The Duke's Last Hunt (12 page)

“Now,” he said, “a gentle pressure with your heel, here.” And reaching for her half boot, he showed her how to indicate forward motion to the horse. Marigold started forward again, and Henry walked alongside. “Turn her head to the right,” he said, nodding at the bend in the road.

Miss Malcolm’s nervous fingers pulled the reins far too sharply, but Marigold was a placid beast and took no offense.

“
Brava!
” said Henry after a spell of five more minutes walking. “You are a horsewoman, Miss Malcolm.”

“You are far too kind,” she replied, her body still as taut as the rope on a pulley.

Henry looked back and saw that Martin was still following at a respectful distance, leading the extra mount. “My horse, if you please!” he called, and giving Miss Malcolm an encouraging smile, he climbed into the saddle as well. “Now, then—shall we?”

* * *

Eliza could not remember ever
having been shown how to ride by someone with such patience. Her father had put her on a horse when she was but a half-grown girl and seemed surprised—and put out—by her reticence. No one had followed up that effort with regular instruction, and every time she was called upon to mount a horse, her ineptitude was only greeted with confusion and annoyance. The last time she had ridden, the horse had spooked, and when a groom had caught up with her, she had lapsed into a fit of hysterics and declared that she would never go near a horse again.

But she could not exactly refuse to ride out with the Duke of Brockenhurst’s hunt tomorrow—she had already feigned one headache. And the hunt, it seemed, was the focal point of Rufus’ pastimes and enjoyments.

“Ready?” asked Lord Henry with a smile.

“Ready,” she replied. But her horse did not move.

“A gentle pressure with your boot.”

“Oh yes,” she said, embarrassed again. “I am sorry that I am so stupid about this.”

“Not at all,” he replied gallantly. “I am stupid about a great many things myself.”

“That I can hardly believe.” The horse was moving now. Her hands shook as she held onto the reins.

“Shall I give you examples?”

He sat so easily in the saddle, his broad shoulders rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the animal’s hooves. She reminded herself to keep her eyes on her own horse. It seemed calm now, but in her experience, equestrian mishap was always lurking at every corner.

“I cannot draw worth twopence. My mother asked me to sketch the house once, and when it was finished, Adele said it looked like a bizarre temple surrounded by a stunted forest.”

“I’m sure she was exaggerating.”

“Not at all,” replied Lord Henry. “It was very bad.” While he was speaking, he had, almost imperceptibly, increased the pace so that their horses were now moving along at a fast walk. “I am also quite stupid at writing letters.”

“How so?” Eliza’s fingers relaxed a little. The horse seemed to know exactly what to do.

“Give me a report to write about expenditures, or repairs, or improvements and the ink will flow onto the page. But to write a personal letter of daily happenings and social events? My thoughts tie themselves into knots. My mother will tell you quite readily that I have not written her one letter in the past three years.”

“If you see her often, perhaps there is no need to write?”

“Ah, but I do not.” He looked at her fixedly and then seemed to make up his mind about something. “I do not know if you have observed this, Miss Malcolm, but I am not a welcome visitor here at Harrowhaven. And that is not my mother’s doing.”

It was the ideal moment to discover just how deep the animosity between Rufus and Lord Henry went. “Your brother…?”

“Quite,” said Lord Henry. “He has forbidden me the house. I see my mother occasionally for an hour or two—never an extended visit.”

A whirligig of thoughts ran through Eliza’s head. What could Lord Henry have done that would cause Rufus to forbid his visits? Did the duke know about his behavior with the servants?

“And yet you are here now?”

“Only by pretending acquaintance with you. He did not want to appear the despot to your family, so he was obliged to let me stay.”

She did not know what to say to that, and so she said nothing at all. He seemed so kind, so patient—and yet, he was taking advantage of her presence to countermand his brother’s wishes. Why had she agreed to ride out with him? If the duke was so set against his brother, he would be furious when he found out.

Her companion was watching her with his dark eyes, trying to read her opinions, no doubt. Her hands tightened up on the reins once again and her face flamed red.

Without warning, Lord Henry slowed his horse and, leaning across the divide, checked the reins of her mount as well. They came to a stop, their horses standing so close that his riding boot nearly brushed against her leg. “Have I offended you with my disclosures?”

“Oh, not at all, your lordship.” Her answer was more well-bred than truthful. Her heart began to race. She looked around to make sure the groom was still following them.

“I can see that I have. I am sorry. I simply want to warn you to be careful of my brother. I know why he invited you here, and I beg you, do not do anything rash without a proper knowledge of his character. He is not everything that he seems.”

“I thank you for your warning,” said Eliza frostily, looking away into the distance. She disliked it that he would assume so much about her. “It is superfluous, however, since I have no intention of betrothing myself to a man that I know so little.” Her green eyes met his dark ones. “I think that he is not the only one here who is not everything he seems.”

Lord Henry bowed his head. “I am not certain what you mean by that, but I shall take it as a compliment. I should very much like to be friends, Miss Malcolm.”

Eliza did not know how to answer that. She had never had a friend of the opposite sex before, and she still felt like a pawn in the Rowland brothers’ mysterious game of chess. He was waiting though—he expected a response.

“I am…not sure if I can offer friendship.”

He gave her a mischievous smile. “It is
I
who am offering.”

He waited, but she made no response.

“Very well, if we cannot be friends, then I must go back to being your riding instructor. You have mastered the walk quite admirably, Miss Malcolm. It is time to move on to the trot.”

“Oh,” gasped Eliza. “I hardly think that is necessary.”

“It
is
necessary. They will all ride out at a trot tomorrow for the hunt, and not on the road either.”

Eliza took a firm grip on the reins. “Well then, if I must, I must.” Following Lord Henry’s guidance, she turned her horse’s head until it faced away from the road and toward the surrounding forest. There were tall oak trees here, with space between them to ride, but Eliza—used to traveling in one direction—was dismayed at the idea of trotting and changing course at the same time.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Lord Henry calmly. She was surprised to hear that he had both sensed her fear and acknowledged it openly without taking the opportunity to belittle her. “Your horse no more wants to run into a tree trunk than you do. Encourage her with both your heel and with the reins, and she will understand your wishes. I will go first and set a path for you.”

Eliza took a deep breath. Trotting through a forest seemed more terrifying than her first ball, her first card party at Almack’s, and her introduction at court all rolled into one. But somehow, with Lord Henry leading the way, it also seemed…surmountable. “I am ready.”

She saw the quick flash of his spurs as he flicked the reins of his horse, and then they were off. Her own horse seemed to know what to do almost without her urging. They had left the road entirely and were surrounded by tree trunks on every side, a leafy canopy filtering the sunlight over their heads. The air, which had been close and turgid earlier, now blew pleasantly past her ears. If this quick pace was a trot, she imagined a gallop must feel like flying. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on Lord Henry’s back as his horse zigged and zagged through the forest obstacles.

And then, of a sudden, he pulled up on the reins, and Eliza, unprepared, went sailing past him.

“Pull hard on the reins and lean back!” he shouted, and despite her panic, she was able to complete his instructions.

In a moment he was at her elbow. “Are you all right?”

“Yes!” She was breathless, but she was whole and unscathed, and what is more, she had kept her saddle and her control of the horse throughout. “Thank you, your lordship.”

“Henry.”

“But we are not friends,” objected Eliza.

“Of course not,” replied Lord Henry, “but I instruct all my riding pupils to call me by my Christian name.”

“You are incorrigible, your lordship.”

“Henry.”

Eliza shook her head, but she could not resist smiling.

How long had they been gone from the house? It was hard to see the position of the sun from underneath the trees, but Eliza suspected it was now late morning. They had not ridden too far from Harrowhaven, probably no farther than the little church, and if they went straight back, perhaps no one would notice their absence.

“Shall we return to the house?” asked Eliza.

But Lord Henry’s face had frozen as he stared beyond her into the woods.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed at his expression.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, shaking the unusual look off his face. “Yes, let’s return to the house immediately. Do you see our groom? Ah, there, the road is in that direction.”

He maneuvered Eliza’s horse around and then bade her lead the way. A walk seemed as easy as a slow minuet after their exuberant trot through the trees. When they reached the road, Lord Henry spurred his horse forward until he was even with her, but he remained as silent as the groom that was trailing behind them.
Preoccupied
was the word for it.

Eliza glanced over at him periodically and saw his brow furrowed, his jaw set. When they had rounded the circular drive and were only a few paces from the house, she made up her mind to speak. “I hope I have not offended you, your lordship.”

Lord Henry’s face relaxed immediately. “Not at all, Miss Malcolm. My apologies for my rudeness. Apparently one of my other stupidities is to become lost in thought instead of enjoying a beautiful woman’s presence.”

“Please, my lord, nothing obliges you to pay me compliments.”

They had reached the front of the house now, and Lord Henry dismounted. “Nothing except your beauty and my excellent eyesight.”

He reached up to lift Eliza down. For the thousandth time in her life, she wished that she did not blush so easily. “I hardly think friends speak to each other in such a manner.” She was relieved to find that his hands did not linger on her waist after he had deposited her on the ground.

“Ah, but you rejected my offer of friendship, if you remember. That makes our relationship something else entirely.” He handed Marigold’s reins to the groom that had accompanied them and gave Eliza his arm to walk her up the steps.

“My lord—”

“Yes, I would like to discover just exactly what that relationship is too. But I regret that that will have to wait, as I have a pressing matter to attend to.” He opened the door and ushered her inside. Then, taking her hand, he bowed over it. “Your servant, Miss Malcolm.”

“Th-thank you,” Eliza said as he let go her hand and disappeared into the saloon. It had been a most educational morning, but even though her knowledge of horsemanship had vastly improved, she felt that her knowledge of Lord Henry Rowland still left something to be desired.

12

A
s much as he regretted deserting Miss Malcolm in the entrance hall, Henry knew his errand could not wait. He could tell that Miss Malcolm still had qualms about trusting him,—curse that incident with the housemaid in the hallway!—but he hoped that she trusted him enough to heed his warnings about Rufus’ character.

His own opinion of Rufus’ character had sunk to the depths of the abyss during their excursion into the forest. The horror of looking over Miss Malcolm’s shoulder and seeing Rufus in the distance alongside a white dress and a head of blond curls had shaken him. He had gathered his wits and retreated from the woods as soon as possible. The plan had been for Miss Malcolm to gain some insight into his brother’s defects, but not that way—not that way.

But still—as jarring as that discovery was—it did imbue him with a new sense of purpose. Hitherto, he had felt a sturdy sense of determination to keep Miss Malcolm safe from entanglement with his brother. Now, his interest in the matter had warmed to a feverish obsession. Rufus, it seemed, would descend to any depth of depravity, and Henry would do everything in his power to stop Miss Malcolm from shackling herself to such a rogue.

He spotted the housekeeper in the saloon near one of the pillars. “Mrs. Forsythe, could you tell me which room you’ve put Walter Turold in?”

The housekeeper frowned and looked up from the large vase she was filling with flowers. “I’m assuming you’re having a good reason for asking, Master Henry. No childhood mischief?”

“Of course not,” Henry assured her. “I need to speak with him.”

“
That
is a change,” she remarked. How well the servants knew the relationships of the higher class.

Henry tried disarming her with a smile. “Please, Mrs. Forsythe.”

“Oh very well then. He’s in the red room upstairs.”

“Thank you,” said Henry, planting a kiss on her old cheek.

“Oh, get on with you!” said the housekeeper, swatting at him as he darted for the stairs, but her wrinkled face melted into a smile as she returned to her flower arranging.

It was not yet noon, and judging by the midnight quarrel he had overheard, Henry knew that Walter had had a late night of it. He knocked on the door of the red room.

“Who is it?”

“Henry.”

There was a pause, and then the door opened a few inches, Walter’s long hair still tousled and his shirt unfastened. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Then do so.” The door opened no further.

Henry decided to mince no words. “I saw Rufus in the forest today arm in arm with Catherine Ansel.”

There was a slight pause, and then the door swung open. “Since when do you care about Catherine Ansel?”

It was the retort Henry had been expecting. “Since that wretched day ten years ago.”

“Hmm…well, you’ve done a fine job of showing it.” Their eyes locked and Henry refused to flinch. Walter finally softened. “Best come in then and we’ll talk about this disaster. I’m afraid I put Rufus’ back up last night by letting on that she mattered to me….”

* * *

Eliza stood in the entrance
hall for a few moments uncertainly until it became apparent that Lord Henry’s errand was of a lengthy nature and he would not be returning. She decided to go to her room and change out of her riding habit. Some tea would also be in order and a muffin, for she had forgotten to breakfast before they left this morning.

“Ah, there you are, Eliza!” said a happy voice. It was her father, coming out of the drawing room.

“Good morning, Papa,” she said, giving him a filial kiss on the cheek. “Is Mama better today?”

“A little,” replied Sir Arthur, “but I think she will still keep to her rooms to be fully rested for the hunt.” Eliza supposed that to be her father’s interpretation of events—she imagined her mother cared very little whether she attended the hunt or not.

“But darling girl, I have news for you,” continued Sir Arthur, throwing an arm around her.

Eliza’s eyes opened wide. Her father was never this affectionate. “What is it, Papa?”

“The duke invited me to his study early this morning about a very important matter.”

“Oh, yes?” Her lungs felt like they were collapsing.

Sir Arthur turned to face her, placing both hands on her shoulders. “He asked permission to marry you, Eliza.”

“What did you say?” She could hardly manage more than a whisper.

“Why, what else would I say but
yes
! You will be happy to hear that your mother has overcome her aversion to him and now views him merely with indifference.”

Eliza did not consider indifference to be identical with a glowing enthusiasm. “Were you thinking of consulting me?”

“Have I not already done so?” Her father sounded hurt. His hands dropped to his sides and his shoulders stooped a little. “I am quite sure that I did in the carriage ride to Harrowhaven. You said that you did not know him well enough yet, but now that you have improved your acquaintance with him, I can fathom no reason why not to proceed.”

“Papa!” One of the housemaids was scurrying by, and Eliza, afraid to speak so publicly, grabbed her father’s hand, dragged him into the empty drawing room, and shut the doors. “Now that I have improved our acquaintance, I have discovered that I don’t wish to wed Rufus Rowland.”

He blinked at her in incomprehension.

“Papa, I am wholly and utterly opposed to the notion.”

He threw himself down upon the sofa and pounded a fist against the cushion. “But how can this be, Eliza? And why have you said nothing to me on the subject before? I gave the duke assurances that you were amenable to his proposals.”

“How could you, Papa?” A few tears streaked down her face. She sat on the sofa opposite him.

“But, my dear…what is there to object to? Perhaps you do not love him yet, but that can come in time.”

“No, it is not that—although, certainly, I do not love him. It is his character, Papa. He is not considerate of his mother or his sister. He is not considerate of me. He puts his own amusements before everyone else’s. He takes liberties that I would rather he did not—”

“Oh, pish,” said her father. “A young buck in love. You understand very little of men.”

“Perhaps so,” said Eliza, her courage rising, “but I don’t think it is asking too much for one’s husband to be courteous…and kind.”

“Listen here, my girl,” said Sir Arthur, leaning forward. “I am sorry that it comes to this, but I must be quite plain with you. You are one and twenty with no other prospects than the Duke of Brockenhurst. The Malcolms have more creditors than you can count on your fingers and toes, and if we are to avoid retrenching to a tiny cottage in the country, you must make an advantageous marriage—
this
marriage. Would you sentence your mother and me to penury?”

Eliza began to sob. “Of course I do not wish that, Papa. But think what you are sentencing
me
to!”

“Nonsense. It’s hardly a hardship for you to be a duchess with lots of pin money and pretty gowns. What does it matter if the duke likes hunting better than conversation—you’ll have plenty of other consolations.”

Eliza’s whole body was trembling. “And does Mama feel the same?”

“She would not put it in so many words, but I know she acknowledges the prudence of the match.”

Eliza remained silent for the space of a minute, her father’s eyes boring holes into her. She should have known it would come to this—should have known it from the moment her father had grasped at the duke’s resolution to come calling. But somehow, Eliza had assumed that it would all be for naught—that Rufus Rowland would cry off as soon as he knew her better and that she would not be obliged to make any decision concerning him.

Her father had got his hopes up now, and it was too cruel of her to disappoint him. It was only her future she was giving up. It was only the rest of her life.

Eliza brushed the tears off her face and, folding her hands meekly in her lap, said, “Very well, Papa. I shall do as you bid me.”

“Good girl,” said Sir Arthur, exhaling in obvious relief.

“Where is the duke now?” Eliza asked faintly.

“Out for his morning ride,” said Sir Arthur, “but I’m sure he’ll be back before long. Perhaps you should go change out of…that dress”—he waved a hand at her brown riding habit—“and put on something more appealing.”

“Yes, Papa.” She brushed the tears from her face one more time and, exiting the drawing room, hurried up the stairs to her room. As she went, she said a little prayer that she would not meet Henry Rowland again until all was said and done. It was not that she necessarily preferred him to his brother—but to see herself fall in his estimation? That was something she could not bear.

* * *

When Henry came downstairs again,
he found his sister, along with Stephen and Robert, standing by the dining room windows that looked out to the garden.

“Is there some exotic bird in the hedge?” he demanded.

“More of an exotic event,” replied Robert smugly. “What think you, Hal? Our dear brother has taken Miss Malcolm outside to offer his hand and heart.”

“Miss Malcolm is far too sensible to make that mistake,” said Henry briskly. His stomach lurched inside him, however, and he prayed that the lady in question would substantiate his claim. She had
seemed
set against Rufus when he broached the subject earlier, but other forces might come into play besides her personal inclinations.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Henry,” said Adele, her nose pressed against the glass, “but the proposal is happening as we speak, and…she appears to be agreeing.” Adele shrieked and put a hand over her mouth. “He is kissing her! No, not on the lips—she turned her face away—merely on the cheek.”

“Come away from the windows,” said the duchess. “There are some things that should be done in private.”

“And some things that should not be done at all,” said Henry shortly. His brows turned into thunderclouds. What kind of man proposes marriage to a gentlewoman directly following a tryst with another woman? He growled under his breath and sat down heavily on the sofa, beating his fist into one of the cushions.

“Don’t be jealous, Henry,” said Adele. “You had your chance in London, didn’t you? I suppose Eliza must simply prefer redheads…or dukes.” Adele smiled at her own witticism, but Stephen sent Henry a look of quiet sympathy.

Henry’s mother came over and sat down next to him. “My dear,” she said quietly, “is it true that you fancied Miss Malcolm?”

“I had rather not answer that.”

The duchess looked at him gravely. “I am sorry, Henry.” She glanced over to the window. She was a strong woman, beautiful, but with a hard cast to her face, made stern by the vicissitudes of life. “Perhaps he is actually fond of her too. She could reform him, you know.”

Henry pushed himself up from the sofa and, bending down, planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “I wouldn’t count on it, Mama.”

Her eyes grew sad. “A mother can hope, can she not?”

Henry opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. He would not vent his spleen on his mother.

He saw Robert abandoning the window and heading toward him with a simpering smile. He could bear no more questions. Turning sharply, he made to escape the dining room and nearly collided with Sir Arthur.

“Pardon me! Have you seen my daughter?” said the older man.

“I believe she is otherwise occupied at present,” said Henry, “with becoming a duchess.”

“Ah!” said Sir Arthur, his eyes shining. “Capital! Capital!”

And in that moment, Henry—who had hitherto only considered him weak—found Eliza’s father to be utterly despicable. “I suppose congratulations are in order, Sir Arthur,” he said, forcing a smile. He was too well-bred to say what was really in his mind.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Here they come!” shrieked Adele.

Henry cringed and backed toward the door. He was more than adept at dissimulation, but this was one well-wishing he did not wish to be part of. He needed a moment to himself. Later, he could put on a brave face and decide what was to be done.

* * *

Eliza was trembling all over
by the time she came in from the garden on Rufus’ arm. It had all seemed like a swirling dream of inchoate events. She had known what he would say before they stepped out of doors. And when he had said it, she had not hesitated…but she had felt, for all the world, like a painted marionette, stiffly playing the part the strings assigned it.

“Yes,” she had said, rubbing her dry lips against each other. “I will be your wife.”

And then he had tried to kiss her—an action not horribly improper at the scene of a betrothal—but Eliza had panicked at his proximity, twisting away so that his lips only grazed her cheek.

He had not liked that, she could tell, but he did not express his displeasure beyond a slight stiffening of his upper lip. “Come, let us tell the others the happy news,” he had said. Was it only her imagination that he dwelt overlong on the word “happy”? Was he being ironic? Did he know how unhappy this engagement was making her?

“Miss Malcolm has done me the honor of accepting my proposal,” said Rufus, leading her into the circle of his family. They were all there—sans one, but it was the one person she had resolved
not
to think about—the dowager duchess, Mr. Curtis, Adele, and her admiring Mr. Blount. In the corner stood Eliza’s father, beaming his approval.

The dowager duchess bestowed a kiss on Eliza’s cheek, and while her words were not effusive, they also did not seem unwelcoming.

Adele squealed with delight and pressed Eliza to her bosom. “We shall be sisters! Just think of it!”

“Steady on there, Adele,” said Rufus. “You would not want to frighten Eliza into calling off the match before I’ve got it into the banns.”

Everyone laughed at that, save Adele, who gave her elder brother a petulant scowl.

“Never fear that!” said Sir Arthur, and walking forward, he planted a kiss on Eliza’s cheek. She looked at him reproachfully. No, she had committed herself to the course her father had laid out in front of her. She could not call off the match now.