“Eliza,” said Henry in a low voice. “Do not marry my brother.”
“Good morning to you too, your lordship,” she said, clearly pitching her voice over his head.
Henry swiveled around and saw his half-brother Robert entering the room. He was dressed to ride, but somehow, his slight frame still looked every inch the dandy. “Hal, I need to speak to you. In private.” There were spots of color on Robert’s cheeks, peeking out from beneath his sideburns.
“Of course,” said Henry, so annoyed at the inopportune interruption that he did not even wonder at the reason for it. “I will join you in the morning room presently.” Henry’s eyes followed Robert until he disappeared. The room was safe, but it might be invaded again at any minute. He must unburden his heart quickly.
His eyes returned to Eliza and drank in her beauty once again. “That color suits you even better than I could have imagined. And I don’t recall wishing you a good morning. It will only be a good morning if you decide not to marry my brother.”
“I must.” Her voice was quiet but intense.
“Your father?”
“You are perceptive, Lord Henry.”
“How if another candidate were to present himself?”
“It would depend on the candidate.”
She stood one step higher than him, and his eyes were on a level with her perfect lips.
“How if I were to present myself?”
“I fear my father would not consider you suitable.”
Henry noted that she said nothing about whether she considered him suitable. She had not blushed at the suggestion though—which led him to believe that she had already been mulling over the idea in her own head.
“Is it a matter of money?” he asked, sliding his fingertips up the banister until they were touching hers.
“Yes,” she whispered, and she did blush now, her cheeks as pink as a summer sunset over London.
“Then it is not a matter at all.” His hand covered hers and he pressed it gently.
“Hal!” said Robert’s voice urgently from the door of the morning room.
Eliza snatched her hand away, but she did not offer any words of rebuke.
“Do not marry my brother!” repeated Henry, and sending back a long, lingering glance, he disappeared down the hallway to see what was agitating Robert so greatly.
* * *
“Oh, Eliza!” said Adele. “What a charming riding habit! If I had not had this blue one made up just last month, I think I should be jealous. Shall we go out to the stables?”
Many equestrians had already congregated in the stable yard, those from the house as well as from the surrounding neighborhood. Eliza recognized the black-haired Mr. Cecil, who had come to Adele’s parlor games and beside him his sister, Miss Cecil, and their friend, Miss Bertram.
“Will Miss Ashbrook be coming as well?” asked Eliza.
“No, she says she is indisposed,” said Adele, “but I think it is really a fit of pique that Henry would not fall for her lures. I sometimes think that half my friends are really not my friends at all and only angling to be my sister-in-law.”
Eliza blinked at this sudden confidence.
“I do not mean you, of course,” said Adele hurriedly. “Good Lord, no one could imagine that you were angling.”
“Thank you,” said Eliza faintly. No, she was not angling. But somehow, she seemed to have caught both brothers through no fault of her own.
The head groom saw the ladies nearing the stable and led out a milky white mount for Adele. “This is Serafina,” she said proudly, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “And perhaps since my mother does not mean to ride out today, you may ride her horse.”
The head groom cleared his throat. “I’m under strict orders that Miss Malcolm is to only ride Marigold.”
“Oh, well, if Rufus says so then you must,” said Adele with a shrug of the shoulders. “A pity though. Marigold is so…dull.”
Eliza and the groom exchanged a glance. The strict orders had certainly not come from Rufus.
The groom brought Marigold and helped Eliza mount. Many of the other horses were stamping impatiently, but Marigold stood firm as a rock.
Mr. Turold was seated nearby on his own horse, holstering the pistol that was part of the matched set that Rufus owned. When he saw Eliza looking at him, he tipped his hat, and Eliza, as much as she wanted to cut him, was compelled to nod her head. Odious man with his effeminately long hair! She much preferred the closely cropped brown hair of…another gentleman.
Rufus stood a little way away from the main group in careful conference with the undergroom who had accompanied Eliza and Henry on their ride yesterday morning. Eliza felt an uncomfortable tightening in the chest as she wondered whether the groom was relating the story of that ride to her fiancé. She studied Rufus’ face. No, there was no irritation there. They were not speaking of her. Her apprehension diminished completely as she saw that the undergroom was not speaking at all.
But even if the undergroom were a rattle and a gossip, Rufus would probably have never thought to ask about her. He doubtless would not even notice her presence in the excitement of his precious hunt. At least she was “beautiful in the style he liked,” she thought bitterly, even if he considered her good for nothing else.
What had Henry—yes, she would call him Henry—meant when he had said that money was no matter? She had strong doubts that Henry had received any inheritance from his father. There was no possibility that he could possess a fortune comparable to his brother’s. He should be searching for an heiress to better his condition not the daughter of a penniless baronet.
But if, as he said, one could pretend that money was no matter…she allowed herself to daydream. What would it be like to wed someone who had compassion on her weaknesses, who considered her opinion, who respected her character? She remembered the feel of his hand on hers on the banister, and her cheeks grew warm again.
She stopped herself. She must not think thus. It was a fool’s errand and a sure road to breaking her own heart.
There was Henry now, walking at a fast clip down from the house to the stable yard, with Mr. Curtis several steps behind him. But instead of the tender look he had given her earlier, there was thunder now on his brow. She saw him stride up to Mr. Turold.
“Walter, a word!”
She wondered briefly, what heinous deed Mr. Turold had done—besides introducing her to Rufus Rowland—that should make Henry so angry.
The longhaired Mr. Turold dismounted, and the two men disappeared into the stable.
* * *
It was a full ten minutes before Henry resurfaced. He was astride his horse. The scowl on his face had lessened, but Eliza sensed that something still troubled him.
She willed Marigold to move towards him, and as if by magic—aided by a slight tug on the reins—the horse complied.
“You seem vexed, Henry,” she said as her horse sidled up to his.
His face broke into a smile at the sound of his Christian name. “I can assure you, it is very vexing to have the woman one loves betrothed to marry another.”
Eliza’s heart skipped a beat. She looked around quickly to make sure no one else had heard. Did he really mean that? Would he really try to break off the engagement and win her for himself?
“I fear you are poking fun at me, my lord.”
“I should never presume to do so…at least, not upon such a topic.”
Adele directed her horse over to them and shook her riding crop at her brother in disapproval. “Henry, now that Rufus has the matter all sewn up, you really must stop flirting with Eliza.”
“Oh, must I?”
Eliza’s eyes widened. He really was incorrigible. But whereas his attentions had initially mortified her, she found that now she was beginning to enjoy them.
“He’s not serious,” said
Adele, sending a glare in Henry’s direction.
“Of course not,” murmured Eliza.
Henry dropped her a wink, and she had to remember to take her next breath. “Lud, Adele,” he said, “why don’t you find some other poor soul to pester? Where’s Stephen?”
“Being useful.” Adele wrinkled her nose as if she disapproved of the notion of usefulness. “Rufus has him in charge of the luncheon for later. He’s giving instructions to the village lads.”
“Lads” was hardly the appropriate descriptor since some of the men unloading barrels were nearly twice Mr. Blount’s age. They were dropping off hogsheads from the local tavern and sweets from the bakeshop.
“Ho there, Ned!” Henry called out suddenly, and Eliza saw one of the villagers wave a hand and come over. Henry dismounted and shook hands with the bearded fellow. He did not forget Eliza, however, and soon pulled his friend over to make introductions. “Miss Malcolm, may I present Edward Hornsby, proprietor of the Blue Boar?”
Eliza bowed her head and Mr. Hornsby expressed the appropriate sentiments of pleasure at making her acquaintance.
“Ned and I grew up together in these woods.”
“That we did,” said the bearded tavern keeper with a gleam in his eye. “There’s many a story I could tell about young Master Rowland—”
Henry cleared his throat. “But naturally you’ll keep them to yourself unless they redound to my credit.”
“Hello, Ned,” said Adele, interjecting herself into the conversation. Eliza supposed she was used to inserting herself unasked as the youngest child in a family of brothers. “You may have heard that Miss Malcolm is just lately engaged to be married to Rufus.”
“Is that so?” said Mr. Hornsby, giving a whistle and eyeing Henry thoughtfully.
“Come now, Adele,” said Henry. “There’s no need to spread rumors about.”
“Rumors? Henry Rowland!”
“I’ll believe it when I read it in the papers and not before.” Henry clapped his friend on the back and stepped back into the saddle. “Good to see you, Ned! I’ll look forward to a pint of your finest at the end of the chase.”
Adele followed Mr. Hornsby over to the wagon full of hogsheads—doubtless to keep an eye on Mr. Blount’s activities. Henry urged his horse back to where Marigold stood placidly. “And now, my dear, do you remember your riding lessons?”
“I believe so,” said Eliza, taking a deep breath. “I shall do my best and strive not to embarrass you.”
“I shall never be embarrassed by you, Eliza.”
“That is kind of you to say.”
“I mean it.”
Eliza stared back at him and forgot to blush, for something within her whispered that Henry Rowland was sincere.
* * *
Within the next half hour, everyone had found their horses. The dogs had been released from their kennels and were straining at their leashes. Rufus addressed the company of two dozen riders, reminding them that they would not come home without a pair of antlers.
“He says this every hunt,” said Adele with a yawn.
“But he always succeeds,” Miss Cecil said with a little smile.
“Yes, well, Rowlands always do,” said Adele matter-of-factly.
Eliza wondered what happened, then, when two Rowlands opposed one another. They could not both be successful….
She herself had no further ambition than to ride beside Henry Rowland for the whole of the hunt. Adele, however, had other plans. “We ladies,” she said, “shall ride along the road until we come to the grassy knoll that overlooks the eastern part of the forest. It will be far more agreeable than chasing about after the hounds.”
Miss Cecil and Miss Bertram acquiesced, as was their wont, to their high-ranking friend’s desires. Eliza followed and soon found herself bringing up the rear of the party on sure-footed Marigold. They rounded the circular drive and turned onto the main road heading towards the little church.
“How strange!” said Adele in surprise, noticing one of the Rowlands’ carriages parked neatly on the side of the road. Eliza saw the undergroom, Martin, sitting in the box, chewing on a blade of grass.
“Why is the carriage waiting here?” Miss Cecil asked, but Martin either did not hear her or disregarded the question.
“He can’t speak,” said Adele in an undertone. Eliza recalled that he had said nary a word during her ride with Henry yesterday morning.
The ladies rode past, and Eliza gave Martin a shy smile. He stared back at her like an inmate behind the bars of a cage. She dropped her eyes. Poor man—it must be a heavy affliction to be dumb.
The steeple of the church was just in sight when Adele pointed to the side of the road. A grassy hill rose up on the left. The other ladies directed their mounts off the road, and Eliza, trying to keep pace, gritted her teeth as she urged Marigold up the climbing slope. She angled her sideways body forward, willing herself to stay in the saddle. She was sure that she did not look at all elegant right now, even with her new green riding habit, and she was rather glad that Henry Rowland was not there to see her. But then again, he probably would have just given her an encouraging word, stripping away her self-consciousness like a maid pulling dust cloths off the furniture.
From the top, they could see on one side the summer fields of the Sussex countryside, plotted and pieced like a brown and green quilt. On the other side ranged the tangled limbs of the forest, the stage set for the players in today’s hunt. Here and there a small clearing in the woods gave them a view of the forest floor.
“Look there!” said Miss Bertram, her hand shooting out like an arrow towards the south. They caught a glimpse of a half dozen riders before they disappeared into the leaves again. “I think I saw your brother,” she said to Miss Cecil.
“The wish is father to the thought!” said Adele with a smirk, and Miss Bertram colored at that sally. “I cannot make out a single one of those figures—they’re too far off. Could you tell if Rufus was with them, Eliza?”
“Oh,” said Eliza, “I’m not sure….” His red hair would certainly stand out, but then, he had been wearing a beaver. This was to be her lot in life now—surveying the forest and waiting for Rufus while he pursued his pleasures.
From the distance came the baying of hounds. The riders were moving closer. The ladies scanned the woods for more traces of the hunting party, but saw nothing. A half hour later, they were still searching the tree line. “How tedious this is growing!” said Adele. “I thought we should have better sport than this.”
“Oh, look there,” said Miss Bertram. “Mr. Cecil!”
This time it was not just the young lady’s wishful hope. Mr. Cecil was emerging from the forest with Eliza’s father, Sir Arthur, beside him. Adele hailed them and the ladies came down from the hill to meet them at the road.
“Did you sight a stag?” Miss Cecil asked her brother.
“Yes, right away, but we lost our bearings once we all started for it. Rufus is normally two lengths ahead of everyone when the chase is on, but he disappeared as soon as the hounds started baying.”
“How peculiar,” said Adele. “Did you carry on?”
“Why yes! We took off after the buck until the hounds lost the track, and then the whole party fell to pieces. Henry went off one way and Turold the other. And here we are come to look for you ladies.”
“Your loss is our gain,” replied Miss Bertram smoothly.
“Do you think the others are gathering back at the house?” Eliza asked.
“That is a logical assumption,” said Sir Arthur, “and perhaps we ought to return as w—”
A shot rang out in the forest farther down the road from where the six horses were standing.
“Tally ho!” said Mr. Cecil, lifting his beaver off his curly black hair with excitement. “Someone’s picked up the trail.”
“Let’s go on,”
said Adele, “and see if they hit him.”
Eliza felt a twinge of pity for the poor creature. She rather hoped that they hadn’t hit the stag, and that he would escape into the underbrush to live another day.
The horses felt the excitement in the air, and it took barely any encouragement to move them from a walk to a trot. Eliza held on determinedly.
When they had gone a couple hundred yards, the church came fully into view. “Over here,” said Mr. Cecil, waving at a spot where the trees thinned, a natural entryway into the wooded kingdom. They were just about to enter the forest when another shot sounded, this one deeper into the trees.
“Wounded the first time,” conjectured Sir Arthur. “They must have finished it off.”
Eliza shuddered and reined in Marigold. She did not know if she wanted to come across the freshly killed body of the stag.
“Hold here, ladies,” said Mr. Cecil, misunderstanding her reticence for confusion about which path to take. He stopped everyone near one of the great oak trees. “I’ll find the others then bring you to them.” His horse bounded away, stepping nimbly over tree roots.
“Any wagers,” said Sir Arthur, “on who the lucky shot is?”
“It would surprise me greatly,” said Miss Cecil, “if it were anyone other than the duke.”
Eliza did not know whether to feel pained or proud at that statement.
“But perhaps the second shot was Henry’s,” said Adele. She tossed her brown curls in Eliza’s direction. “He always has enjoyed poaching his brother’s game.”
Eliza’s cheeks flamed. It was not so amusing when she herself was the target of her future sister-in-law’s wit. Fortunately, her father was too oblivious to notice the double meaning.
“And here is Mr. Cecil returned to us!” said Miss Bertram with enthusiasm.
“Stop!” said their black-haired guide. A look of panic was on his face. “Stay there. Don’t go any farther.”
“Whatever is the matter?” demanded Adele.
“There’s been an…accident. Stay there.”
The forest air erupted with a cacophony of feminine cries and queries.
The Duke's Last Hunt Page 14
