Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1)

by Rebecca J. Greenwood

  After she finished, the marchioness encouraged Eliza to play one more. When that was completed, Eliza allowed her guilt to push her off the pianoforte bench.

  She moved to stand near him, her hands clasped before her.

  He looked up at her with guarded eyes.

  She stiffened her spine. “Perhaps you would take a turn around the room with me, Lord Daniel?”

  A light came into his expression, and he jumped up. He offered his arm. She forced herself to take it.

  They made one circuit around the drawing room before he led her to a set of chairs at an easy conversing distance, but across the room from his stepmother and sister. They sat.

  “I wish to beg your pardon, Lord Daniel. I apologize for being rude.”

  “No need. If you do not wish—”

  “No, it would be good to converse, to discuss . . . everything.”

  Chapter 17

  Eliza clasped her hands in her lap, keeping herself straight and away from the tufted chair back, as much as she might want to collapse against it in exhaustion from the day.

  The soft light from the candelabra on a sideboard near them lit Lord Daniel’s face and cast a warm glow onto the golden waves of his dark blond hair. He rubbed his hands over the top of his legs in a nervous gesture. “Let me say again how happy I am that you are here.”

  “You and your family have been most gracious to me.” Eliza forced herself to give a small smile. She ought to be full of gratitude.

  He nodded, a worried crease between his eyes. “What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

  She shook her head. How could she ever be comfortable? Perhaps if she could just retreat to the room she had been assigned and stay there a while in solitude, she might gain some new sort of equilibrium.

  “I was sorry to hear of your mother’s death. So soon after your grandfather’s,” he said. “You have had much loss.”

  Her hands clenched. If that was his attempt at a conversation meant to put her at ease, he had no skill in conversation. “Yes.”

  “And there is no one left of your immediate family?”

  “I have aunts and uncles and cousins in various parts of the country, but most have been uninterested in housing me.”

  At his concerned frown, she relented and elaborated. “Because Grandfather’s dukedom is contested, there is no head of the family on my mother’s side at present, just feuding cousins. I was grateful to be taken in by my father’s side.”

  “You were with the Broughtons—”

  “Mr. Broughton inherited my family estate, Arne Park, after my father died. Once my grandfather and mother passed and I could no longer stay at Lyon Manor, the Broughtons were willing for me to return, as it was my childhood home.”

  His eyes were sad and gentle. “I am sorry you have been left so alone, Eliza.”

  She looked away from him. It was old news and old hurts. She did not wish the pain to rise up again. She pushed down at the emotion that formed a lump in her throat.

  “And you have been on the Continent at war?”

  “Yes.” He recounted some of the battles he’d fought in. “But let’s not talk of war any further. I am a soldier of necessity and duty. I prefer happier topics.”

  Eliza frowned. If battle was only duty to him, why had he threatened a duel with Crewkerne?

  Expect my second.

  The witnessed words rang through her head once again, causing her stomach to roil with anxiety. The urge to confront Daniel about his proposed duel rose up in her throat. She stuffed the words down, pinched her lips over them. She clenched her hands. A hopeless feeling of vulnerability rolled over her, tightening her shoulders. If he got himself killed in an idiotic duel, she would be thrust into the world unprotected once again.

  She could not speak of it. She cast about for some other topic.

  “You were injured once, were you not?”

  “Only one time with consequence. A saber wound in the spring of 1812. I was injured just enough to be sent home to convalesce, but not enough to keep me home for more than a few months. I joined my family in London for the Season with every intention to enjoy the brightness of society while I could.”

  “That is when you attended my come-out ball, did you not?”

  “Yes, it was my honor to dance with you one set, a country dance.”

  “Ah, a country dance.” She cast back in her mind, trying to recall details. “I apologize, I scarce remember. That evening is a blur—”

  He gave a self-deprecating laugh and waved a dismissive hand. “Very understandable. You had many young men vying for your favor that night. I was no one remarkable among so many.”

  She pinched her lips together. He gave her a rueful half-smile.

  “Forgive me, but there is something I do not understand.” She hesitated. He waited. She decided to forge ahead.

  “You claim you have been enamored of me for long years. But, if that was so, why did you not . . . ?”

  “Why did I not join the swains dancing attendance on you, each hoping to win your favor and your hand?” He lifted a brow.

  She blinked, inclined her head in a slight nod. That life seemed another person entirely.

  His lips tightened. “The painful reality was that there was no money for me to marry. Officers’ pay is not enough for a fine lady to live on.” He cast his eyes downward, clenched his fists over his knees. “If I had pursued you at your come-out, you would have had the privilege of rejecting me.” He quirked a smile, but his eyes stayed downcast. “Or your grandfather the duke would have. I am a penniless second son, despite the rank of my family. I could offer you nothing but myself, and myself was pledged to the army, to die at their command.” His lips twisted.

  That was a dire statement. “Oh, surely not. . .”

  “It felt that way. I would not do that to the lady of my heart.” He lifted his eyes.

  Eliza’s breath caught in her throat.

  “So I loved you from afar.”

  “Love?” she questioned.

  His eyes softened. “Though it was but calf-love, it lingered long and has never left me.” His eyes were deep and blue, and Eliza could not look away.

  “I danced that one dance with you and did not pursue more. But, Eliza,” he gave his tender half-smile, “I cherished those scant memories: the few times we have danced, the few hours we were in the same room at the same events. I have held to them in ways that must seem foolish.”

  She averted her eyes. It was discomfiting to discover that interactions that had not stood out to her in any particular way were memories he cherished. It made her feel guilty they had not affected her in a similar way. Guilt was not an emotion she wished more of.

  “I apologize. Those dances were only dances with an agreeable young man.” She searched her mind for any more details she could connect with him. “Oh yes, I seem to remember you caught me once when I stumbled. You helped me regain my footing most kindly.”

  “You were dancing with a Mr. Cole, I believe. A man most unworthy of you.” His eyes crinkled.

  “Oh, a Mr. Cole.” She certainly didn’t remember in such detail. “I apologize, Lord Daniel,“ she tightened her clasped hands, “but our interactions that Season did not stand out to me otherwise . . .”

  “That’s all right. It’s understandable.” He held up a placating hand. “Don’t worry. But I wanted you to know, so you can better understand why I am happy to marry you.”

  She tensed but inclined her head. “I am honored by your regard.”

  He smiled. It was gentle and warm, and her heart fluttered strangely under the soft glow of it.

  “What are you two discussing?” Florentia popped up between them. “Is it wedding plans? I would love to hear wedding plans. Will you be calling the banns? Or will you be picking up a license, Daniel? Oh, tell me it will be by license!” She clapped her hands together.

  Eliza blinked at her, panic rising in her throat. Banns. Wedding plans.

  Daniel opened his m
outh, but the marchioness said, “Florentia, dear, could you fetch me my blue shawl from my dressing room? I feel a chill.”

  Florentia frowned. The marchioness raised her eyebrows with an innocent-looking expression. Florentia looked between them all, and her shoulders lowered. “Yes, Stepmama.” She slouched out of the room.

  “And stand up straight, my dear.” The marchioness gave them a small smile and went back to her needlework.

  Daniel chuckled, shifted in his seat. “I was surprised you lasted that Season unwed.”

  Was that a safer topic? Eliza supposed there was little better. “I was . . . particular, my mother said. But I do think it was more tied to being overwhelmed, and a gluttony of choice. They blurred together, and no gentleman stood out as an agreeable companion for life. I accepted no proposals that Season. And after that, my grandmother and then my grandfather died, and our lack of finances became evident.”

  “I am familiar with that experience. A hard blow.”

  She blinked at him, but he offered no more details. She pushed herself to continue.

  “I was in mourning, continually, for years. After that, no acceptable gentlemen were interested.”

  “What did your mother and you do?”

  “We had been living with Grandfather since my father died, but after Grandmother passed, his health failed quickly. We knew it wouldn’t be long and that when he died . . .”

  “The duke had no official heir.”

  “There is rumored to be an American heir, actually, whose father was on the wrong side of the war with the colonies, but that man cannot be found. Several with a more distant link are currently appealing to Parliament for the dukedom to be granted to them, though a clear winner has not been determined. While my mother was alive, her relatives were content for her to remain at the ducal seat, but after she died, and with the dukedom in dispute, I could stay there no longer. I joined my father’s heir and his family.”

  Lord Daniel reached out and touched her hand. A strange, uncomfortable frisson of energy went through her. She withdrew from the connection. He looked away, gathered his hands back into himself, clasped them before him in his lap. “That must have been difficult.”

  “My childhood home was not mine anymore, but I was grateful for a place. They took me in, and for that, they forever deserve my gratitude.”

  His jaw tightened, his brows lowered, and he looked at her sidelong. “Was it also generous of your cousins to bring you to London for the Season?”

  “Yes, it was. And it was a surprise, actually. I didn’t know I was invited until a few days before. It had been formerly planned that I would stay in the country.” She had been looking forward to the quiet time with only childhood friends and tenants to visit, and none but servants at home to disturb her peace. Why, it would have felt like being a lady of the manor for the first time since childhood, rather than the poor relation in her childhood home.

  But Mrs. Broughton had insisted.

  “I hadn’t been back to London in so long, I was excited, despite . . .”

  “Despite?”

  “There were only funds to outfit my cousins for the Season, none for the poor relation.” She lifted one cheek in a strained smile.

  He looked at her with a confused expression. “This is what I do not understand. You were a great heiress at your come-out. There should be plenty of funds to keep you in gowns and pin-money, no matter what family you live with by necessity.”

  “Tales of the richness of my dowry were exaggerated, even to me.” She averted her gaze. It was one of her greatest shames. Her formerly impressive dowry was gone, squandered by her own family’s lives of excess. After their deaths there was nothing left for her.

  She sighed. “I suppose I should not say it that way. Had my Grandfather Lyonstone lived to see me wed, I’m sure he would have supplied what my father’s estate could not. He sponsored my come-out and court presentation. But now there is no one to distribute largess to any the estate is not already legally required to.”

  He frowned.

  “And I doubt either of the Lyonstone contenders, if they are ever able to prevail over the other in gaining the dukedom, will be interested in providing for a lone descendant of the former duke.” She couldn’t look at Lord Daniel. “I am, quite bluntly, dowerless and penniless.”

  Which had made her very unmarriageable, doomed to be an ignored spinster for the rest of her life.

  Though there had been a few gentlemen who had shown interest in her while she’d lived with the Broughtons. Why, there had been one just before she had left for London. Their neighbor Sir Richard Bentley was older, a widower, but he had been kind, and he wasn’t in need of a second wife with dowry.

  Her heart hadn’t been touched, but the mere possibility of becoming the mistress of her own home had her spirits lifting in hope, despite the vast difference in their ages.

  But he surely would have lost interest soon. It was the story of her life at Arne Park. The few times a country gentleman had shown interest in Eliza, it soon waned.

  None had lasted.

  Had they been discouraged?

  The day after her twenty-first birthday, when she was finally at her majority and could marry without her cousin Mr. Broughton’s permission, she was turned out of their house. Eliza frowned.

  “But the settlements . . .” Lord Daniel leaned forward, catching her eyes. “That does not seem right to me. Your cousins, they have your father’s estate and lands, and the income from them, do they not?”

  “Yes, through entailment, but very encumbered. There was no money left for my portion.”

  “Do you know how it became encumbered?”

  “Debts.” She waved a dismissive hand.

  “Yes. I know much about encumbered estates, and the law associated with them.” He leaned his chin on his fist, looking into the distance. He sat back, shook his head. “No matter. I’m sorry, Eliza, but we shall be poor together.”

  She smiled a small smile and dragged words forward. She ought to be grateful. She was grateful. “That is a thousand times richer than I was yesterday. Thank you, Lord Daniel.”

  His warm half-smile appeared. Her eyes lingered on the sweet curl of his lips. She pulled her gaze away.

  “I would be happy for you to call me Daniel.” He leaned forward even closer, his eyes hopeful.

  She swallowed, forced her lips to upturn. It was silly not to use Christian names with this man who she had agreed to marry. “Daniel. And you may call me Eliza.”

  “Eliza,” he breathed out with an almost reverent tone. A grin spread over his face, lightened his blue eyes. Then his expression turned tentative. “Eliza.” He placed his hand over hers. She stared at it. “Might we discuss when our marriage should take place—”

  At his words, panic closed her throat, her shoulders tensed, and she pulled her hand away. She cast her eyes about, seeking an escape that didn’t exist.

  He stopped, withdrew his touch.

  “Or we can wait. Later then? After the ball?”

  She looked down, both ashamed and relieved. “That would be . . .” She sucked in a breath. “I would prefer that, thank you.”

  She felt his eyes on her, and the weight of his expectations.

  He shifted.

  “And at the ball, I want to assure you, you have nothing to fear. I will stay by your side as much as possible.”

  She nodded. It was a relief to hear.

  “Eliza.” He sat forward, placing his face near hers, and spoke softly. She wanted to pull back—he was so close—but held herself still.

  “I just . . . I want to reassure you, that though I have entered into this out of affection for . . .” He looked down, then back up at her with full earnestness in his expression. “Out of affection, I understand you have entered into it of necessity. I know this. I will respect that, and you. I will not . . . expect anything of you, until you are ready.”

  She opened her mouth but could find no words. She swallowed against the t
ightness of her throat and inclined her head.

  He didn’t try to take her hand again.

  * * *

  Daniel waited for Frederick to come home, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion.

  It had been a thrilling day. This evening he had exulted in the freedom of being able to lean towards Eliza, to talk in a low voice, and be almost private with her. But she was still wary of him and ill-at-ease. She did not welcome his hand on hers.

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The only tools in his possession were kindness and time. How much time could he afford to give her?

  He loosened his cravat and undid several buttons.

  When Frederick finally appeared, it was after two in the morning.

  “Frederick,” Daniel called out. Frederick entered the drawing room, and raised a brow.

  His brother’s cravat was still pristine. Not even a hint of stubble marred his precise features, no redness in his eyes hinted at the lateness of the hour. “Daniel. I heard of your escapades of the day.”

  “All of London knows?”

  “Rumors and speculation abound, but my source was reliable. I met with Thomas at supper at the Kirkpatricks’ and he gave me the true details.”

  “Good, then I need not spend time telling you. But listen to this.” Daniel sat forward. “Eliza claims her dowry has been swallowed up in debts, that there is no money for her. I can understand it from the maternal line, but from the paternal . . . I remember hearing something of her dowry at her come-out, and the stories do not align.

  “Yes, that is odd.” Frederick’s eyes narrowed.

  “Is it time to consult our solicitor?”

  “Yes. I will pursue this for you, Daniel.”

  Chapter 18

  Daniel hid from the bustling preparations for that night’s ball at a desk in the library. He stared at his ledger, running figures on a scrap of paper, evaluating how best to stretch his half-pay and his uncle’s five hundred pound largess into supporting two people for as long as possible.

  The door to the library banged open. Rapid steps approached.