To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (24 page)

Mister Whitby whistled in approval. "Very good,
very good indeed!" he said, awkwardly patting her on
the shoulder. "Impressive, Lady Eleanor. Perhaps you
are more the sportswoman than you know. I say, she's
quite the apt pupil, isn't she, Trelawny?"

"Indeed," the man agreed, bobbing his fair head. "It
would theem Lady Eleanor is as capable with a bow as
thee is beautiful, and that is thaying a great deal in her
favor."

Eleanor took a moment to study the duke and
duchess's son as he took up his own bow and aimed. He
was short and slight, nearly a full head shorter than her.
Riotous waves of sandy blond hair brushed the high,
ruffled collar of his linen, nearly overpowering his small
frame. His eyes were a soft green, and his features were
delicate, slightly effeminate. It was an attractive face,
she supposed, though lacking in masculine appeal. Still,
Eleanor had liked him straightaway-who could not?
His seeming enthusiasm for everyone and everything
was infectious.

Eleanor swiped at the perspiration that had gathered
on her forehead with the back of one hand. "And now
you must excuse me, gentlemen. I'm desperate for a
spot of tea"

"Oh, go on, then. Abandon uth," Trelawney exclaimed. "But know that you're breaking my heart, dear
lady."

Eleanor laughed merrily as she removed her long, heavy leather gloves. "I'm sure you'll survive my desertion" Taking a deep breath of the cool, sea-scented air,
she ambled across the springy lawn, toward the shade
beneath the canvas. Her yellow skirts ruffled in the
breeze, sending the ribbon trimming dancing about her
ankles, tickling her skin through her stockings.

"At last," Selina called out as she approached. "Have
you really attained expert status so quickly? From here,
it looked as if your shots were as well-placed as the
gentlemen's."

Eleanor only shrugged. "It would seem I've a natural
inclination toward the bow. Who would have thought?"

"Indeed," the duchess said, raising her quizzing glass
to her eyes and studying Eleanor from head to toe.
"Though you do look hardy enough, I suppose. You're
no shrinking violet, are you, Lady Eleanor?"

Eleanor did not take offense; she knew the womana sporstwoman herself, according to her son-meant it
as a compliment.

"Not in the least, Your Grace. I enjoy a great deal of
exercise, and find the outdoors to be most pleasant, especially on a lovely autumn day such as this"

"I wholeheartedly agree. Come, join us" The duchess
indicated the scrolled wrought-iron chair to her right.
"Have some tea, and allow us to get better acquainted.
Your father is Lord Mandeville, you said?"

"Indeed," Eleanor answered, reaching for the cup of
tea that Selina handed her-two lumps of sugar and a
splash of cream, just as she liked.

"I'm acquainted with Lord Mandeville," the duke interjected with a nod. "Fine man"

"Handsome, too," the duchess added. "Terribly so,
isn't he?"

The duke continued on as if he had not heard his wife's
comment. "I heard him speak at length on educational reform just last year in Parliament. An inspired speaker
to be sure, though I fear that the time is not yet ripe for
the changes he proposes"

Eleanor nodded, setting her cup on its saucer. "Educational reform is a topic my father feels quite strongly
about, and my brother along with him." She allowed her
gaze to stray to the duchess who sat sipping her own tea
with a smile.

She was far more youthful than Eleanor had expected, perhaps a full score younger than the balding
duke, she would hazard to guess. Petite and lithe, the
Duchess of Dandridge was striking, her wheat-colored
hair falling in loose tendrils about almond-shaped green
eyes that lent an air of exoticism to her countenance.
Her face remained remarkably unlined, her lips as full
and rosy as if she were still in the first blush of youth.
What a contrast she was to her aging, rather portly husband beside her, Eleanor thought.

"Doesn't get to Town much, does he?" the duke was
asking, and Eleanor's attention snapped back to the
silver-whiskered man at once. "It would seem that he
does not often take his seat in Parliament."

"In his youth, my brother's poor health oftentimes required that we remained in the country. My father was
loathe to leave him as often as taking his seat would necessitate" It wasn't entirely the truth, of course, but
what could she say? That her mother's cuckolding ways
compelled her father to remain in Essex as much as possible? That he worried over his wife's treatment of his
only son and heir, were he not around to temper it? "But
now that Henry is off at Oxford, I expect my father shall
take his seat more often."

"Capital." The duke nodded, refilling his glass with
port from a decanter by his side. "Then I shall look forward to more of his inspiring speeches."

"Tell me, Lady Eleanor," the duchess said, turning
her back to her husband. "How long ago did you take
your bow?"

"Two years past, Your Grace. A most embarrassing
moment, too. I'm afraid I tripped over my own feet as I
made my retreat. I fell to the floor in a rather inelegant
heap"

"It wasn't as bad as that," Selina offered. "You only
fell partway to the floor before the Queen's page caught
you."

"Lady Henley is being kind, Your Grace. I nearly humiliated myself. Knocked several feathers from my
headdress in the process, and dropped my bouquet and
handkerchief, as well."

"Bah" The duchess waved a hand in dismissal. "You
would not be the first. Walking backward like that while
wearing a court train . . " She trailed off, shaking her
head. "Happens all the time. I'm told several young
ladies have fainted from sheer anxiety alone whilst
making their retreat. I would not worry yourself over it."

"Yes, after all, it's barely mentioned any more, is it?"
Selina smiled sweetly as reached for a tea biscuit. "Until
you bring it up, that is"

The duchess swept her gaze down to Eleanor's delicate
pale yellow slippers and back up again to her face, nodding approvingly. "With two Seasons behind you, Lady
Eleanor, I must assume that your hand is spoken for?"

"No

"Yes." Both Eleanor and Selina answered at once.
Eleanor scowled, silently chiding herself Why ever had
she admitted such a thing? Hadn't she meant to keep the
betrothal a secret?

The duchess regarded them both with pursed lips,
glancing from one to the other with a look that bespoke
her annoyance.

"Well, which is it?" she snapped. "Please do not tell me
that you are one of those silly chits hanging out for a love
match?"

"Not at all," Eleanor answered. "My father has entered into an agreement of sorts on my behalf, though I
would not say that I am precisely betrothed-not yet, at
least."

"A wholly unacceptable arrangement, Your Grace,"
Selina offered, a bit too cheerily, Eleanor thought.

The duke began to snore softly, his chin resting on his
breastbone.

The duchess reached over to thwap her husband with
her fan, eliciting a snuffle of protest.

"Yes, yes, capital," he muttered before dropping his
chin back to his chest.

With a shrug, the duchess returned her attention to
Eleanor. "You find the arrangement unacceptable on
what grounds, I might ask? After all, marriage is, at its
heart, a business arrangement, is it not? One should not
allow something as arcane as matters of the heart to
get in the way of an advantageous match"

"He's the worst sort of rake, Your Grace," Selina interjected before Eleanor had the opportunity to speak.
"A libertine, if you will."

"Your father betrothed you to a libertine?" the
duchess asked with the arch of one delicate blond brow.
"Is he truly dissolute, or just your typical rakehell
youth? There's quite a distinction, you know."

Eleanor's cheeks grew warm, and she dropped her
gaze to her lap. Why did Selina feel the need to so thoroughly disparage the man? "Really, Your Grace, he's not
as bad as all that," she said, startled by the strength of
her desire to stand up for him.

The duchess swung her gaze from Eleanor to Selina,
and back again. "Well, is he or isn't he?"

"Yes"

"No." Again, both Eleanor and Selina spoke at once.

"No," Eleanor repeated, more firmly this time. "Lady
Henley exaggerates greatly. Mister Stoneham is perhaps
many things, but he is decidedly not a libertine."

"Stoneham?" the duchess asked, the corners of her
mouth drawn into a frown. "Surely you don't mean
Mister Frederick Stoneham, the Baron Worthington's
son?"

Oh, blast it. Had she actually said his name aloud?

Selina nodded, leaning forward in her seat. "That's
precisely the one. Mister Frederick Stoneham of Essex,
though his father's baronial seat is in Oxfordshire"

"La! Surely you're not serious? I suppose he is quite
the wastrel, if the rumors are true. Someone should have
a talk with Lord Mandeville, then, before it is too late.
Did you say the betrothal contract has already been
signed?"

"It has, Your Grace," Eleanor murmured. "Though
I've spoken with Mister Stoneham, and we've concluded that perhaps the agreement is not to our tastes"
Oh, how it hurt to say those words aloud. A sharp pang
of regret shot straight through her heart, stealing away
her breath and making her slightly dizzy.

"I should say not," the duchess agreed with a nod.

"Though we have not entirely decided the matter,"
Eleanor added peevishly. Truly, what did it matter to this
woman whom she married?

"Well, whatever are you doing here at Whitby Hall,
frittering away your time in Devon rather than seeing to
this most unpleasant business straightaway?"

"Why, Mister Stoneham himself is here in Devon at
pres-ent," Selina interjected, "also a guest of Mister
Whitby's. We traveled here together not a fortnight ago"

"No!" the duchess gasped, one slender hand clutch ing her throat. "Is he really? Why, I'd dearly like to
make his acquaintance and see just what all the fuss is
about. Is he really as wickedly handsome as they say?"
The tone of her voice changed perceptibly, now nearly
a purr, and Eleanor did not like the twinkle in the duchess's eye that accompanied her question.

"He is in Plymouth at present with Henley," Selina
offered when Eleanor did not reply. "But, yes, suffice it
to say that the gossips have not exaggerated his exceptionally favorable looks."

"Hmm, fascinating, indeed. I must say, his reputation
is near legendary, even if he hasn't been in Town but
these past six months. Well, if what they say is true, Lady
Eleanor, then you'd best extricate yourself from the contract as expeditiously as possible. Those like Frederick
Stoneham are best left to women with more ... er, shall
I say, more experience with men like him. Besides, isn't
he but three and twenty?"

The duchess seemed to know a great deal about Frederick, Eleanor thought, her stomach pitching uncomfortably. All based on rumor and supposition, of course.
Though she did have his age correct. "He is indeed but
three and twenty," she murmured over the rim of her
cup, eyeing the woman suspiciously now.

"There you have it. Far too young to marry. Why, I'd
send a letter to Lord Mandeville myself, were we better
acquainted, advising heartily against the match"

I'm sure you would, Eleanor thought, rather uncharitably. And then you would seek Frederick out for yourself. The thought that a beautiful, experienced older
woman like the duchess was perhaps the type that Frederick normally consorted with flitted across her mind,
making her cheeks warm. Hadn't he once mentioned a
widow in Shropshire? Would he succumb to the Duchess of Dandridge's advances, were she to sink her claws
into him?

No. No, he would not. She wanted to believe it. Truly,
she did. And yet, as always, a niggling doubt destroyed
her faith in the man.

"Oh, Mister Whitby!" the duchess called out shrilly,
startling Eleanor and causing Selina to nearly spill her
tea down the front of her gown. "Put down that blasted
bow and join us over here in the shade. You've barely
spared a word for me since our arrival," she added petulantly. "Let him be, Trelawny Must you hog his attention
all afternoon? Haven't I taught you to share nicely?"

Masculine laughter drifted on the scented breeze, and
soon Mister Whitby was at the duchess's side, reaching
for her gloved hand as he bent to kiss her, his lips just
barely grazing the corner of her mouth. "My dear duchess," he said. "I'm only surprised that you did not join
us on the range. I know you take great pride in your
skills as an archer."

"Indeed, but I was far too busy acquainting myself
with these two lovely young ladies. Why, I've a mind
to organize a house party, and invite both Lady Henley
and Lady Eleanor."

"A fine idea," Lord Trelawny said, joining the party
beneath the canvas. "I thould like that very muth ."

"Oh, Trelawny, dear, can you not dispense with that
maddening lisp? He only does it to be fashionable, you
know," she added. "Dandridge, wake up" She poked her
snoring husband with her fan, and the man sat up and
stifled a yawn. "I was just saying we should host a
house party," she told him, "and invite these young
people here to join us"

"Capital," he said with a snuffle. "A fine idea, fine
indeed. Shall we organize a hunt?"

"Yes, whatever." The duchess waved one slender hand in dismissal. "And I've a mind to become acquainted
with Mister Frederick Stoneham, who is currently here
in Devonshire. We shall invite him, as well." Nodding to
herself, she absently stroked Mister Whitby's arm as he
stood close by, a surprisingly intimate gesture and one
that made Eleanor more than a bit uncomfortable.

Eleanor could have sworn that a hint of suspicion
darkened Selina's features, echoing what she was thinking herself The image of the cottage on the cliff flashed
across her mind, reminding her of Frederick's thinly
veiled suggestion that Mister Whitby entertained a lover
there. She glanced back at the duchess, watching as she
and Mister Whitby conversed quietly, his head bent
down toward her fair one.