Page 6 of Anastasia and the Duke
"At least she can be cajoled into attending," Charlotte replied, with an arch glance to Oliver, who never set foot in the place.
"Well, I wish she would hurry up and find herself a husband, so I don't have to suffer any further dull evenings," Lady Uptondown grumbled, before casting a wicked glance Oliver's way, "Have you met my granddaughter, Hawkfield?"
"I have had the pleasure," Oliver nodded, trying to hide his smile, "If you are angling for a match, however, I'm afraid the lady made it very clear that she would not be entertaining my suit."
Or any other man's suit, for that matter, for Miss Linette Robin was the most determined of spinsters--and a blue stocking to boot. Lady Uptondown was accustomed to winning, but when it came to trying to find a match for her granddaughter, Oliver believed she held a losing hand.
"La! What a silly girl she is; most ladies would sell their soul for a chance to be your duchess," Lady Uptondown rolled her eyes in exasperation at her granddaughter, before departing in a cloud of kisses and musky perfume.
The three remaining ladies chatted a while longer, until Lady Guernsey declared that she too was required elsewhere. Once she was gone, only Oliver, Charlotte, and Lady Lansdowne remained at the table.
"I finally have you alone, Eloise," Charlotte said, with some satisfaction, once the countess had disappeared from view, "Now tell me, whatever it is that's the matter."
"It's nothing," Lady Lansdowne replied, but she relented under the duchess' sceptical glare.
"Oh, alright," the countess grumbled, before giving a long sigh, "It 'appened again..."
While she usually spoke with a cut-glass English accent, in her upset, Lady Lansdowne's voice betrayed her French origins.
"Oh, dear," Charlotte sighed and leaned across the table to take her friend's hand, "What happened this time? Did they take much?"
Oliver, who had no clue whatsoever as to what was going on, remained still in his seat in an attempt to remain invisible. He did not want his presence to deter Lady Lansdowne from confiding in his grandmother, and he was also keen to hear what had upset her so. The countess and Charlotte were lifelong friends, and Oliver regarded her with great affection. If anyone had upset her, he would gladly run them through with a sword.
"I had a letter from a Parisian lady who said that she had information on what happened to my dear Anna after the fire," Lady Lansdowne said, the slight tremble in her voice the only indication of the upset she felt.
"And?" the duchess prompted, both hopeful and despairing all at once.
"It was a hoax," Lady Lansdowne laughed bitterly, "As they always are. I had parted with two-hundred pounds before Colin heard of it all and put a stop to it. But, of course, it is not the loss of money which upsets me..."
No, Oliver sighed inwardly; it was the loss of hope which had done that. Poor Lady Lansdowne had lost both her daughter and granddaughter under the most terrible of circumstances. Her gut-wrenching loss was further compounded by the fact that her granddaughter's body had never been recovered from the wreck of the château in France. The countess lived in a perpetual state of hope that her granddaughter, Anastasia, had somehow--miraculously--escaped the blazing inferno, and no amount of pleading or rationalisation could persuade her otherwise.
Charlotte did not say anything in reply to her friend's confession, though she did reach across the table and take the countess' hand in hers. A knowing, sympathetic look passed between the two ladies, a look which left Oliver with a searing feeling of grief in his chest. His grandmother knew well the loss of a child, for her son--Oliver's father--had died in a carriage accident alongside his wife nearly three decades ago.
"I am an old fool," Lady Lansdowne finished with a sigh, offering her friend a watery smile.
"You are a mother," Charlotte responded firmly, "If someone told me that Charles had somehow survived the accident, I too would want to believe it, even if I knew it to be an untruth. It is a cruel person indeed, who preys on those who love."
"Colin thinks they preyed on me because I am going senile in my dotage," Lady Lansdowne sighed, "He wishes for me to hire a companion."
"Absurd," Charlotte was outraged; though, Oliver thought with a smile, her outrage was probably on her own behalf as well as her friend's. The two women were of an age, and if Lady Lansdowne was thought to be in her dotage, then that meant that Charlotte was too--a thing she would never countenance.
"You know Colin," came the wry reply, "He is concerned more with appearances than anything else. He should hate for my foolishness to make the papers, lest it reflect badly on him."
Oliver was familiar with Lady Lansdowne’s son, the Earl of Morris,through their shared club, White's, and Parliament. He was a stuffy, fastidious sort, and it was easy to imagine his horror at being involved in a scandal.
"It's not so bad," Lady Lansdowne continued with a shrug, "In fact, I shall enjoy having someone to read to me in the evenings."
"As long as it is what you want," Charlotte's reply was firm, "And if Colin starts clucking about sending you down to the country, tell him he shall have to answer to me."
The duchess looked so fearsome at that moment, that Oliver had no doubt she would be able to browbeat the Earl of Morris into submission.
Lady Lansdowne smiled in thanks for the support, before quickly changing the subject to other matters. The pair chatted lightly for a while longer, before they both decided to take their leave.
"Send word if you need me for anything," Charlotte said, as she bid her friend adieu.
"Thank you," Lady Lansdowne replied, before allowing the footman who had materialised to take her arm and lead her from the shop to her awaiting carriage.
As Oliver was also on footman-duties, he proffered his arm to his grandmother, who clutched it lightly as he guided her toward their own vehicle.
