Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (30 page)

“Well, you will not make it there with this lad,” he said, patting Skye’s muzzle.

“You touch him like a horse doctor,” Andrew said, for the man was more than merely at ease. He handled Skye the way a physician saw to an ill patient.

“Aye. I was born and raised to all this, so I’ve had to doctor my share of horses.”

“What’s wrong with him, do you think?” Andrew asked.

“Looks like an infection. Likely from a bite.”

“Can you help him?”

“Oh, aye. But the healing will take some time,” Fowler said. “A few days.”

“I haven’t got a few days.”

“I cannot change the course of nature, sir.”

“No, I realize that.” Andrew eyed Cavendish’s horse.

“Beck,” the man said, “you know you cannot go on alone. ’Tis too dangerous.”

“Your Grace,” Fowler said. “I will give you my own horse. But he will not be back until late this morning.”

“Too late. What of your other horses?”

“I’ve only one other horse here at the moment, but she won’t get you to London. These days, our old Laney is only good for a slow trot around the village green.

Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked at Fowler. “Do you know of anyone nearby who would be willing to lend a horse?”

Fowler shook his head. “We’re village people here, Your grace. We haven’t even so much as a livery.”

Andrew looked at Cavendish. “I have no choice. I’ll take your horse and you wait here for one of Fowler’s horses to return.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Fowler said, “but you do not want to ride alone. There have been incidents with travelers on the road. Highwaymen out in broad daylight, robbing carriages . . .”

That might be, but Hugo was in the devil’s basket at the moment and needed his assistance. He could not just abandon his brother to Bristol’s venom.

Or could he?

No. “My carriage will be along soon,” Andrew said, cursing his predicament. He could not return to Eleanor, and he could not get to Hugo fast enough. He turned and looked to the west, toward Reading. “They could not be too far behind.”

“They will likely be here before Mr. Foster’s horse arrives,” Cav agreed. “It seems we can do naught but wait.”

“If you’ll go on into the inn,” Fowler said affably, “my wife will see that you’re given a bite to eat while you wait.”

Eleanor focused on the ride and not on her horrible blunder with Andrew. How was she going to convince him that she believed him now? She’d been so adamant before . . . she could hardly believe she’d changed her mind.

She hated that she had mistrusted him in the first place. She should have realized Andrew was nothing at all like Derington. If only she had not panicked when presented with those purchase papers, she would have spoken to him, asked him about them. Weatherby must have known what her reaction would be – not that he’d have predicted she would go all the way to Italy . . . Or perhaps he had. He’d been awfully accommodating when she’d panicked and . . . Now that she thought of it, Weatherby was the one who’d suggested she leave the country for a time. And he’d been so helpful in arranging her coach to Dover. He’d even provided two footmen to accompany her to her ship.

If only she’d thought to question his motives.

She and Reverend Gedding rested the horses once, and soon afterwards, came upon Beckworth’s carriage, moving slowly along the road. They stopped only briefly to ascertain that Beckworth was not with them, then rode on.

“He cannot be much ahead of his carriage,” Gedding said.

“I hope not,” Eleanor replied, because the longer they rode, the more worried she became. Beckworth was a fair man, but she had been horrible to him. How could he ever forgive her?

At length, Eleanor and Reverend Gedding came upon a small village with an inn where they planned a brief stop to refresh themselves. Eleanor’s nerves were drawn taut, like a bowstring. Reverend Gedding cast her a reassuring glance. “We will just have a quick bite to eat and be on our way, Miss Easton. Beckworth will never forgive me if I allow you to faint from hunger before we even—”

“Oh, but I don’t even know if he’ll care to see me after this.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Caroline’s husband had said little since their abrupt departure from Primrose Manor, but he seemed far more confident than Eleanor felt. They dismounted in front of the inn and started for the door, but then the unimaginable happened.

“Beckworth!” Reverend Gedding took two steps toward the man Eleanor loved and grasped his hand. “I’ve brought someone who . . . well, she is quite anxious to speak with you.”

Then Gedding disappeared inside, leaving Eleanor alone to approach her former fiancé.

“Eleanor? What is wrong?”

Tears welled up in her eyes and Eleanor felt her throat thickening with emotion. Her knees wobbled ever so slightly as she went toward Andrew. “I . . .” She swallowed as he closed the distance between them. “I’ve been s-such a fool.”

“Eleanor . . .”

“Please do not give up on me. Give me another chance.” Her tears flowed freely now, and she felt her chin quivering. “I’ve been beastly. I should have known I could trust you.”

He started to speak, but Eleanor did not let him. She did not even notice him taking her hands into his.

“I—I love you, Andrew,” she said. “Please do not go back to London without me. I do not want another day without you.”

Andrew gathered her close and kissed her sweetly, then pulled her tightly against him and deepened the kiss. Eleanor felt an emotional storm whirl through her – she did not know whether her tears were of pain or joy until Andrew broke their kiss and spoke, looking into her eyes.

“Nothing has changed my love for you, Eleanor. You are night and day to me, my love. The sun and moon,” he said. He wiped her tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry, Ellie.”

“You left me.” Her breath stuttered in her chest. “You g-gave up on me.”

“Of course I didn’t,” he said with a deeply furrowed brow. “Never think that.”

“But you left Primrose Manor without a word . . .”

“And I deeply apologize for that. I meant to send you a letter explaining what happened. It’s Hugo,” Andrew said. He hated that he’d caused Eleanor such distress and vowed never to do so again. “In my haste to get to London, I forgot to leave you a note.”

“Is it serious?”

He nodded. “Very.”

“Can you help him?”

“I hope so.” He drew her into a secluded area of the inn yard and kissed her again.

“I waited for you last night,” she said. “To t-tell you that I realized how mistaken I was to run away before our wedding. I panicked. I know now that I should have stayed and talked to you about what Weatherby said. But I was so afraid.”

“Afraid I was like your father.”

She nodded. “I feel so ashamed.”

“Please don’t, Ellie. I love your independence and your fine spirit. I would not want you to change for any reason.”

“Oh Andrew, I am so sorry I mistrusted you. I should have known better.”

She touched his face, skimming her hand from his cheek to his jaw, and he intercepted her movement, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Come to London with me,” he said. “We can be mar— Wait.”

He took her hand and pulled her alongside him into the inn. “Reverend Gedding. He can marry us here. Now.”

“But Andrew. We’ll need—”

“I have a special license. We have the reverend, and there are more than enough witnesses to accomplish this.”

“But Hugo—”

“Will have to wait a few minutes more.”

Eleanor’s knees buckled, but Andrew caught her. He embraced her gently. “It’s all right, love. If you’d rather wait and have a ceremony in St. George’s . . .”

“No. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It was probably just relief that Andrew had not given up on her. “If Reverend Gedding is willing, I certainly am.”

Andrew slid his thumb along her cheek, wiping away her tears. “I am very glad of it. Shall we go inside and ask the good reverend to say the words?”

Eleanor nodded, and Andrew took her hand. They stepped into a room furnished with several long tables – for travelers’ meals, Eleanor guessed. A vaguely familiar young man stood talking with Robert Gedding, and he approached her and Andrew when they entered the room.

“Cavendish,” Andrew said, “you remember Miss Easton?”

“Of course,” Cavendish said as he bowed. “I am sorry to have dragged Beckworth away from Primrose Manor on such short notice.”

“No damage done, Cavendish,” Andrew said. “Gedding, I need your professional assistance.”

Reverend Gedding raised a questioning brow, but Andrew took a document from a leather satchel and handed it to him.

Gedding read quickly and then smiled. “It would be my pleasure to perform your nuptials, Duke.”

London. Two days later.

“I’ve been wanting to get you alone all day, Duchess,” Andrew said, taking Eleanor in his arms. He touched his lips to her cheek, her ear, then just below her jaw as his fingers deftly unfastened the buttons down the back of her gown.

So much had happened, it was difficult to believe only two days had passed since Eleanor had wed Andrew in the common room at the Painted Goose Inn.

Andrew’s carriage had arrived shortly afterward, and when the short marriage ceremony was finished, they’d continued on their way to London with Andrew’s full entourage. They all came east except Reverend Gedding and the footman, Harry, who returned to Primrose Cottage with Gedding and instructions for Eleanor’s household.

Andrew had gone directly to Bow Street and had no difficulty getting Hugo released into his custody. And when Lord Mortimer left his bed that very afternoon looking reasonably healthy and sound, Andrew had sent his brother home to Beckworth Park with Cavendish and another friend.

Eleanor knew the episode was not finished – that Andrew would soon need to deal with Hugo and his reckless behavior once and for all. But now there were only the two of them. And she shivered with pleasure as he pressed kisses to her wildly sensitive skin as he opened her buttons.

Her breath caught when her husband lowered the bodice of her gown and slid his fingertips under the edge of her chemise. He turned her in his arms and took her lips in a searing kiss that singed the edges of her soul. She did not know how she’d lived without him these past months.