The Lady And The Duke: A Dangerous Season
The Eardleys Of Gostwicke Hall, Book 2
Penelope Redmont
Contents
Title
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Excerpt: The Lady And The Rake, A Scandalous Arrangement
Lord Linton
About the Author
Also by Penelope Redmont
Title
The Lady And The Duke: A Dangerous Season
By Penelope Redmont
The Eardleys Of Gostwicke Hall, Book 2
Book cover design and layout by Ellie Bockert Augsburger of Creative Digital Studios: www.CreativeDigitalStudios.com
Copyright © 2018 by Penelope Redmont. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Book description
Two experienced men. One headstrong, innocent debutante…
Miss Elaine Eardley is about to make her comeout, but she has more important things on her mind, like vengeance.
Her sister Catherine believes that Elaine's hair tells you everything that you need to know about her. It's flame-red. Catherine also believes that when Duke of Sommerforth invites the Eardleys to his pre-Christmas house party Elaine's successful comeout is assured.
Unfortunately Elaine is infatuated with "the handsomest man in England", Sir Oliver Destry. She's shocked when Sir Oliver calmly tells her that his marriage to her best friend was arranged years ago.
At just 18, Elaine is headstrong and passionate. She sets about the downfall of Sir Oliver and creates a wicked plan. She decides that she'll win an offer of marriage from Sir Oliver Destry.
There's not much that will change her mind, not even a nuisance of a duke who decides to interfere.
Two powerful men, wagers at White's, and a beautiful innocent — what could go wrong?
Just about everything.
Elaine discovers the truth of the old saying that if you want to make the gods laugh, just tell them your plans.
1
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 Felicity 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 s
napped.
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 Oakes, 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 three 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 mare settled, and Elaine couldn't help glancing at the duke again. Steam rose from the mounts of the three men, so they'd been riding hard. He sat his mount easily. His gaze was on Joy. Elaine forced herself to lower her own gaze, knowing that if she stared at him too long his attention would be drawn to her again.
"Talverne suggested that you might have some horses for sale," the duke said.
"Aye, your grace, the black will do us." The rough voice came from one of the men riding with the duke. One of the duke's grooms, it seemed.
"Yes, I know, Peters. I like her too," the duke said. "The mare the lad's riding, Bendish — I saw her take that fence. She is part Arabian is she not not? Which of the ladies owns her?"
"Miss Eardley, your grace."
Then the duke addressed Elaine directly. “Lad, you ride well. Tell me about the horse."
What? Elaine refused to panic. She forced herself to sit the mare calmly. She knew that she would be revealed as a female as soon as she opened her mouth.
"Fred's overcome by your consequence, your grace," Bendish said lightly. "He's a timid lad — it's all I can do to get a word out of him, even when we're alone. About the horse — she's estate bred, Eardley's Joy. Just on three years old. We began her serious schooling a month back. Another year or so and she'll make a fine hunter — but Miss Eardley intends her for a town hack."
The duke was silent for a moment. A glance from the corner of her eye told Elaine that he was still inspecting Joy.
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