The Duke's Last Hunt (30 page)

“Jenny?”

“Yes, how did you know?” It was Henry’s turn to be surprised.

“Never mind,” said Eliza quietly. She looked around the room again, taking in all the candlesticks, the furnishings, the elegance.

The maid at the nearby table cleared her throat ominously. Her patience, Henry could see, was wearing perilously thin. Eliza laid down her napkin, and Henry rose to pull out her chair. “Thank you for the tea,” she said, giving him a faint smile. Henry could see that tears were starting to form in the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you for the visit,” he said gallantly. “I certainly hope that this is not good-bye. Your stay in Northumbria shall not be too long I trust.”

“I am afraid it must be,” said Eliza, but she did not elaborate further. “Goodbye, my lord.”

“Good-bye, my dear,” said Henry, leading her out to the door with the angry shadow following behind them.

As the door shut, Henry walked over to the marble counter. “Gervase, do we have any rooms available for tomorrow night?”

The maître d’ walked over to the desk and examined the ledger. “With the arrival of your mother and sister, it appears we will be full.”

“Is the remodel of the blue suite finished?”

“Why, yes, my lord, we were just beginning to transfer your belongings—”

Henry held up a hand. “Hold off on that momentarily.” He signaled a footman for his hat, and headed out into the streets.

30

“
I
think you know what I am about to say,” said Ollerton, her lips compressed into a tight line. Footsore and weary, the two women had reached Grosvenor Square at last and were only a few houses away from their own residence.

“Yes, I think I do know,” said Eliza.

“Going to the magistrates’ office, then meeting with a gentleman on the sly? Lord have mercy! Haven’t your mother and I taught you better?”

“Yes,” said Eliza dully. “But what does it matter? We will be buried in Northumbria in less than three days. And I shall never see another gentleman again. Especially not
this
particular gentleman.” She stopped and faced the lady’s maid. “What will you tell my mother?”

Ollerton hesitated. “Why, I—”

“I know you tell her everything. You dress us both and curl our hair, but you are her maid far more than you are mine.”

“Why, child,” said Ollerton, “I have been your mother’s lady’s maid these thirty years and more. And now….” Her old hands fumbled anxiously on the handle of her reticule.

“Oh, Ollerton,” said Eliza, a wave of pity suddenly overwhelming her. She had been selfish to think only of her own pain in the midst of this exile. “Northumbria is as horrid a word to you as it is to me. We must go and you must stay. And how we shall miss you!” She threw her arms around the maid and pulled her tight.

“And I shall miss you,” said Ollerton, sniffing in a way that would have made her mistress proud. “And the thought of finding another position…. Well, the fact is, that your mother—perhaps I should not say it, but your mother is my best friend in all the world.”

“As you are hers,” said Eliza. “So tell her what you must. I am aware that my actions today must incur censure.”

They reached the steps of the house that was soon to be sold and went inside. Lady Malcolm inquired where they had been. Eliza gave a vague answer about sightseeing in town and, to her surprise, Ollerton did not contradict her. She waited for the rest of the afternoon for the secret to come out, but her mother exhibited nothing more than her usual anxieties and annoyances.

Sir Arthur arrived home just in time for a late dinner. The food had been all bought in since the cook had been let go the day prior, and Lady Malcolm had no compliments for the shop that had prepared it. Eliza’s father sat in his chair like a man in a daze. Eliza reflected that the tragedy of Northumbria in her own young life must pale when compared to the tragedy it symbolized for her father. He had been born into wealth and lost it through his own folly or indolence. He would leave London with little more than the clothes on his back, able to provide shelter for his family only through the kindness of others.

Lady Malcolm had nearly finished dissecting the merits of each dish when Sir Arthur laid down his fork and knife. “Margaret!” he said suddenly.

“What is it?” She sniffed petulantly. Although she was opposed in principle to worldly pomp and luxury, Northumbria was a heavy cross for her to bear too.

“I was at White’s this afternoon and I ran into Brockenhurst.” He looked up. “The new duke, you understand. Henry Rowland.”

“What of it?”

“He’s in the hotel business, it seems. Owns Maurice’s.”

“I repeat,” said Lady Malcolm, “what
of
it?”

“I am getting to that!” said Sir Arthur, a flare of temper reddening his face. “With the season not begun, he has empty rooms. Doesn’t look good, you see, for a hotel to be empty, so he’s trying to fill them—make the place look alive so more people will want to stay there. I mentioned we were selling up and leaving London. He offered to let us stay at the hotel, free of charge until after Christmas. It’s a favor to him, he says.”

Eliza’s mouth fell open in shock. After Henry’s description of the hotel’s popularity, she doubted he had any rooms to spare. What could this mean? She glanced back and forth between her father and her mother.

“I know you don’t like the man,” said Sir Arthur, “but if we take him up on the offer, we could delay going to Northumbria for another month or two. Margaret, what do you think?”

Lady Malcolm glanced around wild-eyed, from the bought pudding to the empty sideboard to her husband’s earnest face. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said before bursting into tears.

* * *

The next morning it did
not take more than one hackney to transport the Malcolms’ belongings to the hotel—they had pruned their wardrobes down to the most minimal selection of clothing in preparation for the trip to Northumbria. After entering the golden splendor of Maurice’s, they followed the maître d’ up to their rooms, a well-appointed suite of two bedrooms, a sitting room, and even their own small dining room, all decorated with a tasteful assortment of blue and white pillows, drapes, vases, and candles.

The hotel owner himself came upstairs to ensure that they were comfortable, and Lady Malcolm, although not effusive, proclaimed herself exceedingly grateful for the accommodations. “My pleasure to host you,” said Henry politely. “My mother arrives today, with Adele, so you shall have some company to keep you entertained. Please feel free to use any of the mounts in the hotel stables or arrange with Gervase to borrow the carriage.”

“I say, very generous of you! Very generous!” said Sir Arthur, who had already discovered a cupboard liberally stocked with spirits. Sir Arthur poured himself a glass while Lady Malcolm examined the capacious wardrobes, and Henry seized on the opportunity to step out into the hallway with Eliza for a brief moment.

Eliza looked at Henry, so in his element as lord and master of this domain, his iron hand inside the velvet glove of courtesy. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“But of course,” he whispered back.

“Extra rooms? I hardly think so. I do not know how we shall ever repay you.”

“I do. Come riding with me this afternoon.”

“Dear me,” she said, all her old fears of equestrian pursuits returning to her. “I might have misplaced my riding habit.”

“Then I shall have another one made for you,” said Henry, his voice still intimately soft.

“No, no…I have it,” she said. “Very well, I will come.”

“Good,” he said, and taking her hand he pressed it to his lips. “I shall see you at three o’clock.”

* * *

Eliza straightened her back as
she sat on the bench in the entrance hall, adjusted the skirt of her emerald green riding habit to drape more becomingly, and tried not to think about the terror awaiting her. She had been able to ride Marigold without mishap, but what were the chances that the stables at Maurice’s held another horse so absolutely docile?

After what seemed like hours, Henry entered in full riding dress, crop in hand. “The groom is out front,” he said and gave her his arm. The groom’s horse was a piebald nag, but the two horses waiting for them were perfectly matched blacks—long-legged, well-bred, and no doubt high-mettled. Eliza closed her eyes as Henry put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the side saddle.

“Eliza, listen to me,” he said. “Guide the horse—he will do whatever you wish. Speak to him—he will listen to you.”

“I…don’t think he will,” said Eliza tremulously, frightened that the duke would let go of the reins before she was ready.

“He will,” Henry insisted. “You are stronger than you think. And you have found your voice.”

He placed the reins in her hands and climbed onto his own horse next to her. “Hyde Park?” he asked with a smile.

“Of course,” she said, forcing herself to smile as well. “Did we not used to promenade there together?”

“Ha! How could I have forgotten?” He urged his horse forward into a walk, and almost instinctively she felt her foot urging her horse forward as well. The groom trailed along behind them, and within ten minutes they had reached the entrance to that great island of green in the middle of the stone city. They took the path, still walking at an easy pace.

“I cannot believe I have not fallen off yet,” said Eliza, gritting her teeth.

“You underestimate yourself.”

They passed a few other riders out to take the air. Henry tipped his hat, and Eliza—although she recognized none of them—managed a nod. She was eminently thankful that the season had not begun. Then there would be dozens of riders hoping to see and be seen, and her anxiety would only have increased.

They reached a fork in the road and Henry took the narrower, less used path. Trees grew on either side as they entered a more forested area of the park. “Shall we go faster?” asked Henry.

“Oh…I think my horse would not like that at all,” said Eliza.

“Your horse?” said Henry with a grin.

“Yes. I think there is something wrong with his shoe—a loose nail perhaps. It would bother him excessively if we did anything faster than a slow walk.”

“Hmm…is that so?” Henry slowed his horse to a stop and dismounted. “Come here then, and let me look at the poor fellow.” He lifted Eliza down from her horse and then proceeded to lift the horse’s legs one by one examining the hooves. When he reached the right foreleg, his brow furrowed. “My dear Eliza, I do believe you are right. This horse’s shoe is far too loose for you to ride him without mishap.”

Eliza’s face registered surprise. “The accuracy of my own prognosis astounds me. What shall we do now?”

“Why, promenade, of course,” said Henry. He snapped his fingers for the groom and handed him the reins of the horses. As if by prior instruction, the groom began to lead the horses back down the narrow path towards the entrance of the park. Within a few minutes he was out of sight. Henry took Eliza’s arm and wrapped it around his to begin the return journey. “How is this?” he asked. “More comfortable than the horse?”

Eliza blushed. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She began to feel a slight unease about the disappearance of their chaperone, but that disquiet left as quickly as it had come. Whatever was about to happen needed no witnesses but themselves. “And better for conversation,” she said, stopping in the path, looking him in the eye, and willing him to speak.

“How fortunate, for I have some conversation to make with you.” Henry cleared his throat. “At our last meeting at Harrowhaven, I picked a particularly unpropitious time to declare my feelings for you.”

“It was not so much the time,” said Eliza shyly, “as that I had formed some inaccurate conceptions of your character.”

“Indeed? And what were those?”

Eliza blushed and looked away.

“I am hesitant to assume,” said Henry, “but I think you may be referring to that blond maid who borrowed my handkerchief in the hall.”

“The maid, and Mrs. Flambard, and Catie Ansel, and—”

“Dear me! You must have thought me quite the scoundrel. I am altogether innocent of your suspicions, I assure you.”

“I know that now,” said Eliza, “thanks to your friend Ned Hornsby, but at the time I was overwrought and not at all sure what to think….”

“Ned is a good fellow! I am delighted to hear that you have revised your opinion of me.” Henry’s eyes twinkled. “And, as I was saying, the timing, I know, was unpropitious. I realize that it was not enough for your boundless ambition to see me as Duke of Brockenhurst and master of Harrowhaven. But now that you have seen Maurice’s also, the plum of the pudding, as it were, perhaps the timing is improved. Are all these things enough, my dear Eliza, for you to consider me as a suitor for your hand?”

“How can you talk so?” demanded Eliza, her face hot with indignation. “If it had not been for those foolish misunderstandings, I would have married you two months ago when you were a second son without any prospects or a penny to your name.”

“Truly?”

“Yes! I would have married you when you met me at the bottom of the stairs, when you found me crying in the garden, when you saved me from eating breakfast alone with the investigator, or even when you served me that awful platter of fish!”

Henry wrapped his arms around Eliza’s waist and brought her closer.

“You see, my dear? I told you that you had found your voice.”

Eliza lifted her arms and placed them around his neck.

“Eliza Malcolm will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”

And then Eliza was truly grateful that the groom had disappeared, for Henry’s lips found hers and did not leave them until she was fully satisfied that she was the only woman in the world for him, yesterday, now, and in the future.

* * *

Eliza’s eyes were still shining
like green stars when Henry escorted her up the front steps of Maurice’s. “Shall I kiss you again?” he whispered in her ear.

“Not here!” she said, her sense of propriety struggling against the pull of temptation. “I must tell my family.”

“And I mine,” said Henry, “for there is the Harrowhaven carriage, arrived in our absence.”

He squeezed her hand encouragingly, and they parted ways in the entrance hall.

Eliza went first to their rooms, but no one was there. She came back downstairs and caught sight of her parents seated in the hotel dining room, enjoying a late tea together. She saw her father laugh and lean over to pat his wife’s hand. She saw her mother’s green eyes sparkle. Their aging faces showed the lines of struggle born from years of contradictory temperaments, goals, and dreams, but today, at least, they were savoring each other’s company.

“Papa,” Eliza said, crossing the room to join them at their table. “I have something to tell you.”

Their conversation halted, and they stared at her, anxiously, as if they already knew what she was going to say.

“The Duke of Brockenhurst has proposed marriage to me this afternoon, and I have accepted his offer.”

Sir Arthur let out a cry of delight. “’Pon rep, Eliza! I had not dared to let myself hope you would act reasonably. The fellow came to me earlier today and asked permission to put the question to you.”

“You did not warn me, Papa!” said Eliza. She was not altogether certain that she would have preferred to know what was coming in advance.

“I know, I know,” said her father, clearing his throat, “but I thought that with the last proposal, I may have applied…too great a pressure on you, Eliza. I am overjoyed that you made the decision on your own.”