Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (8 page)

“That is too kind of her, Lucy.”

“You know how Mother is.”

“I do.”

“And don’t think it’s all for you,” Lucy said. “Mother had some sort of spring illness . . . She has only just recovered and Father does not want her overtaxing herself.”

“Is that why everyone has come home?”

“Yes, all but Samuel and Calvin,” Lucy replied. “But they are both en route. They will be home soon.”

Eleanor remembered wishing she could be part of such a large and loving family, though the Stillwaters had always made her feel like one of them.

Beckworth addressed Lucy. “Will your family attend the races, Miss Stillwater?”

“I believe nearly everyone plans to go,” Lucy said.

“But . . . you will stay back?”

“With Mama, yes.” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “I do not care much for horseracing.”

“But you do, Miss Easton, as I recall,” he said. “And riding.”

Eleanor nodded. She’d always loved to ride, but hadn’t had the opportunity to do so while she lived with the Misses Randall. Shutting out Beckworth, she turned to Lucy. “I have hopes that your father will help me find and purchase a good riding horse. Do you think he would mind—?”

“Of course not. The only possible complication is that my aunt Arden and her husband are due to arrive—”

“I’ll help you,” Beckworth said.

Eleanor turned to him. “By the time I’m ready to make my purchase, you will be back in London, Your Grace.”

“That is doubtful.”

“Oh? I see no reason for you to remain in Berkshire after you give me the funds I requested.”

“You’ll need someone to escort you to Hermon’s Horse Farm,” he said. “And advise you—”

“I am sure Lord Stillwater or Mr. Parris will assist me when the time comes.”

His features darkened nearly imperceptibly. “Additional monies will be necessary to buy a decent riding horse.”

“No doubt you can account for the increase when you release my quarterly stipend.”

“We can come to an agreement when you choose your horse.”

“But as I said, you will be gone by then . . .” Eleanor abruptly stopped walking when she realized Lucy had left them. While Eleanor had focused her attention – and her most argumentative behavior – on Beckworth, Lucy had returned to the picnic site.

“John Hermon is a very good, reputable horse breeder south of Whitley,” he said, taking her arm and moving forward once again. “You and I will visit his farm on the morrow and find you a decent hack.”

“We will not, Your Grace.”

Andrew fell silent for a moment. “Have you ever bought a horse, Ellie?”

“Do not call me that,” she said sharply, starting back toward the others. Her color rose and all Andrew could think of was that kiss they’d shared the night before. And the others that would soon follow. “And no. I have not.”

“Then please, do me the honor of allowing me to assist you.” She looked away and he could not help but notice the graceful line of her neck. He remembered every inch of her body and every sweet sigh and sound she’d made while in his bed. Her subtle scent was just the same. Intoxicating.

Eleanor stopped and removed her arm from his grasp. “Beckworth . . . you and I are no longer affianced. Our only relationship is through my annuity.”

“A rather significant relationship.”

“One that does not need to be conducted in person.”

“Some things are better done face to face.” He took a loose wisp of her hair between his fingers and heard her sharp intake of breath. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her, make her believe in him.

But no words were going to convince her of his loyalty, his faithfulness. She had to learn to trust him. He released her and drew her back toward their party. “Perhaps your aunt can be convinced to accompany us to Hermon’s Farm tomorrow.”

He’d have preferred to take Ellie to the horse breeder alone, but that suggestion was beyond the pale. She would never agree to it, nor would it be proper. But hell if he was going to let her run to Baron Stillwater for assistance in this. Andrew needed more than just a few stolen moments together to win her back.

He knew he needed more of a strategy than just spending time with her. He needed her to understand who he was – that he was not a replica of her father.

“Ah, Your Grace, Miss Easton,” Lord Stillwater said when they rejoined the party. “We were just discussing the Reading Stakes. Do you have a favorite?”

Andrew gave a quick nod. “I do. Sir Richard for certain.” He knew all the horses that were running and which was the long shot. And if no one had tampered with the jockeys or the horses as he had once seen Weatherby do, Andrew stood to make a great deal of blunt on his choices. He intended to add his winnings to Eleanor’s annuity where they would grow nicely.

The picnic ended in the early afternoon, and Andrew returned to Primrose Manor with Eleanor and her aunt. He felt the chill she projected, but he was undeterred, nonetheless.

His secretary, Jasper Carrick, had arrived and was waiting for him with news and a stack of correspondence when they got back to the manor. Andrew had no choice but to excuse himself and go with Carrick into Viscount Derington’s study, where he sat down at the desk and went over each missive in turn.

He looked up from the first letter and addressed Carrick in shock. “Lord Hollingbrook writes that Nighcroft has been bribed to vote against us. Why?”

Carrick nodded. “We were sure Lord Nighcroft was in our camp, but our man heard him at Tattersall’s two days ago telling someone that his vote was secured. For the opposition.”

“Damn all. To whom was Nighcroft speaking?”

“Our informant couldn’t see who it was.”

“Likely an agent of whoever was doing the bribing.”

Carrick gave a quick shake of his head. “No, Your Grace, he thinks it was Lord Weatherby.”

“Bloody hell.” He wouldn’t put it past Weatherby to resort to bribery. Again.

Two years ago, Andrew had witnessed the earl bribing a jockey at a major race and had reported him to the racing authorities. Weatherby had denied the charge, of course, but the jockey had had no choice but to admit it, not after two of his peers corroborated Andrew’s accusation. As a result, Weatherby had been banned from all official races for eighteen months, and of course he had not forgotten the incident. He’d had exacted his revenge on Andrew by lying to Eleanor on the eve of their wedding and sending her fleeing to Italy.

“Nighcroft is in financial straits,” Carrick said. “No doubt he would welcome a monetary ‘gift’ from Weatherby for his vote.”

“By all accounts, Weatherby has deep pockets,” Andrew said. “He could be quite generous if it suited him.”

“At first we considered the possibility that Mr. Squeers himself might have been the man seen with Nighcroft at Tattersall’s,” Carrick continued, “but the man in question was too short in stature to be the mill owner.”

Clive Squeers was a powerful mill owner with properties near Lancashire and Manchester. Andrew had toured the man’s mills with Sir Robert Peel the previous year and been appalled at the conditions therein. “I doubt Squeers would be bold enough to bribe a Member of Parliament while standing out in public. More than likely, he hired someone.”

“That is probably the case,” Carrick said, “but our man cannot swear it wasn’t Lord Weatherby, either.”

“Bloody hell.” Beck’s gut roiled. He had no love for the bastard, especially after his lies had caused Eleanor to flee their wedding, flee England. But bringing a bribery charge against the earl now would not suit his purpose.

Andrew stood and went to the window. He rubbed the back of his neck as he watched Eleanor take a satchel from her maid and walk away from the house. He would prefer to join her, but knew he had to stay and take care of the business Carrick had brought.

“What does Robert Peel say about all this?” he asked the secretary, keeping his eyes on Eleanor. She was everything he wanted, from her fine spirit to her passion in the bedchamber. He wasn’t leaving Primrose Manor until she was his once again.

“Your Grace, Sir Robert is concerned,” Carrick replied. “He has called for a meeting Saturday morning, to discuss what’s to be done.”

Andrew stepped away from the window, turning away from the determined expression on Eleanor’s face. “I don’t know that I will make it to the meeting.”

“Your Grace, Robert Owen will also be there and—”

“I understand how important this meeting will be, Carrick. I will do my best, but I cannot guarantee my attendance.” As much as he was committed to Peel’s bill passing, he could not abandon his mission to win Eleanor.

Leaving Primrose Manor in the midst of his renewed courtship was not an option. Not when Eleanor was about to renew her acquaintance with Joshua Parris. And apparently, the Stillwater brothers were about to return home. It was more than likely she had developed a deep affection for them during their childhood, as well.

On the other hand, Andrew could not leave the Labor bill to chance, either. Children as young as four and five years of age were being exploited in the mills every day, and Andrew felt it was immoral. He believed – as did Sir Robert Peel, Mr. Robert Owen, and many others – that children under the age of nine or ten should not be working in the mills at all. And those above nine ought to have their working hours limited. No more eighteen-hour work days for those children.

“That will be all for now, Carrick. You will stay the night and come with me to Reading in the morning.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“See Grayson about a room in the servants’ quarters, near my footmen here in the house.”

“One more thing, Your Grace,” Carrick said, hesitating. “Your brother is in Town.”

“Hugo?” Andrew’s brows came together. This did not necessarily mean trouble. He’d given Hugo a project to keep him at Beckworth Park, and perhaps he had finished it.

Carrick nodded. “I thought you would want to know.”

“Is Cavendish with him?”

“Yes. I understand they’ve been to the gaming hells together, Your Grace.”

Andrew hoped his brother could avoid trouble this time, and not have to be carried off by constables when his temper erupted after a run of bad luck. Hugo had lost all sense of dignity and worth after a terrible tragedy had robbed him of the young woman he loved. He had not been able to save her when she’d fallen from a boat and drowned.

The incident was every man’s worst nightmare.

“If my aunt asks, just tell her I’ve gone to the lake to read,” Eleanor said to Lizzie as she stuffed a book into the satchel her maid handed her. She saw that there was already a spare shift inside, along with a thin blanket and a towel. Fortunately, Minerva was napping after their picnic. She would be horrified to know Eleanor’s true intentions.

Well, it was nearly as hot in Berkshire as it was in London, and Eleanor remembered lazy days spent at the lake with her parents in happier days. So even if Minerva was unlikely to approve, Eleanor had no qualms about taking a short dip in the small lake. She hoped the cool water would help clear her head.

She wanted to dispel all memories of Beckworth’s touch. She would never marry the man, and such intimacies were absolutely unacceptable. She couldn’t succumb to him again. She recognized that the bond between them was merely physical attraction. There was no substance to his intentions – no honesty beyond the pleasure of the moment.

It was an easy walk to the small lake hidden in a secluded little glade south of the manor house. It was the perfect haven in which to spend a warm, sunny afternoon with her dismal thoughts. There was hardly any beach at all, but an unkempt lawn and thick willows growing right up to the water’s rocky edge.

Here was where Eleanor’s father had taught her to swim when she was a child, when he had found it amusing to pretend to be a father. In the days when Eleanor had loved him.

It was peaceful and quiet at the lake, but Eleanor found it painful to think of her father, of the weeks he’d been alone, lying ill before she’d come home. She hadn’t believed his first letter, and it wasn’t until the third that she’d realized he was in earnest. He was dying.

She’d been so damnably stubborn.