THE BARONET'S DAUGHTER

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

                             CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

LATER THAT AFTERNOON

Granville emerged from an exclusive gentleman’s Turkish Baths situated in a narrow lane just off Regents Street. He felt relaxed and confident. Within hours his plans for Eleanor Wellesley would come to fruition.

   He would see her endure indignity and humiliation; he would satisfy a hunger for revenge that had been eating at him for months. She would suffer and he would thoroughly enjoy watching her suffer at his hands.

    As he walked towards the main thoroughfare to hail a hansom cab, a figure move quickly to his side and he saw it was the liveried footman in Lord Birkett’s employ.

    The man touched his forelock in respect. ‘Mr Granville. Sir, I have more news.’

    ‘How did you know where to find me?’

    ‘Your manservant told me, sir.’

    Granville looked around him. He would have preferred this meeting to be covert and not on a busy street where anyone might see with whom he conversed.

    ‘Speak your piece quickly, he said to the servant. ‘I have no wish to loiter here with you.’

    ‘The lady in question dines at Grovsnor Square tonight. Lord Birkett and his pals are away, taking the coach with them.’

    ‘I see.’

    ‘She will be on foot, sir,’ the footman said hurriedly ‘I will escort her to the house and back again.’ He paused. ‘BeaumontGardens is a very quiet area, sir, with little traffic.’

    Granville looked at him. The man was too astute and he distrusted that. There must be no trace left of Eleanor Wellesley.

    ‘You’ve done well,’ Granville said. ‘We will meet again later tonight when you will receive just reward.’

    ‘Very good, sir,’ the footman said and walked swiftly away.

    Granville hailed a hansom and directed it towards home. He had plans to make.

AFTER DINNER AT GROVSNOR SQUARE

Eleanor sat at the piano in the Birkett’s drawing, accompanying the girls as they sang.

    ‘Desist now, my dears,’ Lady Birkett said. ‘Eleanor will be worn out.’

    Eleanor glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost half an hour past nine o’clock. Whereas normally they would remain sitting in the drawing room until well after ten, she knew she should be preparing to take her leave. She was thinking of the maid, Mary, all alone in that huge house. She must be getting back.

    Eleanor rose from the piano. ‘Thank you for this evening, Lady Susan, and for your advice,’ she said gratefully. ‘The time would have dragged by at BeaumontGardens.’

    ‘I will call Prout to get your cloak, Eleanor,’ her ladyship said. ‘And the footman, William, will escort you.’

    ‘I hardly need an escort,’ Eleanor said. ‘It is but a short step around the corner.’

    ‘Nevertheless he will go with you. Who knows what dangers may lurk.’

    Her cloak was brought and the footman awaited her in the hall.

    ‘Goodnight, Eleanor,’ the girls called in chorus.

    ‘Yes, good night, Eleanor,’ Lady Susan said. ‘I do so hope you will be comfortable tonight and not disturbed by the emptiness of the house,’