The Adopted Debutante

An Unexpected Visitor

"He's coming then?"

"Yes, 'm"

"Thank you, Polly. Do let me now when he arrives."

"He's here, ma'am."

"—He's here...?"

The maid nodded. Eloise laid down her quill.

"Well, that was sooner than anticipated." She murmured.

"Yes, 'm."

Eloise followed the maid down the steps to the grand hall on the main floor. There she found the cook, Margaret, and the older maid, Libby, in great distress.

"He comes upon us, the fiend," Margaret muttered, wringing her apron in her hands. "It'll bring us to no good, it will."

"Calm yourself, Margaret," Eloise soothed. "He's not the devil."

"He may as well be," Libby said. "Everyone knows you and Mr. Delend are to be betrothed – every man and his brother. So why should Mr. Faulke make it his business to come 'round specifically to see you?"

"Perhaps he knows the other beautiful ladies here are too afraid to see him?" Eloise smiled.

"O mercy! Don't add flattery to our worries!" Margaret threw up her hands and departed.

"I asked him to leave, Miss," Polly ventured. "But he just smiled and said he would wait 'til the lord who gave the order or the lady to whom the order was given should tell him to leave." 

She drew in a deep breath after saying such long, elaborate words.

"That would be me, then," Eloise nodded. She looked at the two maids. "Calm yourselves, I'll simply tell him I can't entertain him now. He'll understand...but just to be sure, Libby, you come with me."

"I'll do what needs doing to him, never mind," Libby agreed.

Eloise entered the parlor to find a well-dressed man examining a painting on the farther wall. He turned when she entered.

"Ah, Miss Eloise Trellis," He said warmly. Seeing Libby, he added with a half-smile, "and Miss Elizabeth Williams, an equal pleasure."

"I am not in the habit of exchanging greetings, sir, thank you very much," Libby said stiffly.

"Mr. Faulke, forgive us, but you do come rather unexpected," Eloise told him.

He smirked, "That was my intention."

"But we are unable to entertain you as we should like and are put in the uncomfortable position of requesting you to leave."

Mr. Faulke raised an eyebrow, "On my account? Or your guardian's, perhaps?"

"Mr. Faulke," Libby's eyes flashed, "you make undue advances on this child altogether. Mr. Jeremy Delend is her fiancé and you have no right to come barging in here like some street urchin and expect Sir Carroll to let you sweep this girl off her feet simply because—"

"Unless I am mistaken," Mr. Faulke interrupted, "Mr. Delend is not Miss Trellis' proper fiancé because the date set for their betrothal is a week and three days from now, is it not? Further, if she had a band of gold about her finger, I would not blame you for your verbal mistreatment of my reputation, but she does not; may I conclude to attest that I have never breathed a word to her concerning a plausible union, have I, Miss Trellis?"

"No, Mr. Faulke, you have not," Eloise shook her head. "But I am afraid that, for the peace and serenity of this house, I must still ask you to leave."

For a moment it seemed Mr. Faulke was contemplating a response; however, he relaxed and permitted himself a slight smile.

"Very well then, I shall depart for now, and wait for time that is less inconvenient for you, Miss. And I shall recall the valuable lesson I have learned today: Henceforth, I shall warn you in advance of my arrival. Until we meet again, Miss Trellis."

With a flourishing bow, he caught up her wrist and pressed upon her white hand a delicate kiss. Before Libby had time enough to recover from his behavior, Mr. Faulke put on his hat and slipped out of the manor, all the while the faintest grin visible upon his face.

"How dare he?!" Libby cried, expostulating with her hands. She would have rushed from the parlor in mad pursuit had Eloise not caught her hand.

"Oh, Libby, let him be!" she begged her loyal maid. "What good would a verbal thrashing do?"

"It would make him mind," Libby said.

"He's not wicked, Libby," Eloise said. "He's only misguided. Besides, he has no one to care for him. Don't you think that would make him—"

"Reckless? Yes, I do," Libby agreed. "On your side, don't forget that Sir Carroll sent that braggart off after he was swearing his love to you, you who are to be engaged, Miss Trellis."

Eloise sighed and looked away. It was true that her guardian, Sir Fitzwilliam Carroll, had requested her to avoid Mr. Faulke's company, but he had expressed clearly the promise that it was but for a short time. This order to avoid Faulke had occurred after an unusual encounter scarce a week before...

Eloise had just come indoors from the garden. On the threshold was Polly and by her side stood Mr. Faulke. Sir Carroll had gone out with Mr. Delend. As Eloise approached, Polly stepped forward hastily.

"Mr. Faulke wished to speak to you, Miss." She stammered. "I did not know where you were."

"Oh, how thoughtless of me. I forgot to tell you I was watering the roses." Eloise said. "Forgive me, Polly. Please remind Margaret that Mr. Bylious will be joining us for tea."

With a nod, Polly scurried to the kitchen.

"I did not know Peter Bylious was a man of society." Mr. Faulke said, his features confused.

"He does not seem to be," Eloise assented, "but Sir Carroll and I do pity his difficulty in keeping friendships. We try to make our house as welcome to him as we can."

Faulke clicked his tongue with a disbelieving smile.

"Besides his property borders our own, and Sir Carroll enjoys hunting with him." Eloise admitted.

"Now we come to the point." Faulke said, his smooth voice suppressing a chuckle.

"That is not the foremost reason!" Eloise assured him anxiously. "Sir Carroll has always taught me to love those whom are loved the least, and he has certainly held to that maxim himself. Poor Mr. Bylious' temper keeps frightening others away."

"And does an adequate job of painting him more foolish than ferocious." Faulke murmured disapprovingly. "That a man of his maturation should fall into such fits, however, is nigh scandalous. It comes as no surprise that he is still unmarried. In the two years since I came here, he has never breathed a word by way of greeting to me...or should I clarify never one I would dare repeat."

Eloise sighed in dismay. The past few years in Trellis Manor has been difficult for her to adjust to, particularly upon the death of her family and "grandfather." Through all that time, Bylious had been one of the few friends Sir Carroll would invite, mostly because of their hunting.

Though kind enough to her, Bylious had always struggled with his temper. However, it seemed lately he was making greater efforts to curb the strong emotions that could so quickly come over him. On Sir Carroll's advice, he had even hired a very genial fellow, Austin Flintworth, to remain near him and check the passions of wrath when they threatened to arise.

For all that, the fits could not always be avoided, and how her heart bled to hear news of the damage caused by Bylious' anger. Here now stood another person wounded by his unkindness, and she knew that words of comfort can only heal the scars so much.

Only after some minutes of silence did Eloise become aware that Faulke, too, had not attempted further conversation. He simply stood by the large armchair, his arm resting upon it, his body relaxed, his eyes attentive. Their gaze was fixed upon her. Obviously, he was waiting for her to speak.

"Oh, forgive me," Eloise blushed. "I was thinking of what you said. I suppose I forgot to give a reply."

"I did not seek one," he smiled.

"Of course," Eloise nodded. "I am sure you did not come here merely to assess my neighbors," she laughed at her words, "yet here I am, gabbing like a silly goose. Pray do tell me what you wished to say." 

As she laughed, the watering can she had been holding swayed against her knees and splashed water on her dress. She gave a startled squeal of dismay and set the can on the floor. Her relief that the water had not wet the rug, along with the sight of Faulke repressing a chuckle, soothed her embarrassment. She smiled, though somewhat sheepishly.

"Allow me..." Faulke retrieved the can and placed it by the door that led to the garden. "It is not much I have to say..." he leaned against the door.

"That is well," Eloise laughed. "Perhaps you will have time to say it before our next interruption."

As she stooped to brush the water droplets from her dress, she did not see Faulke turn nor hear him step a few paces nearer.

"You could not begin to know how much I admire you," he said quietly.

With a gasp, Eloise straightened and looked at him, her eyes round with surprise. His words had chased away her playfulness; indeed, it seemed that his debonair manner was not as present as it was usually. All was silent as they stared at one another.

"I find many traits to admire in you as well, Mr. Faulke," she said slowly, as she regained her composure.

"Oh, many indeed," Faulke nodded, looking askance. Eloise would have thought he agreed, but he said the words with an angry sneer. "Where will you write of them? On a gravestone or a broken heart?" His emotions must have been charged, for he moved his hand with a quick movement as he said this, almost as if to cast it aside.

"Oh, Mr. Faulke!" Eloise cried in distress. Her horror brought him back to himself for he stepped a pace away from her.

"I—it—You must know that ever since I met you, you have inspired me," he said with his usual grace, but his breath was still quick.

"I fear I disturb you more." Eloise replied, and she made to ring the bell for the maid.

"Miss Trellis!" Faulke said quickly. 

He stepped forward and put a restraining hand on her wrist. Inhaling deeply, he seemed to breathe in all the charms he had lost a few moments before, for the eyes that turned to hers were calm, almost hypnotically so.

"Is it really so wicked of me to tell you what I truly feel?" he asked.

"No, but perhaps your approach should be more congenial," a thicker voice interposed. "Or else you run the great risk, my boy, of producing the opposite effect."

Eloise and Faulke turned to find that Sir Carroll had returned and was standing in the threshold of the room. Faulke bowed in greeting and was about to speak, but Sir Carroll lifted his hand.

"Off with you, lad," he said, waving Faulke away. "There are other girls in the plenty who would be content with your charms. Eloise is destined for another. Now, run along."

Faulke did not seem embarrassed, but the strong emotions he had been restraining were cooled considerably by Sir Carroll's reproof. He glanced at Eloise, then bowed to Sir Carroll again.

"As you like," he said. "Good day." With that, he departed.

"Oh, Uncle Carroll, I didn't-" Eloise stammered, when Faulke had gone.

"Tut-tut." Sir Carroll said, patting her wrist. "You're a good girl. I know that. Obviously, Mr. Faulke feels the same way."

"Oh, uncle, I don't understand." Eloise buried her face in her hands.

"Calm yourself. You did fine." Sir Carroll assured her. "About Faulke..." he paused thoughtfully, "I would not see him by yourself. If others are here, you may, but never alone. You shan't need to for long, I hope, but I should like to make some inquiries after his character. He's not lived here for long, has he?"

"Only two years, I believe." Eloise replied.

"Hmm..." Sir Carroll was silent a moment. Then he smiled at Eloise's troubled face. "Never mind. There will be another time to speak of these things. Come now. Peter couldn't make it for tea this time, but Dr. Newson dropped by..."

With that the matter had dropped...as much as such a matter could be. Sir Carroll had not yet rescinded his injunction, and fortunately this had been the first time since then that Faulke tried to see her alone. She could only guess that he was growing more desperate because her betrothal to Jeremy Delend was, as he said, soon to be announced.

Sighing, Eloise turned to the portrait Faulke had been examining. The painting of the late Lord Arthur Trellis hung cold and distant. The grim look on his face was nothing like the kind eyes he had in life, the comforting way he laughed. Had he lived, Eloise knew he would have been good to her family.

"Oh, grandfather," she said, touching the faded canvas, "I wish you were still here...I wish you all were still here."