Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (19 page)

Eleanor did not want to look at Beckworth, but her eyes were drawn to him over and over again during Marguerite Fielding’s visit. He was clever, amiable, and so very likeable. Just as he’d been during their short engagement.

She’d thought she wanted him to leave. Three days ago, there’d been no question. Now, though—

“Have you visited Long Willow Place since your return, Eleanor?” Marguerite asked.

“Not yet. I’ve only been here a few days, but Joshua has promised me an invitation. Soon,” she said. She avoided Beckworth’s eyes.

Had he been faithful and responsible last year when he’d asked her to be his wife? Or was Eleanor the naïve country bumpkin Weatherby had suggested, who wouldn’t have the wherewithal to question her husband about his mistresses?

She had not questioned Weatherby about his evidence, either.

Eleanor took in the strong line of Beckworth’s jaw and his intense green eyes. She feared she still loved him, and believed that marriage between them could be wonderful.

Or a complete disaster.

“The house is as it has always been,” Marguerite said. “Joshua has changed nothing.”

“I did, Marguerite,” Joshua countered. And as he spoke of the few changes he’d made to his home since the death of his parents, Eleanor considered her decision to leave England before her wedding. It had been rash, and yet she knew she could never bear to share his affections. It would break her heart.

“You must tell us about Italy, Eleanor,” Marguerite said. “None of us had a chance to go abroad, well, except for Joan, who is away now.”

Eleanor had heard about the elder Mr. Parris’s death a few years earlier, and had sent Joshua and the girls a letter of condolence then. She’d sent another, more recently, upon the death of their mother. With the war in France and his parents’ deaths, it was no wonder they had not had an opportunity to travel.

“What did you do in Italy?” Joshua asked.

“I stayed in Florence with my grandmother’s cousins who have lived in Italy for years.”

“Did you visit every church and museum?”

She smiled in what she hoped was an engaging manner, but she felt Beckworth’s eyes upon her. All this was merely a reminder of her desertion, but she refused to feel guilty. She’d had good reason to flee. She thought.

“Yes, of course. And the palace of Pitti. I spent many an hour in the piazza, too, sketching the sights. Oh, and there are cafes where we saw men ordering a very thick, tasty sort of coffee. My grandmother’s cousins perfected the brewing of it at home for us.”

“My wife has a passion for coffee,” Mr. Fielding said. “Did you learn how to make it?”

“I did. I will be happy to demonstrate the process some time.”

“What of your drawings?” Joshua said. “Perhaps you would be so good as to show those to me some time.”

“It would be my pleasure. I—”

“Perhaps now,” Beckworth said, as though he knew about the embarrassing drawings that lay at the bottom of her portfolio.

Eleanor had no intention of bringing out her drawings now. Not until she had the opportunity to burn every likeness she’d ever made of the Duke of Beckworth. It would not do to have him and everyone else see her weakness for him. At least, not until she sorted out what to do.

Trust him? Or not.

Beckworth went to the bank of windows that overlooked the front drive and opened them, letting in a welcome breeze. Eleanor averted her eyes from his strong, sensual hands, and refused to think about the way his trews hugged his—

No. No. No. She had better control over her thoughts and desires than this.

“Lady Kildrum is visiting Stillwater House,” she said.

“She must have just arrived,” Joshua remarked. “Else she would have joined in at the picnic.”

“Apparently, she came to collect Lucy and take her back to Edinburgh.”

Eleanor noticed her aunt pursing her lips in disapproval. She was not known to favor anything north of Hadrian’s Wall, and in this case, Eleanor would not disagree. She wondered who the man was that had captured Lucy’s heart and kept her from marrying the one her father had chosen for her.

“Is the earl with her?” Minerva asked.

Eleanor turned her attention to her aunt and gave a nod. “Yes, although I did not see him when I visited.”

“A terrible boor, as I recall.”

Well, he was a Scot, which was synonymous with boor in Minerva’s vocabulary. “I believe they will leave for Edinburgh soon after the races.”

“With . . . With Lucy?” Joshua asked.

Eleanor nodded.

“Poor girl,” Marguerite said. “And I am sorry for you, too, Eleanor. I know you will miss her.”

“Perhaps she will enjoy it,” Beckworth remarked.

Eleanor tried to think of something to say, but was distracted by a lock of his hair that had dipped onto his forehead. And the shadow of his evening whiskers, that she knew would be slightly rough to her touch. Not that she wanted to touch him.

“In Scotland, Your Grace?” Minerva asked dubiously.

“I’ve enjoyed my visits to Edinburgh immensely,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve misjudged it, Miss Easton.”

“Have you traveled much, then, Your Grace?” Marguerite asked.

“Not as much as some . . .” he said pointedly with a quick glance at Eleanor. “But I’ve been to France on estate business, and to Belgium. I’ve been to Scotland several times, of course.”

“Ah, yes,” Minerva remarked. “I’d almost forgotten about your ducal properties in Scotland.”

Eleanor wished she had inherited a distant estate where she could flee now, though she feared there was no running from her conflicting emotions. Even Italy would not be far enough.

“Our stewards manage the lands quite efficiently,” he said. “’Tis rare these days that I need to make the trip north. And I have family matters here . . .”

“Of course, you have Beckworth Park, and . . .” Minerva’s brows came together. “You have a young sister, if I remember correctly. Is she out?”

Beckworth nodded. “Not yet, but she will have her first season next year. Corinna is seventeen, and believes she is quite ready.”

“But you do not?” Marguerite asked with a sympathetic smile.

He gave a quick shake of his head. “She is barely out of the schoolroom.”

“Surely you do not think your sister is too young to marry?” Minerva pressed.

Beckworth paused for a moment. “She is very . . . young . . . for seventeen. I’m afraid we have sheltered her rather a lot, so I have some reservations about sending her out into society.”

“She has not been to Town much?”

“Not at all.”

“I see.”

Eleanor remembered Beckworth’s affection for his siblings. Besides Corinna, he had two brothers. The younger of the two, Austin, was quite the responsible young man, but the elder, Hugo, had become something of a rogue after suffering a personal tragedy. Eleanor knew Beckworth worried about him.

She’d met his mother and all three of his siblings only once, and briefly, but she’d felt an immediate fondness for Corinna, and had looked forward to getting to know the younger girl who was to have become her sister.

At the moment, however, she did not want to feel any sympathy over Beckworth’s concern about Corinna. The girl was beyond lovely and the sister of a duke. She would fare quite well in society.

But her mother had passed away only a year ago, and they had seemed quite close. Of course it would have been much easier for Corinna to face her first season with her mother’s guidance. Many times Eleanor had wished her own mother had been able to shepherd her through the process, rather than her aunt Minerva.

“Have you decided upon a sponsor for your sister, Beckworth?” Minerva asked.

He gave Eleanor a pointed look, but she quickly turned away. She was not an appropriate sponsor for anyone. She was unmarried and inexperienced, and had only managed to navigate the complicated process with the help of Minerva and all her friends who gave her shopping advice and saw to it that she acquired the correct invitations.

“My aunt, Lady March, volunteered to do the honors,” Beckworth said.

Minerva nodded. “An excellent choice, Your Grace. Your sister will be in good hands.”

Andrew did not know how Eleanor managed to do it, but as Mr. and Mrs. Fielding took their leave, Joshua Parris ended up with an invitation to stay for supper. As though they needed yet another dinner guest.

Clearly, Eleanor intended to avoid being alone with him. But he sensed a faltering in her resolve against him.

At least Parris was not as obtuse or obnoxious as Viscount Maryfield, but as the evening wore on, it became clear that Eleanor intended to do all that she could to shut Andrew out of the conversation.

Eleanor turned to Joshua and was about to say something, likely yet another reminiscence of their childhood, when Minerva spoke to Andrew, overruling her niece in an attempt to draw him in. “I imagine you’ve seen quite a number of festivities taking place in Reading ahead of the races.”

“Yes. I would guess at least half the ton have come out for it,” he replied.

“It was good of you to allow your Mr. Carrick to remain in town to indulge in some of the amusements,” Minerva said.

“I am afraid I did not, Miss Easton,” Beckworth replied. “Carrick is handling some business for me.”

“I see. Well,” Minerva said, “I am sure your business matters far outweigh any diversions your secretary might find.”

“That is very generous of you to say.” Andrew turned and spoke to Eleanor before she could come up with yet another digression. “I will take you to Hermon’s horse farm tomorrow morning, Eleanor. You should plan to be ready early.”

Eleanor’s cheeks colored beautifully, and the softness of her eyes sharpened. “As I said before, Beckworth, I will ask Baron Stillwater to accompany me when it’s convenient. Which it will not be tomorrow.”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes. Lucy and I will have little enough time together before she departs for Edinburgh. I would rather spend it with her than haring off to a horse farm with you.”

He did not respond. He knew Eleanor was trying valiantly to convince him that Parris had her full attention. Another man might have fumed with anger, but Andrew knew that anger would not serve him. He took care to keep his expression neutral as she continued, but it was difficult not to grin in appreciation of her fiery nature. Lord, she was beautiful.

“In fact, it would be better if you returned to London on the morrow,” Eleanor said to him. “We have no need of you here, Beckworth. Do we, Aunt?”

“Eleanor!” Minerva sputtered at Eleanor’s obvious rudeness. “I— You—”

“Release my quarterly funds to me and you can be on your way, Beckworth,” Eleanor said to him. She touched her napkin to her mouth and stood.

“Eleanor,” he said, “your funds have alr—”

The clatter of wagon wheels and loud voices in front of the house distracted Beckworth, and he quickly got up from his chair and went to the door just as Thornberry came along to do the same. Eleanor followed, with Minerva and Joshua right behind her.

“What is it?” Beckworth asked the new arrivals.

Baron Stillwater came up to the house. “Murder, Duke. Murder, pure and simple.”

“What do you mean, Stillwater?” Andrew demanded.

Several men, including his footman, Matthew, were lifting an inert man from the back of the wagon. Andrew saw that it was Carrick. “Good God. What happened? Is he—?”

“Dead? Not quite,” Stillwater replied. “No thanks to the ruffians that attempted to finish him off. Your footman told us who he was and what happened, and so we brought him here.”

“Carry him inside,” Eleanor said, leading the way to the small, comfortably appointed bedroom that Carrick had been using. Matthew and Harry and another young man from town assisted in getting Carrick onto the bed, even though it was clear Matthew was injured as well. His clothes were torn and his face bruised and bloody.

“What happened?” Beckworth asked Stillwater.

“Your Grace, you know that I am magistrate for the district?” the baron asked.

“No, I did not, but go on.”

“I happened to be in Reading with my sister and her husband when we heard the hue and cry.”