THE BARONET'S DAUGHTER

CHAPTER EIGHT

                                                                        CHAPTER EIGHT

In the small sitting-room set aside for the use of the pretty Birkett twins Eleanor could restrain them no longer.

    Dorothea, a picture of loveliness in a gown of primrose coloured silk, overlaid with an embroidered fine white muslin, raised a limp wrist to her forehead, sighing dramatically.

    ‘I swear that if I do not go down to greet my Uncle Ambrose right this minute, I shall swoon away.’

    ‘You take too much upon yourself, Dottie.’ Cecelie tossed her pale blonde ringlets. ‘Kindly remember that I am the eldest and must take precedence in everything, including our welcome to my Uncle Ambrose.’

    Identically attired and equally as lovely as her sister, Cecilie turned eagerly to Eleanor.

    ‘May we go down, please, Eleanor?’

    Eleanor glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

    ‘Half an hour before dinner. I don’t think it would be unseemly to venture down.

    The girls’ squeals of delight were cut short when Lady Susan came into the room, resplendent in a low cut gown of deep blue brocade, caught high under the bosom; her décolletage relieved by a froth of pale blue organdie.

    Her normally placid face was flushed with annoyance.

    ‘It really is too bad of my brother, Ambrose. He has brought an unexpected guest with him; my nephew,  Mr Jeffrey Warburton.’

    The girls’ squeals of delight were renewed.

    ‘Two gentlemen from London,’ Dorothea twittered. I shall swoon away with the excitement of it all.’

    Cecilie, seeing her mother’s obvious concern was less effervescent.

    ‘But is Mr Jeffrey Warburton not welcome, Mama?’

    Lady Susan hesitated, giving her daughters speculative looks.

    ‘Of course, of course. But your father and I consider his visit most inappropriate at this time. It would be unfortunate if the heart of one of my girls was to be captured by him, just before the Season.’

    Lady Susan glanced at Eleanor. ‘Mr Jeffrey Warburton is a very personable young man, with a good figure and address, but he has no title and little hope of one.  I have set my heart on titled gentlemen for my girls.’

    Her ladyship’s bosom heaved in agitation mixed with pride.

    ‘My girls will make a famous success of next Season. I dare swear they will have the pick of all the fine titled gentlemen.’ She gave an appealing look to Eleanor. ‘Eleanor, you must begin your duties as chaperone at once. I look to you to guard the tender hearts of my dear girls.’

    Following in the footsteps of Lady Susan and her daughters, Eleanor descended to the drawing-room where the gentlemen were settled.

    In accordance with her role as companion and chaperone she was attired plainly in a high-necked dress of dove grey Carmelite; its plainness relieved at the throat by a string of coral beads that her brother, Henry, had once given her.

    Having arrived in Gloucestershire with only the clothes she had originally travelled to London with on that fateful first week of November, she was grateful for the wardrobe supplied by her benefactor, Lord Birkett, plain though it might be.