"No, no." Anne shook her head. "Do you remember when I married Kingston? Mother was determined that the wedding would outshine everyone else's." She frowned, remembering.
Kingston had agreed with her mother, and spent money freely. Then, when the wedding was over, he hadn't allowed Anne to forget for a minute how much money he'd spent. "I want all the focus to be on Eva during the season,” she said.
Today, the winter sun had broken through the clouds for a moment. Soon it would be spring, and everyone would return to London.
Lady Tertsville had ordered that her carriage stop so that she could speak to one of her cronies. The wind was cold, so Anne kept her horse moving.
Glancing beyond Lady Tertsville's carriage, she recognized Mrs. Wentworth and Belinda in a smart carriage with an older gentleman. She nodded politely, then rode to the carriage when Mrs. Wentworth beckoned her. The two women were dressed in the latest stare of fashion, both in carriage dresses from Madame Lola’s.
"Oh Lady Kingston!" Mrs. Wentworth cooed. "How wonderful that you're here. Where's Miss Bywater?"
"Miss Bywater is still at Gostwicke Hall. The town's quiet now, but she'll be joining me soon."
"Allow me to present to you Sir Leeke-Harris, of Breydon Park — he and my darling Belinda married last week."
Anne congratulated Sir Leeke-Harris and wished Belinda all happiness. She was careful to keep her expression bland and smiling. However, inwardly she cringed. His lordship had to be in his sixties.
Belinda smirked, and Mrs. Wentworth looked well-satisfied. "I'll send you an invitation to our first dinner party. His lordship insists that Belinda take her place among the ton. I hope that you'll come to us."
Anne had no intention of promising anything of the sort. To distract Mrs. Wentworth, she commented on the ladies' carriage dresses. Mrs. Wentworth's plum-colored wool pelisse had a narrow green stripe. Anne asked where she found the material — it was such fine wool, and surely the pattern was in the latest Parisian fashion?
Mrs. Wentworth was only too happy to talk about clothes, and after a suitable interval, Anne escaped without promising to visit Belinda and her husband.
Lady Tertsville's carriage moved off, and Anne followed.
When they returned to Delmere House, Lady Tertsville chuckled. "Belinda Wentworth has done very well for herself. Sir Leeke-Harris if you please! He's a new widower, and I'm convinced it's not a full year since his wife died. It's scandalous. But I'm pleased that Belinda Wentworth won't be constantly on the doorstep with her mother shoving her in Delmere's way."
A couple of weeks later, Anne was in her small sitting room, stitching with Catherine, when Lord Delmere called.
Lord Delmere had returned to London while Mr. Renford remained in Bristol. They'd found no trace of Lord Wallwood.
"He was definitely in Bristol," Delmere told Anne. "He was seen several times. I'm convinced that he took ship." Determined to find him, Delmere had spoken to the Home Secretary. Wallwood would be a hunted man no matter where he went.
Catherine was pleased to see that nothing about Eva had appeared in the gossip sheets or in the newspapers. "There's talk," she said. "That was inevitable. But Wallwood's vanished, and Eva's back in town… and you're betrothed to Delmere. That's taken everyone's attention."
Preparations for the wedding proceeded quickly. Although Melly and Linton remained in Scotland, Mrs. Eardley was coming to town. The Duke of Sommerforth and Elaine were returning to town too.
Catherine made an excuse, and left Delmere and Anne alone.
He rose from his chair, sat beside her on the sofa, and took her small hand in his larger one.
His hand was very warm. Anne met his gaze, and smiled.
"Well Lady Delmere-to-be," he said. He lifted her hand to his lips, then drew her into the strength of his arms.
She chuckled.
He gazed down at her. "Yes?"
"I was thinking about when we met — when you brought Eva to me. I thought you were very tall, and not handsome at all — but I quickly changed my mind about that, and realized that you were very handsome indeed."
"As is very proper," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple, and moving towards her mouth. "I'm pleased that you think so."
"And I giggled. I never giggle," she said. Then she lifted her hands to his head, kissed him, and forgot everything.
Preview, The Lady And The Duke: A Dangerous Season
Please enjoy this preview of the second book in the Eardleys of Gostwicke Hall series, The Lady And The Duke: A Dangerous Season (Elaine's story.)
The Lady And The Duke: A Dangerous Season (Elaine's story)
The Eardleys Of Gostwicke Hall, Book 2
by Penelope Redmont
November, 1815, Gostwicke Hall, England
One cold, dark November day, Sir Oliver Destry called on Elaine Eardley at Gostwicke Hall. At 18, Elaine felt that she was truly grown up. She never imagined that growing up could include a broken heart.
When Sir Oliver told Elaine that he'd offered for her friend Lady Foxton, she felt her heart crack in her chest. That odd sensation — a distinct crack, an inner sound — distracted her so much that for a few moments, she couldn't make sense of what he'd said.
Luckily, Elaine was alone when Sir Oliver called. He'd sent her mother a letter, but arrived a day early. Elaine imagined that she knew why Sir Oliver was calling. He intended to offer for her. Elaine and Denise, her maid, had giggled together, planning Elaine's wonderful future wardrobe as a married lady — Lady Destry.
They teased her sister Anne with so many demands that Catherine, Elaine's formidable eldest sister, snapped at Elaine to take that stack of rubbish from La Belle Assemblée to her rooms at once.
Denise scrambled to pick up the fashion plates then hurried from the room.
Rubbish? Elaine, in a huff, glared at Catherine.
Catherine ignored her. Elaine had almost closed the sitting room doors when she heard Catherine telling Anne that of all the Eardley women, Elaine was the silliest. "I'd rather Henry, with her everlasting talk of horses than Elaine, who has nothing in her head but frippery."
Mrs. Eardley, Anne, and Catherine, had driven out to pay calls on neighboring families and were staying overnight with friends. They didn't know about Elaine's feelings for Sir Oliver. They must never know, she decided immediately.
"Felicity. You mean to marry Felicity," she said the words, and tried to understand.
Then Elaine realized that Sir Oliver had never intended to offer for her. So why had he kissed her?
She stared at Sir Oliver. He always looked perfectly elegant and perfectly at ease. She saw a tall, lean man, a decade older than she, very handsome — he was said to be the handsomest man in England. He wore his blond hair in the latest Brutus mode. His blue riding jacket moulded tightly to his broad shoulders. His shirt-points were stiff, and a diamond sparkled in the middle of his perfectly arranged cravat.
Why hadn't she listened to Catherine? Sir Oliver was a close friend of Catherine's husband, Major Grove. Catherine didn't like Sir Oliver and scornfully referred to him as that "preening, debt-ridden, dangerous fool."
Elaine longed to rip his cravat from his throat,and strangle him with it. Then rake her nails over his even features. His calmly confident demeanor, which she had once admired, now enraged her, but she was determined that he would never know how much he affected her, and how disappointed she was.
"If I led you to believe —"
"You kissed me."
"And I apologized for it, did I not?" His blue eyes were as kind as they had always been, but she saw something else — a flash of anger.
Or had she seen that? When she met his gaze, he shook his head. Perhaps she had imagined the anger. "I see."
"You don't see at all, my dear, how can you?" He sighed, his voice soothing. "I'd forgotten how young you are. I never intended to give you the impression that I cared for you other than as my darling Felicity's good friend. I thought you knew that Feli
city and I…"
He paced across the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
Why did she feel as if she were watching a performance?
"My father arranged with old Foxton that I would marry Felicity. It was agreed, almost from her birth," he said, not looking at her. "Robert Baynes, her guardian, called on me two weeks ago. Felicity is turned 18, so he demanded to know my intentions. It's done. Felicity and I are betrothed. We will marry next year."
He hesitated. "Lowther Hall marches with Foxton Park," he said, a strange note in his low voice.
Lowther Hall was Sir Oliver's estate, and now Felicity would be its mistress. Elaine swallowed heavily. So it was about money. Sir Oliver would marry Felicity and gain another estate.
She put her hand on her chest, trying to soothe the ache there.
Later, Elaine blamed her disorientation for what she said next. Her world had changed and she couldn't take it in. "But you love me."
"I don't," he said quickly.
If he hadn't flushed, and looked away, out of the window, she might have believed him.
"You needn't have come to Gostwicke Hall. I didn't tell anyone that you made love to me." She'd meant her mother and sisters to be surprised when she told them about Sir Oliver's offer.
Now she must keep this humiliating secret of his betrayal.
He glanced at her, and his lips tilted upward as he mocked her gently. "Dear one… Yes, I kissed you — but what's a few kisses? That's hardly making love, and I never thought that those kisses meant anything to you… But I am pleased that you said nothing to Mrs. Grove." He looked relieved.
In that moment, Elaine almost hated him. How dare he mock her?
"What of Felicity?" He asked. "You didn't tell her that I…?"
"Of course not," she snapped.
Ten minutes later, he was gone. Elaine watched him riding down the long driveway, out of the Hall's gates, and out of her life.
"Ma'am, I am so sorry," Denise said, when Elaine told her that Sir Oliver was marrying her best friend. "You are désolé. What a fiend this man is!"
Elaine stared at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. Twin spots of color high on her cheeks brought out the intense indigo blue of her eyes. "No one must ever know that I was jilted," she said. "Promise me?"
Denise took the pins from Elaine's mane of flame-red red hair. "Of course, but you were not jilted. You cannot say that. He did not offer for you, so —"
"No, he didn't offer for me — but he gave me to understand that he would. Or at least, I think that he did."
Elaine tried to remember what he'd said.
Then she winced. She was just like Melly. Her sister Melisande had spent years imagining herself betrothed to their neighbor at The Oaks, Lord Talverne. No one in the family had taken Melly seriously. They'd never believed that Talverne had offered for her.
Heat moved from her neck to her forehead, and rested in a dull ache behind her eyes. At least she hadn't told anyone. Other than Denise. How would she survive watching Felicity prepare for her marriage, and marry Sir Oliver?
"Denise, you will keep this secret. Please say nothing to Catherine, or to Mother, or to Anne — to no one. When Catherine asks, you will say that Sir Oliver called, and that you were with me in the drawing room. We chatted about his betrothal, and I congratulated him. That's all."
Denise paled. "Of course, ma'am."
Elaine knew that Denise would keep her secret. Denise was terrified of Catherine.
She remembered her stay at Foxton Park. Oliver had kissed her in the rose garden, and in the shrubbery. Both times he'd pounced on her, dragged her into his arms, and pressed his lips against hers. She'd been outraged, but he'd merely laughed at her.
If he hadn't meant to offer for her at all, it meant that Elaine was a fool. And moreover, since she was so foolish that she'd allow any man who said pretty words to kiss her, it meant that she was fast.
Elaine was disgruntled. Fast young women was one of Catherine's favorite lectures. She'd delivered it to Melly, Elaine, and Henry, several times. She told them about what they might allow young men, and what constituted behavior that would make them fast, and thus completely beyond the pale.
Kisses? Even though Elaine was sure that she hadn't encouraged Sir Oliver in any way, if Catherine found out… But she wouldn't.
As her initial shock faded, Elaine's temper rose. Fast, was she? She'd see about that — and about Sir Oliver Destry. Catherine believed in vengeance, and so did Elaine.
"I intend that Sir Oliver will offer for me." Elaine stood up, and shook her head, so that her fiery hair tumbled down past her hips. She stared into the mirror, and ran her fingers through her curls.
"What — no, that is not possible, you said that Sir Oliver is now betrothed."
"Betrothals can be broken. He loves me. I know it, and I know that he will offer for me." She thought for a moment. "Felicity will be in London for the season, as will I. She'll be with Sir Oliver — and she will see him for the unprincipled wretch that he is. I'm set on it."
Denise dropped Elaine's silver hair brush onto the floor. "Ma'am, Lady Foxton is your friend, and I —"
"How long have I known Felicity?" Elaine had met Elaine at Mrs. Watford's School For Young Ladies when she was fifteen, and they'd been friends ever since. "Never once, in all these years, has Felicity ever hinted that she was all but betrothed to Sir Oliver."
If anything, Elaine reflected, Felicity had ensured that Elaine and Sir Oliver spent time together. "She's either very stupid — and granted that she's not all that clever — or she's a duplicitous minx. I imagine that she and Sir Oliver laughed at me."
"No ma'am — how could you say so? Lady Foxton is your friend."
Elaine picked up the brush, held out a streamer of her hair, then ran the brush through it. She glanced at Denise, who stared at her wide-eyed. "I'll do it. Sir Oliver will offer for me — and then I will refuse him."
Three days later, Elaine was riding out on the estate with Bendish, Gostwicke Hall's steward. She and Bendish were planning the Boxing Day Hunt.
The rain had gone. Cold weather set in.
William Eardley, Elaine's father, was the fifth son of the Duke of Arndlea. Her uncle now held the title, but Elaine had never met him. Although her father had long been estranged from his family, her father had kept up the ducal family's primary tradition and obsession: hunting.
Papa hunted in the shires, primarily Melton country, but always came home to Eardley Hall for the Boxing Day Hunt. After his death, Mrs. Eardley decided that they'd keep up the traditional hunt, in his memory.
Elaine eyed a brush fence, and smiled. She straightened her mount, Joy, to face the fence. She paused for a moment, so that the mare knew what she intended. Then she rode Joy at the fence.
Joy flew over it, and Elaine laughed out loud.
Although she'd felt downhearted for a few hours after Sir Oliver left Gostwicke Hall, she'd cheered herself up with her plan. As Catherine always said, the Eardleys never got angry. They got revenge, and she meant to have hers.
"It's a shame I can't ride properly on Boxing Day," she said to Bendish when he trotted up. She rode astride, in trousers. She'd never have managed that fence sidesaddle in a riding habit. Bendish was in his fifties, and used the gate into the field rather than jumping the fence.
He chuckled. "No ma'am, not at the hunt. It would be thought most unseemly."
"Beyond unseemly, I'd be ruined, even before my season," she grinned.
Then she stared and frowned. "Who's that?" Three riders watched them from a distance, at the crest of a hill.
Bendish stared too. "Strangers, and well mounted. Good big horses."
Even as Elaine turned her mount to ride away, one of the riders hallooed at them.
"Ride on — I'll speak with them," Bendish told her. "I'll meet you at the covert where I saw the vixen yesterday."
"No, I'll stay." Why not, she thought. "It will be all right."
The th
ree men were strangers, so she was unlikely to meet them again. Even if she did, her hair was tucked up safely under her hat, and her bulky jacket and trousers hid her form. A glance in the mirror before she left her dressing room had told her that she looked like a young man, not a female.
She settled her hat more securely, and adjusted her scarf, so that it covered most of her face.
Bendish looked at her sharply. "Miss Elaine?"
"It will be all right. You speak with them. I won't say a word."
As soon as her eyes met the intense gaze of the rider in the lead, Elaine forgot that she mustn't draw attention to herself. The gentleman had black hair and slate grey eyes which assessed her, Bendish, and their horses. Then his gaze returned to Elaine.
He wore a loose riding coat, but she was intensely aware of his broad shoulders and the length of his arms and legs. A big horse, as Bendish had said, and a very large and well-made man. For some reason, Elaine felt a flush heat her face. She looked away quickly.
"Mr. Bendish?" The stranger's voice was deep, his tone pleasant.
"Indeed sir. I am steward at Gostwicke Hall."
Bendish's tone was appropriately respectful. He'd noticed, as had Elaine, that the stranger was of the quality.
"Sommerforth."
The Duke of Sommerforth.
Elaine swallowed hard. She should have ridden away when she had the chance. Lady Christobel had been bragging about the Duke's visit to The Oaks, but she'd forgotten all about it. Christobel would crow with delight, and Catherine would plot her murder, if the duke realized that the boy on the mare was female.
"Your grace," Bendish bowed deferentially in the saddle.
When the duke's gaze flickered to her yet again, Elaine bowed also.
Elaine's tension relayed itself to Joy. The mare became agitated, dancing to and fro. She tossed her head, ready to bolt. Elaine almost allowed her to run, but that would be ruinous to the mare's schooling, so she held her in a tight circle. She took several deep breaths, relaxing her hands and seat to calm the mare.
The Lady And The Man Of Fortune_A Wicked Secret_The Eardleys Of Gostwicke Hall, Book 3 Page 19
