Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (23 page)

Andrew had had little choice in his morning activities. Much as he’d have preferred to take Eleanor to Hermon’s farm, it was imperative that he deal with the felon who had attacked Carrick. And he intended to confront the Earl of Weatherby before the man could do any further damage.

But oh, how he’d wanted to slip into Ellie’s room and kiss her awake. Andrew did not allow himself to assume that all had been made perfect between them, but last night had been a start. A great start. Perhaps she would listen to him now.

Perhaps now he could convince her that the Earl of Weatherby was not the upstanding peer she’d always believed him to be. If not, Andrew did not know how to get her to believe him, short of getting the earl to admit that everything he’d told her was a lie.

He almost snorted aloud at the thought. Weatherby didn’t have an honest bone in his body, and Andrew hoped Eleanor’s trust would not have to be based on proofs. He’d lived most of his life needing to prove his worth to his father. That had been enough.

He rode up the drive at Weatherby Hall with Baron Stillwater at his side. He was not known to the Weatherby household on sight, and he wore nothing to indicate his ducal status, which worked to his advantage today. There was no point in alerting the servants as to who was calling before he was ready to play his hand.

He and Stillwater dismounted and approached the entrance of the mansion. The butler answered the door even before they made themselves known. “Lord Weatherby is not at home, Lord Stillwater.”

“Where has he gone?” the baron asked.

“The earl does not generally inform me of his plans, my lord,” the butler responded coolly. “I do not know.”

They left Weatherby Hall without further ado.

“This gets us nowhere,” Andrew said as he attempted to curb his anger. “Weatherby could be here, and the servants would never say.” Which was as it should be, but it did not suit Andrew’s purposes today.

“Aye, he might be here, but it’s possible we missed him in town,” Stillwater said. “At the racecourse, perhaps.”

“I am beginning to think it is a useless pursuit,” Andrew said. “We both know Weatherby will deny any knowledge of the incident last night.”

“Perhaps the constables have located Tatum’s associates.”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” Andrew replied, though he was not hopeful. And he worried that the longer he stayed away from Eleanor, the more likely it was that she would close her heart to him again.

“I am going to look up Mr. Fletcher when I go back to town this afternoon,” Stillwater said, “and see if he can add any information to what he and Mr. Morrison already told us.”

“Very good,” Andrew said. “And I believe I will take Miss Easton to John Hermon’s horse farm.”

Eleanor wrapped herself in a towel and stood in the quiet bedchamber. She could almost see Martine lying in the bed, wasting away in despair with every month that passed. She could practically smell the anguish that had permeated the room as her mother had faded away.

Deception upon deception.

Of course her mother had grieved for her infant son. Judging by what she’d read in the letters, Eleanor’s father had been heartsick, too. Their feelings were only natural. But shouldn’t her father have tried to do more to comfort his wife in her sorrow? Shouldn’t Martine have clung to her husband, and not forced him away from her, away from their marriage?

What had she lost in letting her grief overtake her?

Feeling confused and out of sorts, Eleanor quickly pulled on her banyan and returned to her own room to dress. With Lizzie’s assistance, she prepared for the day, though she did not know what it would hold. What would Beckworth’s expectations be when he returned? Did he think that all was repaired between them because she’d allowed him into her bed?

She’d barely been awake. How was she to make clear judgments in the middle of the night when he overpowered her senses? She wanted nothing to do with the man.

And yet she knew that was a lie. Nothing since her broken engagement had felt so right. But how could she trust him? If she gave him her heart again but found that he did not care enough about her to be faithful . . . No, she would not go through that again.

She went downstairs and found her aunt coming into the house through the conservatory. “Ah, you’ve decided to come down?”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“You must have slept well, Eleanor. You have become a late riser here in the country.”

“I slept surprisingly well, yes,” Eleanor replied without meeting her aunt’s eyes. “And I had a bath.”

Eleanor felt her aunt’s gaze on her and felt a twinge of guilt. Why couldn’t anything be as it seemed? “Did you see Beckworth before he left?” she asked.

“Briefly. I understand Baron Stillwater requested his immediate presence in Reading. Something about the incident last night.”

Minerva’s face was pinched, and her disapproval was clear, even though none of the injuries sustained by Beckworth’s men were their own fault. She actually believed it, just as Eleanor and everyone else had believed her father was responsible for her mother’s early death.

Well, perhaps he was, but not quite the way everyone seemed to think.

“Beckworth did ask me to give you his apologies,” Minerva said. “He will not be able to accompany you to Hermon’s Farm this morning.”

“No, I suppose not,” Eleanor said quietly, more to herself than to Minerva. She wondered if Beckworth would go to confront Lord Weatherby about the attack, and whether such a confrontation would be dangerous. If Beckworth was correct, and the earl was responsible for what had happened to Matthew and Mr. Carrick . . .

She rubbed the ache that began to develop in her forehead. She’d known the Earl of Weatherby her whole life. It was only Lucy’s ramblings and Beckworth’s accusations that made her question what she knew about the earl. He was as strait-laced as any man of her acquaintance. Eleanor would never have thought he had a nefarious bone in his body.

But how did he get hold of those purchase papers? The question had not occurred to Eleanor before, but—

“Now that Beckworth is away, what do you plan to do this morning, Eleanor?” Minerva asked.

She made an impulsive decision. “I believe I shall go to Hermon’s Farm, myself.”

“Oh, Eleanor, you cannot—”

“Of course I can,” Eleanor retorted. “I do not need a duke to accompany me on such an insignificant errand.”

“But purchasing a horse is not insignificant!”

“I know horse flesh well enough, Aunt. We will take the gig. Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?”

“Eleanor . . .”

She ignored Minerva’s cautionary tone. “I suppose I could go alone, if need be.”

“What has gotten into you this morning, Eleanor?”

Eleanor did not quite know. She felt rebellious and contrary, which was a welcome change from the confusion she’d been feeling for days. “Nothing. Will you accompany me?”

“Yes, I will be ready,” Minerva said with a deep sigh.

“Good.” Beckworth had complete charge of her funds, so he could pay Mr. Hermon once the purchase was made.

Eleanor went into the small dining room and found Sally clearing Minerva’s breakfast from the table. “Good morning, Miss,” she said. “Will you be wanting—”

“I’ll just have tea, Sally. In the kitchen.”

“Very good, Miss,” Sally replied with a quick curtsey.

“Oh, and would you run out to the stable and tell William to get the gig ready for me?”

Eleanor did not know if she was asserting her independence, or if she just needed to get away from Primrose Manor for a time. She hoped that perhaps an hour or two away would help to clear her head.

“Of course, Miss,” Sally said, and hurried out to the back of the house while Eleanor went into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a balm to her nerves. She’d spent many an hour there while her mother wasted away in her bedchamber, when Miss Chilcott allowed her a bit of free time. The atmosphere had always been warm and inviting, just as it was now, with Mrs. Thornberry and her husband making Primrose Manor feel like the home it once was.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Easton,” Mrs. Thornberry said. “What can I get for you?”

“Only some tea,” Eleanor said.

“Ach, that’s surely not enough. I’ll make some toast, and then we’ll see.”

Eleanor knew her housekeeper would not give in, so she capitulated. Perhaps she could eat a bite or two.

Within moments, Mrs. Thornberry placed pots of butter and jam o the table while she finished cooking Eleanor’s toast. “This is not a substantial breakfast for you, Miss Easton.” The woman gave a cluck of her tongue and brought Eleanor’s toast to the table. “You will waste away in no time at all if you go on like this. You hardly touched your supper, and what will all the goings on last night . . .”

Eleanor ate two pieces of Mrs. Thornberry’s thick toast, and when she finished and left the kitchen, Minerva was already standing at the door, wearing her hat and pelisse, and pulling on gloves.

“I’m ready to go, Eleanor,” she said. “But I am not at all sure this foray is well-advised.”

“Of course it is,” Eleanor replied. “The weather is fine, and it might be some time before we have another opportunity.”

“Do you need a riding horse so desperately, then?”

“Yes, I do,” she said curtly. She hated to admit it, but Beckworth was right about her wandering alone in the countryside while the races were on. But she had no interest in traveling everywhere in her small gig with William – good lad that he was – at the reins.

Will had already brought the gig around to the front of the house and waited beside it, steadying the horse. “Would you like me to drive, Miss?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” Eleanor said, feeling bolstered by her own independence. She could do this. She did not need anyone’s help. After all, she’d managed to get to Italy and back, with only Lizzie for company. How difficult could it be to buy a decent riding hack?

“I do not know what Beckworth will say when he learns what you’re doing, Eleanor,” Minerva said, leading the way to the house.

“I do not really care what the duke has to say,” Eleanor retorted. “He is merely in charge of my money, therefore, he can dole it out for my horse.”

In spite of her bravado, Eleanor did wish she had some male assistance in this endeavor. She had never purchased anything of this size or value before, and she did not even know if she had the funds to do so. If Beckworth were here, he would be able to tell her exactly what she could afford.

She nearly growled in frustration because she did not want him here. Did she? She told herself she was thoroughly angry with him for seducing her to his will last night. She never would have succumbed to his sensual onslaught had she been fully awake and in possession of all her faculties.

“What did you say, dear?” Minerva asked.

Eleanor did not realize she’d made a sound.

“Nothing Aunt,” she said. “Just— Never mind.”

What was she going to do about Beckworth now? It was becoming clear that she needed to talk to Lord Weatherby and see if she could determine the truth about his allegation against Andrew. The shock of seeing those purchase papers just before her nuptials had propelled her into action, and, well, it was possible she had not behaved rationally. Perhaps she ought to have stayed in London and spoken to Andrew, but the fear of marrying a man just like her father had terrified her.

Still, if Andrew thought he could slink into her bed and win her over with his prowess there, he was vastly mistaken. Regardless of her father’s reason for turning into the kind of man he became, Eleanor refused to marry such a rake and scoundrel. And until she knew for certain that Andrew was not that kind of man, there would be no more passionate kisses in the pantry, and definitely no more assignations in the bedchamber.

A wave of longing rippled through her, and she quickly suppressed it. Until she spoke to Lord Weatherby and ascertained—

“Eleanor, do we have time for such meandering?”

“What? Oh.” She realized she’d allowed their horse to dawdle on the path. “Sorry.”

She clucked the old gelding into a fair gait, and finally reached the horse farm. Driving past Harmon’s large stone house, she followed the drive to a barn near an expansive paddock where a group of people had gathered outside its gates. When Eleanor drew closer, she could see that it was Caroline Stillwater and her husband, Reverend Gedding, standing alongside Mr. Hermon and two other men. She was pleased to see Joshua Parris was one of them.