressed a shiver. Any interaction with her mother would simply ruin the rest of the day for her. She shook out of her nightgown down and Mary pushed her into the bath unceremoniously. 'What is the time now, Mary?' Eleanor asked, revelling in the soothing calmness of the water.

Mary, who was now hurrying back into the room, stopped in her tracks and gave Eleanor an incredulous look before stating, 'It is now half past eleven, my lady! And there are callers downstairs! Important ones!'

The statement finally knocked sense into Eleanor as the full meaning of those words hit her. She was late! She was oh so dreadfully late! It did not matter whether or not there had been a ball that ran late, her mother expected her to be at the breakfast table by ten, no matter how she was feeling. And callers, to add to that! Her mother must be in a dreadful temper downstairs as she always was regarding matters concerned with her.

Eleanor washed herself as fast as she could, not bothering to soak in the tub as she normally did. How on earth could she have locked the door, last night? Even with her mind foggy from the spirits, it was not a habit she was accustomed to.

When she finished with her bath, she rushed to her room and grabbed a piece of toast from the spread Mary had brought her. As she gulped down her tea, her maid dressed her, tying the corset tighter than usual. She wrestled herself into the hoop skirt and wondered why on earth Mary had chosen a lavish day dress for her to wear rather than the simple tea gown she normally wore at daytime.

'Mary,' she said, in between yelps when her maid yanked the lace of the crinoline around her waist. 'Why did you choose the green silk today? I usually wear the brown muslin.'

'I do not know, my lady,' Mary muttered, her sole concentration on finishing the task at hand. 'Your mother has demanded you be dressed in the silk.'

'Who are the callers, do you know?' she asked, wondering if the Prime Minister had come to call as he often did.

Mary shook her head, now, moving onto doing her hair after having pushed Eleanor in front of the vanity. 'I do not know, my lady. I merely know that they are important.'

Eleanor furrowed her brows in confusion as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her black hair was being done up in piles on her head - a hairstyle one does when one dresses to impress.

'Is the hair also my mother's idea?' Eleanor questioned, looking at Mary's small face in the mirror. Her sweet face held worry lines although her lips were set in grim determination. A lock of mousy-brown hair escaped the neat bun behind her head.

'Yes, my lady,' she replied, indifferent to the curious look Eleanor was giving her.

A few minutes later, Eleanor was hurrying rather haphazardly down the stairs to come face-to-face with her – dare she say it – demon of a mother whose expression of distaste as she took in her adopted daughter did nothing to deter the feelings of hatred which were now clouding Eleanor's better judgement.

'You're late,' her mother gritted through her teeth, looking her up and down. 'And your hair is a frightful mess,' she finished the statement, shooting a glare at poor Mary beside her. Mary visibly winced before retreating, undoubtedly, to the servant's quarters.

'You cannot blame Mary for that, mother,' Eleanor said, trying to keep the loathing out of her voice. 'I had accidently locked the door and Mary could not wake me up on time. It is my fault.'

'Clearly,' her mother stated, her lips set in a tight line on her aging face. 'But, sadly, this will have to do. Come,' she said, grabbing Eleanor by the elbow and dragging her to the parlour.

A maid opened the doors to the parlour at the sight of them and mother and daughter walked in, daughter trailing behind mother as usual.

Two men, with their backs to her, sat on the sofa in front of her and two more sat on the one facing her. Her father was seated in his armchair with his head in his hands. His head sot up at their entrance and he paled at the sight of her.

Her mother had masked her expression of contempt to one of delight as she beheld the sight in front of her. Leaving Eleanor at the threshold of the parlour, she walked in and sat on one the chaise lounges and motioned for Eleanor to sit next to her. Eleanor, however, remained rooted to the spot.

'Well, don't just stand there, darling,' the marchioness laughed. 'Come greet our guests.'

Eleanor, realising that she had made no move to greet them, walked forward in sight to all and dipped into a low curtsey. Rising, she looked around at the guests her mother had mentioned. Seated on the divan facing her was the man she had seen her father speak to yesterday, the one who had made her father's entire countenance change in a second. His mien was grim but pleased, as if a deal had been agreed upon that benefitted him greatly. Eleanor's stomach lurched at his sight, an uneasiness settling on her. Desperate to look away, she moved her gaze to the man seated on the other divan and her heart dropped to her stomach as she took him in

The Duke of Wolverhampton was the second man.

Struggling not to trip on her skirt from the shock at his presence in her house, Eleanor made her way to sit beside her mother. The duke had a thoughtful look on his face as he watched her move to sit. Averting her eyes from his unnerving ones, she fiddled with the lacy hem of her sleeve and drew her gaze down.

Why on earth was he here? Why were any of them here? she could not help but wonder.

'Eleanor,' her father called her and she looked up at him and noticed the pain and sadness his eyes held. She wondered why her father seemed sorrowful but her mother jubilant. Whatever it was, the answer would not be good, she knew.

'I believe the duke wishes to speak in private,' he continued tightly. He then looked at the others in the room and inclined his head towards the door. 'I believe we should leave and give the two of them a moment.'

'Of course, Albert!' her mother said. She clapped her hands and everyone stood up to move.

'Wait!' Eleanor called, halting everyone in their tracks, their heads swivelling to hers. She however had eyes only for the duke who continued to stare at her, unfazed. Involuntarily, she remembered the way he had held her yesterday as they danced and a shiver went down her spine. She pushed the feeling away and continued. 'Your Grace, whatever you wish to say to me, I believe you can do so with others present.'

'Eleanor!' her mother chastised before turning to the duke and letting out a short laugh. 'Forgive her impertinence, Your Grace, she will most certainly entertain you in private.'

'Entertain him?' Eleanor gawked in horror at her mother. 'What am I, a courtesan?' She could not help the words leave her.

Her mother and the mysterious stranger gasped and her father's pale countenance hardened as he shot her a glare. 'Eleanor, mind what you speak.'

She could not believe what she was hearing. Her father never raised her voice at her. And here he was doing exactly that at a time when she was being called a trollop, even if not in so many words.

'I do not understand, papa,' she said, reigning her anger in. 'Surely it is nothing as important as all that that the duke wishes to converse that my parents cannot hear about.'

The mysterious stranger decided to interfere just then. 'My lady, I really do think you should speak in private –"

'Lady Eleanor is right,' the duke's voice suddenly interjected. He rose from his seat and folded his arms behind his back as he continued to calmly take her in. 'I believe this matter can be discussed with her parents present. After all, it concerns them as well.'

'Your Grace,' her mother interjected, but the duke cut her off.

'No, Lady Salford, it is quite alright.' He turned his gaze to the stranger. 'However, Cunningham, I do think it is best that you leave.'

The stranger nodded. 'Very well, your Grace.' He turned to her father. 'I believe all our matters are settled. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Salford.'

Business? Eleanor wondered. What business could this man possibly have with her father? She had never seen him before in her life, and she knew quite almost everyone.

Cunningham inclined his head at the room before he left, shutting the parlour door quite loudly before leaving.

Eleanor's head turned to meet the eyes of the duke and found he was gazing back at her, quite intently.

'Well, Your Grace?' she asked. 'What is so important that you need to speak with me?'

The duke smiled rather humourlessly before replying, 'I am here to make an offer, Lady Eleanor.'

Eleanor shook her head. 'I believe there is nothing I can do for you, Your Grace. Alas, I do not own a thing and am unfortunately without many talents, save for being able to play a little on the pianoforte. I do not think a man of your stature would require anything from me.'

Her father was the one who spoke for the duke, however, albeit quite grimly. 'The Duke of Wolverhampton has asked for your hand in marriage, Eleanor,' he bit out. 'And I have given him my blessing.'

The ground dropped from underneath her as she reeled from her father's words. Surely, he had misspoken. Or rather, she had misheard. Surely, the duke hadn't offered her – her! – marriage. And surely, her father had not said he had consented. Eleanor's resolve broke as she rose from her seat and shouted, 'Beg pardon but surely you didn't just say marriage?'

Her mother grabbed her by the elbow. 'It is a fine match. The two of you are to be wed in two weeks' time.'

'Two weeks?' Eleanor shouted incredulously and glared at the duke. Despite her outburst, the duke remained unfazed and merely looked at her impassively.

'Yes,' her father replied in answer to her question. 'Wolverhampton wishes to be wed as soon as possible - he has work elsewhere.'

'Are you all quite mad?' Eleanor shouted. 'Am I to have a say in this at all?'

'Well, the opportunity for you to have a say has passed,' the duke suddenly interjected. 'You let it go when you refused to speak privately with me.'

Eleanor laughed incredulously. 'As if that would have changed the outcome.' She pointed an accusing finger at her father. 'He has already decided for me, has he not?'

The duke refrained from replying, as well he should.

'Behave yourself!' her mother hissed, as she grabbed her elbow and yanked her towards herself, her fingernails digging deep into her skin. 'You forget that we have company present. You will not get a better offer, girl, even if you were born of my womb!'

Eleanor wrenched her arm away and stared accusingly at her mother. 'A better offer? I expected no offer. Is that not what you liked to keep telling me over the years, mother?' A dam of tears was gathering behind her eyes and it took everything in her to not let it spill over. 'My heritage ensured that, didn't it?' she continued. 'Society has been making a laughingstock of me for years for the colour of my skin. You despaired of me ever wedding and leaving the house and giving you peace! Was that not what you kept saying to me, lady Salford? That was my one refuge. That the damn colour of my skin would keep all men at bay!' She was crying now, she realised, in front of her parents and the duke. Her mother hated tears. When she was young, she screamed more when she cried. Now, however, she did not care, nor did she care about the outsider who was witness to her shame.

'If no one would have me, at least I would be free to do as I pleased!' she continued, oblivious to her mother's attempts at hushing her. 'I could go wherever and leave you!'

'Eleanor!' her father screamed, interrupting her tirade. She whipped her head away from her mother to see her father's aged face red with the flush of anger. 'You will control your voice and reign in your temper, right now.'

Eleanor gasped between the onslaught of tears and her anger was replaced by bitter disappointment. 'How could you, papa?' she asked. 'Did you not think of me even once when consenting? What made you even think of taking such a drastic step?' She walked towards her father and held his hands. He instantly lowered his gaze, as if he could not bear to look at his daughter. 'You supported me in my plans,' she continued. 'You told me that you'd let me go on journeys and visit the world. What happened to all that?' She hardened her eyes accusingly, hurt by how much of a coward his father had revealed himself to be. 'Or was that all said merely to keep me at bay?'

Her father finally raised his eyes and the look on his face killed her. It was one of deep sorrow, pity and guilt. 'I cannot fund your journeys if I have no coin,' he said softly.

Eleanor reeled back. So that's what it was. They were in desperate straits. Suddenly, everything made sense. The man – Cunningham – and his talk of concluded business. She suddenly remembered of her mother's talk of judicious use of candles, to be sure to conserve it. Back then, she hadn't thought much about it. Now she knew better.

She turned to look at the duke. He was still looking at her, although a hard look now marred his face. He seemed awfully calculating as he took in the entire scene that had transpired but strangely enough, did not say anything.

'We are destitute, are we not?' she asked no in particular.

'Yes,' her father answered, his face still lowered in shame. 'The estates have not been profitable for years and I thought that if I could just win it all back –'

'You gambled it all away!' Eleanor exclaimed, rearing back.

Lord Salford shook his head, silent tears wracking his frame. 'I was sure I could do it. Instead I lost more than I hoped to gain and –' he paused for a minute to regain his breath. 'Cunningham is the man I owe the money to and the duke has agreed to settle my debt as long as you are wed to him.'

'How much?' Eleanor asked, her anger returning. 'How much do you owe, papa?'

His answer almost undid her. 'Ten thousand pounds,' he said in a small voice.

Eleanor's heart broke as she stared at her father's face, hoping he would declare all of this was a ruse - a trick, a prank, anything! But as the seconds passed and her father's gaze hardened, she knew it was reality. It was cold, hard, reality.

A reality she refused to accept.

'No,' she said, turning her hard eyes to the duke. 'I reject your proposal, Your Grace.'

'Eleanor!' her mother screamed. 'Your refusal is irrelevant. You will be wed to him in two weeks' time and there is nothing you can say or do that will detract from the inevitable.'

'I reject,' she said again, her voice raising. 'I will work as a governess if I have to, to pay back the money but I reject this proposal.'

The duke turned around and reached for a file on the table. Drawing out a sheet of paper, he thrust it into her hand. 'You cannot do anything about it. It has been signed upon and settled. To not meet the terms of the agreement will ensure that your father is dragged to court before all and sundry for breach of contract.' He returned the sheaf to the file before turning to her and saying, his eyes devoid of all the emotion and amusement it held the previous night, 'Even if you were to run away, as you are no doubt scheming now, Lady Eleanor, your father would be in debtor's prison. Even you would not be as cruel as all that, now, would you?'

Eleanor gasped. There really was no way out of this for he was right. No matter how angry and betrayed she felt, she would not subject her father to the dirt and grime of prison. 'The rumours are wrong. You are a cruel man,' she whispered to the duke.

The man in question simply shrugged. 'There is a reason why they are merely rumours.'

Another bout of tears threatened to spill forth and Eleanor, ignoring the shouts of her parents to wait, ran out and up the stairs to her chambers.

It was only when she reached her room and locked the door – this time, intentionally – and threw herself on the bed – the crinoline breaking beneath the layers of her gown – that the tears which had threatened to leave its cage finally released.