“Pardon?” The thin white lines either side of his mouth pinched tight. “Did I hear you right? You intend on eloping?”
“Yes, and it’s all rather recent.”
“Elope with whom?”
“I can’t say, not when that might make my plans for a successful elopement impossible, but should foul weather take down the ship I’m soon to set sail upon, then know it has naught to do with you.” She narrowed her gaze, straightened her spine, her words exactly those which she and Mr. Tidmore had agreed upon, those of a fake elopement, the added push being her decision to take to the seas, exactly as Ashley had done.
“This is unacceptable, Ellie.” He grasped her arm, sent Gorman a get lost scowl before pulling her inside and shutting his bedchamber door with a hearty slam. “Is Winterly aware of your intended elopement?”
“No, and I have no intention of telling him either.”
“You deserve a wedding day where you can celebrate your nuptials with your family and friends. Your mama will never accept such a hurried marriage.” He paced from wall to wall, tugging at his cravat.
“This isn’t about what Mama wants, and an elopement suits me rather well. It’s what I prefer.” Now she’d implemented this plan, she’d need to see it through to the end. In her discussion with Mr. Tidmore, they’d agreed that their “so called” elopement would be a ruse only, one in order to bring Ashten out of hiding, and that she’d withhold his name for as long as possible so they wouldn’t need to elope in truth. Ashten’s protective instincts would surely rise forth, particularly since she was Harry’s sister and he’d always considered her his family too.
“Your entire family will have my head if I don’t speak some sense into you right now. This elopement can’t go forth.” He indicated for her to return to the settee then poured another finger of liquid from the decanter into the glass he’d already drunken from.
“Might I have some of what you’re drinking too?” Courage would be needed for this coming conversation. She didn’t doubt that. Settling her reticule and parasol on the floor by her feet, she sat where he’d indicated.
“If you wish.” He poured a splash into a second glass, handed it to her then sat in the wingchair opposite. Contemplating her with a narrowed look over the rim of his glass, he continued, “It’s Scottish whisky, so drink it slowly.”
“Mama says whisky is a vile brew.” Although that wouldn’t stop her from tasting it. She’d always had an extremely adventurous nature, a defiant one too. She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. The potent liquid burned its way down her throat and she coughed, rather haggardly.
“I said slowly.”
“How can you possibly enjoy drinking this?” Fanning her face, she cleared her throat while she eyed the harmless looking liquid, which wasn’t harmless in the least.
“One garners a taste for it over time. Tell me more about your admirer.”
“Betrothed, and he’s incredibly dashing, enigmatic, and a man who enjoys taking chances in life.” Very true. Mr. Tidmore would in fact make a rather wonderful husband if she were in fact about to elope with him. “You would never find my suitor confining himself to four walls as you have, not when the open seas and faraway lands call so deeply to him.” She crossed her legs and fluffed her skirts, her trust in her ploy growing. “So, by all means, inform me if you will of all the pitfalls of an elopement to Gretna Green. Not that you’ve eloped yourself and have the knowledge needed to share with me.”
“I have enough knowledge to know the roads between here and Gretna Green are dangerous. Highwaymen abound, and just like that”—he clicked his fingers—“your life could be snuffed out, exactly the same as Lady Ashley’s was.”
“I am not Lady Ashley, and my suitor would never allow any harm to come to me.”
“Tell me who he is.” A grating demand.
“I can give you a hint, but that’s all. Hmm.” She tapped her fingers on her whisky glass. To continue this ruse, she’d need to give him something to work with, so that he wouldn’t think this all a ploy, and Mr. Tidmore had offered a few suggestions during their conversation, so she started with the first. “My betrothed and I danced at the ball I attended a fortnight ago.”
“You’ve known him for only a fortnight?” Ashten gasped and shot to his feet. Swigging down the rest of his whisky, he half-walked half-limped to his window, the brunt of cannon fire he’d taken on the battlefield injuring his leg badly. “That’s unacceptable. A fortnight isn’t nearly long enough to know a man.”
“I’ve known him for far longer than a mere fortnight, and Harry would tell me to follow my heart, which is what I’m doing. Please, don’t give me a lecture on what I can and can’t do.”
“Are you in love with this chap?”
“Pardon?” She hadn’t expected that question.
“You heard me. Do you love him?”
“No.” A ploy this might be, but he still deserved her honesty where she could offer it. “But once we’re wed, love will surely come. Already we are good friends, and holding such a deep friendship first is extremely important to me.” The truth, the words rolling from her tongue with ease. She attempted another sip of whisky and this time the liquid didn’t burn but instead sent a rush of warmth to her belly.
“Please, Ellie, you must reconsider your decision to elope. You and Harry are the only sane people I know in this world and I’d rather you not dispel that notion by running off and eloping.” Leaning one hip against the windowsill, he knocked the rest of his drink back. “Tell me this is all a ploy and I will forgive you for the lie immediately.”
“There is no ploy, and if you wish to meet the gentleman, come to the Atkinson’s soiree tomorrow night. I’m expecting to see him there, then perhaps you’ll be able to discover exactly who he is.” Mr. Tidmore’s idea. Once she’d mentioned the elopement and sparked Ashten’s concern to rise, then her cohort had insisted she’d need to continue luring Ashten from these four walls by inviting him to an evening out within Society. She motioned out his window. “You would surely have received an invitation and the Atkinson’s property is right next door. Your rear gardens do border their rear gardens.”
“There’s an invite somewhere in my mail.” His blue eyes blazed with frustration as he narrowed them on her. “Although I’m not leaving Blackgale House to attend any soiree, even to discover who your ‘so called’ betrothed is.”
“So, you intend on remaining hidden for the remainder of your life?”
“For the safety of the innocent ladies within Society, yes.”
“You’re a duke.”
“I realize that.”
“You have no heir.”
“I have a remote third cousin who shall inherit my title and lands upon my death. He will do fine enough.”
“Ashten, honestly.” Heaving to her feet, she thrust her hands on her hips. “This is not a reasonable way to live. You must forgive yourself and cease this self-exile. If you don’t wish to attend the Atkinson’s gathering, then come and visit Winterly and Mama at home. Sophia and Olivia miss you dearly, and neither my sisters or I will ever saddle you to us by attempting to turn your head. You are family, will always be family.”
“You have very smoothly maneuvered this conversation back around to me when it is you and your intention to elope we were discussing. Tell your suitor you’ve changed your mind, that you no longer wish to elope.”
“I will do no such thing. I am four and twenty and must accept a proposal soon. The man I’ve chosen will do well enough.”
“You are barely out of short skirts.”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” She clenched her teeth. “I left my short skirts behind six years ago. I am not a girl anymore, but a woman proper.” How could he possibly still see her as a girl? Of course, she’d run around after him and Harry in her youth, particularly while they’d stayed at Winterly Manor in the country which ran adjacent to Ashten’s duchy at Blackgale Park, but those days had surely come to an end when Ashten and
Harry had donned their regimentals and joined the 18th Royal Hussars. Seven years ago, that had been, the year before she’d had her first Season. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she firmed her resolve and eyed the man before her. “I must also consider my sisters and their future. Winterly certainly won’t allow Sophia to wed until I have, and Sophia is enamored with the Earl of Donnelly’s youngest son, James Hargrove.”
“Winterly loves you, would never force you into a marriage you didn’t desire.”
“As I love Sophia, and would never wish to halt her from marrying the man she wishes to wed.”
“Hargrove is about to join the hussars. He’ll be gone within the month.”
“Pardon?” Shock coursed through her. “You must be wrong.”
“Hargrove paid a call here yesterday and we spoke.”
“You’re accepting callers?”
“Only those of my fellow comrades, of which Hargrove is now counted amongst that number.”
“Hargrove would have told Sophia if he intended on joining the hussars.” She fluttered a hand over her heart and paced the floor. “Goodness. Sophia will be devastated if what you say is true.”
“The viscount Major Lord Bishophale and his brother, Captain Poole, have made the call for as many able-bodied men as possible to join them when they return to the front line.” He gripped his thigh, his fingers clenching deep into his injured leg. “If I hadn’t suffered this dratted wound, I would join the call-to-arms too. Unfortunately, though, I’d only be an impediment during the heat of a battle.”
“You’d truly return to the front line if you could?”
“Without any hesitation.”
His firm answer ricocheted through her, like jagged stone tearing at her heart. For seven years, she’d feared losing both him and Harry, yet not once in all that time had Ashten written to her as Harry had done, to promise her he’d return, then when she’d learnt of Ashten’s fall during a battle and subsequent injury, she’d been beside herself with worry. Only when he’d returned and recovered sufficiently enough to get out and about, he’d begun courting Lady Ashley and not her. Not once had he ever returned her feelings, which had pained her greatly, although one couldn’t force another to love them and that she’d come to understand well these past six months.
Drawing in a deep breath, she collected her reticule and parasol, stood and dipped her head toward Ashen. “I apologize for having to leave, but I should speak to Sophia as soon as I can.” For now, her sister must come first. “I can’t withhold this kind of information from her, not when she needs to know about Hargrove’s decision to join the hussars.”
“No apology needed, and I’ll write a letter to Harry if you wish, to ask him to watch over Sophia’s suitor while they’re at war. They’ll be fighting together in the hussars.”
“Please, I’d appreciate that.” Harry wouldn’t let anything happen to Hargrove, not while on his watch.
Chapter 2
Ashten stepped out of his chamber and gripped the balustrade, his hands fisted around the ornate polished railing overlooking the foyer below. Gorman had just closed the front door, Ellie now gone. His man glanced at him while his valet, Riggman, scuttled out of sight into the drawing room. Furious with his staff, he stormed downstairs and made certain to give his butler a look that conveyed his immense displeasure. “I want your word, Gorman, that you’ll never allow Lady Ellie entrance again.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Don’t fail me, not once more.” Aggravated, he swept past Gorman and stormed down the narrow flight of stairs leading to the basement. Cursing under his breath, he pounded on, the top of his head brushing the low ceiling and his shoulders sweeping against the sides of the musty stone passageway.
Gorman and Riggman could be as bad as each other, both having defied his orders in the past when they’d believed doing so was in his best interests. The two could also be as thick as thieves at times, but neither one of them could he ever do without. He’d been a mere five years of age when his parents had passed away in a tragic accident. They’d just alighted into their carriage, off for their yearly trip to Bath, all while he’d waved farewell from the front step of Blackgale Park, his country estate. Gorman had towered over him on his right and Riggman his left, then an hour later while he’d been attending a piano lesson in the music room, the coachman had staggered back into the house, all bloodied and bruised, his arm bent at a terrible angle and grief awash on his face. Gorman and Riggman had ridden swiftly to the overturned coach.
The news had been bad, the days following all a heartbreaking blur.
A short time later, the Earl of Winterly, Harry’s dear papa, had collected him and brought him to Winterly Manor which bordered his country estate. Harry’s parents had been there for him following his own parents’ death, had guided him as well as they could during his earlier years, and he’d been most grateful as well, what with growing up without any close relatives to care for him. During that time, he’d learnt to charge on, had attended Eton with Harry and enjoyed holidays with Harry’s family, little Ellie always traipsing never too far behind them.
“Your Grace?” Gorman puffed as he followed him in a hasty rush, a flickering candle in hand. “In all truth, Lady Ellie was rather determined to speak to you and I would have had to inflict bodily harm on her to halt her in her tracks. I could never do such a thing, not when she is Harry’s little sister and as close to you as any family member could be. By golly, she used to bake shortbread biscuits and bring them around in a tin to Blackgale Park, and she always made sure I received one too. Scrumptious they—”
“Enough, Gorman. You’re meddling in my affairs again, trying to validate your actions.” His head throbbed as he reached the dark and dusty cellar, his destination that of the trunk where he stored his war relics. He heaved the lid and rummaged within, while Gorman provided enough light for him to see by. There it was, what he was after, one of the tin boxes Ellie had delivered her scrumptious shortbread in, and damn Gorman for mentioning it when he knew he’d been heading downstairs to find that treasure himself, or perhaps more so the treasure within that shortbread tin. The gold ribbon he considered his good luck charm.
He flipped the lid of the tin up, snatched the stained and wrinkled letters from within the box, letters he’d received from his wee Ellie during his years marching against Napoleon Bonaparte. He’d read those letters a thousand times a piece, each one holding words he’d always kept close to his heart when donning his regimental uniform of royal blue, silver, and white. Not once had he ever written Ellie back though, but he’d had a good reason for not doing so at the time. Like not wishing to lead her on. She’d been seventeen when he’d left for the war and he hadn’t missed her girlish fascination for him during their youth, but with her being six years younger than him, and his best friend’s little sister as well, he’d taken great care to never encourage that fascination, and never would he.
Gently, reverently, he undid the gold silk ribbon holding the letters together and slipped it inside his inner jacket pocket, then replaced the lid and returned the tin to his trunk. Memories surged as he patted the ribbon in his pocket. Years ago, his Ellie, as she had a terrible tendency to do, had slipped out from under the watchful eye of her governess one day and followed him and Harry down to their favorite fishing spot beside the river. At only eight, she’d been skipping along the grassy river bank toward him with a beaming smile then made a terrible misstep and slipped. She’d toppled into the fast-flowing river and with Harry fishing just out of sight around the bend farther upstream, he’d yanked off his boots and jacket and dived in after her. No hesitation.
He’d kicked with all his might, caught up to her and gripped her tight in his arms. The fierce flow had dragged him half a mile downstream before he finally rounded a bend where the water slowed and lapped gently onto the pebbly sand. He’d powered to the foreshore and hauled them both out. Then once on firm ground again, she’d broken down and sobbed in his arms
, her hair all wet and the gold silk ribbon fluttering loose. He’d plucked it from her soggy locks and pocketed it, then soothed her as well as he could with softly murmured words.
He’d completely forgotten to give that ribbon back to her, so he’d kept it, the only personal belonging of hers which he ever had, and each day when he’d dressed during the war he’d slipped her treasured ribbon inside his shirt pocket for good luck.
It had certainly brought him plenty of good luck too, until that fateful day when he’d taken his injury. That had been the only day he’d ever forgotten to ensure her ribbon was on him and close at hand. He’d left it in his uniform the night before, which Gorman had sent for laundering.
“Is that Lady Ellie’s ribbon?” Gorman waited one step behind him at the base of the stone stairwell.
“Yes, and well you know it.”
“You’ve a need for some of its good luck today?”
“Yes, and preferably with keeping the ribbon’s owner far away from me.” A wish he swiftly made, then thundered past the wine rack, seized a bottle of his favorite claret and marched back upstairs. Gorman followed one step behind him, just as his man always did. Even into the dark and ugly depths of the war, Gorman had been right at his back.
In his study, he sat in his sturdy chair before his oak desk and with a leaf of parchment in hand, set about writing Harry a letter. He would keep his promise to Ellie and ensure Harry was made aware of Sophia’s suitor and to keep James Hargrove safe. He swigged straight from the bottle as he wrote, his thoughts and emotions slowly numbing, while Gorman waited at attention inside his study doorway.
Captain Harry Trentbury, my dearest friend with the most meddlesome little sister,
Someone currently frustrates me, a woman with golden locks and equally glorious golden eyes, of which I need to issue a word of warning to you about. The eldest of your three younger sisters is about to elope with a gentleman she won’t disclose the name of. I shall therefore endeavor to halt her, by whatever means I can, so fear not. I won’t allow her to drown in deep waters, but to ensure she weds the right man when she is thinking clearly enough again.
The Duke's Bride: Regency Romance (Regency Brides Book 1) Page 2
