The Duke's Last Hunt (8 page)

“How wonderful!” replied Miss Ashbrook. “It’s been some time since you were…in the neighborhood.”

“Quite,” said Henry curtly. He had called upon Squire Ashbrook on matters of business regularly in the old days. He barely remembered Miss Ashbrook, but then, if she was Adele’s age, she would have still been in the schoolroom.

Stephen noticed his friend’s growing irritation. “I say, Miss Ashbrook,” he said, physically placing himself between Henry and the overeager damsel, “what games are the young ladies of Sussex familiar with? Perhaps we can hit upon something that we all know to play tomorrow night….”

Henry seized his chance to disappear. He strode over to his horse and, climbing into the saddle, spurred the beast onward to catch up with the pair in the phaeton.

* * *

Eliza had made up her
mind. She was decidedly uncomfortable having Rufus Rowland take such liberties with her person. He was sitting far too closely on the phaeton seat, and squished up into the corner, she had no way of escaping him. She hoped her parents would be following soon in the coach…or Adele and Mr. Blount…or anyone.

As they turned the bend in the road, she heard hooves pounding behind them. It was a single rider, not a carriage. Within moments, the rider had come up alongside them, and there on her side of the phaeton was Lord Henry Rowland, doffing his beaver cordially.

“It looks like the road is wide enough for three here,” he said, smiling broadly and reining in his horse to keep pace with Rufus’ pair.

The duke slid over a little so his leg was no longer touching hers. “What the deuce are you doing, Henry?”

Eliza bit her lip. She was sure her mother would rebuke the duke if she ever heard him use such language.

“Keeping you company, of course.”

“I already have someone to keep me company,” said Rufus, his eyes glittering.

“Poor soul,” said Lord Henry. He gave Eliza a wink.

“I did not expect to see you in church, Lord Henry,” said Eliza.

“Yes, well, after I saw you in the hallway this morning, it occurred to me that it might be beneficial to attend the service.”

Eliza’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Was he actually alluding to the embarrassing incident with the maid that she had witnessed before breakfast? The man had no shame!

“Do you really mean to inflict yourself on us for the week?” demanded Rufus. His horses strained at the short rein he was giving them.

“Why not?” retorted Lord Henry. “It’s not as if I have any sort of
occupation
to draw me away.”

Eliza sensed a long history behind this fencing match. Why were the two brothers at odds? She was not vain enough to suppose that it had to do with her own person.

“Then send up to London for some proper riding clothes,” said Rufus. “I’ll not have you wearing some patched-up, three-year-old buckskins when we’re following the hounds.”

“Never fear,” said Lord Henry, rolling his eyes at his brother. “I shan’t spoil your hunt with my outmoded wardrobe. Will you be riding out with us on Wednesday, Miss Malcolm?”

“Oh, I…I don’t know,” faltered Eliza. Up until this point, she had not realized that she might be expected to trail along with the duke during his favorite pastime. She had no illusions about her own riding ability. Her mother had ordered her a riding habit for her first season, but she had not worn it more than once, and it was now woefully out of date.

Eliza’s insides lurched. Was the duke
expecting
her to join him?

“Of course you will ride with us,” said Rufus. “My mother and sister always do.”

So. It was settled. Eliza’s right hand clutched the side of the phaeton. Rufus seemed not to notice her discomfiture, but from underneath a veil of eyelashes, she saw Lord Henry’s dark eyes look at her questioningly.

They were nearing the house now. Rufus turned the horses sharply as they entered the circular drive. “I hope our little country church was to your satisfaction, Miss Malcolm?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Eliza. “I thought Reverend Ansel a particularly gifted speaker.”

Rufus looked at her with curiosity, as if he thought she might be shamming her approval. “I fear you’ll find little to amuse you on Sunday afternoons at Harrowhaven.”

“But Adele has knocked together some sort of amusement for tomorrow night,” said Lord Henry brightly. “Some of the young people from the local gentry families, I believe.”

Rufus snorted. “How tedious!”

“For you, maybe,” said Lord Henry, “but Miss Malcolm might enjoy it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I shall,” said Eliza. She smiled wanly. Any activity would be preferable to one that required her to mount a horse.

8

I
t had been a quiet Sunday following their return from church. Lady Malcolm had a very strict view of Sabbath keeping, and she and her daughter spent the afternoon in the drawing room, reading aloud the sermons of Thomas Watson and others.

“Poor Eliza,” said Adele, tiptoeing past the door with Stephen in tow, on their way out to the garden. “Henry, you should go in and distract her mother so she can escape.”

“I’m afraid Miss Malcolm already thinks me impious enough,” said Henry with a shake of his head. “Besides, I think I might do better to distract my own mother.” He watched his sister lean in to whisper something to her lovelorn swain. “Don’t get lost in the garden again,” he called over his shoulder as he headed into the saloon.

“Oh, I think we can find our way about,” said Adele archly. She tugged at Stephen’s arm and drew him towards the exit.

Henry grimaced. Stephen really was a good fellow, and he hoped his sister was not simply toying with him. Whether Stephen would make a good husband for Adele, he was not entirely sure. The girl would indubitably lead him about by his nose—although Stephen seemed to have no objection to that state of affairs. He surmounted the staircase and went down the corridor to his mother’s room.

“Come in,” said the duchess, hearing his knock. She had changed into her dressing gown and was sitting in a padded rocking chair, her slippered feet propped up on an ottoman while she perused the latest Ackerman’s. It would certainly not be approved Sunday reading in Lady Malcolm’s estimation, but Henry refused to think less of his mother for it.

He planted a kiss on her cheek and sprawled out on the sofa a few feet away.

“Mrs. Forsythe told me you had left,” said his mother. She turned a page idly in the magazine, as if Ackerman’s were far more important than a tête-à-tête with her youngest son.

Henry knew better. “Yes, I thought I had. I decided to come back.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You mean you won’t say.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Henry rolled over to his side and propped up his head with his elbow. “I hear there’s some trouble between you and Rufus?”

“Is there? I didn’t know.”

“You mean you won’t say.”

The duchess shrugged. “What do you think of this Miss Elizabeth Malcolm?”

“Too good for Rufus by far.”

“He means to marry her, you know.”

“I cottoned as much. And…where does that put you, Mother?”

The Duchess of Brockenhurst snorted. “In the Dower House as soon as I can pack my things.”

Henry sat up on the sofa. “Is the Dower House empty then?”

His mother finally gave up the pretense of reading and dropped her magazine into her lap. “Oh, yes. I suppose you might as well know. I took matters into my own hands a few months ago. I went down to the Dower House and sent Rufus’ Cyprian packing.”

Henry whistled. He had never imagined that his mother suspected the existence of Rufus’ many mistresses. But then, his mother was always taking him by surprise with the things she knew. “And Rufus took it…?”

“Not well. He took away my keys and told me he was master here. Since then, he’s been having Mrs. Forsythe report to him instead of me.”

“Yes, Mrs. Forsythe said it’s been something of a…trial with Rufus in charge of the domestic arrangements. Enter Miss Malcolm, eh?”

“No doubt he wants someone more biddable than his dragon of a mother—someone to manage the staff meekly and dutifully without asking any questions. And with Miss Malcolm installed as the new duchess, that leaves me with nowhere else to go but the Dower House. Your father left it to me in his will…although Rufus has soiled my memories of the place with all his tawdry liaisons.”

“What about Robert’s estate?”

“Mortgaged up to the hilt. Rufus is his main creditor, and I wouldn’t put it past him to call in his debts.” The duchess scowled.

Henry leaned forward. “I’m sorry things have come to such a pass. I can’t offer you quite the same luxuries as Harrowhaven, but—”

“Oh, Henry!” The duchess reached out a hand to grasp her son’s. “I would never reproach you for that. You are not obliged to support me. I know the hand you were dealt.”

“Yes,” said Henry, “but what you don’t know, is that even with my poor cards, I’ve had an extraordinary streak of luck.” And he proceeded to outline in detail just how drastically his fortunes had improved over the course of the last three years.

* * *

Eliza yawned. It was her
turn to read now, and she was stumbling a little over the long sentences in this homily. She looked over at her mother. Lady Malcolm, who had been sitting quite erect for the past couple hours, had slumped a little against the back of her chair. Eliza paused. “Mama, I think perhaps we might finish this next week….”

There was no answer. Lady Malcolm had fallen asleep.

Setting the book down on the horsehair-stuffed cushion, Eliza walked quietly out of the room and took care that the door would make no sound as she closed it behind her. She looked right and left. Once again she was all alone in the Rowland mansion. There was the saloon, and the pillar she had leant up against yesterday afternoon while eavesdropping on Henry Rowland’s entrance. She wondered where he was. And Rufus too. She had seen neither of them since Rufus had handed her down at the door of the house and Henry had ridden off to the stables to deposit his horse. Her father had disappeared as well, and she suspected the gentlemen were all off somewhere enjoying their Sunday afternoon in a way much different than Lady Malcolm approved of—shooting pool or enjoying a snifter of brandy.

She looked over at the new floral arrangement on the mahogany table. The yellow roses reminded her of the garden. She had not explored it thoroughly yet, and even though it was a Sunday, her mother would surely not object to such an activity. It would be much better to walk outside than to roam the hallways feeling like an intruder.

The afternoon heat was beginning to dissipate, and a soft breeze came whisking in from the edge of the untamed woods into the formal hedges of the Harrowhaven gardens. Eliza walked under a small bower of climbing vines and a little farther on found the bush that the yellow roses must have come from.

On one side of the path the high hedges of the maze stood up like a rampart, keeping out any except those who knew the secret of the entrance. Eliza heard giggles coming from behind the bushes. Adele. And Mr. Blount with her, no doubt. Eliza colored a little at the thought and kept walking. She had no desire to eavesdrop on that tête-à-tête.

A little farther on she found a bench and sat down, the stone pleasantly warm beneath her. She had been wrong. Even here in the gardens, she still felt like an intruder. And what is more, she still felt alone. She wondered if this would always be the case. If—as her father seemed to think—the duke of Brockenhurst did offer for her, was this what her Sunday afternoons held in store? To walk alone in the gardens while Rufus amused himself as he pleased and the rest of the family ignored her existence? She sighed.

But surely, to be the mistress of this house, of these gardens, was something, was it not? For that, one might reconcile herself to some of the infelicities of the match—or, at least, that was what her father would argue. Would her mother argue the same? Somehow, Eliza thought that whatever sermon her mother might give on the subject, it was invalidated by her mother’s own actions. Had not the young Margaret Malcolm done the very thing the elder Margaret Malcolm inveighed against—betrayed her own religious convictions for a comfortable marriage with a man of weaker moral principle?

Eliza lifted her chin and surveyed the landscape in all directions. It was the Sabbath day, so there was not even the comfort of being surrounded by workmen spreading soil or gardeners trimming flowers. She was alone, and likely to be even moreso if she married Rufus Rowland and lost the small solace that her parents’ company brought.

* * *

Henry returned to his room
after a long chat with his mother. She had greeted his news with astonishment, and some pique that he had not told her of his success earlier. As for his offer that she come stay with him, she bid him wait until Rufus officially made a match with Miss Malcolm. Henry’s jaw twitched. He had refrained from mentioning that the only reason he had returned was to ensure that such a match would never happen.

He sat down at the oak writing desk by the window. It felt smaller than when he had used it last. First, he penned a letter to Mr. Maurice explaining his extended absence. The old man would not care—the season had ended and there was little work to do after the people of quality had deserted London. Next, he penned a letter to his valet Biggs asking him to come down bringing a whole wardrobe of his clothing. He did not know how long he would be staying now, and it was best to be prepared for any contingency.

The window by the desk overlooked the gardens. His eye caught sight of a movement down below, and emerging from the path beneath the bower was a young woman in a pale blue dress. His pen paused on the paper, leaving a puddle of ink while his eyes were elsewhere. “Confound it!” he muttered, blotting up the spill as soon as he realized it. He put the pen in the inkwell and rose from his chair to get a better view.

She had paused now and, after looking about her a moment, settled on a stone bench outside the maze. Henry admired her carriage—even when sitting, her height gave her figure a natural elegance. He wondered what she could be thinking about. It was too far away to see the expression on her face, but he imagined that it looked pensive.

He dared not flatter himself that she was thinking of him. No, far more certainly, of his brother and of the events that lay ahead of her this week. Would Rufus propose marriage during this visit? Henry had no doubt that he would. The key then was to give her a true understanding of his brother’s character before that moment occurred and fortify her with the strength she needed in order to refuse him.

Henry squinted and pressed his nose against the glass. Her face looked sad…or perhaps he was imagining things from this distance. But it had certainly held little joy this morning when he had found her cozied up against Rufus in the phaeton.

The talk of the hunt had seemed to terrify her. It was clear to anyone with an observant eye that she did not wish to ride out with the hounds. Henry wondered if she knew how to ride. That tall, supple figure would sit beautifully upon a horse. But her consternation at the thought made him suspect that she did not ride often. Her parents’ straitened circumstances would hardly allow for a stable.

He stood musing a moment longer, and then turning abruptly, he found the bell rope to call for the servants. When Frederick materialized, he sent him back downstairs in search of the servant he really wanted.

In a few moments, the maid Constance had arrived. “Can I help you, my lord?”

Henry smiled winningly. “Constance, I have a small favor to ask of you.”

“Of course! Anything!” The maid’s face lit up. It was not the first time a maid had fancied Henry. The support he had offered her this morning had drawn them too close. He would need to purposefully add some distance to avoid unpleasantness—but first, he needed her help.

“Do you know which room Miss Malcolm is staying in?”

“Yes, your lordship.” Her face had fallen a little. Perhaps this was not the favor she was imagining he would ask.

“Well, then, Constance, I was wondering if you might fetch me something from there. It must be our secret, though.”

“Yes, your lordship. Of course.”

Henry gave her a smile, and after explaining her mission, he showed her out the door. He returned to writing his letter. There was no reason that Biggs could not undertake a second commission besides retrieving his master’s clothes.