The hotel owner himself came upstairs to ensure that they were comfortable, and Lady Malcolm, although not effusive, proclaimed herself exceedingly grateful for the accommodations. “My pleasure to host you,” said Henry politely. “My mother arrives today, with Adele, so you shall have some company to keep you entertained. Please feel free to use any of the mounts in the hotel stables or arrange with Gervase to borrow the carriage.”
“I say, very generous of you! Very generous!” said Sir Arthur, who had already discovered a cupboard liberally stocked with spirits. Sir Arthur poured himself a glass while Lady Malcolm examined the capacious wardrobes, and Henry seized on the opportunity to step out into the hallway with Eliza for a brief moment.
Eliza looked at Henry, so in his element as lord and master of this domain, his iron hand inside the velvet glove of courtesy. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“But of course,” he whispered back.
“Extra rooms? I hardly think so. I do not know how we shall ever repay you.”
“I do. Come riding with me this afternoon.”
“Dear me,” she said, all her old fears of equestrian pursuits returning to her. “I might have misplaced my riding habit.”
“Then I shall have another one made for you,” said Henry, his voice still intimately soft.
“No, no…I have it,” she said. “Very well, I will come.”
“Good,” he said, and taking her hand he pressed it to his lips. “I shall see you at three o’clock.”
* * *
Eliza straightened her back as she sat on the bench in the entrance hall, adjusted the skirt of her emerald green riding habit to drape more becomingly, and tried not to think about the terror awaiting her. She had been able to ride Marigold without mishap, but what were the chances that the stables at Maurice’s held another horse so absolutely docile?
After what seemed like hours, Henry entered in full riding dress, crop in hand. “The groom is out front,” he said and gave her his arm. The groom’s horse was a piebald nag, but the two horses waiting for them were perfectly matched blacks—long-legged, well-bred, and no doubt high-mettled. Eliza closed her eyes as Henry put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the side saddle.
“Eliza, listen to me,” he said. “Guide the horse—he will do whatever you wish. Speak to him—he will listen to you.”
“I…don’t think he will,” said Eliza tremulously, frightened that the duke would let go of the reins before she was ready.
“He will,” Henry insisted. “You are stronger than you think. And you have found your voice.”
He placed the reins in her hands and climbed onto his own horse next to her. “Hyde Park?” he asked with a smile.
“Of course,” she said, forcing herself to smile as well. “Did we not used to promenade there together?”
“Ha! How could I have forgotten?” He urged his horse forward into a walk, and almost instinctively she felt her foot urging her horse forward as well. The groom trailed along behind them, and within ten minutes they had reached the entrance to that great island of green in the middle of the stone city. They took the path, still walking at an easy pace.
“I cannot believe I have not fallen off yet,” said Eliza, gritting her teeth.
“You underestimate yourself.”
They passed a few other riders out to take the air. Henry tipped his hat, and Eliza—although she recognized none of them—managed a nod. She was eminently thankful that the season had not begun. Then there would be dozens of riders hoping to see and be seen, and her anxiety would only have increased.
They reached a fork in the road and Henry took the narrower, less used path. Trees grew on either side as they entered a more forested area of the park. “Shall we go faster?” asked Henry.
“Oh…I think my horse would not like that at all,” said Eliza.
“Your horse?” said Henry with a grin.
“Yes. I think there is something wrong with his shoe—a loose nail perhaps. It would bother him excessively if we did anything faster than a slow walk.”
“Hmm…is that so?” Henry slowed his horse to a stop and dismounted. “Come here then, and let me look at the poor fellow.” He lifted Eliza down from her horse and then proceeded to lift the horse’s legs one by one examining the hooves. When he reached the right foreleg, his brow furrowed. “My dear Eliza, I do believe you are right. This horse’s shoe is far too loose for you to ride him without mishap.”
Eliza’s face registered surprise. “The accuracy of my own prognosis astounds me. What shall we do now?”
“Why, promenade, of course,” said Henry. He snapped his fingers for the groom and handed him the reins of the horses. As if by prior instruction, the groom began to lead the horses back down the narrow path towards the entrance of the park. Within a few minutes he was out of sight. Henry took Eliza’s arm and wrapped it around his to begin the return journey. “How is this?” he asked. “More comfortable than the horse?”
Eliza blushed. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She began to feel a slight unease about the disappearance of their chaperone, but that disquiet left as quickly as it had come. Whatever was about to happen needed no witnesses but themselves. “And better for conversation,” she said, stopping in the path, looking him in the eye, and willing him to speak.
“How fortunate, for I have some conversation to make with you.” Henry cleared his throat. “At our last meeting at Harrowhaven, I picked a particularly unpropitious time to declare my feelings for you.”
“It was not so much the time,” said Eliza shyly, “as that I had formed some inaccurate conceptions of your character.”
“Indeed? And what were those?”
Eliza blushed and looked away.
“I am hesitant to assume,” said Henry, “but I think you may be referring to that blond maid who borrowed my handkerchief in the hall.”
“The maid, and Mrs. Flambard, and Catie Ansel, and—”
“Dear me! You must have thought me quite the scoundrel. I am altogether innocent of your suspicions, I assure you.”
“I know that now,” said Eliza, “thanks to your friend Ned Hornsby, but at the time I was overwrought and not at all sure what to think….”
“Ned is a good fellow! I am delighted to hear that you have revised your opinion of me.” Henry’s eyes twinkled. “And, as I was saying, the timing, I know, was unpropitious. I realize that it was not enough for your boundless ambition to see me as Duke of Brockenhurst and master of Harrowhaven. But now that you have seen Maurice’s also, the plum of the pudding, as it were, perhaps the timing is improved. Are all these things enough, my dear Eliza, for you to consider me as a suitor for your hand?”
“How can you talk so?” demanded Eliza, her face hot with indignation. “If it had not been for those foolish misunderstandings, I would have married you two months ago when you were a second son without any prospects or a penny to your name.”
“Truly?”
“Yes! I would have married you when you met me at the bottom of the stairs, when you found me crying in the garden, when you saved me from eating breakfast alone with the investigator, or even when you served me that awful platter of fish!”
Henry wrapped his arms around Eliza’s waist and brought her closer.
“You see, my dear? I told you that you had found your voice.”
Eliza lifted her arms and placed them around his neck.
“Eliza Malcolm will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
And then Eliza was truly grateful that the groom had disappeared, for Henry’s lips found hers and did not leave them until she was fully satisfied that she was the only woman in the world for him, yesterday, now, and in the future.
* * *
Eliza’s eyes were still shining like green stars when Henry escorted her up the front steps of Ma
urice’s. “Shall I kiss you again?” he whispered in her ear.
“Not here!” she said, her sense of propriety struggling against the pull of temptation. “I must tell my family.”
“And I mine,” said Henry, “for there is the Harrowhaven carriage, arrived in our absence.”
He squeezed her hand encouragingly, and they parted ways in the entrance hall.
Eliza went first to their rooms, but no one was there. She came back downstairs and caught sight of her parents seated in the hotel dining room, enjoying a late tea together. She saw her father laugh and lean over to pat his wife’s hand. She saw her mother’s green eyes sparkle. Their aging faces showed the lines of struggle born from years of contradictory temperaments, goals, and dreams, but today, at least, they were savoring each other’s company.
“Papa,” Eliza said, crossing the room to join them at their table. “I have something to tell you.”
Their conversation halted, and they stared at her, anxiously, as if they already knew what she was going to say.
“The Duke of Brockenhurst has proposed marriage to me this afternoon, and I have accepted his offer.”
Sir Arthur let out a cry of delight. “’Pon rep, Eliza! I had not dared to let myself hope you would act reasonably. The fellow came to me earlier today and asked permission to put the question to you.”
“You did not warn me, Papa!” said Eliza. She was not altogether certain that she would have preferred to know what was coming in advance.
“I know, I know,” said her father, clearing his throat, “but I thought that with the last proposal, I may have applied…too great a pressure on you, Eliza. I am overjoyed that you made the decision on your own.”
Eliza turned to her other parent. “Mama,” she said anxiously, “I know that you had doubts about Henry Rowland’s character—”
Lady Malcolm held up a hand. “Ollerton has informed me that she was mistaken about that maid Jenny. Apparently, her removal from Harrowhaven was to seek a better position, not to hide an indiscretion.”
“Then you are not opposed?”
Lady Malcolm sipped her tea and looked around the room at the exquisite painting and paneling that had so impressed Eliza yesterday. “No, my dear. If you are happy, then I must be too.” She sniffed. “And we will simply trust the Almighty to make up the deficiencies in all of us.”
“Eliza!” said a gleefully loud voice, disrupting the Malcolm family conference, and indeed, every one of the hotel guests who had sat down to read their newspaper in quiet in the dining room.
Adele hurried over to the table, clad in a frothy yellow confection of lace. “Henry tells me we are to be sisters…again!”
Eliza rose from her seat to embrace Adele. There was no use blushing at her forwardness or her faux pas. They were family now, and Eliza refused to be embarrassed by her.
“I told you he had a tendre for you,” said Adele, taking Eliza’s hands in hers. “And, what delightful timing, for now we shall buy our trousseaus together. Henry cannot complain about any amount I spend at the modiste’s if you are getting gowns too!”
“How fortunate!” said Eliza, trying to keep the irony out of her voice.
“I shall help you choose your wedding gown,” said Adele, eager to launch into the specifics of this new venture. “Brussels lace, and silver lamé—”
“I think Eliza is quite capable of choosing her own gown,” said a firm voice. The owner of the hotel strode over to the table to make sure all of his guests were comfortable. “She has excellent taste, I find, when other people allow her to make up her own mind.”
“Yes,” said Eliza, looking at Henry’s broad shoulders in his perfectly-tailored black jacket. “I rather think that I do.”
FINIS
Author’s Note
What does “a single man in possession of a good fortune” have in common with the “triumph of barbarism and religion,” as Edward Gibbon so affectionately termed the Middle Ages?
In my studies of history, the manners of the Regency era and the characters of the medieval period are the two things which have most captured my imagination. While reading Georgette Heyer and Elizabeth Chadwick, an interesting thought occurred to me: what if I took the characters and events of the Middle Ages and transposed them into the high society of the British Regency?
In my first Regency, To Wed an Heiress, I imagined the characters of the Norman Conquest set during the Regency era. Harold, the Earl of Anglesford, tries at all costs to save the family fortune, coming into conflict with the rapacious William Hastings and his alluring daughter Arabella. Murder most foul occurs, bringing the insightful Jacob Pevensey, an investigator from Bow Street, on the scene to sort out the tangled web of love and lies.
This novel, The Duke’s Last Hunt, was inspired by the events surrounding the death of William Rufus, the second king of England after the Norman Conquest. Rufus was killed by an arrow while hunting in the New Forest. Before the hunt, Rufus had bestowed arrows on his friend Walter Tyrel (or Thurold), saying, “To the best hunter, the best arrows.” The commonly accepted story was that his friend shot him accidentally while firing at a stag. Walter Tyrel then fled to France where he was sheltered by Abbot Suger.
Over the centuries, many theories have sprung up regarding Rufus’ death and laying the blame on others besides Walter Tyrel. Rufus’ brother Henry was the one who benefitted directly from the event. He was also hunting in the forest that day, and it is said that as soon as he heard the news, he rushed to consolidate power and take the crown. Some think that Henry orchestrated the death, perhaps commissioning Walter Tyrel or others to carry out the deed.
Abbot Suger himself seems to doubt Tyrel’s guilt. He wrote: “It was laid to the charge of a certain noble, Walter Thurold, that he had shot the king with an arrow; but I have often heard him, when he had nothing to fear nor to hope, solemnly swear that on the day in question he was not in the part of the forest where the king was hunting, nor ever saw him in the forest at all.”
Whether the death was murder or manslaughter, it is certain that William Rufus was not a beloved monarch. The historian William of Malmesbury gave this ungentle assessment: “He was a man much to be pitied by the clergy, for throwing away the soul they labored to save…not to be lamented by the people, because he suffered their substance to be plundered.”
Rufus was renowned for his opposition to the church. During his reign he attempted to keep the see of Canterbury empty in order to increase his power and revenue. He finally agreed to appoint Anselm as Archbishop, a scholarly fellow who would become famous for the Proslogion, which proved the existence of God, and Cur Deus Homo, which explained why Jesus became Man to atone for our sins. But besides being a writer, Anselm was also a fighter. He refused to let Rufus trample on the rights of the church, and during Rufus’ reign, he was forced to go into exile.
Most of the secondary characters in this book are my own creation, but a couple found inspiration from the historical record. William Rufus had a sister, Adele, who married Stephen of Blois. Stephen became one of the adventurers on the First Crusade, which retook Jerusalem from the Muslims. Somehow, however, his mild-mannered exploits never quite measured up to the doughty deeds of Adele’s father, William the Conqueror. Her letters to Stephen still survive, showing Stephen to be the quintessential henpecked husband of the medieval era.
*
Copyright © 2016 by Rosanne E. Spears
Cover and interior design by Masha Shubin
DreamsTime.com: English Countryside in Suffolk © stanzi11;
Autumn Sky © Serg64. Regency Man © PeriodImages.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.
Publisher: Madison
Street Publishing
Also from Madison Street Publishing
To Wed an Heiress
By Rosanne E. Lortz
Haro Emison, thrust into his new role as Earl of Anglesford, discovers that his late father has left the family teetering on the edge of financial ruin. Intent on rescuing the estate, Haro abandons his long-held interest in his cousin Eda and searches instead for a wealthy heiress. But when pride and jealousy cause his plan to spiral out of control, he begins to wonder if he has made a dreadful mistake….
Eda Swanycke is enjoying her first season in London when her debut comes to a crashing halt. Jilted by her cousin, she suffers the indignity of watching Haro’s new intended lay claim to his person and position. But when a brutal murder upends the household with Haro as chief suspect, Eda must put her wounded pride aside, match wits with the investigator from London, and try, at all costs, to save Haro Emison’s neck from the gallows….
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