Only Beloved (20 page)

After acknowledging the introductions, the earl first made brief conversation with the gentlemen and then, after Mrs. Clark had set a cup of tea in his hand, came to sit on a stool close to both Dora and her mother. He then proceeded to make himself agreeable to them with details of his travels and questions about their own impressions of Cornwall.

It was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable half hours of Dora's life, though she did admit to herself afterward that she was not altogether sorry it had happened. The Earl of Eastham had appeared to her as a complete monster at her wedding, and even as she made excuses for him afterward, she had not quite been able
to believe in his humanity. Now she did. He was older than George by a number of years and looked it. Even so, he possessed the remnants of the good looks he must have enjoyed as a young man, his manners were engaging, and his conversation was amiable. He left the Clarks' house at the same time as they did, and he handed her mother into the barouche with great courtesy before Sir Everard did the like for Dora.

He made his bow after they were all seated and addressed himself to Dora.

“I thank you most sincerely, Duchess,” he said, “for permitting me to remain at the home of my . . . sister's erstwhile friends and my own. It was good to see them again after so long. I will remember your kindness and hope the time will come when you can forgive me for my impulsive and offensive behavior on your wedding day. Your servant, Lady Havell. Yours, Havell.”

Her mother's hand sought Dora's as the barouche moved away. “How dreadfully unfortunate that was,” she said. “I am inclined to believe, though, that he does indeed regret spoiling your wedding day, Dora. I daresay it is hard for a man to see his sister's widower marry someone else. Love of a sibling is different from love of a spouse. In some ways it is more enduring because of the bond of the blood relationship. A wife can be replaced; a sister cannot.”

“She was his half sister,” Dora said. “Do you think Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Parkinson were really surprised. Was he?”

“It did not occur to me,” her mother said, “that perhaps they were not. Do you mean you believe he wanted
to meet you and enlisted their aid? But even if that is so, Dora, it would not be a bad thing. It would suggest even more that he has been suffering remorse and wished to apologize to you in person. What do you think, Everard?”

Sir Everard, thus appealed to, looked thoughtful. “If the man wished to make his apology to Dora,” he said, “he might have written to her. Or he might have presented himself at Penderris Hall and asked to speak with her. Though I daresay Stanbrook would have had something to say to either of those approaches.”

“Meeting her thus was . . . clandestine, then?” Dora's mother asked him.

“Or merely accidental,” he said with a shrug. “You will tell Stanbrook, Dora?”

“But of course,” she said. It would not occur to her not to tell George. Though she did not look forward to it. She felt almost guilty. Perhaps when the Earl of Eastham had offered to leave the house, she should have left instead. But it would have been very ill-mannered to her hosts, and word of it would have been around the neighborhood in no time.

It would be around the neighborhood anyway. But at least it would be reported that she and the Earl of Eastham had been civil to each other.

*   *   *

There was a tap upon the door of George's dressing room just before dinner, and Dora answered his summons to enter. His valet had just finished knotting his neckcloth with his usual flair for elegant artistry without any added ostentation. George waved him away before
he could add the diamond pin that lay waiting on the dresser. Something was bothering Dora and had been ever since her return home this afternoon, though she had denied it and merely smiled brightly when he had asked her.

“You are ready to go down?” He got to his feet.

“There is something you ought to know,” she said. “You will probably be . . . upset about it, though I do not believe you need to worry.”

He raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands at his back. “You are not feeling unwell, I hope,” he said.

“Oh, nothing like that,” she assured him. “Mother and Sir Everard and I called upon the Clarks this afternoon. Mrs. Parkinson was there too.”

“Ah,” he said. Both ladies had been Miriam's friends. “Was the visit a severe trial to you, then, Dora? I hope there was no repetition of what happened at the Yarbys'.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “Mr. Clark drew Sir Everard into conversation, and the ladies were perfectly amiable to Mother and me. But . . . another guest arrived while we were there. Mrs. Clark reacted with great surprise when he was announced, as did Mrs. Parkinson, but I had the feeling they had been expecting him. He was the Earl of Eastham.”

What the devil?
George felt rather as though his head had been plunged into an ice bucket.

“He is traveling in Cornwall,” she told him, “and staying at an inn a few miles from the village. He called upon the Clarks because they were kind to him after . . . after his sister's death. They were delighted to see him, as was
Mrs. Parkinson. But it did seem to me that his visit was not the surprise they pretended it was. Mr. Clark did not look surprised at all, and Miss Clark looked merely embarrassed. And then he—the earl—was shocked to see me.”

“Good God, Dora.” George exploded into wrath. “The impertinence of it. Did you leave immediately? I hope Havell—”

But she was holding up both hands, palms out.

“I was given the impression that the meeting was contrived,” she said, “but I believe the earl's motive was a sound one. He apologized to me most handsomely for what happened on our wedding day. He admitted that he behaved very badly on that occasion and begged my pardon in everyone's hearing when he might have taken me aside to speak privately and so saved himself some embarrassment. Are you very annoyed that I stayed and listened?”

Annoyed?
He was almost vibrating with fury. He was also curiously . . . afraid.

“I daresay,” he said, “it was those kind friends in the village who wrote to inform him of my upcoming wedding.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I had not thought of that. And of course everyone here knows what happened at the church. Perhaps he felt he really ought to make his apologies for all to hear, for the Clarks were surely dismayed to hear of his misuse of the information with which they had provided him.”

“Dora,” he said, stepping forward and taking both her hands in his, “stay away from him.”

“I am quite sure I will be able to do so without any effort,” she said. “I doubt I will see him again. He will be continuing his travels. But he made himself very agreeable to both Sir Everard and Mother during tea—and to me. I do believe he really is sorry for what happened. And if he did know I was to be at the Clarks', then it was even more commendable that he came there to speak with me. It must not have been easy and could very well have been avoided. “

“Dora.” He squeezed her hands more tightly. “Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Parkinson were at the forefront of the vicious, baseless accusations that were bandied about after Miriam's death. They, together with Eastham himself. The man wrecked your wedding day.”

“Oh, not quite,” she protested. “And he certainly has not wrecked my marriage, has he? This afternoon could not have had any malicious motive behind it. What could they have hoped to accomplish beyond my embarrassment? That would have been very little reward for a malevolent conspiracy. It seems far more likely that they all wanted to mend some fences, and I appreciate it even if I cannot feel any great liking for those ladies. As for the Earl of Eastham—George, he was once your brother-in-law, and he was clearly very fond of his sister. He was upset by the news of your upcoming marriage to me and behaved badly. It happens. He has apologized. That happens too. I suppose in a sense he still is part of your family. People do not stop being your in-laws just because the person who formed the link between them has died, do they? Agnes would still be your sister-in-law if I were to die.”

“Don't,” he said, raising both her hands to his lips. “Don't die before me, Dora. In fact, I expressly forbid it.”

She tipped her head to one side and smiled at him. “I shall try to obey,” she said, “since you have not commanded my obedience much since our marriage. George, I think it would be a wonderful gesture if we invited him to our ball. The whole neighborhood would see that all that unpleasant business is over and done with. And then I daresay he would go on his way and we would never see him again.”

“No!” His head had turned icy again. “Eastham will
not
be invited to the ball or to this house, Dora. Ever. He might once have been my brother-in-law, but there was never an ounce of love lost between the two of us.
Never
. Quite the opposite, in fact, and it grew worse toward the end. I am not much given to hatred, but I can say without hesitation and without apology that I loathe Anthony Meikle, Earl of Eastham. And I can assure you beyond the shadow of any doubt that he has always returned the sentiment with interest. Stay away from him.”

She gazed at him, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Is that a command?” she asked.

He released her hands and turned jerkily to pick up his diamond pin, which he proceeded to secure in place among the folds of his neckcloth.

“No,” he said. “I hope I will never try to command you, Dora. It is a request. But we must be keeping your mother and Sir Everard waiting in the drawing room and—worse—the chef in the kitchen.”

She continued to gaze at him for a few moments longer
before stepping forward and batting away his hands to adjust the pin more to her liking.

“Shall we go to the music room after dinner?” she suggested.

“If you were willing always to play the harp,” he said, “I would
live
in the music room.”

She laughed. “Mother used to have a beautiful voice,” she said. “Perhaps we can persuade her to sing to the harp's accompaniment. Or to play the pianoforte while I play the harp.”

He leaned forward and kissed her lips.

“You are glad we invited her?” he asked.

She lifted her eyes to his. “I am glad,” she said. “
Very
glad. But them
,
not just her. I believe I like Sir Everard.”

F
or the week before the ball Dora was unable to concentrate upon much else, though there was remarkably little for her to do beyond occasionally flitting about looking busy. A few times she felt guilty over her idleness, but it was a very good thing to know that one had such a good and efficient staff. She had told George once that she could easily grow accustomed to having so many servants, and indeed it had happened. However had she managed in her little cottage with only Mrs. Henry for help? The answer was obvious of course. It had been a little cottage, and she had never tried to host a grand ball there.

The servants at Penderris were being even more solicitous of her than usual, she came to realize, because of the delicate state of her health. She always smiled to herself at the memory of what Ann Cox-Hampton had had to say about that word
delicate
. Dora had never felt in better health in her life.

By the day of the ball the whole vast house gleamed with cleanliness; the ballroom floor had been polished
to such a high gloss that it resembled a mirror; all the chandeliers had been lowered onto large sheets spread over the floor and had been cleaned until the crystal drops that were suspended from them sparkled, and each holder had been fitted with a new candle, dozens in all; the ballroom and the balcony outside the French windows had been decked with large pots of purple and fuchsia and white flowers and leaves and ferns; so had the sides of the staircase; a red carpet was rolled up at one side of the hall ready to be fitted down the outside steps late in the afternoon; the kitchens and the pantry were so laden with food it was a wonder anyone could move around without knocking some of it off surfaces onto the floor, which was almost as spotlessly clean as the tabletops; a number of the guest rooms had been aired and the beds made up and a vase of flowers, a bowl of fruit, and a bottle of wine with a tray of crystal glasses arranged in each.

There was really nothing for Dora to do after an early luncheon but await the arrival of those guests who would stay the night, though it was doubtful any of them would come for hours yet. Julian and Philippa had arrived before luncheon, but they were family and had come for a visit as well as to attend the ball. They had come early so that there would be plenty of time to settle Belinda in the old nursery with her nurse. Dora had mentioned to Mrs. Lerner that she intended to find some toys and books for the child's amusement, but even in that she was thwarted. One of the attic rooms was filled with suitable items, moved there after they were no longer needed by any children of the house. A couple of
footmen were sent to fetch them down and make sure they were clean. They included an old rocking horse, which George remembered as a great favorite when he was a child.

George took Julian and Sir Everard out riding with him after luncheon, using as an excuse that they would be out of the servants' way if they made themselves scarce. Soon after they left Belinda settled down for an afternoon nap and Dora's mother went into the village with Philippa, who wanted to see if the shop had a length of ribbon in just the shade of pink she had been searching for to trim the bonnet she had purchased in London. Dora did not go with them. She stayed to receive any of the guests who might by chance arrive early. She had also promised both George and her mother that she would retire to her room at some point during the afternoon to rest.

She did spend half an hour in her room, but she could not sleep, and there was no point in lying on her bed staring at the canopy over her head. Her brain and her stomach were too busy churning with mingled excitement and apprehension about her coming duties as hostess of her very own ball. She so very much wanted every moment of the evening to be perfectly happy and memorable.

Her mother and Philippa found her upon their return in a salon that had been set up for card playing—it was too much to expect, of course, that everyone would wish to dance. She was moving a table an inch here, a chair half an inch there, just as though the furniture were not perfectly arranged as it was. Philippa waggled her
reticule triumphantly from the doorway before hurrying off to the nursery.

“I found a whole roll of satin ribbon in just the shade I wanted,” she announced, “and just the right width too. What a miracle!” She paused and looked again into the room. “Whatever are you doing
,
Aunt Dora? Uncle George would have fits if he saw you moving that table.”

“I was putting it back where it was originally,” Dora said apologetically. “Sometimes I almost wish our servants were not quite so efficient.”

“I am off to see if Belinda is up,” Philippa said before disappearing.

“Oh, Dora,” her mother said as the door closed. “I am so glad to find you alone. When we were coming out of the shop, we ran almost headlong into the Earl of Eastham, who happened to be passing along the street. He insisted upon escorting us to the alehouse and ordering us a glass of lemonade. He had called at Mr. and Mrs. Clark's, he told us, but when he discovered that they were busy preparing for a ball here this evening, he cut short his visit despite their protests. He had been intending to have a glass of ale alone before returning to his inn and resuming his travels tomorrow.”

“Oh, dear,” Dora said, “I thought he would have been on his way long before now. George was not willing that he be invited to the ball, but it does seem unmannerly not to have done so. He and George have always had something of an antagonistic relationship, though I do not know why. And then, of course, it grew worse and culminated in the earl's not only blaming George for not preventing the duchess's suicide but even
suggesting that he had pushed her to her death. It is not surprising that he would not allow me to invite the earl, is it? But it is all very unfortunate that he chose today of all days to come to the village again and so discovered that we are having a ball here but have excluded him. I daresay he may feel hurt.”

“But he perfectly understands,” her mother assured her. “He said so. He did write to His Grace, you know, directly after he spoke to you at Mrs. Clark's that afternoon. He felt he ought to so that it would not be thought he had approached you behind your husband's back. George returned his letter unopened.”

“Oh, dear.”

Her mother moved closer and patted her hand. “He does not wish to upset you,” she said. “He is truly sorry that on your wedding day you were caught in the middle of a foolish quarrel that in no way concerned you. He would like to explain a few things to you, however, so that you may conceive a more informed and perhaps a more kindly opinion of him than you have now.”

“I do not believe George would like me exchanging any correspondence with him, Mother,” Dora said. “And I do not feel so inclined anyway, though it probably was just a foolish quarrel. Most are, are they not? Though they can cause years of unnecessary estrangement and pain.”

She might have been describing herself and her mother, she thought, except that they had never actually quarreled. Her mother had just disappeared. And what had happened to cause their estrangement had been no foolish squabble.

“He will be leaving tomorrow morning to continue his travels,” her mother said. “He understands that you must be very busy today. However, he did ask me if I would inform you that he will be walking near the headland above the harbor just beyond the Penderris park limits for the next hour or so and would be honored if you would grant him a few minutes of your time there.”

It sounded a little clandestine to Dora and really quite unnecessary. She did not wish any harm to the Earl of Eastham, and apparently he wished her none. But George was adamantly opposed to her having anything more to do with him. He even professed to loathe him, an admission that had somewhat startled her as she had not imagined that her husband could hate anyone. And George was not even at home this afternoon to consult. But the Earl of Eastham could hardly know that, could he? And having lived through long years of a separation from her mother and only now having found her again, Dora was saddened to think of all the lost years family quarrels brought about. The earl had reached out to her to apologize for spoiling her wedding day. He had even written to George. And now he was requesting a few minutes of her day in which to explain himself a little more fully. She still felt a bit guilty about not inviting him to the ball. The least she could do, surely, was listen to what he had to say.

Perhaps there was still a chance that she might persuade George that people often hurt themselves more than anyone else when they cling to old hatreds and resentments even after an olive branch had been extended. Perhaps it was an olive branch the earl was extending today.

Her mother was looking at her in some concern. “Perhaps I ought not to have said anything,” she said. “He seems a pleasant, sincere man to me, but Everard was not quite so sure after we met him. Stay here, Dora. I do not suppose he is really expecting you anyway.”

Dora frowned and then laughed. “I suppose,” she said, “that if I do not go, I shall feel guilty all evening and unable to enjoy the ball fully. I shall go.”

“Then let me come with you,” her mother said.

“You have just walked all the way to the village and back,” Dora said, “on a warm day. Go and rest, or go to the drawing room and order up a pot of tea. Keep it warm for me. I will not be long.”

But this was foolishness, she thought a few minutes later as she strode along the driveway in the direction of the eastern gate. The Earl of Eastham ought not to have asked it of her, and George would be annoyed, to say the least. She would, of course, tell him even if the earl had changed his mind and gone back to his inn without waiting for her—which she hoped he had done.

Before she reached the gate, she had almost made up her mind to turn and go back to the house. But then she saw him off to her right, standing motionless on the headland, gazing out to sea. He looked lonely and rather forlorn, and it struck her that it must be the first time he had been back here since his sister died. And he had been very close to his sister.

She noticed then that he was actually on Penderris land, not beyond its limits as he had said he would be. However, he was not trespassing by very much, and he was outside the cultivated part of the park.

Dora hesitated only briefly before turning off the path and making her way toward him. He turned when she approached closer, and he watched her come with a warm and welcoming smile. He bowed when she was close, took her right hand in his, and raised it to his lips, a curiously courtly gesture for such surroundings.

“You came despite the fact that you must be very busy today,” he said. “I did not really expect it, Duchess. I am touched by your kindness.”

She repossessed herself of her hand. “I am expecting guests soon,” she said, “and must not be from home very long. My mother informed me that you had something particular to say to me, and I came. It was kind of you to take her and Mrs. Crabbe for a glass of lemonade. I know they appreciated it on such a warm afternoon.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Lady Havell is a charming lady. So is young Julian's wife.”

But she had not come here to exchange pleasantries with him. She looked questioningly at him and waited.

“I wish you to understand,” he said, gazing earnestly into her face, “that I have no quarrel whatsoever with you, Duchess. I wonder how much your husband has explained to you.”

Dora hesitated. “I do not pry into my husband's affairs, Lord Eastham,” she said, “any more than he does into mine. I have always understood that your disruption of our wedding had nothing to do with me. You do not even know me, after all, or I you. I bear no lingering grudge, if that is what concerns you. You doubtless had your reasons for feeling deeply offended when you heard that your late sister's husband was about to marry again.
I do not fully understand why, though I can make some guesses. It does not matter, though. What was between you and my husband concerns the two of you, not me. I do appreciate the fact, though, that you made the effort to apologize to me in person at the home of people who were your sister's friends and even in the presence of my mother.”

He nodded, his expression serious.

“Shall we walk?” he suggested, gesturing to the path that ran parallel to the headland and led farther onto Penderris property. “You are quite right, Duchess—you do not understand, though it makes perfect sense to me that Stanbrook would say nothing to enlighten you.”

“As is his right,” she said firmly as she fell into step beside him. “I really do not need to know anything about the past, Lord Eastham, that he chooses not to tell me.”

“You are too good, Duchess,” he said. “He was always cold toward the boy, and in the end, cruel.”

“To his
son
?” She turned her head toward him, startled. His face was grave now and looked lined with age.

“He desperately wanted to send the boy off to school,” he said, “even though Brendan was a sensitive child of delicate health and his mother doted on him and would have been brokenhearted if he had been sent away. Stanbrook gave in to her pleadings, but he hired tutors who were harsh and humorless and frequently chastised the boy and kept him from his mother for long hours of every day. And then, finally, when he was little more than a child, Stanbrook forced a military commission upon him and sent him off to his death in the Peninsula.”

Dora really did not want to be hearing this. It felt
deceitful, as though she were deliberately going behind George's back to gather more information than he was willing to give her himself.

“I believe it is usual for boys of his class to be sent to boarding school at a certain age,” she said. “If there was a disagreement between your nephew's parents over the matter, then it would appear that the duke deferred to the duchess's wishes. The hiring of tutors as an alternative plan was surely understandable. One would hardly wish the heir to a dukedom to grow up without any sort of education. Sometimes it is a tutor's job to be strict and even to impose punishment. And a commission was what your nephew actually did want after growing up at home, presumably without much experience of the outside world.”