Lady Eleanor Mary Cantwell, daughter of the Marquess of Salford, is a proper young lady. With her golden complexion, raven-black hair, and manners befitting a princess, Lady Eleanor has always been deemed a belle. There is just one problem.
Lady Ele...
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It was hushed whispers that greeted Eleanor when she emerged downstairs with her mother after their talk. The voices were coming from the drawing room – those of her father and husband.
'I need to make sure you understand, Albert. I need your word that you will be silent on the matter.' Eleanor could not see them yet but Nathan's urgent yet subdued tone carried across to her.
'How many bloody times need I say I shall!' her father shouted. 'If it gets out, we shall all be ruined! Already, London is awash with the news. Why do you think we've come?'
'Well, Papa, seeing as your daughter is Indian, I cannot see how you can be any more ruined than you are now,' Eleanor said from her standing at the door, interrupting the dialogue.
'Eleanor!' her father exclaimed, jumping up from his perch at the settee, his eyes widening. Nathan followed suit, smiling in her direction, his eyes flicking to the small swell at her stomach before going back up to her face. Eleanor felt her heart miss a beat as he did so.
'Hello, Papa,' she said quietly, wrenching her eyes away from her husband to her father. Her father did not look well. Contrary to her mother's exquisite appearance, her father was a sore sight for the eyes. Over the last few months, he had lost quite a lot of weight and his clothes hung on his wiry frame. His hair hardly had anymore brown hairs, there were black bags under his eyes and the number of wrinkles which had marked his face had increased drastically. Eleanor's heart clenched at his appearance but she made no remark.
'My, darling, you're glowing!' her father exclaimed, a brilliant smile upon his face, reaching out. Eleanor forced a smile onto her face and returned the embrace. She wrinkled her nose at the onslaught of the putrid stench of ale and cigars that clung to her father. She did not think he was in his cups right now but he had definitely indulged quite a few times the past few months from the looks – or rather, stench – of it.
'Pregnancy suits you,' her father continued, drawing back and looking her up and down.
'Thank you, Papa,' she said. 'And how are you? Have you been keeping well?'
'Of course, of course!' he remarked, brushing the topic aside and drawing her to sit her down on the settee. 'But how are you, my dear? We have so much to discuss.'
'Heavens, Albert, don't smother the girl,' her mother interrupted quickly, drawing him aside. 'Think of the babe.'
'Right, of course!' Her father drew back, looking back and forth at her and her stomach. He seemed to have a nervous energy about him and Eleanor was sure he was hiding something.
'Papa, what were you and the duke talking about when I entered?' she asked in a low voice. Nathan was conversing with one of the footmen in low tones at the other end of the room and he too seemed to be nervous as his eyes darted everywhere about him.
'Nothing!' her father said, with a little too much enthusiasm and quite loudly as well.
'It could not have been nothing,' Eleanor replied, feeling a frown mar her face. 'What matter was it that Nathan wanted discrete? Is it the matter of us aiding the rebellion? Mother said London is abound with rumours.'
