Duke of a Gilded Age (38 page)

Wesley couldn’t stifle his exclamation. “What?”

“Yes, we set the date yesterday afternoon,” Errol said. “You’re both invited, of course.”

A wave of nausea roiled Wesley’s stomach.
It isn’t possible!

“Oh, dear,” Lady Frederic said. “Wesley has already scheduled a house party for that weekend. What a terrible shame to have to miss your wedding!”

Errol sighed. “I’m devastated at the thought.”

“I have an idea! Would you consider having your wedding breakfast here? Amongst Wesley’s guests are many of Miss Oakhurst’s mutual acquaintances,” Lady Frederic said.

“That’s terribly kind of you, Lady Frederic. Annabelle will be thrilled at the idea, I know. There’s no finer estate in the county.”

After bowing to Wesley one last time, Errol took his leave. Lady Frederic waited to speak until she heard the front door close.

“What on Earth is wrong with you, Wesley?” she exclaimed. “I feared for a few moments you and Sir Errol would come to blows!”

“Errol Blankenship is an arrogant, preening, supercilious
popinjay,
and I’ll see him burn in hell before he marries Miss Oakhurst!”

Wesley stormed from the drawing room, ignoring Lady Frederic’s expression of shock.

Bartleby drove Wesley to Belle’s house in an open air carriage pulled by a dappled gray gelding called Kelpie. The afternoon heat was not nearly as oppressive as it had been in New York, and the air was remarkably fresh and free of soot. The bleating of sheep grazing in a field off to one side would ordinarily have made Wesley chuckle, but he was too angry to pay it any attention.

The Oakhurst’s house came into view, neat and cheerful. Thick ivy creepers clung to the walls, giving the cottage the appearance of having sprung from the earth. A horse was tied to the hitching post out front, but Wesley was too distracted to take much notice of it. Almost before the carriage had come to a stop, Wesley jumped down.

“Wait here for me, please,” he said to Bartleby.

The housekeeper answered his knock.

“The Duke of Mansbury, to see Miss Oakhurst,” Wesley said. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t any calling cards yet.”

The woman bobbed up and down in a flustered curtsy. “Please wait here, Your Grace.”

Wesley was left on the doorstep, staring at the red door and its grape cluster knocker in the center, made of iron. At length, the door opened again and the housekeeper ushered him inside. He followed her to the drawing room, where she announced him before hastening off to her duties.

To his shock, and great displeasure, Errol stood behind Belle’s wingtip chair, leaning against it in a possessive fashion. Although the man seemed very well pleased with himself, Belle’s expression was strained. She stood as Wesley entered the room and made a graceful curtsy.

“How kind of you to call, Your Grace,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Oakhurst.”

Wesley placed his hat upon a table and sat down in a chair directly opposite Belle. Sir Errol neither sat nor moved. “What a pleasure to see you again so soon, Duke,” he said, with a gentle curl of his lip.

“Likewise,” Wesley shot back.

“Errol was just telling me of your invitation to host our wedding breakfast at Caisteal Park,” Belle said. “I’m overwhelmed at your generosity, and I can’t tell you how much it adds to my happiness.”

Despite Belle’s words, Wesley could discern no happiness within her whatsoever.

“Miss Oakhurst, my mother and I hold you in the highest esteem.” Wesley paused. “May I inquire after your father’s health?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, a glimmer of a smile crossed Belle’s lips.

“He’s beginning to rail against staying in bed, so he must be improving.”

“Good.” A flood of words were on the tip of Wesley’s tongue, but Errol’s presence served to check them. “Er…my mother would like your opinion on a few matters, Miss Oakhurst. Would you be free for lunch tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. I’m traveling to London to buy my wedding gown and trousseau.”

“Will you be away long?”

“Perhaps a week. I’m uncertain.”

In response, Wesley nodded. An involuntary movement of Belle’s hand drew his attention to the distinctive ornament on her finger. The sight of her wearing an engagement ring hit him in the gut, and he swallowed hard.

“What an unusual ring,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“It’s a family heirloom,” Errol said. “My father was heavily into diamond mines before he died.”

“And your mother? Are we to have the pleasure of meeting her at your wedding?” Wesley asked.

“Unfortunately, my mother travels a great deal and it’s difficult to reach her,” Errol said.

The man seemed to be in no hurry to leave, and Wesley was certainly in no mood to linger in his company. He rose and collected his hat. “I must be going. Please give your father my best regards, Miss Oakhurst, and let him know I’ll check on him while you’re away.” Wesley bowed. “Good day to you both.”

Belle stood. “Your Grace, please wait a moment. I-I promised to lend you a book, and I mean to keep my word.”

The delicate scent of roses hit Wesley’s nostrils as Belle passed by.

“A book?” Errol echoed, after she left. “I didn’t realize Americans could read.”

“There are an educated few to be found amongst the savages,” Wesley replied.

“Surely not.”

“You should travel more, Sir Errol. It would broaden your horizons.”

As the two men glared at one another, Belle entered the room carrying a leather-bound volume. “This is the book we discussed before, Your Grace,” she said. “Consider it a gift.”

Errol reached out a hand. “May I?”

As Belle gave Errol the book, Wesley was puzzled at the flicker of fear that crossed her face. Errol examined the title and burst into mocking laughter.

“Etiquette? Why, that’s
perfect.
Well done, Annabelle.”

Wesley felt his face flush with embarrassment, accompanied by a flash of irritation toward Belle.
How could she give me a book on etiquette in front of Errol? If she meant to humiliate me, she’s succeeded quite well.

“Perhaps I’ll return for the book after Sir Errol has finished reading it,” Wesley said. “He seems terribly amused by the subject matter and would no doubt find it instructive.”

Wesley’s annoyance was ill-disguised, but he didn’t care. He turned on his heel, and left without a backward glance. Just as he was climbing into his carriage, the front door burst open and Belle darted out. “Wait!”

With the book in one hand and her skirt in the other, she ran to him. Tears were glistening in her lashes, but he was so angry he looked away.

“Wesley, please take the book,” she pleaded. “There’s information in it which may be interesting to you in the future.”

Although a sharp retort was on the tip of his tongue, Wesley could hardly say what was on his mind with the coachman watching. With a feeling of distaste, he accepted the volume. “Thank you, Miss Oakhurst. I’m sure it will prove most edifying. Drive on, Bartleby.”

Belle stepped back as the carriage rolled down the drive. Wesley thought for a moment he heard a sob escape Belle’s lips, but when he looked back, her face had become a mask.
Goodbye, Miss Oakhurst. Perhaps you and Errol deserve one another.

When he returned to Caisteal Park, Wesley stormed into his manor, tight-lipped, and mounted the stairs two at a time. After he reached his room, he almost hurled the etiquette book across the floor. Instead, he contented himself with dropping it into a drawer where he didn’t have to ever look at the thing again. Why had Belle chosen to embarrass him in front of Errol? Even more baffling was why she was marrying the man in the first place. Could she be so blinded by his dazzling appearance that she was willing to overlook Errol’s self-centered, narrow-minded meanness? The comparison between Stephen Van Eyck and Errol Blankenship was marked. Stephen Van Eyck had seemed superficial at first, but like an iceberg, he’d proven to have a great deal of depth under the surface. Errol, on the other hand, was as shallow as an ice slick, and twice as dangerous.

Morose, Wesley stared through the leaded glass pane window at the vast garden outside. How was he supposed to snatch Belle from the jaws of an unwanted marriage? He was so confused, he wasn’t even certain she wanted to be rescued…and yet her unhappiness that afternoon had been obvious. He’d been intending to woo Belle, to tell her of his feelings, and beg her to break her engagement. If Errol hadn’t been there, would she have listened? If he were to be honest about it, she’d given Wesley no incontrovertible indication that she returned his affection—just a few tender moments which he had interpreted in his favor.

Frustrated beyond measure, Wesley went in search of Cavendish, with an eye toward a riding lesson. Perhaps if he were thrown off his horse a time or two, the concussion would knock Belle Oakhurst from his head.

Nothing, however, will ever remove her from my heart.

Belle was so angry with herself as she packed for her trip to London that she wanted to slam the lid of her trunk down on her hand. She settled for hurling the box of chocolates she’d intended as a gift for Errol against the wall. The afternoon hadn’t gone like she’d planned. In anticipation of Wesley’s visit, she’d spent all morning in the library, composing a letter to him. She’d slipped the letter inside
Etiquette for Gentlemen
precisely because she knew he wouldn’t look at it right away. In fact, she’d rather counted on him not opening the book for months, or perhaps even years, at which time the sentiments she’d expressed would bring Wesley peace.

The inopportune arrival of Errol, with his news about a wedding breakfast at Caisteal Park, had upset her so badly she couldn’t think straight. Then, when Wesley came to call, Errol’s cold manner had driven him off almost immediately. In a panic, she’d run off like a complete ninny to retrieve the book from the library. It would have been just as easy for her to tuck the letter inside a volume of Shakespeare, and just as logical. Why in heaven’s name hadn’t she kept a cool head and done so? She’d embarrassed Wesley with the etiquette book, and made him the butt of Errol’s scorn. From the look of resentment on Wesley’s face as he left, he would never forgive her. In all likelihood,
Etiquette for Gentlemen
would find its way into the fireplace, and her letter would be burned, unread. Belle sank to the carpet and wept.

Maybe it’s better this way.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Wedding Jitters

A
S
B
ELLE
S
TOOD
B
EFORE
the full-length mirror clad in a white wedding gown of uncommon beauty, Aunt Meg clasped her hands together and exclaimed with delight. The gown’s taffeta underdress was covered with a sumptuous layer of gathered chiffon which billowed out behind in a glorious waterfall of fabric. The rounded neckline was edged in a flounce of delicate wired lace, and on one shoulder a spray of tiny wax lilacs added texture and feminine appeal. Chiffon formed dainty puffed sleeves.