A DUKE WORTH HIS SALT
CHAPTER ONE
London, 1817
“There it is, there it is. Papa's carriage!” Effie smoothed the front of her taffeta dress. “It's been so long. I can hardly wait to see what he brought us from his trip.”
“Shh. None of that. You mustn't get him excited. Remember, we are glad to see him, not trinkets.” Eleanor rested her hand on her younger sister's shoulder. Her heart almost overflowed with joy as the carriage rolled up the drive.
Their papa, the Earl of Aldshire had been in Sussex for four months. He'd inherited a country home there from his great-uncle whose other heirs had met with tragic demises over the years. Rather than drag his three daughters away from society or uproot them from friends and loved ones, he'd left them in his sister's charge. Two months ago, they'd learned he was returning home in time for the Season. That letter had been followed by another—from the earl's solicitor Mr. Quirty. He'd explained the earl had taken a fall from his horse and obtained a nasty head injury.
“He will be tired and hungry. He'll want to go straight to his chambers,” Emma fretted. “I would dearly love a chat with him.”
“Now, ladies, do not swarm him when he steps out. We mustn't overwhelm your father. Remember your manners.” Aunt Madeline waved an ornate fan in front of her face. “Of course he will be tired and hungry. We must let the earl catch his breath and regain his bearings before consulting him on other matters.”
Eleanor exchanged a look with Emma over Effie's crown. The consequences of a head injury could range from minor to serious. Where did Papa stand?
Emma's hands fluttered nervously over her dress. She had every reason to worry. Before last Season ended the Earl of Hangingham had expressed interest in marriage, but his proposal had come after Papa's departure. Emma felt it was wrong to pursue the relationship without the earl asking for Papa's blessing. Emma and their father had a lot to discuss. All Aunt Madeline's talk of patience didn't help a thing.
The carriage stopped in front of the walkway to the house. On either side of the steps, the servants lined up to greet their master. The gathering was deathly silent as a wake. After a long moment, the footman opened the carriage door. The man who exited wasn't their father. Johnathon Quirty gave the crowd a once-over. His grim face suggested he'd rather be anywhere but Tipperstead End today.
“It's bad news,” Emma murmured. “Papa did not make it.”
Effie turned her startled gaze on Emma. “Why would you say such a thing?”
Eleanor clamped her hand over her sister's mouth. “Quiet now.”
Mr. Quirty leaned into the carriage and spoke, but his words were muffled. He drew back, his gaze riveted to the dark interior.
Sanders, the footman, offered his hand into the space.
A large hand clasped around Sanders'. Marcus Morton, Earl of Aldshire, emerged. He clung to Sanders as though he feared he'd drop off the earth's surface.
Eleanor stretched her mouth into a smile. Papa's big, hawkish nose hung over his perpetually unsmiling mouth. Bushy grey eyebrows drew together over still greyer eyes. Age lines created a strange map across his face. He wasn't a tall man, rather portly for all the riding he did, and darker of skin than some of his cohorts among the ton. A throwback from his Basque relatives. His face, weathered like an old fig, lost some of its harshness when he turned his gaze on them.
Effie, bursting at the seams, beat a path to him, breaking the solemn mood of the earl's return. She threw her arms around him. “Papa, I missed you. Can you believe how much taller I have gotten? Last summer, I sprang up like a weed. Aunt Madeline had to order a whole new wardrobe. This year, I can hardly wait for the Season to begin.”
He patted her back, awkward with the familiarity of his youngest daughter. “Yes, yes, you have grown. Dear heavens, your first Season already?” He looked stunned.
“I am sixteen this year, Papa. You know that.” Effie laughed. She hung onto his arm as they climbed the steps. “Emma has a big surprise. She's nearly faint with worry. She's been nothing but a snappish pest since we got the letter that said you were coming home.”
Emma's face blossomed with color. “It's nothing that cannot wait. You must be exhausted, Papa. We'll have you settled in again in no time.”
“I have been gone a long while and there are many things to catch up with.” He gazed around the courtyard as though he had no idea how he'd gotten here. “Everything in its time.”
Paternoster, the family's butler, approached. “I've seen to your rooms.”
“I could use some time to rest given the long journey.” The earl's face had a grey-ish tint. “Mr. Quirty, will you see things set right with my family?”
“Of course, Lord Aldshire.”
Paternoster and Sanders helped Papa up the stairs. The staff greeted him and he paused before Aunt Madeline.
“Sister. All has been well?” His voice sounded rusty.
Madeline inclined her head. “Of course. The household is in fine shape. Do not worry about it now. Rest is the best thing for you.”
“So it seems.” His gaze shifted to Eleanor and Emma. “Emma, dearest. You look splendid in lilac.” He cupped her face with a shaking hand. “The spitting image of your mother.”
Eleanor's heart beat a little faster. She'd missed her father and their almost daily rides through Hyde Park. How soon would he be able to return to the saddle? “We've missed you fiercely, Papa.”
His grey gaze slid over to her. “You! What are you doing here? Looking for more sympathy, are you? Well, you will not find it here. Sanders, remove her from this place at once.”
Eleanor took a step back. “Papa? I do not understand.” Her stomach clenched. What had she done to upset him?
“Get her away from me. Away, you miserable doxy!” The earl jerked his arms away from his escorts. He waved his hands at her face. “You won't be getting anything more from me and mine.”
Aunt Madeline—paler than normal—hooked her arm around Eleanor's. “Come along. Let's not upset the earl any longer. He needs time to calm himself.”
Effie and Emma wore identical looks of horror. Neither moved as Aunt Madeline dragged Eleanor to the garden.
“Remain out here until Mr. Quirty can sort things out.” Aunt Madeline steered her to a bench and sat beside her. “I am sure your father is overly tired and not thinking clearly.”
Tears burned Eleanor's eyes. “He thinks I am someone else, doesn't he? He recognized Effie, though just barely, and he knew Emma straightaway, but he thinks I'm some-some...” She couldn't say it. Perhaps he imagined her as a past conquest, some mistress he'd dallied with. Pain squeezed her chest. “What's wrong with him?”
“Mr. Quirty will explain everything.” Madeline patted her back. “Give me a moment to have Mrs. Easom bring us tea.”
“All right.” She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab her eyes. She slumped as much as her stays allowed as Aunt Madeline returned to the house. How could the man with the stern face, but infectious laugh, who'd taught her how to handle a horse and practiced dancing with her before her first Season confuse her with someone else?
Was she so forgettable?
The crunch of grass alerted her about Aunt Madeline's approach. She straightened her back and did her best to conceal her sorrow. Her aunt didn't approve of giving away too much emotion.
Mr. Quirty accompanied Madeline, grim-faced as ever. “You will have to forgive his outburst, Lady Eleanor. I'll attempt to explain it to you simply so you might understand what happened to your father. This is a nasty shock for all of us. Most unsettling.”
Eleanor swallowed the lump in her throat. “Will he remember me soon?”
Mr. Quirty swabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “I'm afraid when he tumbled from his horse, he damaged his brain. Some memories have been retained, others have vanished entirely. Over the course of the last few weeks, he's recovered a bit slowly. There are still remaining gaps in his memory. It appears you're one of them.
For now. Don't fret. He's remembered Tipperstead End, most of your family, and several of his business dealings. It does leave us in a rather precarious position of what to do with his estate in the south—he cannot remember arriving to see it or what he was doing in Sussex in the first place. It will be gobbling money soon if we don't figure out whether to sell it or manage it. But I'll handle that end.”
The solicitor took a deep breath. He crumpled his kerchief in his hand. “The best you can do for now is avoid him unless he asks for you specifically. No sense upsetting either of you.”
Eleanor's chin wobbled despite her efforts to still it. “But will he ever remember me?”
“His physician was certain he'd make a full recovery...er, eventually.”
“So he might never recall my face without attaching a memory of some strumpet?” A wayward tear escaped the corner of her eye. More for him than for her. How awkward to be the forgotten daughter, but it was much worse to be an earl with missing memories.
“It's difficult to say, Lady Eleanor.” Mr. Quirty fiddled with the kerchief. “I must look into your father's business logs now. I do hope he improves. Your family is in my thoughts and prayers.”
She appreciated the sentiment, but it did nothing to soothe her sorrow. “Thank you, Mr. Quirty.” She rose and addressed her aunt. “I'm retiring for the afternoon. I would prefer not to be disturbed.”
“Eleanor—”
The disapproval in her aunt's voice didn't stop her from running to the solace of her room.
A DUKE WORTH HIS SALT
CHAPTER TWO
The timid knock on Eleanor's door signaled her sisters wanted to talk. There was no escaping their concern. It hardly mattered. She turned away her ladies' maid, but Aunt Madeline was sure to coerce Eleanor out of bed soon. She'd never allow Eleanor to remain hidden all day, no matter how bad her grief. It was grief. In a way, the most important man she knew and loved had died.
“Eleanor, may we come in?”
“If you must.” Where was the use in telling them no? She hadn't even dragged herself from the tangled sheets yet nor could she find the will to make the effort.
Emma opened the door and ushered Effie inside. “Oh, Eleanor.”
“Did you speak with him?” Her nose was stuffy from crying and her voice sounded like a frog's croak.
“For a little while last night. He's disoriented. Not himself at all.” Emma settled at the foot of the bed. She threaded her fingers together. “It seemed best not to mention Adam—I mean the Earl of Hangingham.” A faint blush brightened her cheeks. “Perhaps if Papa's feeling better today.”
“He's not going to accompany us to any events or make it to Parliament.” Effie threw herself down on her stomach next to Emma. “He's got to remain at home where he can rest. He will miss my debut. And we won't be hosting any parties for weeks, if at all, unless he recovers swiftly.”
“Our father's health is more important than parties.” Emma sighed. “Or weddings.”
“Did he mention me?” Eleanor twisted her blanket. “Even once?”
Emma and Effie exchanged a look.
Emma lowered her gaze. “Well, no. I am very sorry. Surely he will remember you soon. Aunt Madeline says we must give him time.”
“She's trusting Paternoster to keep him confined to his rooms. You can come out and join the rest of us, you know. Besides, we're going to the seamstress today, remember? We cannot leave until you're dressed.” Effie rolled to her feet. “I'm going now. Come on, Emma. Let Mopey Mary call for her maid. We must get going before all the best material is swooped up.” Effie danced to the door. “You will be in ugly, drab colors this Season, Eleanor, with no one to blame but yourself.” She sailed into the hall while she hummed a ballad.
Dresses were the last thing on Eleanor's mind. What good were parties and dances when she didn't exist in her father's world?
Emma took her hand. “She's concerned. We all are, but it's hard to dampen the excitement that comes with a girl's first Season. You remember.”
“I know. I cannot be angry with her because she's watched both of us go out among the ton and come back talking of handsome men.” Eleanor squeezed Emma's hand. “Perhaps I could use some time away from the house. Shopping will take my mind off of Papa's condition.”
“Aunt Madeline would have dragged you out of bed anyway. She made the appointments with the seamstress months ago.” Emma's expression turned wistful. “I wish...never mind. I won't be like Effie, so concerned with silly affairs that I cannot see past my own nose.” She rose, dusted off her hands and left.
Eleanor's heart ached for her sister. They'd spent several long nights under the blankets, giggling together after Lord Hangingham all but proposed. They'd made tentative plans for the wedding, knowing all the while Aunt Madeline would probably fuss and argue about it. If Papa did not recover soon, Emma's hopes might be further dashed.
Eleanor left her bed and pulled the rope to signal her maid Ginette that she was at last ready to prepare for the day, whatever it brought.
* * * *
Swatches, ribbons, gloves, slippers, and stockings swirled in Eleanor's mind when she closed her eyes. Effie and Aunt Madeline might consider this venture a success, but Eleanor longed for the cool space between her sheets. A headache nagged behind her eyes, brought on by Effie's non-stop chatter at every shop they'd visited. The bouncing carriage didn't help as it seemed the driver intended to hit all the bumps along the road.
“We'll be home soon,” Emma murmured. She patted Eleanor's hand. “Just a few minutes more.”
What would be waiting for them there? Papa still living in his fog, ready to accuse her of unsavory behavior? She grimaced when the carriage hit another hole.
A crack sounded right after and the carriage gave a sudden lurch. The horses shrieked with fright.
Eleanor's head bounced off the carriage frame. She grunted as pain burst behind her left ear.
Effie slammed into Eleanor. “What's happening?”
The carriage came to a bone-jarring stop, though it sat haphazardly tilted. Effie sprawled half in Eleanor's lap. Madeline and Emma were pressed together across the opposite seat.
Eleanor rubbed the growing knot behind her ear. The pain from her original headache seemed to multiply.
The coachman rushed to the carriage door. “Are you ladies all right? Have you been injured?”
“Girls?” Aunt Madeline untangled herself from Emma.
Eleanor blinked away the swirling carriage interior. “I think I'm all right.”
“Me too,” Emma said.
“I banged my nose. Is it bleeding? Am I disfigured?” Effie pressed her fingers to her upper lip as though expecting to draw away blood.
“It's fine,” Emma said. “It's just a little bump. There is not even a mark.”
Effie wilted with relief. “Thank goodness.” She bolted up again. “What's the matter with our carriage?”
“Afraid the rear axle's busted,” the coachman answered. “There's naught I can do about fixing it now.”
“We're not walking.” Effie pressed her hands to her face. “We cannot!”
Madeline pushed her way to the door. “Be quiet, Effie. Are the horses still sound, Mr. Wells?”
“I'll check them, my lady.”
“Very good. Help us out first. We're not going anywhere in this conveyance and there is no sense sitting inside.” Madeline accepted his hand as she managed the steps.
“How will we get our things back to the house?” Effie knotted her hands together. “What if it rains? The sky is clouding up. Do you see?”
“Really, Effie, now is not the time for panic. We could have been killed, but we're all safe and sound. Be grateful.” Emma pushed Effie toward the door. “Let's make the best of the situation.”
Eleanor followed them outside. She rubbed her temples. Like Effie, she wasn't keen on walking home while a headache attempted to blind her.
“You're quite pale.” Emma placed her hand on Eleano
r's shoulder. “Are you certain you did not bump your head?”
“It's the original problem. I will be fine once we are home.” She tried to smile. “Don't fret about me.”
“I do worry. Someone should. When we're home, I'll rub your neck. That will help,” Emma promised.
There was only the little matter of getting there. The grass growing beside the road waved temptingly. If she could sit down, maybe the world would stop spinning.
The clatter of another carriage approaching pushed through Effie's whining. It drew to a stop.
“Can we be of assistance?” The passenger opened the door, then stepped out. “You're in need of a ride home, aren't you, ladies? You must allow us to help or else anything could happen as you try to get home safely.”
Blue eyes pierced Eleanor. The dizziness lifted for a moment. Heavens. Her heart thudded a rapid tempo in her chest.
Their sapphire-eyed savior frowned. “Are you well?”
She tried to nod, but someone had inserted a stiff rod in her neck.
“I do not think she's well at all. Aunt Madeline, we must get home at once.” Emma's gentle hands slid over Eleanor's shoulders.
“We mustn't delay if the lady is in need. Come, Dwyer, help them into the coach.”
“Your Grace, a swift introduction may be in order,” Dwyer murmured.
“Ah, of course. In fear that our injured party might faint, I neglected my manners. Quickly, Dwyer.” A sympathetic smile graced the man's face.
“May I present the most noble Daniel Goodwin, Duke of Greenebuck.”
Such a stuffy title for a man with warm blue eyes. She should curtsy to him and wait for Aunt Madeline to introduce her. The second Eleanor tried to turn her head, she lost her balance. Emma's hold wasn't enough to steady her.
She nearly collapsed in the waving grass. Would have, if not for the duke's strong hands.
“It's into the coach we go. It seems introductions are too much for the lady.” Those brilliant blue eyes turned on Eleanor again. “I will carry you. You'll be resting in your bed in no time.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I am sure I'm capable of walking on my own.” Her voice was little more than a dry whisper.
Once Upon A Regency: Timeless Tales And Fables Page 34
