Disgrace and Desire. Sarah Mallory

through her hostess’s mind and felt a little kick of anger. Everyone in town thought Alex was her lover. Nothing she could say would convince them otherwise, so she did not make the attempt. Besides, it suited her purposes to have the world think she was Alex’s mistress. She had seen too many virtuous women hounded by rakes and roués until their resolve crumbled away. At least while the gentlemen thought she was living under Alex’s protection they might flirt with her but they would not encroach upon another man’s territory. Yet occasionally it galled her, when she saw that knowing look in the eyes of hostesses such as Lady Parham.

      Twelve months of mourning had done much to assuage the feelings of grief and loss that had overwhelmed Eloise when she had learned of Tony’s death. Through those lonely early weeks Alex had always been there to support her and to share her suffering. He was a true friend: they had grown up together and she loved him as a brother. She did not want the world to think him a deceitful womaniser who would steal his best friend’s husband, but Alex assured her he was happy to be thought of as her cicisbeo.

      ‘If it satisfies their curiosity then we should let it be,’ he told her, adding with a rueful smile, ‘Much less dangerous than the truth, Elle.’

      And Eloise was forced to admit it kept the wolves at bay. Now she fixed her smile as she regarded her hostess, determined no one should think her anything less than happy.

      ‘Mr Mortimer was kind enough to escort me this evening.’

      ‘La, but you need no escort to my parties, dear ma’am. I am sure you will find only friends here.’

      ‘Yes, the sort of friends who smile and simper and cannot wait to tear my character to shreds behind my back,’ muttered Eloise, when her hostess had turned her attention to another arrival. Angrily she shook out the apricot skirts of her high-waisted gown.

      ‘They are jealous because you cast them all into the shade,’ remarked Alex.

      ‘I did not think it would be so difficult,’ sighed Eloise, ‘coming back into society again.’

      ‘We could always go back to Allyngham.’

      ‘If I were not so determined to get on with fulfilling Tony’s last wish to build a foundling hospital I would leave now!’ muttered Eloise angrily. After a moment she squeezed Alex’s arm and gave a rueful little smile. ‘No, in truth, I would not. I have no wish to be an outcast and live all my life in the country. I am no recluse, Alex. I want to be able to come to London and—and dance, or visit the theatre, or join a debating society. But I could do none of these things if you were not with me, my friend.’

      ‘You could, if you would only hire yourself a respectable companion.’

      She pulled a face.

      ‘That might give me respectability, but I would still be vulnerable. Even worse, it might make people think I was on the catch for another husband.’

      ‘And is there anything wrong with that?’

      ‘Everything,’ she retorted. ‘I have been my own mistress for far too long to want to change my situation.’

      ‘But you might fall in love, you know.’

      She glanced up at him and found herself responding to his smile.

      ‘I might, of course, but it is unlikely.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I have some experience of a sincere, deep devotion, Alex. Only a true meeting of minds could persuade me to contemplate another marriage. But such a partnership is very rare, I think.’

      ‘It is,’ said Alex solemnly. ‘To love someone in that way, and to know that you are loved in return, it is the greatest blessing imaginable.’

      Eloise was silent for a moment, considering his words.

      ‘And I could settle for nothing less,’ she said softly. She looked up and smiled. ‘But these are grave thoughts, and unsuitable for a party! Suffice it to say, my friend, that I am very happy to have you as my protector.’

      ‘Then you must also accept the gossip,’ he told her. ‘It is no different from when Tony was in the Peninsula and I escorted you to town.’

      ‘But it is, Alex. Somehow, the talk seems so much more salacious when one is a widow.’

      He patted her arm.

      ‘You will grow accustomed, I am sure. But never mind that now.’ He looked around the room. ‘I cannot see Berrow here.’

      ‘No, I thought if he was going to be anywhere this evening it would be here, for Lord Parham is an old friend. Oh, devil take the man, why is he so elusive?’

      ‘You could write to him.’

      ‘My lawyer has been writing to him for these past six months to no avail,’ she replied bitterly. ‘That is why I want to see him for myself.’

      ‘To charm him into giving you what you want?’ asked Alex, smiling.

      ‘Well, yes. But to do that I need to find him. Still, the night is young; he may yet arrive.’

      ‘And until then you are free to enjoy yourself,’ said Alex. ‘Do you intend to dance this evening, my lady?’

      ‘You know I do, Alex. I have been longing to dance again for the past several months.’

      He made her a flourishing bow.

      ‘Then will my lady honour me with the next two dances?’

      

      Alex Mortimer was an excellent dancer and Eloise enjoyed standing up with him. She would not waltz, of course: that would invite censure. She wondered bitterly why she worried so about it. Waltzing was a small misdemeanour compared to the gossip that was spreading about her after only a few weeks in London—already she was being called the Wanton Widow, a title she hated but would endure, if it protected those she loved. Eight years ago, when Lord Anthony Allyngham had first introduced his beautiful wife to society everyone agreed he was a very lucky man: his lady was a treasure and he guarded her well. During his years fighting in the Peninsula he had asked Alex to accompany Eloise to town, but it was only now that she realised the full meaning of the knowing looks they had received and the sly comments. It angered her that anyone should think her capable of betraying her marriage vows, even more that they should think ill of Alex, but since the truth was even more shocking, she and Alex had agreed to keep up the pretence.

      The arrival of the beautiful Lady Allyngham at Parham House had been eagerly awaited and Eloise soon had a group of gentlemen around her. She spread her favours evenly amongst them, giving one gentleman a roguish look over the top of her fan while a second whispered fulsome compliments in her ear and a third hovered very close, quizzing glass raised, with the avowed intention of studying the flowers of her corsage.

      She smiled at them all, using her elegant wit to prevent any man from becoming too familiar, all the time comfortable in the knowledge that Alex was in the background, watching out for her. She was surprised to find, at five-and-twenty, that the gentlemen considered her as beautiful and alluring as ever and they were falling over themselves to win a friendly glance from the widow’s entrancing blue eyes. The ladies might look askance at her behaviour but the gentlemen adored her. And even while they were shaking their heads and commiserating with her over the loss of her husband, each one secretly hoped to be the lucky recipient of her favours. Eloise did her best to discourage any young man who might develop a serious tendre for her—she had no desire to marry again and wanted no broken hearts at her feet—but she was willing to indulge any gentlemen in a flirtation, secure in the knowledge that Alex would ensure it did not get out of hand.

      It could not be denied that such attention was intoxicating. Eloise danced and laughed her way through the evening and when Alex suggested they should go down to supper she almost ran ahead of him out of the ballroom, fanning herself vigorously.

      ‘Dear me, I had forgotten how much I enjoy parties, but I am quite out of practice! And perhaps I should not have had a third glass of—oh!’

      She