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“Did you think about a commission?” Beck asked.
“I might have.” Ellisfield shrugged. “However, it was not to be.”
“So you are in the Lords?”
“I go in for Father on occasion. I have some interests, but...” His voice trailed off. He was quiet a moment, and then
he confessed, “I should do more.”
Beck agreed. Ellisfield surprised him. There was some substance to him, if only he would act on behalf of himself.
“My family is not political,” Ellisfield said.
“Why not?” He’d assumed all of the great families had political ambitions. Wasn’t that the way of the world?
“The last marquess was, but Father prefers the family stay in the background.”
Beck had been waiting for him to mention his father. “What does that mean?”
“That we give money.” Ellisfield shot him a knowing look before saying, “They also serve who pay the way.”
Beck didn’t know if he agreed. “Is the marquess’s health good?”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t stay at dinner last night. I thought he was not feeling well.”
Ellisfield looked away, studying the trees lining the road before saying, “My father is fine.”
Beck raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
They rode in silence for a few minutes, and then Beck’s patience was rewarded when Ellisfield said, “Father doesn’t socialize well. Never has. Nor is he aging well. To be honest, the man has only cared for one thing in his life, and that is my mother.”
“Many men are fond of their wives.”
“True, but few always do their bidding. Father is one of the few. Whatever she wants. I will say they are well-matched. She
supports him as fervently as he supports her.”
“They are a love match?”
“Not necessarily.” He looked over at Beck. “And yet they do well together. However, he has started having these spells. They
began a year ago. I believed he was getting better, but I don’t know. Did you notice his hand shaking?”
Beck nodded.
“I try not to think on it,” Ellisfield said.
“Did something happen a year ago to upset him?”
His lordship frowned as if uncertain he should say anything. Then, “He lost Winstead.”
Beck kept his tone neutral. “Winstead?”
“He was my father’s personal”—he waved a gloved hand in the air—“everything. Winstead was both friend and bodyguard. His dogsbody.
Both of my parents trusted him. I heard he disappeared. Just left. It is a pity, because he used to force Father to leave
the house.”
“It must be difficult to see a parent growing frail,” Beck said.
Ellisfield nodded. “Mother warns me to be ready to take over the title.” He added quietly, “I don’t like having the weight
of my father’s death hanging over my head. It is macabre.”
“It is also the way of great families.”
His lordship acted as if ready to say something, but instead chose, “Listen to me. I asked you to come look at a horse with
me. Not listen to the family woes.”
“I don’t mind,” Beck answered honestly. “Besides, your family has had its share of tragedy. I understand your reluctance.”
“There are hundreds of people who would be happy to be in my boots, Curran,” Ellisfield said. “I can’t feel too sorry for
myself. Are your parents alive?”
Beck thought of the laughing woman in the portrait, the three graves. “No.”
“That is right,” his lordship replied as if just remembering. “There isn’t much to Lady Orpington’s family. Mother was surprised
when she learned Lady Orpington was bringing a nephew.”
“We weren’t close,” Beck offered as an excuse. “Family estrangement.”
“It is probably simpler that way. Money tears a family apart.”
“Has it taken a toll on yours?” Beck dared to ask, hoping he wasn’t appearing unreasonably nosy.
He also found he wondered what he had missed.
“Of course. My brother has his resentments, as one would, knowing he is always considered the second-best. He would be happy
to step into my place and inherit it all. When I am in control of the estate, I will increase his and my sister’s allowances.” He patted his horse’s shoulder, something he did often. “The irony is that I can remember how angry my parents were with my aunt, the last marchioness. They claimed she never gave them enough for expenses, and yet they do the same to their children.”
“Her death was what? Years ago?” Beck said carefully, not wishing to sound too enthusiastic at this new information.
“Decades,” Ellisfield agreed. “But they were the sort of battles one remembers. I hid under a table when their rows were too
much.”
“What were they truly fighting over?”
“I said, money. Isn’t everything about money?”
“Colemore has plenty of money.”
“Does anyone ever have enough? But as I remember, my aunt held her own. I keep that in mind when I choose my own counsel over
my parents’ wishes.” He lifted his reins and gave the chestnut a kick. “We are almost to the squire’s place.”
Beck feared the time for confidences was over, but after turning down a side road, Ellisfield said, “My late uncle was an
innovator—what I hope to be. What I’m trying to be in Yorkshire. My aunt tried to continue his plans, and that is why, I suppose,
she wished my parents were more frugal.”
He was quiet a moment and then said, “And I pray I’m more like my uncle than I am my father. I also hope to find a woman with
my late aunt’s qualities.”
“Your mother has someone in mind.”
“Ah, Miss Purley, who is very attractive, and very young .”
“She is an heiress.”
Ellisfield laughed. “You sound like my mother.” Then he sobered. “I don’t want to end up like my sister and brother. Jane’s husband is a bore, and my brother, Martin, married Mother.” He rode a bit in silence before confiding, “I know that marriages of convenience aren’t all bad.”
“Were your parents a marriage of convenience?” Beck asked.
“Certainly. They barely knew each other when they married, and now I believe they have high regard for each other. Mother
protects Father in spite of his increasing eccentricities. She could let him be, but their lives are entwined. And, strange
as it sounds considering what a bastard he can be, I believe she loves him.” He fell silent a moment and then said, “I just
don’t want to wait thirty years to finally learn I’m in love.”
Beck heard the last statement as if from a distance. Instead, he was caught up in Ellisfield’s confidences about his parents.
Up to now, everyone had claimed that Lady Middlebury was the force to be reckoned with... but what if she acted on behalf
of her lord? Few women were as independent-minded as Gwendolyn or her sisters. Most did as they were instructed. Especially
if it would protect the family.
Furthermore, Ellisfield probably did feel trapped, because he was. He had responsibilities to his lineage, to the title he
could inherit, depending on what more Beck learned about his past. He was expected to marry, and soon, considering his age. Miss Purley was probably not the first woman his family had dangled in front of him like bait. The expectations would be overwhelming.
That he had so far managed to be his own man spoke volumes for him—
“I have noticed Miss Lanscarr.”
Ellisfield’s statement snapped Beck to attention. “Miss Lanscarr?”
“Yes,” he said, the light of possibility coming to his eyes. “I find her remarkable. Beauty, intelligence. Grace. ”
She has faults , Beck wanted to say... although he hadn’t noticed any. Well, she was stubborn. And headstrong. No one could deny those
two qualities.
Yet what some would see as flaws, Beck actually enjoyed. Because she was also loyal—and when those characteristics were matched
with beauty, intelligence, and grace, it made for a very attractive package.
One that he didn’t wish to share.
Ellisfield shot him a glance and continued, “However, I sense a bond between the two of you. Is that true? Because if there
isn’t one, I’m interested.”
At that moment, the bay stepped into a rut in the road and stumbled slightly. Beck appreciated the interruption. It gave him
a moment to sort out his response to Ellisfield.
The man was handsome, well-connected, titled, and spoke of wanting love... he was everything the Lanscarr sisters had come
searching for in London.
Except, Beck realized he didn’t want to let Gwendolyn go.
“We have an understanding,” he lied to Ellisfield.
And those words meant that he needed to be certain they did once he returned to Colemore. Of course, he had no idea what he
would say to Gwendolyn. Especially after he had told her in London that she should expect nothing from him—and yet, he had
kissed her.
It had been a good kiss, too. The sort that left a man hungry for more.
No, the sort that told a man, he had fallen in love.
The truth of that statement rang through Beck. He loved Gwendolyn Lanscarr. It was a simple statement, and yet it changed
everything . Especially him.
His lordship’s head seemed to sink a bit between his shoulders as if he’d received a setback, but then he straightened. “I
thought as much. I saw you riding together this morning. Still, if I thought I had a chance—” Ellisfield started.
“You don’t.”
His lordship laughed and then confessed, “Now you see the challenges of my love life. The ones I want are taken.”
“You will find yours,” Beck answered. Although he didn’t care if Ellisfield found happiness or not. Beck loved Gwendolyn Lanscarr,
and that made him one very lucky man.
The horse for sale was lame. The squire hoped they would not notice. They did.
However, that didn’t mean that Beck and Ellisfield had not enjoyed themselves. Beck had few friends. He told himself he liked it that way—except he didn’t. He could be honest with himself now. Gwendolyn had opened him up and exposed the lie.
Now he rode with a man who was his blood. In another life, with different circumstances, as cousins, they could have been
bonded as close as brothers.
Their trip took longer than anticipated. They arrived back at Colemore a good two hours before dinner to find Lady Middlebury
pacing in the front entry, annoyed that they had not returned sooner. She apparently knew that her son had ridden out with
Beck, and she was not pleased. Her glance rolled over him, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes before she turned her
back on Beck to speak to her son. “I need you, Henry, to help with the guests. You know, your father—”
“I know, my father .” Ellisfield waved Beck on while he stayed to placate his mother and listen to her complaints about the marquess.
If Lady Middlebury was free to worry, that meant the cardplayers had quit for the time being. He wondered where Gwendolyn was. He checked the small library. Gwendolyn was not there with her nose in a book. He took a moment to examine the portrait more closely, seeing it differently now that he understood his connection to the happy bride. He’d decided they would leave this evening, after dinner and before the charades that were scheduled. Any sensible person would bow out of charades, and their absence would not be noticed, he hoped. He wished he could take the portrait with him. Perhaps he could claim it later.
He hadn’t spoken to Lady Orpington about leaving yet. He met Mrs. Newsome in the hall. She held her knitting bag in one hand
and appeared tired. “How was the whist?” he asked.
“Disappointing,” was the crisp answer.
“Miss Lanscarr and Lady Orpington did not do well?”
“Oh, they were excellent. My cousin said that Lady Middlebury was very distracted and didn’t even play as if she cared. She
lost their match, and now, if my cousin wishes to play her, and she does, she will have to wait until tomorrow. To be honest,
I was surprised at how badly Lady Middlebury lost her games. Her points were very low.”
“She has a houseful of guests. She may have been distracted.”
Mrs. Newsome made a face. “My cousin is in a mood. I asked a footman to take Magpie for a walk, and he hasn’t returned. Meanwhile,
my lady is furious she cannot have her pet immediately this moment. She has sent me out to look for the servant, but I can’t
remember which one took her. They all look alike in their wigs and livery.”
Beck frowned. He knew he would have to take the dog with them when they left. For a second, he debated leaving Lady Orpington,
Magpie, and Mrs. Newsome behind. Were they truly in danger?
Possibly. Whoever had sent Winstead after him was of a murderous bent. If something happened to even Magpie, he would blame
himself.
“Mrs. Newsome, I’m going to tell you something in the strictest confidence.” He looked up and down the hall. Muffled movement could be heard behind several of the doors, but they were alone save for the porter sitting at his station. And he appeared more interested in the carpet pattern than their conversation.
He took her arm and pulled her a few steps down the hall, leaning his head close. “We may need to leave this evening.”
“Leave?”
“For reasons I can’t disclose,” he said.
Her brows lifted. “Oh. Yes. I understand.” She looked away. “Do you wish me to see that my cousin is packed?”
“No, we will leave with what we have. The servants and clothing can be sent for.”
“Do you truly believe it has come to that?”
“I trust my instincts, and the answer is yes. Please, pass this message to your mistress.”
“She won’t go,” Mrs. Newsome said. “She is wound up in the shabby way Lady Middlebury has managed the whist tournament. She
is thinking of taking it over herself on the morrow.”
“She may choose to stay. However, I have sensed that Lady Middlebury and perhaps others know my identity. And may have been
aware of it before I came.”
“What makes you say that?”
He thought of Violet, but he didn’t answer Mrs. Newsome. “We leave tonight. You and Lady Orpington will come with us if you
are wise.”
She nodded. “I shall tell her.”
“Be ready. No luggage.”
“That is a challenge.”
Beck didn’t respond. He expected his order to be obeyed. “I hope you find Magpie.”
“I pray that dog is lost forever.”
Her bluntness surprised him. Then again, he could never have survived if he’d been in her position. He watched her walk down
the stairs before turning his attention to Gwendolyn. He thought about knocking at her door, but then reconsidered. He’d spent
many hours in the saddle. He was certain he reeked of horses. He could spare a moment to make himself presentable.
Especially since, if he got nerve up, he was going to admit that she was right—he loved her.
And was it possible she might, possibly, hopefully return the feeling?
Beck had never known love but now, he found himself in awe of the depth of his feelings for Gwendolyn.
In his room, Beck hurriedly poured water into a basin, removed his clothes to the waist, and washed his face and hands and
torso. He believed in the benefits of bathing and wished he’d had the opportunity of a bath. It had been a full day. He couldn’t
wait to find Gwendolyn and hear her thoughts about the tidbits of information he’d gleaned about Ellisfield or how she and
Lady Orpington had fared over cards. He couldn’t wait to tell her that he’d changed his mind: He wanted her to fall in love
with him. He’d demand it, and he’d kiss her again and again until he won her over.
She was the only woman for him. He’d always believed he preferred being alone. He’d needed it, or so he’d told himself. People were a challenge. Few were dependable. No one was faithful, well, except Gwendolyn. He’d come to rely on her.
That idea was radical.
Beck stopped drying himself with the linen towel provided, stunned by how important Gwendolyn was to him.
The wariness, the deeply rooted anger that he would deny even existed in him, had faded away. In its place was love. It had
finally found him and the Greeks were right—love was like being shot with an arrow. But he wasn’t mortally wounded. No, he’d
been given a new life. And so he would tell Gwendolyn when he made his declaration, except, he wasn’t one for flowery words.
However, his love for her made him want to spout poetry. It made him want to sing.
It made him want to hold her and never let her go.
Finished with the towel, he turned to the small chest where his clothes were stored, then saw a note on the bed. It was small,
and the paper had blended in with the counterpane. He’d been so focused on preparing to meet Gwendolyn, he had not noticed.
Beck picked it up. The handwriting was feminine.
I have learned something Important. Meet me in the gazebo in the back garden as soon as you are able. Gwendolyn.
He quickly dressed. He had not yet had a chance to explore Colemore’s gardens. They took up acres of land. However, a good number of the guests already walked the paths when he stepped from the house. He asked about a gazebo and was told to keep following the path until he saw a line of trellises shading the main pathway. “Watch for a thicket tunnel. Right before you reach it. It isn’t far from there,” a guest said.
The garden was a mix of formal and informal spaces. Passing the trellises, he walked down a row of yews that cut a border.
He searched between them for any sign of a gazebo. He didn’t see one.
Clouds gathered overhead. He was alone in the garden now as the other guests had gone inside to prepare for dinner.
At the end of the alley of yews was a winding path that led into a section of shrubs and over a brook, designed so it flowed
into a series of good-sized pools. The pools had been filled with water lilies. Silver fish darted beneath them in the late
afternoon light. He crossed a small bridge before he caught sight of a low thicket tunnel and the roof of a gazebo.
Anxious to see Gwendolyn, he hastened his step. The privacy offered by this splendid garden seemed the perfect backdrop for
him to confess to Gwendolyn that he had been wrong—he loved her. She was his future. His reason for being. He wanted her beside him.
He didn’t have all the right words in his mind. He trusted they would come to him once he had his arms around her.
The gazebo was of a Chinese design. The roof was red with curling points. The columns were carved wood painted white. It was a delicate-looking building and oddly fit the forest setting. The surrounding thicket tunnel made it very private.
He entered the gazebo and was annoyed to see that Gwendolyn was not there. Then he chastised himself for his impatience. He
thought of the kiss that morning, the hunger that had been in both of them. He could wait forever for Gwendolyn if he could
feel her arms around him... and know he was no longer alone in this world.
The gazebo floor was stone inlaid in the shape of a star. Just like the parquet floors in the house, he mused. Or, stars like
the ones in Gwendolyn’s eyes when some particular thought caught her imagination or fancy.
There was no seating. Instead, Beck leaned against the railing, watching the spot where the thicket opened to the gazebo entrance.
He couldn’t wait to tell her of Ellisfield’s confidences. His lordship’s observations about his parents didn’t completely
make sense to Beck, but Gwendolyn would help reason it all out.
Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn. He rolled the syllables of her name in his mind. It felt good to be in love. It felt even better to trust again.
Beck was so caught up in his anticipation for Gwendolyn’s arrival, he didn’t sense the other man’s presence until he had risen
up out of the thicket and brought a hard club down on Beck’s head.