“And yet you cling to clean-scrubbed modesty, as if you were going to fall in love with the evil landlord and end up throwing yourself off a cliff.”
Eleanor thought about the implications of Anne’s description. “I have not been wandering around in a melancholy daze,” she stated.
“It’s as if Gideon stole all the life out of you, those years ago.” Anne reached in her net bag and brought out a thin silver box, flicked it open and displayed a row of cigarillos.
“I can’t think that tobacco is good for you,” Eleanor observed.
“This isn’t for me, but for you.”
“Me?”
“You. You’re going to offset Lisette’s pallid brand of perfect Englishwoman by appearing absolutely wicked. Lusciously licentious.”
“Wicked? Me?”
“The only way to stay young is to try new things,” Anne said. “God knows virtue never shaved off anyone’s years. On second thought, I’ll wait to give you a cigarillo until after supper. But then you, Lady Eleanor, are going to have a glass of wine and smoke tobacco. I shall tutor you myself.”
“Pah!”
“You don’t have to smoke it. I’ve found that merely holding a cigarillo catapults one from tedious virgin to something far more interesting. Here’s my point, Eleanor. Gideon the Godless stole more than your virginity when he turned his back and married Ada instead. Now could we please go downstairs? I need something to drink, and so do you.”
“Mother believes drinking spirits before meals causes mental instability,” Eleanor said, following her.
“Ratafia promotes mental instability: that’s why there are so many silly women in the ton. Rum is what you need,” Anne said. She breezed into the drawing room, paused for a moment on the threshold so as to draw all eyes, and then moved to the side, pulling Eleanor forward.
Lisette beamed at them, of course. Lisette was always happy to see her friends. Their mother opened her mouth and snapped it shut, for all the world like a beached fish. Villiers said nothing, nor did his face change.
Anne tucked her arm through Eleanor’s. “Good evening, everyone.” She turned to Popper, who was proffering a silver tray. “Is that ratafia, Popper? And orgeat? Absolutely not. We know exactly what we’d like. Rum punch, if you please.”
Lisette came to her feet as if she had just remembered she was their hostess. She was wearing a charming gown of cream silk, embroidered with tiny forget-me-nots. Her bosom was chastely covered, and her panniers equally modest. Eleanor felt like the Whore of Babylon by comparison, dressed in crimson and painted to match.
Her mother appeared at her side. “Why?” the duchess whispered, horror in her voice. “Why?”
“I am wearing Anne’s gown, precisely as you bade me,” Eleanor said to her, sacrificing her sister without guilt. “You instructed me to listen to her advice as regards men, Mother. You said that I must learn from her experience.”
“But—But—”
“Doesn’t Eleanor look absolutely ravishing?” Anne put in.
“She does!” Lisette crowed, joining them. Lisette had never expressed a stick of jealousy, as far as Eleanor knew. “I wish that we had more visitors to admire you.” The smile fell from her face. “We never seem to have visitors anymore. My aunt, Lady Marguerite, tends to discourage our neighbors from joining us for dinner. Oh, I know!” She waved madly at Popper.
He was mixing rum punch at the sideboard.
“Popper! Popper!”
The butler turned around. “Yes, my lady?”
“Send a footman to Squire Thestle immediately, if you please. Do beg him the courtesy of joining us for supper, he and his lovely wife. And Roland, if he’s at home.” She turned back to Eleanor, smiling. “Sir Roland would be perfect for you, dearest. He has a Roman nose. Yes, and a Grecian chin.”
“Perhaps you could turn him to currency and trade him on the Exchange,” Anne remarked. “Villiers, how kind of you to finally decide to greet us. You appeared frozen in your place, as if you had turned into a Roman statue yourself.”
“I was struck dumb by your beauty,” Villiers said, bowing.
Eleanor just stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
“My lady,” Popper was saying in some distress. “I am not sure…in Lady Marguerite’s absence—”
“For goodness sake,” the duchess burst out. “You’ll forgive me, dear Lisette, if I observe that a strong hand is needed in training this household.” She rounded on Popper without pausing for breath. “I do hope that you are not questioning Lady Lisette’s direct order? We will, naturally, wait for supper until the squire and his family arrive. I am not hungry, although I trust your cook can bring us something to nibble on.”
Eleanor was hungry, but she took a sip of her rum punch instead. It was surprisingly good, rather sweet and fruity. She had always thought men drank fiery drinks, meant to straighten the backbone.
Popper had a noticeably wild-eyed look, but he trotted into the hallway. “That looks very good,” Lisette said, noticing Eleanor’s glass. “What is it?”
“Rum punch,” Anne said. “It’s utterly delicious, which is why gentlemen tend to gulp it all themselves. Here, darling, you may have mine. I haven’t even touched it. Villiers, you know none of us can match you at chess, and besides, it’s such a deadly boring game that we would fall over with fatigue if you started a match with one of us. Do you know any other games, perhaps something all of us might play?”
“No,” Villiers said. He wasn’t the sort of man who could be easily flirted with, Eleanor noted.
Anne didn’t seem to notice. “I expect we have at least an hour before the squire arrives,” she observed. “We could have an interval of improving conversation.” Her tone made it clear that she’d rather jump into a lake.
“I know exactly what we should do to amuse ourselves,” Lisette said.
“What do you propose?” Villiers asked, bending solicitously toward her.
Eleanor drank some more of her rum punch.
“We’ll play knucklebones!” Lisette said, smiling at him.
There was a moment’s silence. “Knucklebones?” the duchess asked. Her tone was not friendly, but Lisette was oblivious.
“You might know it better as dibs,” she said happily. “It’s no end of fun.” She waved at a footman and a moment later was holding a pile of knobby bones and a small wooden ball.
Eleanor peered at the bones with some interest. It went without saying that her mother had never allowed a game so unsanitary and altogether common in the ducal nursery.
“Now,” Lisette said, “we must make ourselves comfortable. Of course we need to be able to toss the bones properly, and that means a wood floor. Perhaps I should have that big rug taken up.” She looked over at the remaining footman as if about to order him to get to work on the spot.
“Not tonight,” Anne said. She looked distinctly amused. “There’s plenty of bare floor; we are standing on some at this moment. But where do we sit, Lisette?”
“On the floor, of course,” Lisette said.
“On the floor,” Anne repeated. “Of course.” Without hesitation, she gracefully sank to the ground, and beamed up at them from the wide circle of her skirts. “Do join me.”