The Duke's Last Hunt Page 7

  The duke’s eyes left her face, and within seconds he was whipping up his horses so that the phaeton could pull into the churchyard with panache. “A pleasure to have you ride with me, Miss Malcolm,” he said, handing her down with more decorum than he had displayed earlier. Eliza could still imagine the feel of his strong hands around her waist—and was still unsure whether it had filled her with excitement or unease.

  He offered her his arm and they joined her parents, the duchess, and the others to make their way into the church.

  * * *

  Henry slowed his horse to a walk before quietly turning into the churchyard. A dozen or more villagers were crowding around the entrance, and he could see the back of Miss Malcolm’s figure going through the door on the arm of his brother. Henry set his jaw. If he had his way, she would not be walking into a church on Rufus’ arm ever again.

  The simple pale blue of Miss Malcolm’s dress contrasted oddly with the feathery concoction on her head—he would not have suspected her to have such outré taste in hats. But still, the strange bonnet did not diminish her graceful carriage or elegant figure. She disappeared into the building.

  Henry dismounted, tied his horse, and slipped in through the side door. No one noticed him enter—the villagers were too busy gawking at the full row in the Rowland pew up front. Henry nearly snorted. Apparently, Rufus’ presence was creating quite the sensation. When exactly was the last time his brother had come to church?

  Reverend Ansel had ascended the pulpit and was beginning the service. Henry slipped into a seat in the back corner. A gnarled old man looked up at him. “Master Henry!” he said in quiet shock. Henry put a finger to his lips. “But you should be up front, sir!” The old man’s hands began to shake, and Henry put his own hand over them to steady them.

  “I’m well enough where I am, Mr. Hornsby.” He smiled. “Unless you don’t care to share your seat with me?”

  “Not at all, not at all, your lordship,” said Ned’s father hurriedly. He looked around to see if anyone else was noticing the signal honor the duke’s brother was paying him. But the focus was all elsewhere. Henry could see half a dozen women whispering, no doubt trying to ascertain the identity of the young lady sitting near the Duke of Brockenhurst.

  “Lord of all power and might, who art the author and giver of all good things…”

  The collect had begun. Henry looked up at the pulpit. Reverend Ansel was tall and well-built, and his black cassock made him even more formidable. His big, bluff face resembled nothing so much as a Viking chieftain’s, and Henry had no doubt that if he had lived in a different era, he would have happily preached God to the heathens with the blade of a two-handed axe.

  “…graft in our hearts the love of thy name, increase in us true religion, nourish us with all goodness…”

  Henry’s eyes traveled uneasily from the pulpit to the first pew on the left, the one directly opposite from the Rowland pew. Empty. He choked down a sigh of relief.

  “…and of thy great mercy keep us in the same, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

  Reverend Ansel’s wife had died many years ago, and there was only one other person who had a right to sit in that pew. If the pew was empty, then where was she? Dead too? He had heard no word of such a thing. She had been alive three years ago, when Rufus had turned him out. Married? Impossible.

  The homily had begun, and Henry was fidgeting like a dog with fleas. He saw Mr. Hornsby peer at him with questions in his old eyes, and he made a concerted effort to still his bouncing knee.

  He took his eyes off the pew on the left and returned them to the pew on the right. Rufus was leaning over, whispering something in Miss Malcolm’s ear. The intimacy was infuriating.

  Just as he had known it would be, coming to this service was torture in more ways than one. But he would wait it out—if he was to influence Miss Malcolm where his brother was concerned, he would have to improve her own opinion of him first.

  * * *

  Eliza had never experienced sitting beside a suitor in church. Reverend Ansel was waxing eloquent about the various proofs for the existence of God, but it felt like nothing more than a wave of words washing over her ears. Rufus’ knee was touching hers in the pew, and at one point he nearly buried his nose in her ear whispering that no one could concentrate on divine services when a creature so divine was sitting next to him. Her whole face was tingling at the impropriety.

  When the service concluded, Rufus took her hand and placed it snuggly in the crook of his arm. The Duchess of Brockenhurst led the way down the aisle, greeting the stares of the villagers with polite nods of recognition. Sir Arthur, Lady Malcolm, and the rest of the Rowland party followed.

  Eliza noticed that Rufus refrained from the friendly civility that his mother showed to the other congregants. Perhaps he was not as familiar with his tenants or the villagers—although he had been lord of the manor for three or four years now, and one would expect him to know a few faces at least.

  As they moved towards the doors, she saw an old man in the back corner struggling to stand and a younger man—dressed like a gentleman—helping him rise. She looked more closely; the man’s brown eyes met hers—Henry Rowland! She thought he had left Harrowhaven for good! And what about his protest that he did not like Reverend Ansel’s sermons? Her brows knit together as Rufus’ momentum carried her outside into the churchyard.

  Reverend Ansel was there, greeting his parishioners as they filed out. The dowager duchess had given him her hand, and Eliza was just in time to hear Adele remark, “A very intellectual sermon, Reverend.”

  “Hopefully not too intellectual for you,” said the Reverend. A smile played on the corner of his mouth.

  “Not at all,” said Adele, “although I do wonder if my brother was able to follow it all.” She cast a pointed look at Rufus, bringing him to the Reverend’s attention.

  “Ah, Lord Brockenhurst,” said Reverend Ansel, disengaging himself from the dowager duchess to speak to the duke. “It is good to see you here on a Sunday. And while I have your ear, I have not heard from you recently on that other matter….”

  “I’m not sure what matter you’re referring to,” said Rufus. Eliza could feel his forearm clenching with irritation.

  “About setting aside a portion of the woods near the church building for the common use.”

  “The answer remains the same as the last time you asked,” said the duke stiffly. “I will not have trespassers in my forest.”

  Eliza felt a little dismayed at the duke’s curt refusal. The churchman seemed genial and the request seemed reasonable—but perhaps it was some matter in which he was trying to take advantage of the duke. She would not judge on a matter she knew nothing about.

  As Rufus began to steer Eliza and her parents out of the receiving line, she saw Reverend Ansel’s face light up with real excitement.

  “Walter, my boy!”

  Mr. Turold had just exited the church. A strange sight followed as the large churchman enveloped the long-haired gentleman in a hug.

  Rufus seemed as surprised as Eliza was. He cast a curious glance at his friend and halted momentarily to overhear the exchange.

  “You must dine with us while you are here,” said Reverend Ansel.

  “Of course.” Mr. Turold pressed the clergyman’s large hand with what seemed genuine affection. “Give my regards to Miss Ansel.”

  “Give them to her yourself. Supper at five tomorrow!”

  Mr. Turold nodded in agreement, and as he turned back to their party, Rufus pulled Eliza forward and began asking how she liked the silhouette of the church roof against the forest backdrop.

  Eliza made a polite response but noticed that, although the duke was talking to her, his attention still seemed to be taken up by his friend. He was keen to know what had transpired between him and the Reverend and just as keen not to be seen eavesdropping.


  * * *

  Henry congratulated himself on a lucky escape from having to speak with the Reverend. As the large man began to pump Walter’s hand, he ducked around to the side and inserted himself into the little group of admiring females which had formed around Adele and Mr. Blount.

  Stephen arched his delicate eyebrows, no doubt surprised to see Henry there at the church after his protestations of last night.

  “I do declare,” said Miss Ashbrook, one of the daughters of the country squire, “that bonnet is all the crack, Adele.”

  From the corner of his eye, Henry could see Miss Malcolm, tethered to his brother’s arm. No doubt that hideous bonnet on her head was all the crack too. It must be Adele’s. Everything he knew about Miss Malcolm told him that she would not have willingly purchased such a showy monstrosity from her hat maker.

  Adele preened in acknowledgement of the praise piled on by her coterie of local worshipers. Henry had never known his sister to be self-deprecating about her appearance. “You are too kind, Miss Ashbrook. Mr. Blount was just telling me how much he liked my bonnet as well.”

  Henry grimaced at his friend, but Stephen seemed determined to ignore him.

  “I have the most brilliant idea,” said Adele, clasping her hands. “We shall have some entertainment tomorrow night at Harrowhaven. You must come, all of you.” She waved a small hand roundabout to extend the invitation to Miss Ashbrook, Miss Bertram, and Miss Cecil.

  “What sort of entertainment?” asked Miss Bertram, no doubt concerned about whether she should wear a frock suitable for dancing.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Adele, as if the specifics were unimportant. “But I shall think of something diverting, and I shall send around some cards tomorrow morning.”

  Miss Bertram and Miss Ashbrook let out squeals of delight, while Miss Cecil’s enthusiasm displayed itself at a more moderate level. Henry looked over their heads to see his brother leading Miss Malcolm over to the phaeton that they must have arrived in. It irked him to see that they were driving together unchaperoned. He looked over to his horse. Unchaperoned? He could solve that problem.

  “And will you be there tomorrow night, Lord Henry?” said Miss Ashbrook, sending him a flutter of black eyelashes.

  “Yes,” said Henry, silently cursing the politeness that was detaining him from stepping into the saddle. He watched his brother hand Miss Malcolm up into the phaeton.

  “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

  It 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?”