Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (15 page)

“It’s getting late, Carrick,” Andrew said. “Too late for you to ride back to London.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“The evening is yours,” he told the secretary. “Spend it however you choose.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Carrick left, and Andrew went into to the conservatory where he found Eleanor’s aunt watering the plants.

“Miss Easton.” The conservatory windows were open to the garden and a pleasant breeze wafted through them.

“Ah, Your Grace.” Minerva turned to face him. “You startled me. You had a pleasant outing today?”

Pleasant enough,” Andrew replied. “Miss Easton, I came to tell you that I plan to take your niece to Whitley to buy her a riding horse.”

“Oh, but . . . surely ’twould be wholly improper for you to give her such a gift—”

“It will not be a gift,” he said. “She will purchase the animal with her own funds.”

Minerva’s brow crumpled in puzzlement, but Andrew did not bother to explain.

“Will you accompany us to the horse breeder this afternoon?”

“But Eleanor is not at home—”

“She will be.”

“Well, of course I will accompany you,” Minerva said. “Will you take her to Hermon Farm?”

“Yes.” John Hermon bred the finest horses in the county. His reputation was well known at Tattersall’s and every other market Andrew had ever visited.

“It will be a lovely outing if it does not get to be too late,” Minerva said. “I made Mrs. Hermon’s acquaintance some years ago when Eleanor and I came here to stay for a few weeks.”

Andrew went to the open door. The afternoon was on the wane, but he had limited time. “Tell me something, Miss Easton. Were you pleased or disappointed when Eleanor jilted me?”

“Why, Your Grace, I—”

“A simple question, Miss Easton,” he said, though he understood her shock at such direct talk. “Pleased or disappointed.”

“Disappointed, of course.”

“Because . . . I am such a catch?” he asked.

She tipped her head slightly. “Because the two of you seemed so . . . so deeply involved.”

Well, that was one way to put it. “I intend to win her back, you know.”

“Yes, I assumed that must be why you’re here,” Minerva said. “And you want my help?”

The old girl was sharper than she appeared. “I do. I need time with Eleanor. Time alone.”

“Yes, I-I suppose I . . . understand.”

“So, I can count on you to absent yourself when we arrive at Hermon’s farm?”

She set her watering can on a shelf. “I can accommodate your wishes. But you must promise me that nothing untoward will occur while my niece is in your company.”

Andrew placed a hand over his heart. “You have my word.” The seduction of Eleanor Easton would be anything but untoward.

“Then I’ll just go and ready myself to leave when Eleanor returns,” Minerva said. “I imagine it will take some time for her to walk home from Stillwater House when she decides to return.”

“She did not take the horse and gig?”

“No. She seemed out of sorts this morning and left on foot.”

Andrew recalled the groups of people they’d seen walking toward town. Gads. “Is she alone?”

“I believe so, Your Grace.”

“Your sisters will not be happy with you when you finally go back to the house,” Eleanor said to Lucy. They’d spent all afternoon at the pond, out of sight of the house. And now the sky was becoming cloudy and it was getting late. Eleanor could avoid Primrose Manor no longer.

“Yes, well, none of them will have to suffer through days of travel with my aunt, or weeks in Edinburgh,” Lucy said. “I fear I will be quite lucky if I’m allowed to come home for Christmas.”

“Oh, no.”

“I’m afraid that might well be the case,” Lucy said. “I’m so glad we’ve been able to spend this time together. Will you come in for tea?” They picked up the armfuls of flowers to take back to Lucy’s mother.

“No, I should not. I barely spoke to my aunt this morning. And then, there’s your aunt . . .”

Lucy laughed. “Even the most intrepid soul quakes in her presence.”

“Meg and Caroline seemed to be holding their own.”

Lucy was silent for a moment. “I’m worried about Meg,” she said. “We all are.”

“Why? Has something happened?”

“You know she went up to the Lake District for an extended visit with my mother’s cousin, Lady Wakefield.”

Eleanor remembered that Meg had gone to provide company for the lonely widow. “That was well over a year ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Nearly two years. But she came home suddenly and without warning just before your father passed away and has not said what brought her home so unexpectedly.”

“Has your mother heard naught from Lady Wakefield?”

“No. Not a word.”

“And Meg has said nothing, either?”

“Mother tried to talk to her, but Meg has said only that she tired of the Lake District and wanted to come home.”

“That hardly sounds like your sister, Lucy,” Eleanor remarked. “I wonder what could have happened. Did she have a falling out with Lady Wakefield? Did the countess . . . die?”

“I feel certain Meg would have said so, had that been the case. Mother would certainly have heard.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Do you think you might make an opportunity to talk to her?”

“I will try,” Eleanor said. “Perhaps she will confide something that she doesn’t want to share with her family.”

“Thank you, Ellie. You are a true friend.”

By the time Eleanor started back to Primrose Manor, her thoughts were troubled. Something that Lucy said about Weatherby niggled at the back of Eleanor’s mind, but she could not figure out what, exactly, bothered her.

Obviously, the possibility that he’d lied about Beckworth was worrisome, but . . . whatever it was escaped her at the moment. Perhaps she was thinking too hard about it.

Just as bothersome was retiring to Berkshire only to learn that her best friend would soon be leaving for Scotland, possibly for months.

How was Eleanor going to bear living in Berkshire now? She’d always been closest to Lucy and Caroline. Both would be gone after the Reading Stakes, and she assumed Jessamine would leave, too, returning to London to complete her season. Joshua Parris could be decent company, but his friendship was nothing like the one she shared with the Stillwater sisters.

And once Beckworth was gone . . .

No. She refused to lament Beck’s departure. She wanted him gone! She wanted no more of his seductive kisses.

She was far too susceptible to his touch – God’s breath, even his voice sent shivers through her. In the past year, she had not once gone to bed without thinking of his caress, or spent a night free of sensual dreams in which he made love to her.

And every morning when she woke, she reminded herself what a cad he was.

Now that she’d had time to think it over, her parents’ situation made no difference now. A deceitful husband was just that – nothing more, and nothing less. But it was something Eleanor definitely did not want.

Eleanor was only halfway home when a sharp wind picked up, and dark clouds gathered overhead. She increased her pace and hurried toward Primrose Manor, for she did not care to be caught in a sudden rainstorm.

She found herself wondering again why no one had told her about her infant brother. Surely, by the time of her mother’s death, she’d been old enough to learn about Arthur. And her father had certainly had many opportunities over the years to inform her of what had happened.

Perhaps it was all too painful for him. After all, losing Arthur not only caused him terrible grief, it seemed to be the cause of the discord between him and Martine.

Thinking about it made her feel a bit queasy. If her parents had seen fit to lie to her, why not Lord Weatherby?

Eleanor had panicked at his shocking revelation just before her wedding.

At the time, it had not occurred to Eleanor that Weatherby’s claim about Beckworth could be untrue. He’d had those papers, which seemed to be clear evidence that Beckworth was keeping his paramour even though he’d made Eleanor his lover and was about to marry her.

Eleanor had read the papers carefully, and there was no question her fiancé had purchased a home for the woman. After she’d read every word, Lord Weatherby had made certain she understood that Beckworth had purchased the house in Chelsea so that he would not have to travel so far from home just to visit her.

Yes, it had been the most indelicate conversation of her life. But she’d been grateful to the earl for saving her from the same fate her mother had suffered, and seeing that she had the means to leave London Quickly.

Had she been wrong to trust him?

Eleanor had been able to get on a ship bound for the continent immediately, with her maid and one trunk of her belongings. But throughout the voyage, she’d been distraught. At times, she’d been physically ill. It wasn’t until a few weeks after settling into the Randall sisters’ home that she’d felt well enough to wonder at the logic of Weatherby’s actions. Why had he meddled in the affairs of her heart? As Lucy said, what had he to gain by it?

Now that Eleanor knew that everything she believed about her father was not even close to being true, what could she believe?

She knew the papers Weatherby had shown her were authentic. Beckworth’s seal had been quite prominent. So he had purchased a house for the woman. He’d been untrue to her when she’d given him her whole heart.

Eleanor was still far from home when she saw a man on horseback approaching her on the path. Beckworth.

She suddenly wished she’d stayed at Stillwater House. But there, she’d have had to suffer Lady Kildrum’s presence and all her ill-conceived talk. The woman did not have an ounce of delicacy about her.

Beckworth dismounted when he was a few yards away, and Eleanor did not fail to notice his powerful legs as he jumped down. She remembered the slide of those legs against her own when they were intimately tangled together. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. No. She did not want to repeat their intimate moments. Not until she sorted out—

“Eleanor.”

“Duke.” She had meant to say the word with a biting indifference, but realized she failed. His forest green waistcoat brought out the color of his eyes, and his neatly tied cravat did not hide the entire length of his powerful, sun-browned neck. He pulled off his gloves, revealing strong, well-formed, rope-veined hands, and Eleanor glanced away quickly, refusing to dwell upon the memories of how very tender those hands could be.

“You know there are strangers loitering about the district for the races,” he said. “Do you not?”

No, she had not thought of it, but she continued walking toward him, intent upon proving he had no effect upon her.

Beckworth said nothing more, but waited for her to reach him, then turned to walk alongside her, leading his horse behind them. “You might have taken the gig. Or at least had your groom accompany you.”

“I was perfectly safe.”

“Fairly safe, I suppose,” he said, glancing around. “But not perfectly. The races bring out beggars and rogues.”

“I can outrun anyone who—”

“No. Not on foot,” he said. “We’ll go to Hermon’s Farm this afternoon and buy you a horse. On horseback, you will be able to outrun anyone.”

Eleanor stopped. From what she knew of her annuity, it would barely support her and her aunt at Primrose Manor. She might even have to sell the property and move into a small cottage somewhere in order to stretch the annuity, a prospect that had little appeal. “You will not buy me a horse, Beckworth.”

“No, I won’t. You’ll buy it yourself.”

She turned to face him. “I can afford a horse?”

He gave her a curt nod, and she had an inkling that he was keeping something from her. “You know that I cannot accept a gift from you, Beckworth.”

“It is not a gift, and it’s not from me,” he said, his expression darkening. His tone was not exactly angry, but there was no small degree of annoyance. Well, Eleanor was fairly annoyed, herself.

“You have the funds. The annuity is yours, Eleanor.”

She started walking again, and considered asking him about the property he had purchased for his mistress, but could not bring herself to speak of it. The subject was too painful.