The Duke's Last Hunt (3 page)

Eliza felt the sofa shift as Lord Henry stood up and offered his seat to her mother. She took her mother’s hand as she sat down and squeezed it, but Lady Malcolm, with a pointed look at Eliza’s gray dress, released her hand just as quickly in a gesture of disapproval.

Eliza touched her fingers to her hair and felt a few tendrils coming loose. Why had she not waited in her room for Ollerton to come?

The Duchess of Brockenhurst was making the necessary introductions to Eliza’s parents—“…and my son Henry you must already know.”

Eliza shot a look of desperation over to her father. What would they all think if Lord Henry was acquainted with
her
and not with her
father
? She cast a sideways glance at Lord Henry and saw the hint of a smile on his face. How unkind of him to get so much amusement at another’s expense!

“Erm, yes, of course,” said Sir Arthur, always ready to sacrifice a little truth for the sake of social niceties. Eliza released the breath she had been holding.

Lady Malcolm, however, was not so easily swayed by convention. “I do not believe
I
have had the honor. You are…?”

“Henry Rowland, my dear,” said Sir Arthur. “Surely you remember.”

“Always a pleasure, madam,” said Lord Henry, reaching for her mother’s hand and kissing it gallantly.

Eliza’s mouth nearly fell open. So he
did
have some manners after all, just none that he had cared to display for her.

The Duchess of Brockenhurst ordered more tea things to be sent for and, when the requisite cakes and cups had arrived, distributed them to the late arrivals. Mr. Curtis, Rufus’ older brother, engaged Sir Arthur and the other gentlemen in conversation about a new machine that ran on steam. The duchess began commenting on the hot summer weather to Lady Malcolm.

Eliza saw Rufus’ sister leaning in for another round of questioning and braced herself for the onslaught.

“How do you enjoy the country compared to London, Miss Malcolm?”

“It is a pleasant change,” rejoined Eliza, relieved that her accomplishments were no longer being put on display. “I have not been much in Sussex.”

“Ah, what county is your family seat in then?”

“We reside in London for the whole of the year.” She did not think it necessary to mention that her father had sold their country estate three years ago to add some wind to their sails.

“Oh!” said Lady Adele. She seemed genuinely dismayed by the admission, her tone hinting at the universal understanding that the best sorts of people always quitted London by the beginning of August.

It was not
so
bad, thought Eliza ruefully. She loved the hustle and bustle of the streets, the anonymity of the crowd, the life and the colors. And in the summer, one could easily become accustomed to the heat and the smell and the absence of friends while others were enjoying rural life.

“How pleasant,” said a voice behind her, “to have an excuse to forgo the call of the horn and the hounds!”

Eliza tilted her chin upwards and saw that Lord Henry had vacated his place in the men’s conversation to stand directly behind the sofa. “You are not fond of hunting, Lord Henry?”

“No. That is my brother’s province.” His tone indicated that anything in favor with the duke would be out of favor with him.

“Well, if you mean to stay the week, you’ll have to ride out with Rufus,” said Lady Adele, “for he’s organized a large hunting party this Wednesday.”

“If I mean to stay,” echoed Lord Henry. His dark eyes looked down at Eliza thoughtfully. “What think you, Miss Malcolm? Is it worth my time?”

Eliza felt heat burning in her cheeks. Other women could bear embarrassment gracefully—why must
her
complexion betray her at every turn? “I could not say, sir.”

“Of course it is, you gudgeon,” said Adele, striking at her brother with her fan. “What can you possibly have to do back in town? Mother will be delighted to have a long visit with you, and did you not say it yourself, that Miss Malcolm is a great friend of yours? How can you possibly come all this way and then desert her because you dislike the hunt?”

3

A
fter Sir Arthur had ingested the last tea cake, the Duchess of Brockenhurst invited the Malcolms to take a tour of the house and gardens. “It may have been a while since I’ve been a proper hostess,” she said, “but I still remember where everything is.”

Rufus entered the drawing room just after the Malcolms had left it, dressed in a gray coat with a freshly starched cravat. Henry thought it a strange omen—Rufus never wore a cravat in the country, not while he could live all day in his riding boots.

“Robert!” said the duke, eyeing his elder brother. “You’re here too?”

“Just a filial visit to Mother,” said Robert reassuringly. Henry suspected he would try to tap the duke’s financial casks when a more opportune moment arose.

“Hmm, very well,” said Rufus. “
You
can stay. But as for Henry,”—he looked at his younger brother—“I’m sure your horse is rested well enough by now—”

“Oh, you can’t boot Henry out,” said Adele matter-of-factly.

“Can’t I?” Rufus’ eyes glittered dangerously.

“No,” replied Adele. She set her teacup down and rose from her chair. Stephen Blount, who had been ignored by the rest of them, jumped to his feet as well. “He’s great friends with Miss Malcolm, and you do want to make a good impression, don’t you?”

Rufus turned on Henry. “How do you know Miss Malcolm?”

Henry smirked. “Hard to say, really. A dance here, a ride in the park there. No need to be so proprietary, dear chap. She’s certainly given
me
no reason to hope.”

“What!” barked Rufus. “Did you offer for her?”

Henry nearly fell to pieces laughing but managed, with effort, to keep a smile off his face. “Not in so many words….”

Rufus snorted. “You’re lying. We both know that you’re in no position to set up a household.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Now, now,” said Robert stepping between the two men. He was the tallest of the three, but also the slightest and least imposing. “We’re all together again…let’s not spoil it by quarreling.”

“And besides,” said Adele with a winning smile. She thrust her fan at Stephen to hold and hung persuasively on Rufus’ arm. “You were never afraid of a little competition, were you, brother? It should be amusing for all of us to see Henry try to best you.”

“Try and fail,” growled Rufus.

“Oh, I could never be as tempting a matrimonial prospect as a duke,” said Henry, imbuing his voice with a false sincerity that was certain to irk Rufus.

“It’s decided then,” said Adele. “Henry stays.” She let go of Rufus’ arm and retrieved her fan from Stephen. “Shall we take a turn in the garden, Mr. Blount?”

“Of course, Lady Adele,” said Henry’s friend, no doubt relieved to escape the familial quarrel. Adele rang for a footman and sent him to fetch her parasol.

Rufus stalked towards the drawing room door, then looking over his shoulder, delivered one last parting shot. “Since you’re staying, Henry, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve another guest arriving tonight.”

“I can only imagine who that might be,” said Henry dryly. He was glad that Stephen had already forewarned him of Walter Turold’s impending arrival. Still, he would be even less happy to see Walter than he was to see Rufus. It was always easier to face someone who had wronged you than someone who knew the wrong that you yourself had done. His lips set in a firm line, and he walked over to the drawing room windows to stare at the perfectly trimmed hedges outlining the garden.

As soon as Rufus’ shoulders had disappeared, Robert left the drawing room as well. The footman returned with Adele’s parasol, and she walked over to a small mirror by the mantel to ensure that her brown curls were still properly arranged. “I would invite you to walk with us, Henry, but I daresay you remember how to amuse yourself at Harrowhaven.”

“Of course,” said Henry. He walked over to Stephen and put a none-too-gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And in my experience, getting lost in the garden maze is not quite so easy when the lady’s brother joins the expedition.”

“Insightful as ever,” said Stephen with a faint smile. He extricated himself from Henry’s grip and offered Adele his arm. “We really shouldn’t mind though, if you want to join us….”

Adele sent a petulant glare in Stephen’s direction. If she had not already put away her fan, she would most certainly have rapped his knuckles with it.

“No, no, enjoy yourselves, children,” said Henry. “I know my way around, and there’s someone here at Harrowhaven I very much want to visit.”

* * *

The extensive tour that the
Duchess of Brockenhurst had planned was perhaps better conducted in winter than in summer. Eliza’s face began to glow with the heat before they had finished viewing the main floor. She stifled expressions of surprise more than once—the country house that her father had sold was a hovel compared to this palace! Her mother remained silent, casting measured looks at the high ceilings of the library and the intricate wainscoting of the blue room. Sir Arthur filled the void, engaging the duchess with questions and compliments since his wife and daughter would not.

They had just begun ascending the grand staircase when a figure hailed them from below. Eliza smiled tentatively to see Rufus coming toward them, hand on the banister, taking the steps two at a time.

“Ah, there you are, Rufus,” said the duchess evenly. “You see I am showing your guests the house.” A look passed between them, but Eliza could not decipher what it meant.

“Thank you, Mother,” said Rufus. “I can relieve you of the duty now if you wish.” He smiled at Eliza and, stepping up alongside her, offered her his arm.

The duchess inclined her head in a slight bow, a very formal gesture to make to one’s own son, thought Eliza. Without looking back, she climbed the rest of the stairs and disappeared down the corridor, presumably to her own chambers.

“Please take no offense,” said Rufus hurriedly. “My mother is feeling indisposed today.”

“Oh, of course not,” said Sir Arthur, beaming profusely. “The heat, no doubt. A little rest will do her some good.”

Eliza looked up. They were standing on the same large landing where they had stopped earlier that day, the gilt-framed portraits staring from the corner wall.

“How long ago was this done?” she asked, releasing the duke’s arm and walking over to his image.

Rufus followed her. “Four years ago. It is a good likeness, I think.”

“Yes,” said Eliza, looking back and forth between the two. A good likeness and, indeed, a flattering one, she thought, now that she had the opportunity to see the duke again in person.

“And was this one done at the same time?” She gestured at the picture of Lord Henry.

Rufus frowned. “Yes, and that one of Adele as well.”

Her parents walked to the other side of the landing to examine the picture of the buoyant Lady Adele. Rufus leaned in, his face close to Eliza’s as she examined his own portrait. “I did not realize you were acquainted with my brother Henry.”

Eliza started. “Only a very little.”

“I see.”

She kept her eyes on the painting, but she could feel Rufus studying her face.

“He means to stay for the hunt on Wednesday,” he said abruptly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Eliza wished she were a more accomplished actress. “Why should I?” What had Rufus’ brother told him? It almost seemed that the duke suspected some romantic connection between the two of them. Merciful heavens! She said a silent prayer. Why had she not contradicted Henry Rowland the moment he claimed they were acquainted?

“Oh, no reason.” Rufus snapped his attention back to the tour of the building. “Shall we?” He offered her his arm again.

Eliza cast one backward glance as they ascended the staircase, seeking a glimpse of the painting she had refrained from studying too closely. While the duke’s portrait from four years ago was a touch too complimentary, she discovered that his brother’s portrait had the opposite flaw. The Lord Henry of four years ago was a serious-looking adolescent, but the Lord Henry of today was a handsome, albeit ill-mannered, gentleman.

* * *

Henry watched as Adele and
Stephen stepped out the French doors into the garden, his sister’s white parasol twirling gaily between her fingertips. He wondered if his mother had given Adele any instructions on how to behave in the company of admiring suitors. Even if she had, he doubted that Adele would pay heed. Propriety was never Adele’s strong point if it got in the way of her whims. About Stephen’s morals he had no qualms. If those two were planning on stealing a kiss in the garden maze, it would be
Adele
doing the stealing.

Miss Malcolm, on the other hand, looked far more mild-mannered and biddable. He imagined Rufus leading
her
behind a hedgerow, then found himself unwilling to imagine anything further. What on earth did his brother want with a blushing rose like that when the brash peonies of Covent Garden were more his style?

Henry shook his head and went down a narrow corridor to the back of the house. His mother would hardly be conducting her tour of the house here, but it was the very place to find the person he was looking for.

Sweat began to drip down his neck as he entered the kitchen. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego would have been right at home in here. He loosened his collar. There were some pheasants on the counter, plucked and dressed for roasting on the spit—Rufus must have desired the fruit of his labor to be displayed at tonight’s table. Cook had stepped outside, however, in search of a cooling breeze.

“Master Henry!” said a shocked voice from the storeroom next to the linen closet. Henry turned around and bumped into a string of ladles, sending them clattering onto the floor.

“Mrs. Forsythe! I was looking for you.”

The housekeeper set down the jar of spices she was measuring and wiped her hands on a cloth. “I suppose I should be angry with you, after what happened with Jenny the last time you were here, but it seems I cannot be. It does a body good to see you, Master Henry.”

Henry grinned and enveloped the old housekeeper in a bear hug. Mrs. Forsythe had been the housekeeper at Harrowhaven when his parents married, the housekeeper at Harrowhaven when he had been born, and would be the housekeeper at Harrowhaven until death came knocking.

“There, there, now,” said Mrs. Forsythe, planting a motherly kiss on Henry’s cheek and then pushing him away to maintain some sense of decorum. “What brings you to Sussex, young man?”

“Not my brother Rufus, certainly.”

“Anyone could have guessed that much,” said Mrs. Forsythe. While Henry bent down to pick up the ladles, she walked over to the counter in the kitchen and pulled out a dish of almond macaroons.

“You spoil me,” said Henry, taking a handful of the small round sweets.

“I would have sent them up for tea had I known you would be there.”

“Yes, and Robert would have eaten them all.”

“Mr. Curtis is here as well? I’d best have all the rooms made up!”

“So it seems. And who are these other guests—the Malcolms?”

“Your brother the duke invited them. I was not informed as to the reason.”

“It looks as if my mother was not informed either. Is something amiss between her and Rufus?” The strangeness of the situation had been perplexing him ever since he entered the drawing room. If he asked Adele, she would know nothing. If he asked his mother, she would tell him nothing. But if he asked Mrs. Forsythe….

The housekeeper pursed her lips. “They’ve had a…disagreement.”

“And I’m sure you know all the details of it,” Henry wheedled. He took a big bite of macaroon, knowing full well how much Mrs. Forsythe liked to see him eat.

“’Tisn’t my place to say....”

“But you wouldn’t want to leave me in the dark! I could be of some help to the situation.”

The housekeeper snorted. “You, Master Henry? When was the last time you were in the mood to smooth things over with your brother? But I suppose if I don’t tell you someone else will. The fact of the matter is that this spring your mother finally objected to his carryings-on.”

“What sort of carryings-on?”

Mrs. Forsythe raised her eyebrows and gave a harrumph as if such things were better not mentioned by decent folk. “The same ones
you
objected to, Master Henry.”

“Ah. And how did he take her criticism?”

“He told her he’d do as he pleased in his own house. She told him that, in that case, he could run the house himself.”

Henry was not surprised. His mother had never taken any nonsense from his father, and he found it easy to believe she would not relax her standards for Rufus.

“And since that day, it’s been his grace I take the menus to and the inventories, and the salaries, and the repairs—”

“How wretched!” exclaimed Henry.

“For him and me,” said Mrs. Forsythe dourly. “I’ve asked him time and again to hire a new steward,”—she looked apologetically at Henry—“but he refuses. ’Taint gossip to say that his lordship has no mind or inclination for domestic matters. But unless he patches things up with her ladyship or takes a wife, there’s no help for it.”

“And that must be where the Malcolms come in.”

“That’s more than I could say,” said Mrs. Forsythe, having led Henry by hand down the path to that very stopping point. She looked discreetly over to the hallway where one of the maids had entered with a pail of dirty water and a scrub brush.

“Thank you, Constance. You can take some clean bedclothes upstairs now and make up two more rooms, one for Master Henry and one for Master Robert.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the maid, bobbing a curtsey. Henry watched her take a blanket out of the linen closet and quickly fold it in halves then quarters.

“Your name’s Constance, is it?” he said pleasantly. Putting the cover back on the dish of macaroons, he walked over to the maid. “And is this your first position as maid in a manor house?”

“Lord Henry!” said the housekeeper, a hint of thunder in her voice. She gestured the maid out of the room, and Constance scurried down the hall with the blanket in her hands.

“I won’t have it again, I tell you!”