The Duke's Last Hunt Page 8

  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.

  9

  When Eliza awoke the next morning, the sunlight was already peeking in through a gap in the curtains. Ollerton entered and opened the curtains all the way, letting in the whole flood of sunshine.

  “Is Mother dressed already?” asked Eliza, covering her eyes.

  “Oh no, miss,” replied the lady’s maid. “She went to bed last night with a well-seasoned sore throat, and this morning ’tis even worse, and with a cough too. I imagine she’ll stay in her chambers all day, poor thing.”

  “Oh dear,” said Eliza, her concern for her mother intermingling with her concern for her own situation. Being chaperoned by her parents in a strange house was bad enough, but being alone in a strange house was worse. “Is father ill as well?”

  “Not that I know of, miss. He told your mother he was taking his breakfast with Mr. Curtis.”

  “I see.” Eliza slipped out of bed and submitted herself to Ollerton’s ministrations. She had no idea what the day would bring, but it was comforting to be dressed in one of her favorite gowns—a sprigged muslin with a green ribbon beneath the bust.

  “Ollerton,” she said, a thought coming to her. “Do you mingle much with the rest of the staff here?”

  “I take my dinner with the duke’s valet and the ladies’ maids,” said Ollerton. Her pursed lips voiced the question: “Why?”

  “I assume they talk. People always do. Talk about other people, I mean. Have you…have you heard anything about Henry Rowland, the duke’s brother?”

  “What sort of things?”

  “I…don’t know exactly,” said Eliza, unwilling to confide in Ollerton about the incident with the maid in the corridor. “Anything untoward, I suppose?”

  “I can’t say as I have,” said Ollerton, “but I shall keep my ear to the ground.” She gave her mistress’ daughter a sharp look, but Eliza refrained from saying anymore on the subject.

  “And what activities are planned for today, miss?” the maid asked, pulling the laces tight on the back of the bodice.

  “I don’t really know,” replied Eliza slowly. “I suppose the duke will orchestrate some sort of amusement.”

  Ollerton grunted, her mouth holding several pins to use in pinning up Eliza’s auburn hair. Within moments, a simple bun adorned the back of her head. “Well now, you look pretty as a picture, Miss Malcolm.”

  “Thank you, Ollerton,” said Eliza. She looked into the mirror and put a hand up to touch her hair. It was vain to think too much of oneself, but she did hope that the woman staring back at her had the potential to be called a beauty. She flushed a little. Perhaps the Rowland brothers, or at least one of them, would think so as well.

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and left the room. Eliza took a deep breath. She opened the bedroom door and headed down the corridor towards the stairs.

  “There you are, Eliza!” called Adele. Mr. Blount and Lord Henry looked up from their eggs and bacon as Eliza entered the breakfast room. “Sit down,” Adele said imperiously, “and submit your suggestions for what we shall do today.”

  “I thought you’d arranged for some friends to pay a visit?” said Mr. Blount. His chair was quite close to Adele’s, and Eliza almost suspected that their feet were touching beneath the table.

  “That’s tonight, you silly gudgeon,” replied Adele, swatting his arm playfully. “We have the whole day in front of us. We must create a schedule!” Adele looked to Eliza for affirmation, but Eliza only gave her new friend a tentative smile.

  She had been hoping that Rufus would be here to take control of events and steer her in the right direction. She saw Lord Henry’s eyes upon her. He excused himself from the table and stepped over to the sideboard. He must be hungry this morning, thought Eliza, for he was filling a second plate.

  “Perhaps,” ventured Eliza, “the duke will have already created a schedule.”

  “Rufus!” Adele snorted in a most unladylike manner. She tossed a few unpinned tresses over her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. I daresay he won’t awaken for another hour or more, and I’m sure he’s hardly gone to the trouble to arrange activities.”

  “Well, that shall be my privilege then,” said Lord Henry. He came back from the sideboard and set down the plate he had filled, heaped high with eggs, ham, fruit, and muffins, directly in front of Eliza.

  Eliza colored. “Thank you.” She picked up a muffin and bit into it.

  “Now then,” said Lord Henry, resuming his seat at the table, “I’ve a few letters and a parcel to post, so for the first order of the day, we shall drive into the village and show Miss Malcolm the local splendors. I warn you, however,” he said, fixing his face on Eliza with mock gravity, “you must not set your expectations too high. There is little in the way of shopping.”

  “Oh, good heavens, no!” said Adele. “One cannot even buy a proper bonnet there.”

  Eliza dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. The eggs were quite delicious. “I thank you for the warning, Adele. I shall endeavor to buy no bonnets on the excursion.”

  “Very good,” replied Lord Henry. “From the village, we will set out west toward the lake. The air is cooler there on account of the water. I shall instruct Mrs. Forsythe to pack us a substantial hamper, and we shall picnic there on the shore.”

  “Upon my word, Henry,” said Adele. “You would make an admirable tour guide or a butler.”

  “Or a steward even, perhaps,” said Lord Henry dryly.

  “Of course…well, yes…oh bother.”

  Eliza noticed that the usually irrepressible Adele had twisted her pretty face into a frown. Mr. Blount was looking uncomfortable as well.

  Lord Henry’s face, however, had grown a wry grin, and he did not seem in the least put out. “Well, Miss Malcolm, do you approve of our plan?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Eliza, taken aback by the direct question. Doubts assailed her a moment later. She laid down her fork and knife. What business did she have picnicking with Lord Henry when her sole business here was to explore the possibility of marrying his brother? She stared at the floor. “But perhaps we should see if your brother would like to join us?”

  “I see one kind soul has spared a thought for me!”

  “Speak of the devil,” murmured Lord Henry as the duke strode into the room with Walter Turold on his heels.

  Eliza flushed as Rufus approached the table, took her hand in his, and kissed it. “Good morning, your grace,” she said.

  “Good morning,” the duke replied. He was wearing buckskins again and riding boots—it seemed to be his outfit of choice. His red hair was combed back carelessly and his freckled face lit up with enthusiasm. “Walter and I were just on our way out for a ride. Would you care to join us, Miss Malcolm?”
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br />   “Oh, I….” Eliza swallowed. She was already dreading the thought of riding out with the hunt on Wednesday, and was she now to be subjected to mounting a horse even sooner?

  “Lud, no, Rufus!” said Adele peevishly. “Eliza is to picnic with us by the lake! She doesn’t wish to be jolted up and down all over the countryside on this hot day.”

  Eliza wondered if she would ever dare to contradict the duke the way his sister had.

  “I’m sure Miss Malcolm can decide for herself,” said Rufus, shooting a quelling look at his sister.

  Eliza’s heart beat a little faster. She would never be able to stand that look being directed at her. “I think,” she said slowly, “that it would be better for me to rest today. My mother is taken ill, and I feel a bit of the headache myself. Perhaps if I keep to my room, I shall be well enough to join you all for dinner tonight.”

  She put down her napkin, and Rufus, seeing that she wished to excuse herself, pulled out her chair. She gave a quick bow to them all and then slipped out the door of the breakfast room.

  * * *

  Henry sighed. It had been a singularly tedious day. He had posted his letters and his parcel, visited Ned at the Blue Boar, and played the unwelcome third at the lake with his sister and her suitor. When he returned to Harrowhaven in the afternoon, he discovered that Miss Malcolm, true to her word, was still keeping to her room.

  Allowing himself to be ruled by impulse, he attempted to dispel his ennui by knocking on her door. Alas, her lady’s maid had answered it, a dragon of a creature determined to open the door no more than six inches wide while she spoke to him.

  “How can I help you, my lord?” Her words said one thing, but her tone indicated quite the opposite intent.

  “So kind of you to ask.” Henry had encountered this type before and knew how to engage in battle. “I came to inquire how Miss Malcolm was feeling this afternoon? Is there anything she needs that I could have the housekeeper send up for her?”