Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

London, December 1813 – 6 years later

Eleanor's heart clenched as she peered up into the sturdy branches of the tree, her son Harry perched precariously above. “Harry, if you don't come down from that tree, Lillian won't be coming to stay,” she pleaded, trying to mask the fear in her voice. Her only child, the Marquess of Claremont, was almost seven years old, and any harm to him would give Lord Redington the excuse he sought to wrest him away from her care.

Her late husband had appointed Lord Redington as Harry's guardian against her wishes, entrusting the fate of their son to a man as stern and humorless as his father had been. Eleanor's sigh expressed the weight of time she had spent battling against her dead husband's decisions, most of which he had made in opposition to her desires.

Silently vowing to allow Harry the freedom to be a boy for as long as she could, she couldn't shake the looming specter of Lord Redington, who would soon take Harry under his wing, molding him into the image of who he perceived was a proper nobleman.

As they made their way back through the sprawling rose garden, Eleanor's thoughts turned to her own future. Should she remain unwed, Lord Redington would continue to wield his influence over Harry's upbringing. Yet, the prospect of marrying a man from Redington's “suitability” list filled her with dread. Perhaps there was a man who could make her laugh, open her heart, and be a loving father to Harry—a man who would also meet Redington's approval. But such a hope seemed fleeting given that in the past six years she’d met no man who she wished to sacrifice her newfound freedom for. No man was worthy of such a sacrifice.

The man she was looking for was not interested in an aging widow with nothing to her name except her son’s inheritance, which they couldn’t touch.

“What time is Lillian arriving?” Harry asked eagerly, his eyes bright with anticipation as he skipped along beside her.

“When her nanny, Rosey, has everything packed and ready. After luncheon, I suspect,” she replied, relishing the excitement in her son's voice. The promise of Lillian's visit brought warmth to her heart, momentarily dispelling the chill of uncertainty that hung in the air.

“Can we go to the park this afternoon?”

She held open the terrace doors for him. “I think it’s going to snow.”

“Oh, what fun. I wonder if the Serpentine will freeze over this year. I hope Lillian brings her skates. How long is she staying? The usual few days?”

“If the chill in the air is anything to go by, I would think it will snow.” She closed the door behind them on a shiver. “Lillian will be here for a few days, at least just like every other year.”

“Will she stay for Christmas? Remember, you promised we would have it here this year. You said I wouldn’t have to go. I don’t want to go to Stuffington’s house.”

She tried to hide her smile. “Lord Redington to you, young man.”

“Stuffington,” Harry repeated under his breath.

As they entered the house, Nanny Robyn appeared, her presence a comforting reassurance of stability amidst the chaos of Eleanor's thoughts. “Let’s be having you, young master Harry.” With Robyn's gentle guidance, Harry was ushered away to be warmed, cleaned, and fed before Lillian's arrival.

“Thank you, Robyn.” She turned to the maid. “Can you please have some tea and sustenance brought to the drawing room? I have some invitations to go over this afternoon, and I believe Lady Penelope is coming for tea at three.”

As she watched Harry march up the stairs chatting to Nanny, she called, “Remember, you promised to be on your best behavior when Lillian is here or I shall send her home.” Harry was asserting his own wishes a bit too loudly for Eleanor’s liking and while she doted on her son, she had to maintain a semblance of control for all their sakes. She was pretty sure someone on the staff was being paid by the Earl to provide details of their lives. Considering Redington appointed all the staff she could do little about it. She lived in constant fear of her son being taken from her.

A loud cough emanated behind her. “A missive from Lord Redington arrived this morning.”

The temperature dropped a few degrees as she turned to take the note from her butler’s hand. “Thank you, Joseph,” and she walked up the stairs with a heavy heart. It would be another demand for Harry to spend Christmas at the Earl’s home and another festive season Harry would hate. The years flew by and soon her son would be Redington’s. Couldn’t the man just leave her to enjoy her son while she could?

Alone once more, Eleanor felt a familiar weight settle upon her shoulders as she sank into a chair at her writing desk. The missive that arrived from Lord Redington served as a stark reminder of the constraints that bound her.

The thought of two long weeks without her son's cheerful presence over the Christmas period weighed heavily upon her. But this year would be different, Eleanor resolved. She had promised Harry a Christmas at home, and she intended to keep that promise. Even if it meant defying Lord Redington's wishes, she would not subject her son to another joyless holiday at the Earl's estate.

She gazed across the street at the Duke of Hampton’s majestic townhouse, its grandeur a stark contrast to the turmoil within her own heart. Once again, she found herself caring for Lillian in Ambrose's absence.

He always turned up to collect his daughter well before Christmas day. He never let her spend Christmas without him. He adored his little girl.

But he would, as usual, hold this annual event. She rather thought that he held this annual event out of pain.

She knew all too well of Ambrose's extravagant party, held every December since his wife left. Rumors of his impending divorce, finally sanctioned by Parliament, only added to the tumult. Would he be celebrating his newfound freedom, or was he truly mourning the loss of his marriage?

Each year, Ambrose would whisk Lillian away from the chaos of his own home, entrusting her to Eleanor's care. And though Lillian adored her visits with Harry, Eleanor couldn't shake the anger that simmered within her. How could a mother, especially a duchess, abandon her daughter for the allure of distant shores and a handsome suitor? The mere thought of leaving behind a child as delightful as Lillian filled Eleanor with indignation, painting a damning portrait of the Duchess of Hampton in her mind.

Yet, amidst her righteous anger, she couldn't help but ponder Ambrose's own pain. Why did he mourn the woman who had forsaken him and their daughter? Despite the rumors painting him as a tyrant, Eleanor knew better. Ambrose had adored Cassandra, worshipped her with a fervor that transcended reason. Perhaps it was this love, this devotion, that left him so wounded by his wife’s departure.

A part of her envied him that loss. She hadn’t shed a tear when her husband died.

Eleanor's own marriage had been devoid of such passion. It was a union forged from obligation and convenience, lacking the warmth and affection she longed for. She remembered the whispers of how Ambrose had pursued Cassandra relentlessly, captivated by her beauty and wit. And when Lillian entered the world, their happiness seemed complete—a testament to their love.

But then, not quite a year since Lillian's birth, Cassandra had fled, leaving behind a shattered marriage in her wake. Was Ambrose truly heartbroken, or was his stoic facade merely a mask for his damaged pride? Eleanor suspected the former; despite his pain, Ambrose never uttered a word of malice against his estranged wife. He remained, for the most part, a true gentleman in Eleanor's eyes.

The only time Eleanor felt justified in rebuking Ambrose was during his annual bachelor-only house party, a tradition that had begun each December on the anniversary of Cassandra's departure. She’d heard rumors of what went on at this affair and it shocked her, but as it was over in four days and the rest of the year he behaved impeccably, so she turned a blind’s eye to this event. Who was she to say how a man should drown his sorrows?

Although she’d looked after Lillian each December for the past six years, not once had Ambrose asked her and Harry to spend Christmas with them. Nor had he spent any time in her company during the rest of the year. If they met at a social event, he was polite. He would dance one dance with her. Enquire after Harry’s health and then depart. It was as if he had this wall up and no one penetrated his fortress.

Sometimes she dreamed about what her life would have been like if she’d married the Duke instead of her husband. Sharing his bed would be no hardship. He was rumored to be a marvelous lover. He had a face that made every woman take notice, even a nun, with a body to match. Would she be happy if she’d married Ambrose?

She couldn’t be any unhappier? Could she?

She frowned. She wouldn’t have Harry, though.

She pushed the thoughts of the handsome, wounded Duke from her mind and set about accepting the invitations she’d be expected to attend. She’d just finished the last reply and added it to the pile of responses when her best friend, Lady Penelope, sailed into the room with Joseph, her butler, puffing along behind her.

Penelope waved her hand behind her. “I know the way, Joseph. There is no need to announce me.” The butler merely closed the door after her with a bit more force than usual. Her friend came to her and pressed kisses to both her cheeks. “If you frown any harder, the lines will become permanent.”

“And hello to you, too,” Eleanor responded joyfully.

Penelope took a seat by the fire. “Let me guess, Stuffington’s requested Harry’s presence again for Christmas.”

“I’ll have to watch you around, my son. Now I know where he got that name from.”

Penelope merely laughed. “Well, the man’s unbearable, much like your husband. Not that I speak ill of the dead.”

“Of course not.”

“I hope you’re saying no this year. What can the man do?”

Her smile died. “He could find some excuse to take my son.” She poured them both some tea.

“You give him nothing to use against you. Saint Eleanor is what everyone is calling you. Besides, not if you said Harry was ill.” Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Nothing too serious, but enough to make Redington not want to have him in the house. A stomach ailment, perhaps. Bad eggs?”

“Then he’d descend on this house and find me a liar. Or worse, blame me for his illness.” She smoothed her skirts. “I can’t beat him. So this year I’m just going to say we wish to have it alone at home. I’m simply defying him. And I’ll take my punishment come January.”

“You really need to remarry. Not all men are like your husband, Arthur. My Jonathan is wonderful. We are very happy. I want you to have that too. This time you get to choose, not your father.”

“There you are wrong. Redington gets to choose. If he is against my marriage, he can take Harry. It’s what Arthur wrote in the guardianship. He made sure I’d never be happy again.”

The two ladies sat in silence until Joseph re-entered and announced, “Lady Lillian has arrived and Nanny Rosey has taken her upstairs to settle in. The children will come down at supper.”

Once Joseph took his leave, Penelope leaned froward. “Now there’s an idea. His Grace’s divorce has come through. He’d make an excellent husband and Redington couldn’t deny it.” At her shake of the head, Penelope went on. “What on earth could you object to? He’s handsome, kind, rich and apparently a god in the boudoir,” followed by wiggling eyebrows.

She laughed. “And why, when he could have his pick of debutantes, would he want a woman like me? You live in a fantasy world. Men like the Duke of Hampton don’t marry long in the tooth, plan jane, widows. They marry a woman like Cassandra.”

“But then she left him. I think he’ll be wiser the second time.” Her friend slammed her teacup on its saucer. “Besides, you’re not plain. If you took a bit of interest in fashion and got rid of that terrible widow’s bun, you would look radiant.”

Redington’s threat saw her hide away, doing nothing to draw attention to herself. “Well, I’ve lived across from His Grace, and I’ve taken care of his daughter every December for six years, and he’s never treated me as more than a neighbor.”

“He’s never been able to. He was still married. People considered any woman seen with him a mistress.

—“Yes, and there have been a few of those.”

Her friend ignored her comment. “So he could not possibly court you until he could remarry. Now he can.”

“What tosh you talk. He didn’t even bring Lillian over himself. He doesn’t care to see me.”

Penelope prickled under her stare. “Then make him want to see you.”

“How am I supposed to do that? Other women far more worldly and beautiful have tried and failed.”

Penelope sniffed and took up her tea once more. “I’m not sure, but we will think of something. A small dinner at my house. I’ll get Jonathan to invite Hampton and a select few. They are quite good friends, as you know.”

She thought that would be quite nice. “Hampton’s house party is about to begin. So it will have to be nearer to Christmas. He won’t leave it for at least four days, and I doubt you’re letting Jonathan attend.”

“Indeed, not. Bachelors only.” She sighed. “I wonder what goes on at such an event.”

Eleanor laughed. “I shudder to think, but I cannot really blame him. Cassandra’s leaving destroyed him, didn’t it?”

“It did. Even Jonathan was worried about him for a time. If not for Lillian, my husband doesn’t know what His Grace might have done.” Then she huffed. “But he needs to put the past behind him and move on. He needs an heir and now that he’s been granted his divorce…” she winked at Eleanor.

“Oh, to be wanted once again as a baby maker. If I marry for a second time, and it’s a big if, I want more. I want friendship, kindness, and, if possible, love.”

Just then, there was a knock, and Joseph entered. “His Grace, the Duke of Hampton, my lady. Are you at home to receive him?”