Duke of a Gilded Age (37 page)

“As I was saying, I’ll apply for the marriage license tomorrow.” Errol’s lips hovered next to her ear, tickling the hair on her neck with his hot breath. “Three weeks from last Saturday should give you enough time to buy a wedding gown and plan the wedding breakfast. Do we understand one another?”

Trembling, Belle barely managed a nod. His eyes traced a path from her mouth to her décolleté and back again.

“Good. Welcome home.”

Errol picked up his hat and riding crop. A slight smirk tugged at his lips as he departed, leaving the ring behind.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Caisteal Park

T
HE
C
LATTER
O
F
H
ORSE
H
OOVES
on the driveway faded, but Belle stood frozen like a statue. A sudden lightheadedness threatened to overwhelm her, and she ran from the house as if pursued by the hounds of Hell. The orchard became her refuge, and she wandered through the trees, gasping for air.

What on Earth had happened to change Errol? Before she left Mansbury he’d been attentive, courtly, and tender; a touch of his hand on hers and a chaste kiss or two was all they’d ever exchanged. Now the man was demanding, pitiless, and almost cruel in his disregard for her feelings. He seemed serious about the lawsuit. Certainly his male beauty and romantic air made him a sympathetic witness, but could he prove his case for breach of promise? Her heart sank as she recalled all the letters she’d written to him during her travels. The first one especially had expressed her eagerness to become his bride, and was the perfect evidence. The tone of her letters must have altered thereafter, alarming Errol enough to seek leverage against her—but why? A gentleman would just let her go.

Her thoughts focused on Errol’s assertion that her father was in debt. Could such a thing be true? Belle immediately returned to the house and went directly into the library, where her father kept his desk. She didn’t have to search long; the bank documents she sought were inside the first drawer she opened. Her father had indeed borrowed the funds to purchase her passage to America and back, and the house was pledged as collateral.
Dear, sweet, generous Papa! You’ve always indulged me far too much, and I’ve taken it for granted.
She remembered what he’d told her about her grandfather and his money; had the ticket been her father’s way of trying to compensate?
He must never know I found out.
Belle returned the papers to the drawer, slid it closed, and pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples.
What am I to do?

The late afternoon sun slanted through the library windows, illuminating swirling dust motes and casting shadows across the floor. Belle tried to find a way out of her dilemma, but as the sun dipped toward the horizon, the shadows lengthened and her options dwindled. Almost trancelike, she stared at nothing until Mrs. Beveridge came into view with Errol’s ring in her hand.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Oakhurst, but I found this in the drawing room and thought it must be yours.”

Belle snapped out of her reverie, and took the ring with a sense of dread. “Thank you, Mrs. Beveridge, it
is
mine.”

I can’t tell Papa what has happened. I can’t break the engagement. I’m trapped.

While Lady Frederic met with Mrs. Blount to discuss menus and housekeeping matters the next morning, Wesley went off to explore. One of his first destinations was the carriage house, where the coachman, Bartleby, showed him the several carriages at his disposal.

“If there’s ever anywhere you’d like to go, Your Grace, just send word,” Bartleby said.

“Actually, I’m going to town to pay a call after lunch,” Wesley said. “This morning, however, I’m exploring Caisteal Park on foot.”

“Would you like the groom to saddle a horse from the stable for you, sir? You can cover more ground that way.”

Wesley demurred. “Thanks, but I really ought to take riding lessons first. Otherwise, I’ll break my neck and annoy the horse.”

He left the carriage house and strolled through a series of exquisite, soothing gardens. In one, he walked upon a carpet of green velvet so lovely he had to touch it with his fingers to make sure the surface was real. On either side of the path were banks of flowers, interspersed with large tufts of grasses, ferns, and plants of all shapes and textures. Further along, large, towering hedges formed natural walls.

In the flower garden, Wesley sat inside a gazebo and watched bees flit from bloom to bloom. From his vantage point, the view of the glorious estate was breathtaking. It was as if he were sitting in the center of a jewel box, surrounded by a crown of colored gemstones. The cloudless sapphire sky glowed overhead, the emerald hills stretched as far as he could see, and explosions of citrine-, opal-, ruby-, and lapis lazuli-colored blossoms dotted the garden. Caisteal Park was truly far more magnificent than he’d anticipated, and he still couldn’t quite believe it was his. A warm breeze sent a gust of intoxicating perfume his way, and he wished Belle were there to enjoy the moment with him.

At lunch, his mother was effervescent. “I received an answer to one of my letters this morning. My sister Constance and her husband Tom have agreed to visit next month from Bristol, and they’ll be bringing your three cousins. Isn’t that exciting?”

“It will be wonderful to meet actual relatives.”

“I’ve ordered calling cards, so we can begin visiting the more prominent families in the neighborhood.” She paused. “Mr. Oakhurst’s advice would have been so useful in that regard, but I hate to bother him while he’s recovering. Perhaps we may rely on his daughter’s observations?”

“Miss Oakhurst will have to give us an approved list. It wouldn’t do to cultivate the lowly, would it?”

Lady Frederic gave him a reproving glance. “Jest if you like, but we must put our best foot forward.”

“I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Mother, so long as you handle the details of my house party. There’s to be a ball the first night, and the rest is up to you. The names and addresses of my friends are on the desk in the study.”

“A ball is the perfect occasion to invite the local royalty and gentry,” Lady Frederic said.

“Whatever you like, Mother, but written invitations should be sent as soon as possible.”

“Actually, I’m quite looking forward to hosting a house party. It should be a great deal of fun.”

After lunch, Cavendish helped Wesley don a fresh shirt, waistcoat, and jacket for his afternoon call on Belle. Wesley told his valet about his conversation with the coachman.

“Apparently to be a gentleman I must learn to ride.”

“It’s somewhat expected, Your Grace.”

“I don’t suppose you could teach me?”

“Certainly, although the proper attire is a prerequisite. We’ll have to purchase a riding habit and boots for you.”

“I wonder if Uncle Septimus had riding clothes I could use? See to it, would you Cavendish?”

A deep chime sounded just then.

“What’s that?” Wesley asked.

“The doorbell. You’ve a visitor.”

“Blast! I’m on my way to see Miss Oakhurst. Do you think anyone would notice if I slipped out the back?”

“Shall we find out who it is first?”

Wesley gnashed his teeth. “I suppose so.”

Cavendish disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, he had a calling card on a silver salver.

“Who is it?” Wesley asked, reaching for the card.

“Sir Errol Blankenship.”

Wesley’s hand froze, mid-air. “You’re not serious?”

“I can show you the back staircase, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

With one final glance in the mirror to check his appearance, Wesley strode from the room.

As Wesley approached the drawing room, he heard his mother’s voice.

“Truly, we’re quite lost without Mr. Oakhurst’s guiding hand, Sir Errol, but we have every confidence he’ll rebound. In the meantime, Miss Oakhurst has been most accommodating,” she said.

“My fiancée is very useful sort of person,” a man replied. “I think that’s why I was first attracted to her.”

Annoyance ran down Wesley’s spine at the note of superiority in Errol’s voice, and he took a moment to square his shoulders. When he entered the drawing room, the visitor rose.

“Wesley, this is Sir Errol Blankenship,” Lady Frederic said. “Sir Errol, allow me to introduce my son Wesley Parker, the Duke of Mansbury.”

Wesley and Errol bowed to one another.

“Welcome to Mansbury,” Errol said.

“Thank you,” Wesley said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Miss Oakhurst spoke of you quite often.”

As the two men sized each other up, the temperature in the room plummeted. Wesley studied Errol; the man was beautiful to the point of being effeminate, down to the ruffles on his shirt and way he dressed his hair. Wesley hated him on sight.
Errol wouldn’t have lasted two minutes in Brooklyn.

“I must say, you are a vast deal different than Miss Oakhurst described in her letters,” Errol said. “Far younger and far less…dangerous.”

“First impressions can be misleading.” Wesley paused. “Miss Oakhurst and I had a rather colorful introduction, but I believe her opinion of me improved greatly afterward.”

“Hmm,” Errol replied. “Perhaps I should give a party to welcome you to the neighborhood. Do you ride?”

“Not yet.”

“Shoot grouse or pheasant?”

“No.”

Errol made a dismissive sound. “What
do
you do?”

“I’m rather good with fisticuffs,” Wesley snapped.

Wesley and Errol locked eyes. Lady Frederic became alarmed, and cleared her throat. “Miss Oakhurst has been teaching my son to waltz, Sir Errol. Perhaps a dance would be in order?”

“Ah, yes. Before I knew her, Miss Oakhurst taught dancing at the local dance studio,” Errol said. “She could probably teach a pig to fly.”

His insult was so obvious, Wesley began to laugh. After a moment, Errol joined in. A bewildered smile crept onto Lady Frederic’s lips.

“A dance it is, then,” Errol said finally. “I’ll have to schedule it for a date following my wedding, however. Miss Oakhurst and I are to be married in less than three weeks.”