Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (28 page)

“So I did. What made you change your mind?” Lucy asked, drawing Eleanor to the sofa, where they sat down. “What has happened?”

“’Tis just that . . . I realized that things are not always as they seem. Perhaps those papers Weatherby showed me – the purchase papers – have some meaning I don’t understand.”

Lucy’s brow wrinkled. “What else could they—”

“I do not know,” Eleanor said. “But what I do know is that Beckworth is a man of principle. He is nothing if not honorable. I realize now that he would not – would never – lie to me.”

“So you mean to marry him?”

Eleanor took a deep breath. “Yes. If he’ll still have me.”

“What do you mean, still have you?”

“Oh, I’ve been horrible to him since we arrived. Demanding that he leave, making him think Joshua and I—”

“He loves you, Ellie.”

“You did not see how he looked at me when we were at Hermon’s Farm.”

Lucy looked at her expectantly. “How?”

“As though he were thoroughly disgusted with me. Finished with trying to . . . to win me.”

Eleanor poured out her worries to her friend, and it was fully dark by the time she remembered William was waiting for her outside. She left Stillwater House in a mad hurry, and Lucy sent two additional manservants with her and William to see them home. But her worries had not ceased by the time she entered the house.

Beckworth had not yet returned from Reading, and Eleanor felt pensive and troubled by his continued absence.

Had he stayed away because he was annoyed with her? Perhaps even finished with her? She had been inexcusably rude to him, especially today. Would he forgive her after all her incivility these past few days?

Her guilt weighed heavily upon her, exhausting and draining her. She vowed that if he did forgive her, she would never again act the shrew. If she had questions, she would ask them and not make assumptions. If she thought he was wrong, she would speak to him about it and not just distance herself from him.

There had been enough of that in her life.

She ate a quiet supper by herself, yet still felt at loose ends when Andrew did not return.

“Shall I help you undress for bed, Miss?” Lizzie asked when Eleanor finally went upstairs. It was late, and she did want to wait up for Beckworth, but there was no need for Lizzie to stay up waiting, too.

Eleanor nodded. She intended to apologize and decided that would be better accomplished while wearing only a thin cotton night rail.

Andrew stopped at the stable and gave his horse over to William. He’d already dismissed Claymere’s footmen, tossing them each a coin in gratitude for their trouble, and ridden with Harry down the lane to Primrose Manor. He was glad to have had the extra company on the ride back, especially since it had gotten so late.

He would not put it past Weatherby to cook up some scheme with Squeers to cause him physical harm. The earl had to know he’d overstepped this time. All four of the men under arrest at the hospitium had implicated both Weatherby and Squeers in the scheme to murder Carrick and Matthew, and they’d given specific details on their payment. Both Weatherby and Squeers were implicated.

At least Weatherby was in custody and unable to conspire with his minions.

Andrew would have preferred to await the warrant from the Privy Council, but Stillwater had the authority to call for Weatherby’s arrest. They both knew there was every chance the earl would go into hiding if left to go free. Perhaps he would even leave the country.

Now there was only Squeers to contend with, and Sheriff Harris was sure they would locate and arrest him in short order.

Andrew looked up at Eleanor’s house, at the dark window of her bedroom, and regretted having to be away from her all day. He’d had hopes of spending the rest of the day with her after her successful negotiations with Hermon for her horse. He smiled even now at her audacious bartering. She’d known exactly what she was doing and how much she should pay for the hack. By God, she was everything he wanted in a wife, and he was determined that she understand what she meant to him.

He went to the house and let himself in, then walked quietly to the servants’ quarters. He found Carrick sitting up in his bed, talking in low tones to Grayson, who sat nearby with his feet propped on a stool, a London newspaper in his hands. The valet put the papers aside and stood when Andrew stepped in.

“No, no, do not let me interrupt. I just came to see how you fare, Carrick.”

“I feel much better, Your Grace.”

“You put my seal on the letter Stillwater’s man brought to you?”

“Yes, and sent it off to London right away,” Carrick replied.

“Will you be up to a trip to London tomorrow?”

Carrick nodded. “I am sure I will be, sir.”

“Good. I want you to ride with Grayson in my carriage. I’ll arrange to have your horse returned to you in Town.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Plan to leave here in the morning. Grayson, when you arrive at the London house, send for Dr. Jankins to come and look at Carrick’s wound. Matthew will travel with you.”

Grayson nodded his acquiescence and rose from his chair, making for the door.

“Stay here, Grayson. Read the rest of the news to Carrick,” Andrew said. “I shall endeavor to undress myself tonight.”

Grayson gave Andrew a slight bow, and Andrew made his exit, walking back through the house. He stopped in the conservatory, considering the possibility that Eleanor might be there . . . not that she’d be waiting for him to return, but he could hope.

He walked past the conservatory and found it empty and so was the garden. She had not waited up for him.

He went upstairs, past Minerva’s room, and down to Eleanor’s door. All was quiet within, and he’d already seen that there was no light in the window.

He put his hand on the door latch. . .

But stopped before opening the door, considering the possibility that he was going about this all wrong.

As much as Andrew wanted to share her bed tonight and every night for the rest of their lives, perhaps that was not the way to go about winning her. Their lovemaking last night had certainly not won her over.

Pacing between his room and hers, he came to a decision. He was going to forego the races on the morrow. He believed he had enough allies in town – Claymere and the others – who could handle any argument against voting for the labor bill, and Weatherby and Squeers were nullified.

Andrew was going to spend the entire day with Eleanor.

And the night, too. He entered his room and removed his clothes, donned a dressing gown, and returned to Eleanor’s bedroom. Stepping close to the bed, he heard the gentle sighs of her breathing and knew she slept soundly.

He did not need to awaken her to enjoy the pleasure of holding her in his arms. He slid into her bed, slipped his arms around her and held her close, hoping she had not spent the entire afternoon and evening with Joshua Parris.

Just before dawn, Andrew left Eleanor, still asleep, to return to his own bedroom. He’d gotten into bed and was just falling asleep again when a light tap sounded on the door. “Enter,” he said quietly.

It was Grayson and another man whom Andrew could not see in the predawn light.

“Your Grace,” Grayson said, “’tis Lord Cavendish with me. There is trouble in London.”

“Bloody hell,” Andrew said. “What is it?”

“Lord Hugo is being held at Bow Street.”

Andrew cursed under his breath. “What now?”

Grayson poured fresh water into the basin on the washstand while Cavendish explained. “There was a duel, Your Grace. Lord Hugo and Viscount Mortimer.”

“Mortimer is dead?”

“Nearly, Beck. Hugo’s shot was true.”

Andrew muttered a quiet curse.

“There’s more,” Cavendish said. “Lord Bristol was present, and he’s brought charges.”

“Christ.” Andrew dragged a hand across his mouth and jaw. “Will Mortimer die?”

Mortimer was a wastrel and a drunkard and of no use to anyone. But Bristol’s powerful family had harbored a grudge against the Beckworths for generations over some petty slight before Charles II became king. The new earl would like nothing better than to create a scandal that would impair Andrew’s credibility in the House of Lords.

Andrew’s surprise that Bristol was not in Reading with Squeers, actively working against the labor bill, was tempered by the possibility that the man had stayed behind to somehow orchestrate a catastrophe for Hugo.

“The surgeon was tending him when I left London,” Cavendish said. “I knew you would want to—”

“Yes, yes,” Andrew said brusquely. “Riding clothes, Grayson. Cavendish and I will leave right away.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

This was a complication he did not need, not while his courtship of Eleanor was in the balance. And voting on the labor bill was to take place in a matter of days. Hugo’s troubles were usually related to money and could always wait. But if Mortimer died while he was in custody . . .

Hell’s bells, he would not think so pessimistically. Whatever happened, he needed to get Hugo away from Bow Street as soon as possible and onto a ship sailing for the continent. Or America. He needed to get his brother out of the country, at least for a time, and then sort out the legalities.

He dressed quickly and packed a small leather bag to carry with him. Then he gave orders to Grayson for the rest of his staff to follow, and left the house before anyone else was up. Before long, he and Cavendish were on the road, heading toward the sunrise.

Eleanor washed and dressed quickly. She could not believe she’d fallen asleep before Andrew’s return last night. She’d wanted to apologize. No, not just apologize. She needed to make amends for doing him the greatest disservice by mistrusting him.

She should have realized he would not lie to her. Andrew was nothing like the man her father turned out to be. And now she fully understood how deceptive appearances could be.

It was mortifying to think how badly she had treated him, running away on the eve of their wedding, with no explanation at all. She had given him no chance to explain.

What a mess she’d made.

But she could make it right. It was still early.

“Beckworth has not left for the races yet has he, Lizzie?”

“No, Miss – they’ve left.”

Lizzie’s answer made no sense to Eleanor. “Well, if they’ve left—”

“I mean to say they’ve left for London. The duke and his men,” Lizzie replied.

“What?” Eleanor asked, stunned. He’d gone to London? Andrew had given up on her?

“Finally, he took you at your word,” Lizzie said. “He left, just like you’ve been telling him.”

“No,” Eleanor whispered.

Oh, but she had made it so very clear that she preferred Joshua’s company to his. She’d taken every possible opportunity to demand that he leave. She’d been rude and obnoxious from the first moment she saw him.

Her regret was as deep as the horror she’d felt when Lord Weatherby had shown her Andrew’s seal on those damnable purchase papers.

She had to find to him, beg him to forgive her for being so easily manipulated, so easily convinced that he was a bounder.

“Lizzie, have someone get William to saddle my horse.”