himself, but she also had to keep in mind that he was only human, and that she shouldn't let her expectations of him get out of hand.
And there was the fact that she had promised only to give him a chance to prove himself. That did not mean that she was duty-bound to forgive him when it was over. It really didn't matter. She would do whatever was necessary to rid herself of this preoccupation with him.
Upon entering the house she went up to her room, freshened her appearance, and changed into a more suitable gown for entertaining guests in the afternoon. She was expected to join her sisters and the female guests in the back parlor for tea while the men did whatever it was gentlemen did to keep themselves occupied.
Clad in a simple gown of dark blue muslin, Eleanor left her room and returned downstairs. When she entered the parlor, she discovered the rest of the ladies already in attendance.
A happy chorus of voices erupted at her entrance, bringing a smile to her lips. What a lovely welcome.
"Forgive my tardiness, ladies," she requested, taking a seat on the chair next to Arabella. "I had duties in the village to attend to."
"We only just poured the tea," Lydia informed her, offering her a cup. "Lady Dumont was about to tell us about a delightfully scandalous book she's discovered."
Lady Dumont, an attractive woman of middle age, colored ever so slightly. "I am not certain the unmarried ladies would appreciate such a text." She cast a hasty glance at Eleanor as she spoke.
It was meant to be considerate, but the remark was like a slap to Eleanor. She was not the only unmarried woman in the room, but she felt it. For her age and station in life, she was an oddity. Two-and-thirty and still a virgin.
She managed a smile. "I am hardly a green girl, Lady Dumont. Please do not worry about offending me. I am as in favor of naughty stories as any other woman." Actually, she hadn't much experience with risqué reading. She had read Tom Jones , and that was supposed to be unfit for single ladies. And when she was younger she had snuck a peek at a book of anatomy in her father's library.
"Although," she continued, "perhaps we should give the younger ladies and their mamas the chance to leave the room if they wish?"
It was obvious that the girls wished to stay, but there wasn't a mama in the room who would allow her daughter to listen to something unsuitable for young ears. Several chairs were vacated, and when Eleanor was convinced she was the only untouched woman in the room, she spoke once more. "You may proceed, Lady Dumont."
Her words brought a smile to the buxom woman's lips as she reached underneath her chair and pulled out a slim volume. She held it up for all to see.
"The latest volume of Fanny Carson's memoirs," she announced with a smug expression.
Eleanor's exclamation joined with the others. Fanny Carson was of Harriet Wilson's set— a very popular member of the demimonde who had "entertained" some of the most powerful men in England and on the continent. Like Harriet Wilson, Fanny had decided there was more money to be made from her affairs and offered her memoirs to a publisher. Not only was she paid to write the books, but any gentleman who did not want his relationship with Fanny offered for public enjoyment had to pay to keep his name out of print.
However, while Harriet Wilson had at least kept a degree of decorum in her writings, it was said that Fanny Carson revealed an indecent amount of information about her lovers, giving intimate details about each liaison.
"Horace is in that book," Lady Merrott remarked dryly as she daintily lifted a cucumber sandwich from the tray before her. "I am eager to hear what Mrs. Carson has to say about my husband. I wonder if she found him as painfully dreadful in the bedroom as I did."
Her words were met with laughter. Even Eleanor, who was a bit
And there was the fact that she had promised only to give him a chance to prove himself. That did not mean that she was duty-bound to forgive him when it was over. It really didn't matter. She would do whatever was necessary to rid herself of this preoccupation with him.
Upon entering the house she went up to her room, freshened her appearance, and changed into a more suitable gown for entertaining guests in the afternoon. She was expected to join her sisters and the female guests in the back parlor for tea while the men did whatever it was gentlemen did to keep themselves occupied.
Clad in a simple gown of dark blue muslin, Eleanor left her room and returned downstairs. When she entered the parlor, she discovered the rest of the ladies already in attendance.
A happy chorus of voices erupted at her entrance, bringing a smile to her lips. What a lovely welcome.
"Forgive my tardiness, ladies," she requested, taking a seat on the chair next to Arabella. "I had duties in the village to attend to."
"We only just poured the tea," Lydia informed her, offering her a cup. "Lady Dumont was about to tell us about a delightfully scandalous book she's discovered."
Lady Dumont, an attractive woman of middle age, colored ever so slightly. "I am not certain the unmarried ladies would appreciate such a text." She cast a hasty glance at Eleanor as she spoke.
It was meant to be considerate, but the remark was like a slap to Eleanor. She was not the only unmarried woman in the room, but she felt it. For her age and station in life, she was an oddity. Two-and-thirty and still a virgin.
She managed a smile. "I am hardly a green girl, Lady Dumont. Please do not worry about offending me. I am as in favor of naughty stories as any other woman." Actually, she hadn't much experience with risqué reading. She had read Tom Jones , and that was supposed to be unfit for single ladies. And when she was younger she had snuck a peek at a book of anatomy in her father's library.
"Although," she continued, "perhaps we should give the younger ladies and their mamas the chance to leave the room if they wish?"
It was obvious that the girls wished to stay, but there wasn't a mama in the room who would allow her daughter to listen to something unsuitable for young ears. Several chairs were vacated, and when Eleanor was convinced she was the only untouched woman in the room, she spoke once more. "You may proceed, Lady Dumont."
Her words brought a smile to the buxom woman's lips as she reached underneath her chair and pulled out a slim volume. She held it up for all to see.
"The latest volume of Fanny Carson's memoirs," she announced with a smug expression.
Eleanor's exclamation joined with the others. Fanny Carson was of Harriet Wilson's set— a very popular member of the demimonde who had "entertained" some of the most powerful men in England and on the continent. Like Harriet Wilson, Fanny had decided there was more money to be made from her affairs and offered her memoirs to a publisher. Not only was she paid to write the books, but any gentleman who did not want his relationship with Fanny offered for public enjoyment had to pay to keep his name out of print.
However, while Harriet Wilson had at least kept a degree of decorum in her writings, it was said that Fanny Carson revealed an indecent amount of information about her lovers, giving intimate details about each liaison.
"Horace is in that book," Lady Merrott remarked dryly as she daintily lifted a cucumber sandwich from the tray before her. "I am eager to hear what Mrs. Carson has to say about my husband. I wonder if she found him as painfully dreadful in the bedroom as I did."
Her words were met with laughter. Even Eleanor, who was a bit
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