Middle Ground

By Olivia Orndorff

After one too many transformations, the now Mrs. Eveline Ash is quite content with life as a widow. She joins the London Season at the behest of her late husband’s grandmother.

She does not expect to resume her friendship with Mr. Theodore Dove, a relationship forged on the battle field. She is definitely not expecting Mr. Percival Clemments, newly returned from abroad.

It’s shaping up to be a Season that Eveline can’t escape from, until tragedy strikes forcing Eveline to consider what—and who—she truly wants in her future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Orndorff
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005025250

Olivia Orndorff

After traveling over the US, Europe and Asia, Olivia currently lives in Chicago.One of these winters she'll pack it up, but until then you can find her at rummagingthrough a bookstore, at a bar, or out for a run.

Book preview

Middle Ground

Olivia Orndorff

Copyright 2021 Olivia Orndorff

Smashwords Edition

Cover Images: Rudolph Dührkoop. 1907. & Abraham van Beyeren. 1665. Public Domain.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

In memory of Darlene, Jan, and Kathy.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

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Chapter One

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a widow, in full possession of her youth and beauty, must be in want of a new husband.

It most certainly was true of the Mrs. Robert Ash, fresh from her year and a half of rusticating in the country and mourning. Mrs. Bamford had introduced her son to first the dowager, who had then immediately called for the young widow to be introduced as well. Mrs. Bamford had been surprised to see Mrs. Edith Ash clearly had a soft spot for the granddaughter-in-law. Great-grandchild aside, the widow was obviously foreign, Moorish blood most likely, her English poor. The war had been gone just long enough to allow for a full ballroom of young women and men, but not enough to completely overwhelm the black armbands still worn by many of the guests.

Still, she was glad when Henry and the lady finished their conversation in only a few short minutes so she could pull her son away to more suitable partners. Her sigh of relief was noticed by both her son, and the lady, but neither said anything more.

Eveline turned back to Edith and noticed the older lady was grinning.

Always polite to say hello to the hostess’ son, no? The dowager said airily.

Eveline would have rolled her eyes, but the dowager had a good wrist on her and would whack Eveline over the head in a second—regardless of company. They weren’t alone long as everyone was eager to see Edith again, who was one of those women capable of flirting with polite decorum, who, in her youth, always knew the latest scandal and yet was nowhere to be found when the dust settled.

The event itself was something similar to what Eveline was used to in the country; mingling, dinner, then sherry. The actual balls, routs, etc., came later.

This was technically her second season as their country neighbors liked to remind her. Some went to one and were subsequently married. Many never had any. A season, always pronounced with great care, was where the magic happened. The events that came in letters parceled out over months and weeks happened instantaneously in the country.

Her first season had happened shortly after her husband had been called back from the war. She’d spent the crossing below decks with a colicky baby. Her first view had been the Tower of London and she’d thought she had made a terrible mistake. Those brief few months of marriage had been a whirlwind of events, taking care of Robbie, and trying desperately to understand the English being spoken around her. Robert had liked to flaunt her foreignness speaking to her in a mix of languages while translating for guests. They’d married again in England, for luck, and the will had made sure Robbie was named heir. Everyone agreed he looked very much like his deceased grandfather. Eveline, who had married the man, the first time, with the babe already kicking in her belly, had laughed.

Then Robert died.

Then came mourning.

Then came needing to rely once again only on herself. She didn’t trust the estate managers, the bankers, the lawyers, or Edith. It had been a hard-fought year and a half that was frustrated by layers of black crepe and bombazine. Eventually, Edith had proposed a Season.

Now here they were.

Eveline sipped her sherry, jealous of whatever the men were drinking. She noticed Edith didn’t even bother and went straight for a petite four instead. The women chatted briefly, while the young debutants clustered around the piano. It was a beautiful instrument in the parlor. The daughter of the house played first and down the list it went until the men rejoined them just as some of the older ladies were beginning to make noises about calling for their carriages.

The mama, Eveline noted, did not look pleased it had taken her husband so long to rejoin the ladies. She could smell the cigar smoke from her perch by the window and thought they were lucky the men were still standing. She tried to catch Edith’s eye, but the dowager was firmly fanning her face listening intently to the ambassador’s wife from Russia. Eveline set her sherry down ready to move this night along when a gentleman plunked down on the window seat next to her. She turned to protest and saw she actually knew this one.

Bamford, this is a pleasant surprise. Last I heard you were up in the highlands.

Mama finally had her way. Got to sell the commission and come on home.

I hadn’t put it together, Eveline admitted.

Bamford shrugged. I’m the youngest. We got a middle one out at Oxford ready to do the Lord’s will.

Always important, she said.

Especially if you want to eat.

You will be in London then?

A few weeks. Then I’ll be home. Helping out at the estate.

Where is the estate located?

Close to your county actually. It was why Ash and I were in the same regiment.

She nodded. Another a sip of her sherry and she set it down with a degree of firmness.

How about you?

The dowager is determined we enjoy the season, Eveline said.

As well you should. A few of the lads had the same idea.

I’m sure you’ll have a more varied experience about town than I.

He chuckled, Depends on you, I’m sure. Always were the most capable lady I’ve seen either side of the channel.

Flattery, my dear Bamford, will get you nowhere.

How about you come with us to a play? We’ll all be drunk, and you can pretend. We’ll have some ladies you might like.

Oh?

Widows get to have all sorts of fun.

Eveline smiled easily. Perhaps.

Dead serious. Bring your footman, if you like, I’ll pick you up we’ll go to Vauxhall Gardens, see the, uh, fireworks.

Don’t be obvious, Bamford. I’ll see you tomorrow then.

He grinned leaning back in the window seat. He seemed younger here at his family home. She probably did too. You miss it? he asked suddenly.

Sometimes, she finally said.

Me too, he grinned. Even though I know I shouldn’t.

The dowager stood as the first wave of people began making their way toward their carriages. Eveline found her way over and they said their goodbyes to the hostess.

I wasn’t aware you knew my youngest son, Mrs. Ash, the lady said. The room stilled.

Yes, he was in the same regiment as my late husband.

The room restarted in whispers as her background was passed about in the room the same way a trapped dove flutters about a chapel—with no sense but style.

Did you really know him? Edith asked as they bundled on toward home in the swaying carriage.

Yes, though it’s a convenient excuse, isn’t it?

Edith chuckled, She was glaring daggers at everyone in sight after dinner. Her husband must have been in the brandy early to miss having the men about longer. Their daughter will need all the help she can get.

Why?

Nothing to set her apart really. Problem with wars. Too many women at the end of it and all the men have had a taste of the exotic, like to be choosy.

Eveline chuckled.

Just you wait, you minx, no one will invite us anywhere now that they have to compare their daughters to you.

Because I’m exotic? It was one of the words she’d first learned upon her arrival on British soil, and one of the first where the associations sank in. The difference between her birth language and English. In Portuguese, they used fifteen words rather than five. In English, they used their eyebrows.

Precisely.

Eveline was used to the pain that stabbed. She also knew this was how the old woman liked to claim she was pragmatic. Rather than still upset her grandson had married a woman like her. Dark. Foreign. Loose. She thought of Bamford’s invitation to go to the play the next evening—and how she already planned to tell Nell to ensure her velvet dress was available. Edith perhaps wasn’t wrong.

Getting undressed always seemed like too much work, the kind invented to ensure she needed more than one maid. The dress and jewels were finally put away, and her hair was brushed. Nell and company went back to bed to take along all the gossip of finery. Eveline considered lighting a candle. She had correspondence she had yet to get to. The townhome in the city had different sounds to it, even as the inhabitants settled down to sleep.

Sometimes, she had told Bamford. He had meant the war. She had meant life before England.

Portugal meant bright colors, dances, skin the gradient, religions that melded. Portugal meant her mother and her childhood. Those memories, like much of her childhood, were a mirage that wasn’t real. In the same way, England was a relief, making her way back to Portugal through France and Spain would have been a bitter disappointment. Better to leave it. Better to stay here and pretend the only reason she didn’t fit was the accent and not the lack of blood ties to this place.

She was awake by the time Nell came back in to set out her clothes and help her dress. Edith was still abed, so Eveline had breakfast brought up to the nursery. Robbie, at three-years-old, loved running about the room as fast as his legs would go. He would occasionally stop and rest by her side to eat a bite of toast or sausage before darting off. Eveline drank her coffee and read the day’s newspaper. The post would be delivered later and there would be more to do. She already felt behind.

Still, once the afternoon hit, and before Edith could steal her away for visits, Eveline put down the missives and took Robbie for a walk now that he’d had his nap. He loved watching the horses and carriages go by, the men and their walking sticks, the women and their parcels. The footman walked a step behind, while the nurse took the street road to keep Robbie and Eveline firmly away from the main thoroughfare. Once they reached Hyde Park and the green expanse, he ran a wide circle, before settling down to play catch with the leather ball the footman was in charge of. Robbie loved having the three adults at his beck and call even if he dropped the ball more than he caught it.

Chapter Two

During their afternoon tea, Edith had a great deal to say about Eveline going out that night, with only a single footman. She listened politely as the older lady went on and on about propriety and what people would say and about her ruining her chances to meet someone respectable. It went on for quite a while until they finished off the teapot and the biscuits. When Edith finally set down her teacup, Eveline looked up from her papers.

Finished? she asked.

Yes, the old lady said with a sniff. You’re not going to listen to me, are you?

No, Eveline shrugged. I didn’t come to town to get married. I came because you asked.

You don’t want to get married? I won’t live forever. Who will support you?

She thought to the estates, the meetings, the lawyers, the numbers that all ran together. Her son was her legacy. Sad but true. Edith seemed to think signing for things, or putting others on credit was all that was required. Eveline didn’t blame her, envied in fact, but after going hungry—a knot in her stomach, a tension in her mind---her soul refused to go back.

Well, I’m not your mother—just your grandmother-in-law—I’m sure you’ll do as you like.

Quite. Another English word Eveline had learned early. She went back to her documents. The event tonight had better have something else to drink besides sherry. Edith claimed a headache and went to bed where dinner would be brought to her. Eveline had dinner in the nursery with Robbie who took great delight in knocking over blocks.

She spoke Portuguese to her son in moments like these--always with a sense of guilt. Her Portuguese hadn’t been learned with a ready ruler to slap knuckles with a misspent tense or lists of vocabulary. Robbie probably wouldn’t remember anyway, and there was no great need in this part of the world. She saw him through his bath and to his bed where the nurse read him a few stories. Eveline watched from the doorway with a sense of fondness.

Nell was waiting in her room and rushed Eveline through getting dressed in the midnight blue velvet gown. The heaviness of the fabric shouldn’t have draped the way it did, but suffice to say the dress would not be gracing a premier ballroom anytime soon. For a night out, with the old boys, it would do nicely.

Bamford called at 8 pm, just as Nell was trying to talk her into the silk wrap. Eveline stuck firm with the cape and hood. Robert had taken her to Vauxhall on multiple occasions. She’d need the cover if she didn’t want to get blatant requests to exchange her time for some money. Bamford came in looking proper in black and white shirt sleeves, his vest the only thing flashing with a hint of purple and slightly too large for him. Possibly stolen from the older brother. She said nothing while he held the door for her and she pulled on her black gloves.

The footman hopped on top of the carriage and they were off.

Port? Bamford offered, handing over the flask from the greatcoat left in the carriage.

Please. I’ve been swimming in sherry since we arrived in town.

He laughed, as she took a healthy swallow.

Who all will be joining us? She handed back over the flask.

He took his own pull and placed it in the coat. Usual crew.

He ran down the names and she was pleased it’d be a mix of names she recognized and those she didn’t. Spending too much time with soldiers left too much reminiscing,