Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (26 page)

Beckworth’s jaws tightened, and he gave a curt nod. There was no mistaking his irritation at Josh’s presence or his question.

Joshua spoke to Eleanor. “Then I will be happy to escort you to Stillwater House for the party, Eleanor.” She could not tell whether he’d said it to be kind, or to continue her ploy of deceiving Beckworth. “I had planned on leaving the racecourse well before the last race is over.”

“Thank you, Joshua, th-that suits me well.”

A shiver of uncertainty slid down her spine. What was she doing? Everything had been so clear when she’d first come to Berkshire. But now . . .

Did Beckworth actually believe her charade with Joshua? If he did, it made her some sort of . . . wanton, she supposed. Allowing one man into her bed while another man courted her.

Despite her success in purchasing Blossom, her elation fell. She faced straight ahead as she drove the gig, and tried to sort it all out. In Beckworth’s eyes, she must be guilty of the same thing she’d accused him of.

The realization sat like lead in her stomach.

And yet she would not correct his misapprehension. She had wanted him to believe she was involved with Joshua. It’s just that she had not anticipated spending the night making love with him.

Oh, what a mess. And it was of her own making. She should have ordered him out of her room last night before the first kiss. But she had been powerless the moment his lips had touched hers.

“Pay attention, Eleanor,” Minerva said. “You are going to drive us into the weeds.”

She corrected their course and took a furtive glance at Beck. His posture was regal, though somewhat tense. He was the epitome of masculine might and beauty, if it could be called that. Eleanor remembered how deeply he cared for his family and could only imagine how devastated he’d been upon the death of his mother. She could not fault him for his responsibilities in Parliament, and he was apparently the champion not only of the children who worked in factories, but his younger classmates who’d been persecuted at school.

Had she misjudged him so badly? His actions were not those of an immoral rake. She had a sinking feeling that she’d wronged him terribly with her distrust.

When they reached the Reading road, they encountered Lord Stillwater’s carriage. Everyone stopped, and the baron opened his carriage door. “Glad to see you Beckworth. I just sent someone to Primrose Manor to fetch you. They’ve apprehended the rest of the assailants in last night’s attack.”

“Your Grace,” Stillwater said, “how do you want us to proceed with the prisoners?”

This time, the sheriff, a man named Alfred Harris, joined them at the hospitium. “Question them separately,” Andrew replied. “Offer immunity to the man who admits his connection with Weatherby.”

“Full immunity?” Harris asked.

“No,” Andrew replied. “But once they discover they will not hang or be transported for their deeds, they will be more likely to divulge who paid them to attack Mr. Carrick and my footman.”

“But what’s to keep them from lying?”

“Only the promise of a short stay in gaol versus hanging,” Andrew replied. “Compare their accounts of what happened and see if they match. In the meantime, find their lodgings and have your constables search their belongings for excess sums of currency – payment for the deed.”

Harris nodded. “I will see to it, Your Grace.” He left, taking a number of constables with him.

“I have not finished with this, Stillwater. My quarrel with the earl is far more than personal now.”

“I certainly understand that, Duke,” the baron said, though Andrew knew he could not fully understand. It had always been personal with Weatherby, ever since Andrew had seen him bribing that jockey two years ago, and the earl had exacted his revenge in the most hateful way possible – by turning Eleanor against him.

But Andrew allowed Stillwater to believe it was because of Weatherby’s actions against Carrick.

“I will write the Privy Council immediately and request a warrant for Weatherby’s arrest in the event that we find the evidence we need.”

Stillwater nodded gravely.

“In the meantime, if the earl attempts to flee the area, you are authorized – as magistrate – to issue the warrant yourself and order Harris to make the arrest.”

“We must find him first, Your Grace.”

“Yes, of course. I have a feeling he is not far.”

Stillwater’s brows rose.

“He will attend the races tomorrow. Of that I am certain,” Andrew said.

Andrew wrote the letter to the Privy Council, and arranged for Stillwater to stop at Primrose Manor to have Carrick put his ducal seal upon it. Then he would send a trusted messenger to London.

“Do you plan to stay in Reading this afternoon, Your Grace?”

“For a short while.”

“I would caution you, then . . . If Lord Weatherby is the rogue you believe—”

“Better to caution the earl,” Andrew retorted. “It is he who is in the wrong here.”

Stillwater nodded and took his leave.

Andrew looked at his timepiece. Damn all, his time was running out. The race was tomorrow, and after that he needed to leave Berkshire to attend his meeting in London with Peel. He was not about to let Weatherby win the battle over Sir Robert’s labor bill.

But he could not lose Eleanor, either. Judging by her attitude toward him today, their lovemaking had not won her over. But at least she seemed a little less sure of her conclusions about him. It was frustrating not to have discovered exactly what Weatherby had told her, but he was determined to find out and set the record straight.

Harry brought Andrew’s horse to the front of the hospitium, but their departure from town was interrupted by Lord Claymere and a few other friends who stopped to talk. Andrew did not want to miss the opportunity to discuss the labor bill, but his priority was Eleanor. By her attitude at Hermon’s Farm, she already believed that last night was a mistake.

He wanted to get back to Primrose Manor before she had a chance to convince herself that Joshua Parris was the husband she’d always wanted.

“You must stop for awhile with us at the Three Horsemen, Beck,” Claymere said. “Otley and Walthorpe are there, and they are vacillating on their pledges to vote for the labor bill.”

Andrew muttered a quiet oath and dismounted, signaling to Harry to wait outside. He joined his friends and approached the tavern where he encountered a man he had not expected to see, with two rough-looking characters on either side of him.

“Squeers.”

The bastard tipped his hat. “At your service, Your Grace,” he said to Andrew before muttering something to the thug at his side.

Eleanor was worried about Beckworth. He was going face to face with the ruffians who’d hurt his footman and secretary. What would stop them from attacking—

No, she would not even think of it. Surely there would be guards to protect him from those men. And Beckworth wasn’t incapable, either. His physical prowess was above that of most men. She knew he regularly participated in matches at his boxing club, and he was an accomplished swordsman. As anyone could tell merely by looking at him, he was strong and agile.

But what if Beckworth and Lord Stillwater did run into Lord Weatherby? If Beck was correct, and Weatherby was responsible for the underhanded attack on Mr. Carrick and Matthew, what would stop him from trying to do more damage?

Eleanor went into the house with Minerva, barely listening to her aunt’s scolding as she slipped into her father’s study and closed the door, shutting Minerva out.

Her father’s seal was not in his desk, of course, because Derington had not lived at Primrose Manor for many years. And besides, the seal belonged to the new viscount now. But there were two other seals in the drawer.

Eleanor drew them out and looked at each one. She wondered if they could be duplicated. She supposed they could, but what reputable ironsmith would create a forged seal? Obviously, such a seal would be used for nefarious purposes.

She could not imagine Lord Weatherby doing such a thing, though at the same time, she realized she’d begun to doubt his tale of Beckworth’s infidelity. She wished she had answers. Wished she knew how to find them.

When she saw Minerva through the window sitting down in a garden chair, Eleanor felt it was safe to leave her father’s study. She went to the servants’ quarters to look in on Mr. Carrick and found him lying in bed, awake.

“Mr. Carrick, how do you feel?”

“Better now, thank you, Miss Easton.”

“Would you like some reading material?”

“My spectacles were broken and lost in the . . . scuffle.”

“I am so sorry. Will it be difficult to have them replaced?”

“No, once I return to London, it will be no problem.”

“Well, you must stay here as long as it takes for you to recuperate,” Eleanor said.

“I appreciate that, Miss Easton,” Carrick replied, “but I must get back to London as soon as possible.”

Eleanor made no attempt to hide her puzzlement. “Whatever could induce you to leave your sickbed before you are well, Mr. Carrick?”

“The duke’s business, Miss,” Carrick replied. “Sir Robert Peel might have introduced the legislation, but the labor law is as much the duke’s bill as it is Sir Robert’s. It will come up for a vote next week, so the duke has been speaking of it with as many peers as possible in Reading, and he is to meet with Sir Robert Peel on Sunday. It is a crucial meeting.”

“Then Beckworth must leave here right after the race.”

“Yes, he must, if he is to attend the meeting, and I know he is keen to do so.”

So Beckworth would be away soon, regardless of her actions. All she had to do was wait, and avoid him.

She did not feel the satisfaction she would have expected.

“But what good can you do in your state, Mr. Carrick?” Eleanor asked. “Surely the duke does not expect you to work for him while you are recovering.”

“It is not the duke, Miss,” Carrick said quietly. “It is the cause.”

“To limit children’s hours of work in the mills?”

Carrick nodded.

“You must feel quite passionate about it,” Eleanor said with some admiration, not only for Carrick but for Beckworth, who championed the cause.

“We all do. If those with power cannot help to protect those with none . . .” He tried to shrug, but the movement caused him some discomfort, and he grimaced.

“There now, Mr. Carrick, you must not overdo. If there is anything you need—”

“Thank you, Miss Easton, the Thornberrys are taking very good care of me.”

Eleanor left Carrick’s room feeling all at sea. How could she reconcile the conscientious Beckworth who had been described to her by Mr. Fletcher, by Reverend Gedding, and Mr. Carrick, with a man who’d gone to some trouble and expense to provide his mistress with an easily accessible home on the eve of his marriage to someone else – the woman he professed to love.

With her emotions at odds in every way, Eleanor was about to go out to the stable and see if her mare had been brought from Hermon Farm when Thornberry came to tell her that a guest had arrived.

“It is a solicitor. A Mr. Evanhurst.”

Eleanor frowned. “My Mr. Evanhurst?”

“Yes, Miss Easton, from Reading.”

She had met the solicitor only once and knew he had written her father’s will and managed the annuity. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and stood, hoping desperately that he had not come with bad news . . . that he’d had to refuse payment to Mr. Hermon for Blossom because her father had squandered what little he’d left her.

But that could not be true, else Beckworth would have told her straight away. Surely he’d have objected to the price she’d paid for her horse and used her dire straits as leverage to make her agree to their marriage. But he’d done nothing of the kind.

It was starting to seem more and more likely that she had misjudged him.

“I put Mr. Evanhurst in your father’s study,” Thornberry said.

Evanhurst stood when Eleanor entered the room. She left the door open and walked around to her father’s desk.

The solicitor bowed. “Miss Easton.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Evanhurst,” she replied in a tone calmer than what she felt, taking a seat in her father’s chair. She felt woefully unprepared to deal with whatever the man had to say.