Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (13 page)

“I’m sure you were,” Andrew said wryly. “What do you think, Weatherby? See anything you’d risk your fortune on?”

“What is it to you, Beckworth?”

Andrew shrugged as though he could not care less what Weatherby did. “Naught.” But they both knew Andrew would be suspicious of Weatherby’s presence at any racecourse. Andrew doubted the man’s propensity for bribery had abated, if the report Carrick had brought from London was true.

He turned back to Stanton. “Otley’s tariff bill is going to be discussed next week in our chamber, is it not?”

The viscount paled. “Y-yes . . . yes, it is.”

Andrew gave a wan smile. “I thought so.” There did not seem to be any question that Stanton understood the implication. If the viscount stood with the no votes on the labor bill, he could not expect any support from Andrew when the tariff bill came up for a vote.

Andrew gave a slight nod to the men and walked away, satisfied that he’d made his point. He hoped to find Lord Otley and a few others who were wavering at Claymere’s garden party.

Lucy did not give Eleanor a chance to retreat. She took her arm and pulled her toward the house. “Yes, my aunt Arden is here. But it’s too late to escape now. You’re here, and I’m not letting you turn back.”

Eleanor gulped. She didn’t know anyone who was comfortable with Lady Arden Kildrum. The woman had the exuberant friendliness of Baron Stillwater, but absolutely no sense of tact or decorum. Lucy and Caroline always said it was one of the things her husband, the Earl of Kildrum, loved most about her.

But he was a Scot, so what would one expect?

“Let’s go around to the back,” Eleanor said hopefully.

“Too late,” Lucy said. “My aunt saw you through the window, and Mother is thrilled that you’re here. Now Auntie’s attention can be focused elsewhere.”

Eleanor groaned inside, but she allowed Lucy to pull her into the house, where Lady Stillwater was waiting at the door. “Welcome, my dear! The girls were hoping you would come to us today,” she said.

“And here I am.”

“Come in, come in. We’re all in the drawing room. With Lady Kildrum.”

Eleanor followed Lady Stillwater into the room past Caroline and Meg, and went directly to Lady Kildrum. She bowed before the countess and took her extended hand.

“So here is the chit who jilted the duke of Beckworth.” Eleanor felt her cheeks burn at the woman’s wry tone.

“Now, Arden,” Lady Stillwater chided her sister-in-law. “There is no need to put Miss Easton to the blush. That was more than a year ago. ’Tis old news.”

“Perhaps, but I have not seen the girl since . . . When?” Lady Kildrum’s lips pursed and her brow creased into a rutted gully between her eyes.

“I do not know, my lady,” Eleanor replied. But she knew it had been quite some time ago. Only a few years after her mother’s death, she thought, when they both happened to be in Berkshire on a visit.

Lady Kildrum put her quizzing glass up to her eye and studied her. “Your figure is quite fine, and you’ve a bonny face as well. You’ve matured satisfactorily.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Eleanor replied, making a furtive, panicked glance at her friends in hopes of a reprieve.

“But you were a fool to send Beckworth packing,” Lady Kildrum said. “I hope you have not become as foolish as your mother.”

“That’s enough, now,” Lady Stillwater said to Lady Kildrum. “Lucy and Eleanor, come with me. Caroline and Meg, keep your aunt entertained.” Neither Emily nor Jessamine were in sight, and Eleanor wondered how they’d managed to escape.

Eleanor caught Caroline’s expression of chagrin as she followed her hostess to the back of the house. Once they were in Lord Stillwater’s small study, Lady Stillwater turned to face Eleanor. “Sometimes I find it is better to absent oneself from my husband’s sister for a time, then start afresh.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Perhaps we shall just go for a walk instead, Mother.”

“That would be fine, too,” Lady Stillwater said with a smile. “Why don’t you pick a bouquet of wildflowers down by the south hedge. I could use a bit of color and fragrance in the dining room.”

Lucy smiled happily, kissed her mother’s cheek, then grabbed Eleanor’s hand. “Let’s go, before Aunt Arden comes looking for us.”

Lady Claymere’s garden party was far more elaborate and sophisticated than the Stillwater picnic. And considerably less enjoyable to Andrew’s tastes. As he grew older, these ostentatious fetes became more and more tiresome.

There was a time when he’d enjoyed being surrounded by people he’d believed were devoted friends. They’d said the things they thought he wanted to hear, and taken him to entertainments they believed he wanted to see. With all those fashionable followers, he’d managed to please his father for a few years.

Andrew had managed to behave as the old duke wished, until his father ordered him to wed Lady Claire Moncrief.

He had always expected his marriage to be arranged for him. But he refused this match, angering his father, of course. But Lady Claire was hardly more than a child, and she failed to stir his interest even slightly. The girl might have had a good name and an even better fortune, but Andrew had no intention of enduring a life-long marriage like the one his parents had had.

He wanted the kind of relationship his maternal grandparents had shared – one of mutual respect and understanding – and perhaps a little more, if he were lucky. A year after his father’s death, he’d met Eleanor, and he’d known there would be no one else for him.

Claymere’s large garden overflowed with guests and servants, and there were tables of food and drink. As Andrew walked toward his hostess, Lady Claymere extended her hands to him, smiling broadly. “Your Grace! We are so honored to have you join us!”

Andrew returned the greeting but did not mention that Eleanor was close by. He knew Lady Claymere would be put out with him, but he did not want any further distractions at Primrose Manor, and Ivy would insist upon visiting.

“How is the heir?” Andrew asked.

Ivy smiled proudly. “Johnny is hale and healthy, thank you. He’s just started to walk.”

“Ah. I hope he does not give his nanny as much trouble as his father did.”

“Your hopes are in vain, Beck,” Ivy said with a laugh. “He is already a tiny terror. Claymere Castle has had to put all its valuables away.”

They strolled across the lawn to where her husband stood talking with a group of people Andrew knew quite well. They belonged to the fashionable London set, having come out to Berkshire for the races.

They’d come to see and be seen, just as Andrew had done in the past, taking a prominent place in society to please his father. But he had no such interest now. He wanted to talk to the men who would be voting on Sir Robert’s bill and get back to Eleanor as soon as possible thereafter.

He spoke briefly to his host, then extricated himself to move in the direction of his quarry. “Ah, Lord Otley,” he said to the Marquis, “I expected you might be here.”

Otley gave him a pleasant smile. “Yes, Your Grace. We usually do come up for this race. Have you never been?”

“Oh, I have, on occasion,” he replied congenially.

“Then you know there will be a good showing on the course.”

Andrew nodded, taking note of Weatherby’s entrance into the garden. “Have you been in Reading long, Otley?”

“No, we only drove out yesterday. We were composing the final wording on my tariff bill. I couldn’t leave any earlier.”

“Ah, I understand. When will the bill come up for a vote?”

“Not until the end of next week. I hope I can count on your support, Duke.”

“Of course.” Jasper Carrick had indicated that the bill was crucial to numerous peers, including Otley and Stanton. They needed the new tariffs in order to protect their own investments.

Andrew took note of Weatherby stopping to chat with a group of men who stood next to one of the refreshment tables. He turned his eyes back to Otley. “As you know, Peel’s labor bill comes up for a vote soon . . .”

“Yes, yes,” Otley replied. “The mill owners are not happy about it, you know.”

“I am aware of that. But some things must be done for the good of the country, as you well know.”

“Quite right.”

“Your tariff bill has merit,” Andrew said. “As does the labor bill.”

As Otley gave a subtle nod of acquiescence, Andrew felt a prickle at the back of his neck. He turned around and faced Weatherby’s staring eyes. His expression was venomous. When Andrew spoke again to Otley, he was sure Weatherby could hear him. “Otley, I hope that when you are approached by those who would try to sway you against Sir Robert’s bill, you will consider our conversation here.”

“Well, I . . .” Otley took a moment to gather his composure. “Yes, I will, Your Grace. The tariff bill is of great importance – not only to me, but to a great number of investors.”

“I believe there is some strong opposition, though. You will need every vote you can get.”

“To be sure,” Otley replied quietly, turning his back on Weatherby.

Lady Claymere came and took Andrew’s arm, leading him away from Otley. “Have you spoken to Eleanor since she returned?”

Andrew nodded. “I intend to win her back.”

Ivy smiled. “I’m so glad to hear it, Beck. She loves you, you know. It’s why she ran away.”

He could only hope it was true.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and started walking toward her husband. “So, my dear Beckworth – do you plan to attend Lady Fairmont’s luncheon at the Royal Arms tomorrow?”

“It is doubtful.” He hoped he’d already swayed enough votes to his side this afternoon so he could concentrate on Eleanor.

“Rachel will be very sorry to know it.”

“Your duke is rather a fine specimen, Ellie,” Lucy said. They were perched in the shade upon a stone wall that meandered across the countryside. “Are you not having second thoughts . . . ?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. I will not be put into the same position as my mother.” And yet her mother had created her own misery. Her father had not broken Martine’s heart.

She felt Lucy’s questioning gaze upon her. There was a long silence before she spoke. “You mean Beckworth is a rake? Like your father?”