Love's Tangle (18 page)

“Anything. No. Wait. Something sober, modest, but I don’t want to look like a damn Quaker.
She
does that too well,” he muttered.

Summers affected not to hear this last comment and carefully laid out fawn pantaloons, a coat of dark blue superfine and the one indulgence, a waistcoat of white satin embroidered with small blue flowers. If he judged the occasion right, his master would need to present himself a polished man. The duke meanwhile remained prone, shielding his eyes from the small amount of light in the room and wondering if he would ever manage to rise.

****

In thirty minutes he was discussing a surprisingly substantial breakfast. Three cups of coffee and he was feeling a good deal better, except for what lay ahead. He would have to walk to the Dower House and apologize. There was no help for it. Last night she had spurred him to such passion he had made a complete fool of himself. And now he was about to make a fool of himself again. But there was no way out of it, he would have to apologize. She was leaving in two days, wasn’t that what she’d said? Surely he could play the gentleman until he saw her safely dispatched to Wiltshire.

But he didn’t want her in Wiltshire, didn’t want her living unappreciated, her soul sapped for a pittance, her looks and health lost to the slavery that was governessing. What was the alternative? It had to be marriage. No matter how much she might protest, Elinor needed a husband. But not Mr. Ferrers, he thought. What must Celia have been thinking? Not Mr. Ferrers, nor anyone like him. Elinor was a lady, beautiful and intelligent. She deserved the very best. But who? No one worthy came to mind.

He sat staring at his devilled kidneys for nearly ten minutes, thinking hard. Then it came to him. She could marry him! He would offer himself as her husband—cousins could marry. She belonged at Allingham and if they married, she could stay at the Hall forever. She loved the house and it was right she should make it her home. And as for him, he must one day marry and provide an heir. He had been assiduous in pushing that thought away, just as he had pushed away knowledge of Jonathan’s death. If Jonty had lived, he would have chosen a wife and secured the future of the estate. Now it was up to him. He had no heir other than Roland and the thought of his cousin filling his shoes flooded him with repugnance. The man was second rate, third rate even, and he would do anything to prevent him inheriting. Marriage and an heir would effectively shatter whatever ambitions Roland might be nursing.

It would be a business arrangement, he decided. He might lust after Elinor but he did not love her; he did not love any woman, he was incapable of it, and it would be unfair to pretend otherwise. Elinor might treasure a romantic vision of love but her history showed her to be a practical woman, certainly one who had known the hardships of life. Might she not be content with what he had to offer? He knew her for a lively companion, someone with whom he could enjoy banter, books, the small comedies of life. And she fascinated him. He was infatuated with her—witness last night’s humiliation—but in time, like all infatuations, it would burn itself out. He smiled ruefully as he remembered the way he’d stormed into her room and then … he couldn’t recall their lovemaking in detail but he knew he’d enjoyed every minute. She had too. She would be a willing partner in bed and keep him interested, at least until an heir had come into the world. Then they could go their separate ways as long as they were both discreet. He would not interfere in her private friendships and would expect the same consideration. In public they would remain a devoted couple, the Duke and Duchess of Allingham. It was perfect.

Chapter Ten

Elinor breakfasted alone. Both Celia and her son had disappeared on errands and she had time to sit quietly and ponder the events of the previous evening. Too much time. They had now begun to assume hideous proportions. She had not only failed to raise the alarm as soon as Gabriel blundered into her room but had allowed him the most appalling freedom. He was drunk, it was true, and he was a large man but he had not forced her. She had wanted his touch, longed for it to continue—even now she could feel her body sing. She had always suspected that staying at Allingham would prove dangerous and now she had the full measure. The memory of their bodies so closely entwined would be with her for years—but it had to remain a memory. She must stay sequestered within the Dower House until Monday when Roland’s carriage would take her to the White Horse and the London-bound coach for the first stage of her journey to Malmesbury. Then she could breathe more easily, she told herself. She looked up as she heard a crunch of gravel outside the breakfast room and saw through the window a tall figure advancing towards the front door. She was not going to breathe easily after all.

Lady Frant’s maid announced the duke, her eyes fairly goggling. It was clear that news of the night’s disturbance had traveled around the Hall and beyond. How very dreadful! Gabriel strode through the open doorway and she saw with surprise he was dressed as though for a formal occasion. A slight flush warmed his tanned skin but he betrayed no awkwardness as he came forward to make his bow.

“Good morning, cousin,” he said deliberately. He rarely called her that and she could see it was for the maid’s benefit.

“It is a beautiful morning and I wondered if I might interest you in a stroll. The gardens are looking particularly fine.”

She was going to refuse but then saw the appeal on his face and the maid’s fascinated stare. This was better than a play for her and Elinor could see she was storing up every minute to recount to her fellows later in the day.

“I will fetch my bonnet,” she said hurriedly.

Once in her room she cast around for the plainest she owned but ended by cramming on her head the only hat in sight, a charming high brimmed confection fashioned from
broderie anglaise
and trimmed with cream flowers. She hoped he would not feel the need to offer her compliments on it but when she rejoined him in the breakfast room, he said nothing and ushered her directly into the hall and through the front door, leaving the maid paralyzed with mouth ajar.

****

They walked slowly across the sloping lawns. The hour was still early and the sun gentle. The clustered perfume of roses wafted towards them from the nearby arbor and a flight of swallows arrowed the sky above. At any other time they would have delighted in such a morning. Along a series of steps, terrace by terrace they strolled, dropping downwards through a network of graveled paths towards the smooth oval of the lake.

There had been silence between them until the duke said quietly, “Thank you for agreeing to walk with me this morning.” She said nothing but continued at a steady pace.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “It was important I see you to apologize for the disturbance I caused last night. I am sincerely sorry.”

When she still said nothing, he was moved to add, “You must know that I was not quite myself.”

“I may have led a sheltered life,” she retorted, “but I do recognize when a man is—what is the expression—half-sprung.”

“Then I hope you will forget my temporary lapse of good manners.”

“I would be more than happy to forget what can only be a painful memory for us both.”

Not so painful, he thought, remembering the warmth of her mouth, the way her body had melted against his while her breasts hardened to his touch. It was a very sweet memory but he was not about to share it. He had business to conduct and said in what he hoped was a neutral voice, “I was unreasonably angry with you—for accusing me unjustly and for being so determined to leave Allingham for a job that cannot be anything but thankless.”

“Have we not had this conversation before?”

“I am attempting to explain why I behaved so badly.”

“I thought we had just agreed we would not think further on it.”

She gestured ahead. A large expanse of water shimmered before them, shadowed on all sides by delicate willows which bent lovingly to kiss its surface. “We have reached the lake and I should be returning to the Dower House, else Lady Frant will wonder where I am.”

“Before you do, we should walk across the bridge while we have the chance. It is unlikely to be with us for very long,” Gabriel said wryly.

An island had been built at the very center of the lake and from there a fountain played continuously, sending concentric ripples lapping softly at its edge. Several schools of fish foraged in the clear waters or played amid its waving weeds. He watched as Elinor walked half way along the bridge and leant over the worn parapet to gaze at the smallest fish as they darted for cover.

For once he found himself at a loss for words and when he joined her on the bridge, it was to say hesitantly, “I have thought much about our mutual situation.”

She offered no help, staring at him in puzzlement. The interview was going to be more difficult than he’d imagined.

“I need to marry,” he said bluntly. “I am the only surviving Claremont and, who knows, I could go into a decline at any time.”

His jest plummeted to the ground and he saw she was still looking questioningly at him. “There is the delicate business of an heir, you see,” he said awkwardly. “I will have to marry.”

“But you have an heir—your cousin?” she hazarded.

“He is his father’s son, a true Frant. What he is not is a Claremont, but you are—in all but name. And I hope you will agree to take that as your own. It rightfully belongs to you.”

Her face manifested utter bewilderment. He was making a complete mull of it. The man who could twist women round his finger and get whatever he wanted!

In desperation, he blurted out, “I hope you will accept my offer of marriage.”

“What!”

“I am asking you to marry me, Elinor.”

She stood stock still and looked at him directly. Her eyes were at the level of his chin and her glance did not waver. “Are you newly drunk or is this the aftermath of last night’s indulgence?”

“It is neither. It is a serious proposition. Please listen to what I have to say before you reject the idea. I think it will work admirably for both of us.”

“Work? Are we talking of marriage or a business undertaking?”

“Both, that is the beauty of my scheme. You will say you have found employment and need no husband, but think of the years to come. Will you still feel similarly as a much older woman?
I
must marry; I must have an heir.
You
are in need of a home and where more appropriate than Allingham?”

He was now in full flow, his confidence restored. It really was that simple and surely she would see the benefits for them both.

She was still staring fixedly, not at him, but somewhere far into the distance. When she spoke, her voice was dazed, a little flat. “So this is to be a marriage of convenience?”

“I would not pretend otherwise and you are too honest not to agree. We may not be in love but neither are we romantically involved with others. There would seem to be no impediment to our marrying.”

He allowed his words to percolate before continuing, “It will be a business arrangement. You will be coming home, you will live at Allingham Hall where you always should have. Your mother would rightly have been mistress here and now you will reign in her place. As for me, I could not choose a better partner to share the running of the estate.”

He talked on in this vein for some minutes while Elinor remained silent. She was stunned. The man seemed in earnest. He was offering her a wedding ring! And not just any wedding ring. If she accepted she would be the Duchess of Allingham. It was absurd. She would be mistress of this beautiful property—its gardens, woods, pastures, streams—and that wasn’t quite so absurd. But how could she ever agree to such a ridiculous proposal? He denied he was in any way out of control and his mind was certainly logical—he’d given her some very good reasons why such a marriage might work—but still, he could not really be in earnest. Tomorrow he would return shamefaced asking her to forgive another temporary lapse of good sense.

Aloud she said, “I will consider your proposition, Gabriel,” she could not bring herself to call it a proposal, “and give you my answer tomorrow.”

He looked relieved a difficult conversation was over. “With your permission I will wait on you in the morning—at ten o’clock, if that is convenient.”

“Perfectly,” she said briskly. “Now I must leave you.”

****

She retraced her steps to the Dower House, still unconvinced the duke was truly sincere but with the corners of her mind beginning to flirt very slightly with the idea. It was lucky Celia Frant and her son continued absent for much of the day. They would certainly have noticed something amiss and she had no wish to alert them to what had happened. In case the duke was as good as his word and was tomorrow knocking at her door, she needed time alone to work out what her reply should be. But if, as she suspected, he thought better of his impulse, the Frants need never know she had received any such proposition.

And what a proposition! Gabriel had presented it as a business arrangement and she could understand why. He was highly attracted to her, she knew, infatuated even, but he did not love her. Except for his brother, he seemed to have loved no one, and when Jonathan died on the battlefield, what love Gabriel possessed had died with him. It made sense, therefore, that he marry without emotion, and sense that by doing so he could recompense an illegitimate child for the slights and privations of the past.

But did it make sense for her? Her heart sang whenever she saw his strong, tall figure pacing through the courtyard, or sitting carelessly astride his chestnut mare. She loved the smile he could not repress even when he was berating her, and the deep blue eyes, at times so tender. Last night she had craved his touch, wanted to feel forever his warm, hard body, the taste of his lips, the hands which roved in all the right places. Feeling this intensely, was it wise to enter into a marriage of convenience with a man who could stir her so? She doubted she would ever be able to light the same flame in him. She had made him burn last night; he had been fuddled but not so fuddled he hadn’t known what he was doing and not so fuddled he hadn’t enjoyed every second of it. But that was a simple physical connection. What if she wanted more?