The Duke's Last Hunt (6 page)

“Thank you, Frances,” said Lady Malcolm, once the maid had helped Eliza slip into her dressing gown. “I will help my daughter brush her hair out tonight.” And taking a comb, Lady Malcolm began to run it through Eliza’s long auburn hair while Ollerton hung up the discarded dress and then disappeared down the hallway.

“My dear,” said Lady Malcolm.

Eliza sensed that a criticism was forthcoming.

“Have you considered your behavior in encouraging Henry Rowland?”

“You mean Rufus Rowland, Mother?”

“I mean Lord Henry Rowland,” said Lady Malcolm grimly. “The duke’s brother. You were much too familiar with him tonight, and I think it gave the duke and his family concern.” She began to brush her daughter’s hair more vigorously.

“Oh….” Eliza colored as she felt pain shooting across her scalp. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to do any such thing.”

“Yes, well, you did.” Lady Malcolm sniffed. “And I heard him claim an acquaintance with us, but I cannot recall in the least laying eyes on him before.”

“It must have been at one of the balls this season or last,” said Eliza, sickened by the idea of lying to her mother. “Perhaps I danced with him and he remembers it.”

“No.” Lady Malcolm dropped the brush onto the vanity. “I would remember it. I remember everyone you have danced with, my dear. That Mr. Turold stood up with you once, you recall.”

“Did he?” said Eliza, delighted to turn the conversation away from Henry Rowland. “I thought he looked familiar.”
He
had claimed no acquaintance, however—probably just as happy to forget a girl he had danced with once and would never speak to again.

“Consider your behavior tomorrow, child,” said Lady Malcolm, walking over to the door of the chamber. “You would not wish to ruin your chances with the duke through over-friendliness to the wrong party.”

Eliza grimaced. No one had ever accused her of over-friendliness before. “I did not think you cared for the duke or his suit, Mother.”

“Perhaps I was over-hasty,” said Lady Malcolm, her fingers pausing on the handle of the door. “He is courteous and well-spoken, and not so opposed to religion or godly living as I originally thought.” She looked at her daughter with a wry smile. “Your father was not dissimilar when first we were married.”

And not so dissimilar now, thought Eliza, but kept it to herself. She said goodnight to her mother and, left to herself, walked aimlessly over to the window, watching the sun begin to set over the forested horizon.

Ruin her chances with the duke? It was Lord Henry who was aspiring to do exactly that. And her mother was right—she must be more careful, for he was well on his way to succeeding. It was surely for the best that he was not attending church with them tomorrow, for she doubted whether she would be able to keep her mind on the sermon with Henry Rowland in the same pew.

6

H
enry went to bed irritable and awoke early the next morning without his mood having improved. He stared up at the canopy over his bed. “I am not fond of Reverend Ansel’s preaching.” What a bumblebroth he’d made of things! He imagined Miss Malcolm’s pretty, puzzled face curling into a sneer of derision. And the worst part was that it was about as far from the truth as Sussex from Northumbria. Reverend Ansel was a masterful preacher. He liked the man—he was simply afraid to face him.

Henry threw back the covers and kicked one of his pillows over the side of the bed. Why was he wasting his time playing games with Rufus? He should have gone back to the Blue Boar, shared a pint with Ned, and already been on his way at daybreak.

He found Frederick, the footman-turned-valet, waiting at his door with a freshly brushed pair of Hessians. Henry had packed one clean shirt, and the footman removed it from the cavernous wardrobe.

“Will you be breaking your fast before church, my lord?”

Henry yanked the white cambric shirt over his head and closed the buttons over his broad chest. “Yes, a quick breakfast and then I must be off.” He refrained from mentioning that it was the metropolis, not the church, that was his intended destination. “Will you pack my satchel and send it downstairs? I’ll not be back to the house.”

“Of course, sir,” replied Frederick with a hint of surprise in his voice. But he did not ask why—the mark of a good servant, noted Henry approvingly.

Still in a fit of blue devils, Henry fastened his cravat—a quick, serviceable knot—and shrugged into yesterday’s jacket, a far more comfortable fit than the blue dinner jacket from last night. With Frederick’s help, he slipped his Hessians on over his pantaloons, and snatching up his beaver, he headed down the hall and towards the stairway. The morning was young, and with any luck he would be out of the house before any of the other inhabitants had woken.

Voices behind one of the closed doors gave him pause. He glanced at the dark wood door—it was Rufus’ chamber, but it was a woman’s voice inside. Frowning, Henry put an ear to the door. “Please, your grace. Let go of me.”

Henry stepped back in time to be a couple paces down the hallway when the door opened. A blond-haired girl stepped out in a dark dress with her apron somewhat askew. In one hand she gripped an empty porcelain pitcher and with the other she pulled the door closed.

She started at seeing Henry in the corridor, her blue eyes as panicked as a doe in flight. Putting a finger to his lips, Henry put his other hand under her elbow and steered her down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Constance, isn’t it?” he asked, once they were a safe distance away from his brother’s room.

“Yes,” she said, her lip trembling a little. Henry let go of her arm, and she tried to put her apron back to rights.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Henry. “Is this the first time that my brother the duke has…bothered you?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Have you told Mrs. Forsythe?”

“No, but even if I did, what could she do, sir?” Her eyes began to mist a little, and Henry was afraid she would burst into tears.

“A very good deal, my dear.” Henry pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to the maid. “She can send another maid to fill his wash basin, someone much plainer than you, and keep you out of his way altogether. Or if you fear for your virtue, she can give you a reference to find another position.”

“Thank you kindly, your lordship,” said the maid, “but I can’t think where else I would go. And my parents need me to keep my place and earn my wages, for I’m the oldest with a dozen still at home.”

“I might be able to help you there,” said Henry, patting her arm encouragingly. She managed a smile and handed him back the handkerchief.

The sound of a footstep arrested them both, and looking behind them, they found they were being observed by another of the house’s occupants. The blond maid bobbed a quick curtsey to Henry, and darted off with her porcelain pitcher, while Henry found himself a few yards away from a flustered Miss Malcolm.

* * *

“Good morning,” said Lord Henry.
Eliza saw him give a fleeting glimpse to the pretty maid making her exit.

“G-good morning,” said Eliza. She had never witnessed a gentleman on such familiar terms with one of the domestics—the way he had touched her arm, and shared his handkerchief with her…it crossed all bounds of propriety!

Eliza looked down at the floral carpet of the corridor and forged ahead toward the head of the staircase.

“Going to breakfast?” asked Lord Henry. He had advanced as well and was now matching his own stride with hers as they came down the stairs.

“Yes,” said Eliza, biting her lip. How dare he try to accompany her! Her mother had been right. She must keep her distance from this man.

“May I join you then?” said Lord Henry, offering her that same smile he had been giving the maid only a few moments earlier.

Eliza paused on the stairs. “Lord Henry,” she said quietly, “I must confess, I would prefer it if you did not.”

He stared at her, his brown eyes nearly on a level with her green ones. Then, lifting his beaver, he made her a slight bow. “I salute you, Miss Malcolm. You’ve finally found the courage to speak your mind. Don’t let it desert you, for you’ll need it in this house.”

And with that, he turned his back on her and descended the stairs at a fast clip. Eliza watched him disappear through the saloon, and a few seconds later, the front door slammed, with far more force than was necessary.

* * *

“Traveling on a Sunday, your
lordship?” said Ned, eyebrows raised.

“Dash it all, yes!” replied Henry. Since the breakfast table at Harrowhaven—or rather, Miss Malcolm—had rejected his presence, he had stopped in at the Blue Boar to break his fast before he began his ride.

“What’s back in London that’s so urgent?” Ned asked. He leaned his elbow on the counter and placed his bearded chin in his hand. “A pretty young lady, is it?”

Henry scowled. “Hardly.” He took a forkful of salt pork and thrust it into his mouth. Normally he liked to bandy conversation with Ned, but the morning’s events had made him indelibly cross with the world. How had Miss Malcolm contrived to come upon him at exactly the wrong instant? She must think him a rake, through and through…and all when Rufus was really the one to blame.

He dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Ned—where pretty young ladies are concerned, it’s best to tip your hat and walk the other way.”

“Ah,” said Ned, scenting a story behind the foul mood. “Rumor has it there’s a pretty young lady up at the big house….”

“I will neither confirm nor deny your rumors.”

“So it’s true then,” said Ned. His eyes sparkled. “Blonde, is she?”

“Auburn.”

“With blue eyes?”

“Green.”

“And yea high?” Ned held his hand a little above the counter.

“Quite tall actually,” said Henry. “Willowy. But you knew that already, I suspect.”

Ned nodded. “I did have a description of her from Jimmy—the second footman, an’ you’ll recall. ’Twas his night off last night and he spent it here.”

“And what else did
Jimmy
tell you?”

“That his grace’s younger brother was most friendly with the young lady. It seems he knew her in London, and she was the reason he stopped in at Harrowhaven.”

Henry laughed. One forgot how much the servants liked to talk. His little deception would have spread all over the village by now.

“Yes, well, the young lady was less than friendly with his grace’s brother. And due to some unfortunate circumstances, she thinks him an irreligious libertine not worth associating with.”

Ned whistled. “Seems the poor girl has the brothers a mite confused.”

Henry took a swig of ale. “Seems that way.” He slapped a coin down on the counter and stood up to take his leave.

“Aw, come now, your lordship,” said Ned, stowing the money in his chest, “it’d be a pity to leave now and leave the poor girl in such a state of befuddlement.”

“You know me, Ned,” said Henry, snatching up his hat that lay on the counter, “always one to run rather than face the music.” He looked away, his face a little pained.

“I don’t know as I’d hold with that, your lordship. The measure of a man’s not taken in one single moment.”

Henry gave a noncommittal grunt and headed for the door. It was kind of Ned to say, but his own conscience knew better, and had known better for the last ten years.

* * *

Eliza had ample time to
be alone with her thoughts at the empty breakfast table. She stirred her chocolate slowly, trying to recover from the unpleasant encounter upstairs. Lord Henry had not seemed embarrassed in the slightest to be caught with his hand on that maid’s arm. And what did he mean when he encouraged her to continue speaking her mind?

She frowned. What did it matter? She must follow her mother’s advice and stop thinking about that odious man.

The door opened and Eliza saw Mr. Blount entering the dining room.

“Good morning!” he said, helping himself to some eggs and bacon from the sideboard and sitting down diagonally from her at the large table. “How are you this morning, Miss Malcolm?”

“Very well, thank you.” Eliza took a sip of her chocolate. Mr. Blount had barely spoken three words to her yesterday, but he seemed kind enough. “Will the rest of the family be down soon, do you think?”

Mr. Blount grinned. “Well, I should imagine that Lady Adele will take breakfast in her room.”

Eliza smiled. Yes, she could not imagine Adele getting out of her bed any sooner than she had to.

“And I hear the duchess has been keeping to her room as well ever since…well, ever since she has been out of sorts. The duke was up ’til all hours playing cards with Turold and Curtis—I bowed out once the small hours of the morning began to chime—so it’ll be no small feat to roll them out of their bedclothes. But Henry’s an early riser, and I imagine he’ll be down soon enough.”

Eliza flinched. “Lord Henry has already come and gone.”

“Oh?” Stephen popped a bite of eggs in his mouth. “Gone for good, you mean?”

“It seemed that way.”

“Wish he’d stopped in to say good-bye, but no matter. Expect he has business back in town.”

Eliza set her cup down carefully. “What business is that, Mr. Blount?” She felt unusually forthright asking such a question, but her curiosity had got the better of her, and besides, Mr. Blount seemed…safe.

Stephen looked up from his plate apologetically. “I’m sorry, I can’t really say. He…doesn’t like it talked of.”

“Oh, of course,” said Eliza with a blush. She might have known the question was too bold. Doesn’t like it talked of? She wondered if it was something unsavory—like managing a gambling hell or…worse.

“But seeing as how you’re such good friends, you should ask him yourself!” said Mr. Blount enthusiastically. “Next time you see him, that is.”

Eliza murmured something non-distinct. She could sense no hint of sarcasm in Mr. Blount’s voice—he was really very kind, and very trusting. “How long have you known the Rowlands?”

“I’ve known Henry nearly half a dozen years. We were at Oxford together.”

“And…Lady Adele?” asked Eliza, having the pleasure of seeing someone else besides herself turn red in the cheeks.

“Just since the beginning of the season—nearly a year now, I suppose.” Mr. Blount looked down at his plate with a bashful smile. “Has she mentioned me at all?”

“Yes, with the utmost consideration,” said Eliza reassuringly—although she did not know how considerate it was to consider throwing someone over if a better match presented itself.

“It is rather a gamble,” said Mr. Blount confidingly, “to aim for a star so high above me, but Henry gave me reason to believe that he would not frown on the match, unequal as it might be.”

“And the duke?” asked Eliza, much more interested in
his
opinion than Lord Henry’s.

“Well, I had thought Brockenhurst might quibble at my lack of fortune, but then again,”—Mr. Blount looked at Eliza in her plain pale blue dress—“perhaps he is not so opposed to an unequal match as I had thought.”

Eliza did not know how to answer that, but fortunately, the dining room doors swung open and she did not have to.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” said Sir Arthur, with Lady Malcolm on his arm. Eliza’s father helped himself to a full plate, the hearty fare much more plentiful than what they had to break their fast in London.

Lady Malcolm, on the other hand, contented herself with a muffin and some tea. “I hope they have already ordered the carriage,” she said with a sniff. In town, the Malcolms always arrived at Sunday services with at least a quarter of an hour to spare. Lady Malcolm did not approve of being late.

“I am sure the duke will have everything in order, Mama,” said Eliza.

“Of course he will!” said Sir Arthur, amidst a mouthful of sausage. He eyed the sideboard lovingly. “He’s a good man, Brockenhurst! A good man!”

* * *

Henry mounted his horse and,
setting his back to the Blue Boar, headed north up the main road. With fast riding, he would be in London before noon. He would stop in at Maurice’s on Bond Street and make sure all was well and perhaps pay a visit to Mr. Maurice himself to assure him of the fact.

London would be dull now that the season was over, but then he was always used to spending his summers at Harrowhaven. Boyhood habits died slowly. A pity the old house was forbidden country for him now, except for the occasional visit he could steal behind Rufus’ back or underneath his nose.

Was it only yesterday morning that he had walked through the entrance hall and found Miss Malcolm frozen there against a column like the statue of some virgin goddess? He had hoped that the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves would drive that picture out of his head, but instead, it only seemed to set Ned’s words to a regular rhythm in his memory: “It’d be a pity to leave now and leave the poor girl in such a state of befuddlement.”

Yes, well, it was not his duty to mend matters that were none of his own making.