The Duke's Last Hunt

by Rosanne E. Lortz

  “—or what?”

  There were more growls and mumbles, and then—“For God’s sake, calm down! I’ve never seen you get so worked up about anything in the petticoat line.”

  The pair had taken themselves off then, presumably to resolve their quarrel or continue it in a more secluded setting. Henry had paced his room a while.

  It was gratifying to hear those two at each other’s throats. But, at the same time, the topic of their conversation filled him with the gravest concern. What woman were they speaking of? Whom had Walter been concealing from Rufus? Even after Henry had calmed himself enough to go back to bed, he had still tossed and turned the night through.

  In the morning, his mind pushed away his midnight worries and returned to Miss Malcolm. They had not set a time for their ride, but Henry’s experience on Sunday morning had taught him that she was an early riser. He had risen early himself and, after changing into the buckskins and riding boots that Biggs had laid out, taken himself off to the stables to prepare for the outing.

  Miss Malcolm did not disappoint. Not fifteen minutes later, he saw her step out onto the front porch in a fitted brown riding habit trimmed with orange braid. Her hair was swept up in a twist with a little hat perched on the pile of curls at the top. The style of the jacket was not altogether flattering, but it still made an appealing scene—her slender figure framed by the columns of the entrance with the train of her skirt draped over her arm.

  “Gormley,” said Henry, without taking his eyes off Miss Malcolm. “Do you have a groom you can spare to accompany me? Someone discreet.”

  “Aye,” said the head groom, looking from Henry to Miss Malcolm and then back again. He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Martin can go with ye.”

  As the straw-blond undergroom saddled up a mount, Henry raised a hand to hail Miss Malcolm and led his chosen pair of horses over to where she stood. His own gelding that he had ridden down from London pulled at the loose reins, while Marigold, the docile mare he had selected for Miss Malcolm, showed much less spirit.

  Miss Malcolm came down the stairs.

  “Enchanted, Miss Malcolm,” said Henry, doffing his hat.

  “Good morning,” she replied tautly.

  Henry saw that he would have some ground to regain again this morning. Must he do this each time he saw her afresh—make a concerted effort to dispel her wariness?

  Martin, the groom, approached at a respectful distance, already seated on his own mount.

  “This,” said Henry, nodding his head at the mare, “is Marigold. She’s a pretty, gentle little thing, and I think you two will get on splendidly.”

  “I suppose first I must get on her, though?” said Miss Malcolm, wrinkling her forehead. Her fingers tightened around the train of her skirt, crumpling it instead of just supporting it.

  Henry signaled for the groom to come over and take the reins of his own animal. “Come here, Miss Malcolm,” he said. She obeyed. “Now, if I may….” He took her hand in his and brought it near to the mare. “Good darling,” he said, placing Miss Malcolm’s hand upon the horse’s side and moving it over the horse’s coat to stroke it gently. “Sweet darling.”

  Slowly, her fingers relaxed themselves underneath his own.

  Marigold whinnied and turned her head. Henry lifted Miss Malcolm’s hand to the horse’s face. “Easy, girl.”

  Miss Malcolm remained perfectly still, but Henry saw the hint of a smile on her face when the horse nuzzled her fingers. “Now that we are all friends….” said Henry. “Allow me.” Kneeling down he cupped his two hands and waited for her to step up. “Other foot, my dear,” he said, as she lifted the wrong half boot, and blushing, she placed the opposite foot into his hand.

  In less than a second she was up, Henry’s hands steadying her waist and then immediately letting go. Marigold had been well trained, and she barely moved a muscle as Miss Malcolm’s weight dropped into the side-saddle.

  “Now,” said Henry, “we walk.” Taking the reins in hand, he started leading the mare around the circular drive. Martin fell in behind, leading Henry’s horse behind his own.

  “Are you not going to ride?” asked Miss Malcolm in a tone of apprehension.

  “When you are ready to take these reins yourself, I shall.”

  They proceeded onward. Glancing back every few minutes, Henry could see her struggling to maintain her seat in the saddle as the horse’s back shifted with each step. It was no mean feat to ride as a lady ought; it was far harder than riding astride.

  Gradually, her seat grew more secure, and Henry thought that something more difficult might be attempted. “How do you feel?” He slowed his step and looked around.

  “Like a lapdog stuck on the skinny branches of a tree,” said Miss Malcolm, “which is to say, better than I usually feel when on a horse.”

  Henry laughed at that, and she rewarded him with a smile in return. “May I pass you the reins?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her teeth clenched. Slowly, carefully, Henry placed the loops of leather in her hands.

  “Now,” he said, “a gentle pressure with your heel, here.” And reaching for her half boot, he showed her how to indicate forward motion to the horse. Marigold started forward again, and Henry walked alongside. “Turn her head to the right,” he said, nodding at the bend in the road.

  Miss Malcolm’s nervous fingers pulled the reins far too sharply, but Marigold was a placid beast and took no offense.

  “Brava!” said Henry after a spell of five more minutes walking. “You are a horsewoman, Miss Malcolm.”

  “You are far too kind,” she replied, her body still as taut as the rope on a pulley.

  Henry looked back and saw that Martin was still following at a respectful distance, leading the extra mount. “My horse, if you please!” he called, and giving Miss Malcolm an encouraging smile, he climbed into the saddle as well. “Now, then—shall we?”

  * * *

  Eliza could not remember ever having been shown how to ride by someone with such patience. Her father had put her on a horse when she was but a half-grown girl and seemed surprised—and put out—by her reticence. No one had followed up that effort with regular instruction, and every time she was called upon to mount a horse, her ineptitude was only greeted with confusion and annoyance. The last time she had ridden, the horse had spooked, and when a groom had caught up with her, she had lapsed into a fit of hysterics and declared that she would never go near a horse again.

  But she could not exactly refuse to ride out with the Duke of Brockenhurst’s hunt tomorrow—she had already feigned one headache. And the hunt, it seemed, was the focal point of Rufus’ pastimes and enjoyments.

  “Ready?” asked Lord Henry with a smile.

  “Ready,” she replied. But her horse did not move.

  “A gentle pressure with your boot.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, embarrassed again. “I am sorry that I am so stupid about this.”

  “Not at all,” he replied gallantly. “I am stupid about a great many things myself.”

  “That I can hardly believe.” The horse was moving now. Her hands shook as she held onto the reins.

  “Shall I give you examples?”

  He sat so easily in the saddle, his broad shoulders rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the animal’s hooves. She reminded herself to keep her eyes on her own horse. It seemed calm now, but in her experience, equestrian mishap was always lurking at every corner.

  “I cannot draw worth twopence. My mother asked me to sketch the house once, and when it was finished, Adele said it looked like a bizarre temple surrounded by a stunted forest.”

  “I’m sure she was exaggerating.”

  “Not at all,” replied Lord Henry. “It was very bad.” While he was speaking, he had, almost imperceptibly, increased the pace so that their horses were now moving along at a fast walk. “I am
also quite stupid at writing letters.”

  “How so?” Eliza’s fingers relaxed a little. The horse seemed to know exactly what to do.

  “Give me a report to write about expenditures, or repairs, or improvements and the ink will flow onto the page. But to write a personal letter of daily happenings and social events? My thoughts tie themselves into knots. My mother will tell you quite readily that I have not written her one letter in the past three years.”

  “If you see her often, perhaps there is no need to write?”

  “Ah, but I do not.” He looked at her fixedly and then seemed to make up his mind about something. “I do not know if you have observed this, Miss Malcolm, but I am not a welcome visitor here at Harrowhaven. And that is not my mother’s doing.”

  It was the ideal moment to discover just how deep the animosity between Rufus and Lord Henry went. “Your brother…?”

  “Quite,” said Lord Henry. “He has forbidden me the house. I see my mother occasionally for an hour or two—never an extended visit.”

  A whirligig of thoughts ran through Eliza’s head. What could Lord Henry have done that would cause Rufus to forbid his visits? Did the duke know about his behavior with the servants?

  “And yet you are here now?”

  “Only by pretending acquaintance with you. He did not want to appear the despot to your family, so he was obliged to let me stay.”

  She did not know what to say to that, and so she said nothing at all. He seemed so kind, so patient—and yet, he was taking advantage of her presence to countermand his brother’s wishes. Why had she agreed to ride out with him? If the duke was so set against his brother, he would be furious when he found out.

  Her companion was watching her with his dark eyes, trying to read her opinions, no doubt. Her hands tightened up on the reins once again and her face flamed red.

  Without warning, Lord Henry slowed his horse and, leaning across the divide, checked the reins of her mount as well. They came to a stop, their horses standing so close that his riding boot nearly brushed against her leg. “Have I offended you with my disclosures?”

  “Oh, not at all, your lordship.” Her answer was more well-bred than truthful. Her heart began to race. She looked around to make sure the groom was still following them.

  “I can see that I have. I am sorry. I simply want to warn you to be careful of my brother. I know why he invited you here, and I beg you, do not do anything rash without a proper knowledge of his character. He is not everything that he seems.”

  “I thank you for your warning,” said Eliza frostily, looking away into the distance. She disliked it that he would assume so much about her. “It is superfluous, however, since I have no intention of betrothing myself to a man that I know so little.” Her green eyes met his dark ones. “I think that he is not the only one here who is not everything he seems.”

  Lord Henry bowed his head. “I am not certain what you mean by that, but I shall take it as a compliment. I should very much like to be friends, Miss Malcolm.”

  Eliza did not know how to answer that. She had never had a friend of the opposite sex before, and she still felt like a pawn in the Rowland brothers’ mysterious game of chess. He was waiting though—he expected a response.

  “I am…not sure if I can offer friendship.”

  He gave her a mischievous smile. “It is I who am offering.”

  He waited, but she made no response.

  “Very well, if we cannot be friends, then I must go back to being your riding instructor. You have mastered the walk quite admirably, Miss Malcolm. It is time to move on to the trot.”

  “Oh,” gasped Eliza. “I hardly think that is necessary.”

  “It is necessary. They will all ride out at a trot tomorrow for the hunt, and not on the road either.”

  Eliza took a firm grip on the reins. “Well then, if I must, I must.” Following Lord Henry’s guidance, she turned her horse’s head until it faced away from the road and toward the surrounding forest. There were tall oak trees here, with space between them to ride, but Eliza—used to traveling in one direction—was dismayed at the idea of trotting and changing course at the same time.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Lord Henry calmly. She was surprised to hear that he had both sensed her fear and acknowledged it openly without taking the opportunity to belittle her. “Your horse no more wants to run into a tree trunk than you do. Encourage her with both your heel and with the reins, and she will understand your wishes. I will go first and set a path for you.”

  Eliza took a deep breath. Trotting through a forest seemed more terrifying than her first ball, her first card party at Almack’s, and her introduction at court all rolled into one. But somehow, with Lord Henry leading the way, it also seemed…surmountable. “I am ready.”

  She saw the quick flash of his spurs as he flicked the reins of his horse, and then they were off. Her own horse seemed to know what to do almost without her urging. They had left the road entirely and were surrounded by tree trunks on every side, a leafy canopy filtering the sunlight over their heads. The air, which had been close and turgid earlier, now blew pleasantly past her ears. If this quick pace was a trot, she imagined a gallop must feel like flying. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on Lord Henry’s back as his horse zigged and zagged through the forest obstacles.

  And then, of a sudden, he pulled up on the reins, and Eliza, unprepared, went sailing past him.

  “Pull hard on the reins and lean back!” he shouted, and despite her panic, she was able to complete his instructions.

  In a moment he was at her elbow. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes!” She was breathless, but she was whole and unscathed, and what is more, she had kept her saddle and her control of the horse throughout. “Thank you, your lordship.”

  “Henry.”

  “But we are not friends,” objected Eliza.

  “Of course not,” replied Lord Henry, “but I instruct all my riding pupils to call me by my Christian name.”

  “You are incorrigible, your lordship.”

  “Henry.”

  Eliza shook her head, but she could not resist smiling.

  How long had they been gone from the house? It was hard to see the position of the sun from underneath the trees, but Eliza suspected it was now late morning. They had not ridden too far from Harrowhaven, probably no farther than the little church, and if they went straight back, perhaps no one would notice their absence.

  “Shall we return to the house?” asked Eliza.

  But Lord Henry’s face had frozen as he stared beyond her into the woods.

  “What is it?” she asked, alarmed at his expression.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said, shaking the unusual look off his face. “Yes, let’s return to the house immediately. Do you see our groom? Ah, there, the road is in that direction.”

  He maneuvered Eliza’s horse around and then bade her lead the way. A walk seemed as easy as a slow minuet after their exuberant trot through the trees. When they reached the road, Lord Henry spurred his horse forward until he was even with her, but he remained as silent as the groom that was trailing behind them. Preoccupied was the word for it.

  Eliza glanced over at him periodically and saw his brow furrowed, his jaw set. When they had rounded the circular drive and were only a few paces from the house, she made up her mind to speak. “I hope I have not offended you, your lordship.”

  Lord Henry’s face relaxed immediately. “Not at all, Miss Malcolm. My apologies for my rudeness. Apparently one of my other stupidities is to become lost in thought instead of enjoying a beautiful woman’s presence.”

  “Please, my lord, nothing obliges you to pay me compliments.”

  They had reached the front of the house now, and Lord Henry dismounted. “Nothing except your beauty and my excellent eyesight.”

  He reached up to lift Eli
za down. For the thousandth time in her life, she wished that she did not blush so easily. “I hardly think friends speak to each other in such a manner.” She was relieved to find that his hands did not linger on her waist after he had deposited her on the ground.

  “Ah, but you rejected my offer of friendship, if you remember. That makes our relationship something else entirely.” He handed Marigold’s reins to the groom that had accompanied them and gave Eliza his arm to walk her up the steps.

  “My lord—”

  “Yes, I would like to discover just exactly what that relationship is too. But I regret that that will have to wait, as I have a pressing matter to attend to.” He opened the door and ushered her inside. Then, taking her hand, he bowed over it. “Your servant, Miss Malcolm.”

  “Th-thank you,” Eliza said as he let go her hand and disappeared into the saloon. It had been a most educational morning, but even though her knowledge of horsemanship had vastly improved, she felt that her knowledge of Lord Henry Rowland still left something to be desired.

  12

  As much as he regretted deserting Miss Malcolm in the entrance hall, Henry knew his errand could not wait. He could tell that Miss Malcolm still had qualms about trusting him,—curse that incident with the housemaid in the hallway!—but he hoped that she trusted him enough to heed his warnings about Rufus’ character.

  His own opinion of Rufus’ character had sunk to the depths of the abyss during their excursion into the forest. The horror of looking over Miss Malcolm’s shoulder and seeing Rufus in the distance alongside a white dress and a head of blond curls had shaken him. He had gathered his wits and retreated from the woods as soon as possible. The plan had been for Miss Malcolm to gain some insight into his brother’s defects, but not that way—not that way.

  But still—as jarring as that discovery was—it did imbue him with a new sense of purpose. Hitherto, he had felt a sturdy sense of determination to keep Miss Malcolm safe from entanglement with his brother. Now, his interest in the matter had warmed to a feverish obsession. Rufus, it seemed, would descend to any depth of depravity, and Henry would do everything in his power to stop Miss Malcolm from shackling herself to such a rogue.