Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (29 page)

“But, Miss—”

“And I’ll need my hat and gloves.” She left her room and hurried down the stairs with Lizzie right behind her.

“Eleanor? Is that you?” Minerva called out from the dining room.

Eleanor did not reply, but took her hat from Lizzie and put it on her head as she walked outside.

“What shall I tell your aunt, Miss?” the maid asked.

“I don’t care what . . .” She stopped in her tracks as a carriage pulled into the drive. “Who can that be?” The carriage stopped at the front steps, and when the door swung open, seemingly of its own volition, Eleanor saw Lady Kildrum.

The footman barely had a chance to lower the step before the woman alighted with Reverend Gedding and Lucy just behind her.

“Oh no,” Eleanor muttered. “Lady Kildrum, I-I was just on my way out.” She might not be entirely certain of her course – but she knew she had to try to catch up to Andrew. She could not allow him to get all the way to Town believing he had lost her affections forever.

“I need a word with you, young miss,” Lady Kildrum said as she came up the steps to the house.

“I apologize, Lady Kildrum, but I must make haste. Lizzie, go out to the stable and hurry William along. I need my horse. Now!”

“This will take only a moment,” Lucy’s aunt said. “Come along, Gedding. I brought you with me for a reason. Lucy, do not dawdle.”

The countess proceeded into the house without further ado, and Eleanor had no choice but to follow her into the drawing room with a very distraught Lucy beside her.

“What’s this about?” Eleanor whispered to Lucy.

“Oh, Ellie, I apologize. I—”

Lady Kildrum turned and began speaking as though there had been no question that Eleanor would come along.

“Where is Beckworth? Gone to Reading already?”

“No. He’s . . . He’s not here.”

“Good. I would speak to you alone first. I fear you have received bad advice, Eleanor,” the countess said, “or no advice at all, considering . . .”

“Bad advice?”

“Your . . . situation with Beckworth arose while Lucy and I were talking this morning—”

Lucy shot Eleanor a look that begged for forgiveness.

“—and I find it appalling that Weatherby – that scoundrel! – managed to use your naiveté to persuade you of some shameful behavior on the duke’s part.”

“Ma’am?”

The countess sighed with impatience. “Every nobleman worth his salt pays off his mistress handsomely when dismissing her. Beckworth did nothing more than give the woman the deed to her house.”

Eleanor wrapped her hands around herself. “I did not know. But it doesn’t mat—”

“If you young women were not kept so woefully uninformed these days, you would have known this,” Lady Kildrum said angrily. “Weatherby was able to use your ignorance against Beckworth, knowing how you would take it. He knew you would assume the duke was as horrid as your father.”

She looked sharply at Lady Kildrum. “How I—”

“Everyone knows what your father turned into and how his behavior disgusted you.”

“But now I know now that my father—”

“Yes, yes, he was terribly wronged by your mother.”

Eleanor felt stunned.

“Buck up, lass, and pay attention, for there is no one else in Berkshire who will tell you the truth.”

“You know about my parents?”

“That your mother lost a bairn and refused to do so again? Yes. We all knew, but it was considered crass to allow you knowledge of it until you were older. You are older now, are you not?”

“Lady Kildrum, that is enough,” Reverend Gedding said, moving to stand between the old woman and Eleanor. He took Eleanor’s hand. “Miss Easton, I’ve come to tell you in all sincerity, that the Duke of Beckworth hasn’t a dishonest bone in his body. What Lady Kildrum said . . . I do not know of these matters, but it must be true, for the Beckworth I knew would never have,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “well, he would never, er . . .”

“Have kept a woman,” Lady Kildrum interjected, “aside from the one he wed.”

“No. Never.” Reverend Gedding’s blush went up to his hairline, and his next words were spoken quietly. “He always said he refused to have a farce of a marriage like that of his parents.”

Eleanor pressed a hand to her chest. “You mean to say that the papers Lord Weatherby showed me . . . They actually prove that Beckworth was breaking it off with . . . with . . . ?”

“Yes. With his paramour, and do not look so stricken, Eleanor,” Lady Kildrum said. “Men who attain Beckworth’s age are seldom celibate. It looks to me that he intended to become so . . . until your marriage.”

Eleanor did not admit that she and Beckworth had anticipated their vows, so he had not technically been celibate.

“Do you understand what I am saying to you, lass?” Lady Kildrum demanded.

Eleanor swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“So, what do you intend to do about it?”

She looked from Lucy to her aunt, then to Reverend Gedding. “I had already decided I’d misjudged him, but he left for London this morning. I must find him.”

“Good,” Lady Kildrum said. “I once cared a great deal for your father, and I would hate to see his daughter lose this chance for a good marriage. Beckworth is as fine a man as you’ll find south of Scotia.”

Andrew and Cavendish stopped at a stream to water the horses and give them a moment’s rest. Andrew gave a pointed look at the loaded pistol in Cavendish’s saddle holster. “You expect trouble?”

“Always, when I’m on the road,” Cavendish replied. “I heard rumors of highwaymen on my way here. We’ll need to keep a sharp eye and keep up a good pace. After you load your own pistol, Beck.”

Andrew did so, and they resumed their ride. Cavendish filled him in on the details of Hugo’s situation as they rode.

It was bad, but not impossible. And if Mortimer survived, the whole incident was likely to be forgotten.

But damn all. In his haste to get to his brother, Andrew had neglected to leave a note for Eleanor, explaining that he would return as soon as possible. Which, of course, would not occur until after he’d dealt with Hugo’s problems and met with Sir Robert Peel. And it made no sense to come flying back to Berkshire before voting on Peel’s labor bill next week.

That meant leaving Eleanor alone for days to renew – and perhaps deepen – her distrust of him.

Damn Hugo for his timing.

But what was Andrew to do? If Mortimer died, Hugo would surely need all the power and influence of a duke on his side.

As soon as he found a trustworthy messenger, he would send her a letter of explanation.

Eleanor went for the door. “There is no time to waste. I’ve been rash and . . . and foolish.”

“You cannot ride all the way to London, and you certainly cannot go alone,” Lady Kildrum said to Eleanor. “We will take you.”

Eleanor stood still. “You will . . . What?”

“I said we will take you,” the countess replied, looking far more pleased than she ought. “The carriage is right there on the drive, and the horses are fresh.”

“No. The carriage will be too slow,” Eleanor said. “He’s already so far ahead.”

“We can ride,” Reverend Gedding said. “You have your new hack, and I know you must have another horse.”

“Yes, my groom is saddling the gelding now.”

“Then let us be on our way.”

Lucy pulled Eleanor into a tight embrace. “I hope you can catch him quickly.”

“I do, too,” Eleanor said.

“Now, no more foolishness,” Lady Kildrum said, drawing Eleanor away from Lucy. “’Tis past time you were on your way.”

Eleanor went to the door and found William waiting for her with Blossom saddled and ready, as well as the Primrose gelding. Within moments, she and Reverend Gedding were off.

It was entirely possible that Andrew had made the worst mistake of his life that morning, rushing away from Eleanor to help Hugo. And yet he knew he could not just leave his brother to a London magistrate’s mercy.

Perhaps he ought to have handled his brother differently after the death of his fiancée, Mary Renfrew, before they escalated to this point. Maybe then Hugo would not always expect Andrew to come to his rescue when he acted out in his grief. “Damn all, I had important business at Primrose Cottage and in Reading,” he said more to himself than to Cavendish.

“Aye,” Hugo’s friend replied in a sheepish tone.

“I do not blame you for coming to fetch me, Cav,” Andrew said. “This time, it’s a matter of Hugo’s life or death. If Mortimer dies . . .”

“That was my thought, Beck. He will need your influence this time more than ever.”

“I’ve patched things up for him far too often since Mary died, and grief is no longer a legitimate excuse.” Though Andrew did not think he would ever recover if he lost Eleanor. He could only imagine how Hugo felt. His brother had loved Mary since his youth, and when she’d become ill and died, Hugo had been inconsolable.

“Lord Bristol wants nothing more than to see Mortimer die so that Hugo—”

“Do not say it. I realize the stakes.”

Cavendish nodded. “I set guards to watch over Mortimer so that nothing untoward happens to him during his recovery.”

Andrew shoved his fingers through his hair as he thought of the danger to Hugo. “You are a good friend, Cavendish. Thank you.”

They rode on for another mile or so, but when Andrew’s horse started to favor one leg, he stopped and dismounted.

“Skye’s going lame, Cavendish,” Andrew said, checking his horse’s leg and hoof. The beast was favoring one side, but Andrew could not tell whether it was a muscle or bone problem. The hoof was not damaged.

Cavendish jumped down beside Andrew and pointed down the road. “There’s a posting inn not far from here, if I remember right. We can stop there.”

“Do you know the proprietor of the place?”

Cavendish shook his head and waited, aware that Andrew would not leave Skye just anywhere. The animal was his favorite riding hack and needed good care if he was injured. He and Cavendish both knew that not all posting inns were equal. Andrew did not remember this one from his ride out from London, though he did not see that he had any choice. He could not continue riding Skye while the animal was lame.

The inn was less than a mile down the hill, and both Skye and his master struggled all the way there. Andrew worried about the damage Bristol could cause to Hugo and their family, and Skye’s leg seemed to grow worse with every step.

Even more troubling was leaving Eleanor without a word. Andrew could hardly credit he’d been so remiss. But the talk of Bristol had been so alarming . . . he muttered a low curse.

The inn was small and had a brightly painted goose on a sign above the door. The innkeeper came outside and greeted Andrew and Cavendish as they walked their horses into the stable yard. “Good morn to you, gents,” he said, though he did not take his eyes from Andrew’s horse. “This one is a beauty, but he’s got some swelling in his forearm.”

The man approached Skye carefully and ran his hand gently down the leg. “’Tis warm, too. Bring him into the stable and we’ll see what we can do.”

Andrew was heartened by the man’s competent manner and followed him willingly.

“I’m Phineas Fowler, owner and operator of the Painted Goose.”

Cavendish spoke up. “This is the Duke of Beckworth, I’m Viscount Cavendish, and we are on our way to London.”