The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Read Free

which had accompanied it. 
    In an attempt to distract her thoughts from her aching bones and empty stomach, she leaned forward and rubbed a patch o f condensation from the steamed- up window.  Peering outside, she hoped to spot some landmar k which would provide a clue to their whereabouts.  But w hat little ligh t there had been during the day was now on the verge of disappearing completely , while the drizzle and mist conspired to make visibility all but impossible.  Just as she was about to give up , the carriage made another turn and a sh iver of apprehension shot down Eleanor’s spine as she f ound herself gazing at an enormous illuminated building, rising out of the mist like a proud, indomitable beast.  This was her d estination : t he unmistakable Whitlock Castle.    
    It was six years since Eleanor had last set eyes on Whitlock, the imposing ancestral seat of the Ormiston family.  Situated some five miles outside London, in sweeping grounds, the building had been much altered, extended and moderni z ed over the centuries and now boast ed an eclectic mix of towers, turrets and wings, all paying architectural tribute to the particular period in which they had been constructed.  With its rows of candle-lit mullioned windows, it appeared even larger than Eleanor remembered.  Rumour ha d it that the corridors of the c astle were haunted by the Wailing Whitlock Widow – the forlorn spirit of a young woman who, having lost her husband in battle the day following their wedding, had been so devastated that she had thrown herself to her own death from the highest tower.  O utlined against the gloomy grey background and eerie mist, it took very little imagination to envisage the spirit floating mournfully around the formidable building. 
    As the carriage lumbered up the gravelled drive, Eleanor’s dread increased as her thoughts turne d to more corporeal matters - the imminent reunion with her godmother.  The formidableness of the c astle was nothing compared to that of its matriarch, her mother’s cousin, Lady Ormiston.  Ever since childhood, Eleanor had lived in terrified awe of her godmother , a fear that , if the jumble of nerves now welling in her stomach was any indication , had not dissipated with adulthood. 
    Her godmother did, she know, hold her in very low regard - a n opinion that had remained unaltered duri ng Eleanor’s last visit to the c astle all those years ago.  Her father had t aken her to visit Lady Ormiston two years after her mother’s death.  The visit had been a complete dis aster, culminating with a thirteen-year-old Eleanor dangling precariously from an apple tree in the orchard.  The result of her energetic exploits had been one broken ankle and one very exasperated Lady Ormiston. 
    ‘ Really, Edwin, ’ she had tutted , surveying Eleanor through her lorgnette, ‘ you must le arn to control the child.  S he is far too rambunctious by half .  Such behaviour is most unbecoming in young ladies.  They should not be running around climbing trees : t hey should be engaging in much more genteel activities.  If you do not take her in hand immediately I dare not think of her prospects as a young woman. ’
    Thankf ully, her father had seen the funny side of the incident and they had had, much to Eleanor’s relief, very little contact with the woman since .  A situation that, undoubtedly, would not have changed, had not the interfering Hester appeared on the scene . 
    As the carriage drew to a halt and the door was thrust open, a wave of nausea wash ed over Eleanor .  For goodness ’ sake, she chided h erself, she was not a child now : s he was a grown woman - o ne who knew her own mind and could stand up for herself in any situation.  She would not, she resolved, act like a frightene d ninny.  Taking a deep breath in, she alighted the carriage then proceeded to climb the wide stone steps to the enormous door of the castle , held open by an elaborately dressed