Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (5 page)

“Aye,” Beckworth replied, and Eleanor looked at him sharply. Hadn’t he come to Berkshire for . . . well, for her?

“The festivities are in full swing. Perhaps you’ll go into town and enjoy the faire – a real medieval exhibition with— Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear.” Stillwater seemed to remember Eleanor’s mourning all at once. He and his wife had traveled to London for the funeral, but they were not compelled in any way to observe a mourning period for Viscount Derington. “Please accept my sincere apologies, Miss Easton . . . I should never have mentioned—”

“Please do not apologize, my lord. Though we cannot attend any of the activities in town, my aunt and I would be pleased to join your picnic. It will be an intimate gathering?”

“Oh yes, of course. The girls are all here – Jessamine, Emily, and Meg. And you’ll be happy to know Caroline and her husband have come out from Richmond. We will be meeting early. Eleven o’clock.”

Eleanor pressed her hand against her heart. “All of them are here? How wonderful.” She had not seen her childhood friends – except for Lucy – in years. Meg was a few years older and had been serving as companion to an elderly countess in Salisbury. Jessamine had just finished a whirlwind first season in London, and Emily was too young to have gone anywhere other than the homes of a few nearby cousins.

“There will be a few other neighbors up at Calder Point as well,” the baron said, turning toward Beck. “And of course we would be honored if Your Grace would join us.”

“His Grace has another engagement this afternoon,” Eleanor said with a great deal of satisfaction. She welcomed the opportunity to demonstrate how very unwelcome he was.

Beckworth gave a slight bow. “On the contrary. I would be pleased to escort Miss Easton and her aunt.”

“Esco—?” Eleanor closed her mouth tightly and bit her tongue.

What of his business in Reading? Hadn’t he just told Thornberry he would ride into town later?

She narrowed her eyes and considered what he was up to. He might be the trustee of her annuity, but he was not her guardian, and she certainly did not need his supervision. Furthermore, Eleanor needed no escort, especially not an arrogant duke who seemed to think that women ought to worship at the sight of him. As she had done last night, much to her chagrin.

But she knew better now.

Andrew sent word to the solicitor in Reading that he would meet with him at a later date. There was some urgency to his mission there, but Lord Stillwater’s picnic offered an opportunity to spend time with Eleanor. And in the company of others, she would be compelled to be civil, though he knew she was not so inclined toward him.

He was going to prove to her that he was not the cad she believed.

When Eleanor and her aunt came downstairs at the appointed time, Andrew wished it were not necessary for her to wear black again. Of course she was glorious no matter what she chose to wear – or not wear – but he would see her out of those dreary clothes and smiling again.

Ah, how he loved her. She was nothing at all like the sycophants in society who’d followed him about, agreeing with everything he said, doting upon him, doing whatever he wanted to do. The men wanted to be his most intimate friends, and it had not escaped him that the women vied with each other, flirting outrageously with him in an attempt to seduce him into marriage. He couldn’t count on an original idea from the lot of them.

Though he’d known such devotion was entirely due to his position in society, he’d once enjoyed it, for his popularity seemed to be the only thing that pleased his father. Discord with his late father had begun years ago, before he’d even been old enough to go to school. From a young age, he and his sire had been polar opposites in temperament, and their opinions seemed to differ on everything.

Andrew had learned to keep his thoughts to himself, but that had proved impossible when he’d gone away to school. He’d been appalled at the way some of the smaller, more timid boys had been bullied. Being somewhat larger and stronger than most, he had gotten into numerous scraps with those who would intimidate the others.

The headmaster had not been amused, and Andrew had been duly punished. Letters had been sent to his father. Disrespect. Insubordination. Disobedience.

He was a disgrace.

At least, that’s how his father saw him. His mother, however, had sent him letters full of love and encouragement. She’d seen to it that he spent holidays with her own, more temperate father, the Earl of Darwick, who had taught Andrew the ways of a gentleman. By the time he was fifteen, Andrew had come to understand that his own father was no different than the bullies at school.

But that did not alter the fact that he still felt the need to please his sire. He was the duke’s son and heir. It would be unnatural to shun him, so he’d followed his father’s wishes and allowed himself to be courted by the fashionable set in London. He’d spent the requisite time at Beckworth Park, learning how to handle the responsibilities of a dukedom, and taking up estate management with his father’s steward.

He had finally won his father’s favor. And though he and the old duke had never become friends, at least they’d developed a respectful truce before the duke’s death.

A few years later, Andrew had seen how meaningless it all could be. Loss of one’s fiancée and then one’s mother could have that effect. He’d gone through the motions, taking care of his obligations, but his heart had not been in it.

He’d split his time between Beckworth Park and London, though he preferred the country and the company of his brothers and sister. The only times he went down to London were when his presence was required in Parliament or when his brother, Hugo, was in some sort of difficulty. Which had been happening fairly often these past couple of years. Hugo’s friend, Lord Cavendish, managed to steer him away from most trouble, but there were times when nothing less than a duke’s influence would do.

For now, Andrew was glad to be away from the crowds and the heat, and especially pleased to be with Eleanor, even though she was not particularly happy to see him.

When it was time to leave for the picnic, he walked out to the drive with Eleanor and her aunt and handed Minerva into his carriage. Then he somehow managed to avoid lingering over Eleanor’s hand as he helped her up. He climbed in and sat down on the plush squabs across from her.

Much as he’d have preferred to sit next to her, he could not argue with the exquisite view from his side of the carriage.

The coach tipped slightly with the weight of his footmen climbing on, and then they were off.

Eleanor knew it was wrong to wish that Beckworth had held her hand a moment longer. And it was completely obvious that she should not be enjoying the sight of his long, powerful legs stretched out before her.

She suppressed the shiver of pleasure that crawled from her lower back to her neck and forced her attention to the scenery they passed on their way to Calder Point. She would not take note of Beckworth’s manly scent. Or the broad shoulders beneath his stylish jacket. Or the way his dark hair curled just so at his nape.

“What did you say, Eleanor?”

“Naught, Aunt.” Eleanor could not believe she’d muttered her frustration aloud.

“I was quite sure you said something. You must speak up if you wish to be heard.”

“You are mistaken, Aunt Minerva,” she responded, ignoring the wry expression on Beckworth’s face. “I have naught to say.”

Minerva frowned at her, then she turned to the duke. “’Tis a beautiful day, is it not, Your Grace?”

“The very best kind, Miss Easton,” he replied, “especially, when I have two lovely ladies across from me.”

“Oh, do go on, sir,” Minerva said. “You flatter too much.”

“Truer words were never said,” Eleanor remarked quietly but clearly.

She needed him gone. Needed to figure some way to regain her peace of mind.

She’d had it – nearly – in Florence. Hardly anything had bothered her while she shared the home of her grandmother’s cousins, and she only thought of Beckworth during her rare idle moments.

True, it had been rather a dull existence spent almost entirely in the company of the two elderly sisters. But at least she had not had occasion to risk her heart. She’d spent her days with her sketch pad, drawing the wonderful sights all around her, and socializing with the sisters’ circle of friends.

Perhaps she should go back to Florence. But that would require money, and therefore a conversation with Beckworth about her plans, and she was certain he would thwart them. Obviously, he liked making her life difficult, else he would have kept his appointment in Reading and left her to enjoy the picnic without him.

While they rode on to their destination, Eleanor tried to think of some way to get rid of him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t come up with anything other than telling him directly to leave Primrose Manor.

She wondered what effect such a demand would have. If he did go, would he hold her blunt ultimatum against her? Would he make her life even more difficult by refusing to release her funds when she needed them?

She sighed inwardly. Beck had never been petty or churlish. Only a liar.

They arrived at the picnic site and found Lord and Lady Stillwater already there with their five daughters and son-in-law. Eleanor was pleased to meet Caroline’s husband, Reverend Robert Gedding, and was delighted to see her childhood beau, Joshua Parris, too.

But it was the Stillwater sisters who brought tears to her eyes. They pulled Eleanor into a tight embrace, drawing her into their sisterhood, just as they’d done as children.

Eleanor did not realize how alone she’d felt until just now, when Jessamine squeezed her waist.

“I am so sorry you had to go through all that – the funeral and everything else – alone,” Jessie said, and the rest of the sisters murmured their agreement. “We can only imagine how horrible it was.”

Eleanor swallowed thickly, unable to reply.

“I’m so happy we all could be here for your homecoming,” Lucy said.

“All but our brothers,” Meg said.

“But who needs them, anyway?” Emily, the youngest, quipped, bringing tearful smiles to all of them.

“They are well, then?” Eleanor asked, pulling away slightly and wiping her tears.

“Oh yes,” Meg said.

“Samuel is traveling the continent,” Jessamine added, “and Calvin is in America.”

“But Joshua is right here,” came a male voice, just behind her. “In case anyone cares.” The sisters released her so that Joshua Parris could take her hand and bow over it, as was proper.

“My dear Ellie! Er, Miss Easton, I should say,” Joshua said with a grin as he took both her hands in his. “It is a day for reunions. How long has it been?”

Eleanor wiped her tears. “Joshua – M-Mr. Parris,” she said, though the formalities seemed inconceivably stiff when they’d been such fast friends in their youth. “It has been far too long.”

Josh was nearly as tall as Beckworth, and while the duke’s hair was so dark it was just short of being black, Joshua was fair, his hair gold with a hint of red, and there was a rosy hue to his cheeks. His build was comparable to Beck’s, with powerful shoulders and a trim waist. And yet for all Eleanor’s fond memories and all their naïve plans years ago, Joshua did not appeal to her as she would have expected.

She took note of Beck’s scowling face as he watched her with Joshua and decided the duke did not need to know that.