The Shadow in the Glass JJA Harwood (book recommendations for young adults txt) 📖

A middle-aged woman swept towards them. She had a mass of brown hair and a wide smile, her amber-coloured dress fiery in the setting sun. She wore her jewels as if she’d been born in them.

‘Dear Charles!’ she said. ‘I was so hoping you’d come. How are you, dear boy?’

‘Very well, thank you, Lady Winstanleigh. May I introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Eleanor Hartley.’

The woman turned on Eleanor. ‘Your fiancée? Well, I’d heard rumours …’

Eleanor flushed. She curtseyed, and tried not to wobble. ‘How do you do?’

Lady Winstanleigh’s eyes flickered towards Eleanor’s stomach. She’d let Eleanor see it; no real lady would have made that mistake. Eleanor kept her smile in place, and studied Lady Winstanleigh’s hair. Parts of it were darker than others; she had clearly been using hairpieces.

Lady Winstanleigh’s laugh sounded like broken glass. ‘Why, Charles, she’s such a charming creature! Wherever did you find this little treasure? Now, come with me, there’s so many people who want to see you again …’

‘After the first dance, Lady Winstanleigh, I should be glad to join you.’

‘Of course. And afterwards, Miss Hartley, you must tell me how you met. William tells me you were some sort of governess?’

The muscles in Charles’s arm stiffened. Eleanor laughed. ‘Why, Lady Winstanleigh, that sounds rather like Jane Eyre!’

The waltz came to a close, there was a smattering of applause, and Charles led her onto the dance floor. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, as they took their places, ‘I’m afraid she’s always been like that. You aren’t upset?’

A soft chord swelled up from the violins. Charles placed a hand on Eleanor’s waist.

‘No.’

The music began to play.

How could she be upset with her hand in his? People would talk. They were already staring. But Charles was still here, smiling, his eyes soft. The other dancers were whirls of colour and flashes of black; formless shapes compared to his steady, solid presence. Cocooned by the sound of violins, she could not hear the whispers. With that expression on his face, would she ever notice someone else hissing in a neighbour’s ear? They didn’t matter. She was safe.

Soon, she would be the mistress of Granborough House. Orange blossoms and a white dress held no thrills for her: why should her life come to its peak with a quick kiss in a church? No more creeping through a forest of smoke and chimneys. As Mrs Pembroke, it would be horizons all the way. And such horizons! Vienna. Strasbourg. Paris. Rome. Petersburg. And why not further? Why not run at life with her arms outstretched?

She stared into Charles’s face. His full lips were smiling, his blue eyes locked on hers as if she were the only person in the room. But the first threads of grey hair clustered at his temples, and there were new lines around his eyes. Grief had run its fingers across his face, but it made him hold her tighter. When he looked at her now, she knew how much she meant to him. When he promised to keep her safe, she believed him.

The waltz ended. Charles held out his arm. ‘Are you ready?’

She took it. ‘Yes.’

‘Miss Hartley, if you are not otherwise engaged …’

‘… all alone? How perfectly dreadful! And she left you everything?’

‘Are you familiar with the work of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Miss Hartley? You could have stepped straight off the canvas …’

Eleanor waded through a sea of insincere smiles. Dance cards were pushed underneath her nose. Champagne flutes were pressed into her hands. Flowers were plucked from buttonholes and vases and tucked behind her ears. Beckoned, waved to, admired and wanted, Eleanor felt magnetic.

She caught snatches of conversation as she passed.

‘American, if ever I saw one …’

‘… you know he jilted his first fiancée? Poor girl joined a convent, Millicent tells me, but you know how she …’

‘… not even that! A housemaid. Imagine!’

Let them say what they liked. Jealousy would not stop her jewels from sparkling. Besides, her third glass of champagne had dulled their knives.

Charles pushed his way over to her, holding another two glasses. He pressed one into her hand as Eleanor’s empty stomach growled.

‘Is there somewhere we might take refreshments?’ she asked. ‘I was too nervous to have supper before we came.’

‘You must think me an ogre! We must find you something to eat.’ Arm in arm, they strolled along the edges of the ballroom, past dowagers and gouty old men and those not asked to dance. ‘We can always creep down to the kitchens and see what we can find.’

She grinned at him. ‘I believe I saw a hot-potato cart on our way here. Perhaps we could send a footman out for one.’

‘And a pint of ale to wash it down.’

‘And jellied eels. Or whelks. No – pigs’ trotters.’

‘Trotters? But how on Earth would you—’

Eleanor laughed. ‘I’m sure Lady Winstanleigh could provide you with the appropriate fork.’

‘Stop your teasing, you minx!’

She pouted. ‘But I do it so well.’

‘You do. How much longer do you want to stay? Perhaps we could have supper somewhere more private.’

‘You’re a beast! We can’t leave now, we’ve only just arrived. Her ladyship would be desolate without us.’

‘Heartless thing. Oh, that reminds me. There was someone Lady Winstanleigh wanted you to meet.’

‘Why didn’t you say so? I hope we haven’t kept them waiting.’

‘Nonsense. I’m sure he—’

Charles broke off. They had shuffled around the edges of the ballroom and were coming close to the hall doors. Lady Winstanleigh was waiting beside them, standing next to the tall, black-clad figure of Inspector Hatchett. Fear punctured Eleanor’s bubble.

‘Quick,’ Eleanor hissed, ‘if we turn back now—’

‘Charles! There you are.’

Lady Winstanleigh was already sweeping towards them. Her eyes flashed towards Eleanor, sharp and fast. ‘I wonder if I might borrow you for a moment. Come and speak to Edgar about your Oxford days. He’s considering Cambridge; you simply must talk him out of it.’

Eleanor laid her free hand on Charles’s arm. ‘Actually, Lady Winstanleigh, I’m afraid we were just about to leave.’

‘I simply won’t hear of it. This