Love's Tangle (6 page)

She was now very uncomfortable. The prince seemed to have only one object of interest and it made her shudder.

“How would you like to visit the Pavilion, my dear?” George airily tossed the question at her. “Come as my special guest, eh, Lansley?” And he roared with laughter again.

“I thank you, Your Highness, but I am engaged to work at Allingham Hall.”

“Don’t you worry your little head! The duke is a great friend of mine. He’ll be more than happy to let you go—may even give you your job back, you know, when the—em—visit is over.”

Now seriously alarmed, Elinor made to step back towards the dairy but the prince instantly shot out his arm and grabbed her round the waist. “Well, if you won’t come to an old man, let an old man come to you.” And he pulled her close to him. She felt his corsets sticking into her flesh and the cloying mix of drink and perfume wash over her. She thought she might be sick.

“Go back to the house, Lansley. You too, Franks. Leave us. We will do very well together, eh, my dear.”

His two companions turned and made their way back along the flagged path, leaving Elinor as panicked as a condemned felon facing the final drum roll. If only Martha would come. But the older woman must have stayed to eat her midday meal and engage in a little gossip. She would not return for at least half an hour. Elinor felt her breath coming short and needed all her strength of mind to refrain from screaming. But then he was pushing her down the steps to the dairy, his bulk filling the doorway. The thunder of her heart had taken over her whole body and she was losing control.

Frantically she caught hold of herself; this was not the time for die-away airs. The thunder was getting louder—not her heart after all but a horse galloping ever closer. The Regent stopped in his tracks, listening. Then a cracking and rustling as grass and branches were pushed aside and a large, glossy chestnut broke through the cover of the trees.

“Your Highness, good day,” a voice hailed.

The Regent turned awkwardly and nearly overbalanced. His face shaded a fiery red. “Ah, Claremont. There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Well, here I am. Are you taking a glass of milk, sir? Not your usual tipple, surely!” Gabriel slid from the horse and advanced. He held out his arm to assist the prince up the dairy steps.

“What a ridiculous suggestion!” The Regent shook himself free of the proffered arm and began climbing towards the path. “Now I’ve found you, I shall return to the house.” His tone was petulant. “When you can spare the time, I need to make arrangements for my departure.”

Gabriel watched the Regent out of sight and then turned back to Elinor, standing motionless in the doorway. “You seem to have a habit of getting yourself into trouble.”

“That is hardly fair, Your Grace. I am guilty of nothing more than trying to do my job—despite others’ best efforts,” she finished crossly.

“You’ve a mighty sharp tongue for a dairymaid. Let us hope your prowess at butter making is as keen.”

“If I appear rude, I am sorry. His Highness flustered me.”

Gabriel grinned. “Prinny tends to have that effect. Cicero doesn’t offer too much help in that department, I imagine.”

She flushed at the mention of her last night’s escapade. He was looking directly at her, as though trying to read her mind, and she found herself drowning in the intense blue of his eyes. For a moment their glances locked, then he gathered the reins in his hand and swung himself into the saddle. Last night he had appeared almost forbidding, yet today he had risked a powerful prince’s displeasure to rescue her. She was still puzzling over this when he vanished in the direction of the stables.

****

She must have been scared, Gabriel thought, alone and facing a rampant prince. But she had stayed cool, kept her dignity, even outfaced Prinny. She was decidedly novel. There were plenty of Sirs and Your Graces in her speech but somehow her whole tone said plainly that she considered herself an equal. Altogether, she was a strange kind of servant. She was also a trespasser. Even if he believed her story last night about seeking a book to read, she should not have been in the library; she must have known that. And did he really believe the faradiddle she’d told? He did not. A dairymaid who read Cicero—it was more than unusual. No, Miss Milford, whoever she was, had arrived at Allingham Park for a purpose and it wasn’t to serve milk and make butter. She was playing an underhand game but he hoped very much it wasn’t a nefarious one. He wanted to acquit her of involvement in any real wickedness. He wasn’t sure why; his impulse towards gallantry had died on the battlefield. But last night when she’d looked up at him, those hazy green eyes focused by fear, he’d wanted not to reprimand but to comfort.

Riding into the stable courtyard, he threw the reins to one of the undergrooms and shouted his instructions as he walked away. “Wash her down and look at her left knee, will you. I’ll come back later to fix a poultice if it’s needed.”

He made a detour through the rose garden to reach his study, avoiding any guests who might be lingering in the Great Hall. Flinging himself headlong on to the scratched leather couch, he lay brooding. Something about her made him itch. It was clear to him he should keep away—she unsettled him too much—but equally clear that today he’d had no choice. He’d had to intervene. He was sure she had the strength of character to beat back a dozen marauding men but Prinny was something else. When he’d come upon the little tableau he’d felt real anger at this flaccid prince who used his great position to frighten and cajole, and the likely repercussions from embarrassing the Regent had not weighed with him for one moment.

He supposed she had been too great a temptation for George. Forget the dairymaid and she was enticing as a woman. If that black hair were ever released from its severe constraint... And not even the drab, grey gown she wore could entirely hide the curves of a covetable figure. Her eyes, too, were magical, misty, changing with the light and with her mood. She could fire his blood but he wouldn’t let her. Unlike the Prince Regent, he did not look below stairs for his pleasure. There were plenty of women of his own station if he was willing, half a dozen residing at Allingham Hall at this very moment. He wished them all away. And their male counterparts.

What was he doing, he a soldier for four years, consorting with this ragbag of opportunists? The answer, he guessed, was that he no longer cared what happened to him. He would play the Duke of Allingham in Jonathan’s place, play at being a figurehead for the family. But it was fustian, a bag of moonshine. None of it meant a jot. Inside he was as dead as the only person he had ever loved.

Chapter Four

It had been three days since Gabriel Claremont left for Brighton and every morning Elinor wondered if this day would see his return. His intention had been to escort the Regent to his exotic palace by the sea but the errand seemed to be taking an inordinate time. No doubt he had been tempted by the entertainments on offer, but she did not wish to think too much on those. She could only hope that life in Brighton would soon pall, for Allingham did not feel right without him. She had become used to seeing his tall figure walking alongside the bailiff, his face a mix of bafflement and boredom, or striding energetically towards the stables, or swinging his team of matched bays around the graveled crescent to arrive precisely at the front entrance.

It was already Friday and the end of the week would see the village fair in full swing. Every year, Martha was asked to prepare a special order of butter and cheese for Allingham Hall’s own stand. Since it was intricate work, she wanted the dairy to herself and shooed her helper from the door around noon. It gave Elinor a few hours’ respite and though the weather had turned cool, she set off for a brisk tour of the Hall’s far reaching grounds.

She must come up with a plan. The duke’s absence might have provided an excellent opportunity to raid his study, except for his guests who spilled into every room. She wondered what attraction they held for him, a soldier who for years had fought so bravely. Perhaps for all their ugliness, they helped to fill a void—she could not forget that he had so recently lost his brother. That was the problem, she scolded herself, she could not get him out of her mind. Gabriel’s image danced constantly through her thoughts; the sound of his voice was constantly in her ears. For days she had been unable to shake herself free and she did not like it.

By the time she was once more in full sight of the house and making her way towards the broad drive, she had given herself entirely to daydreaming and a gentle smile creased the corners of her mouth. Heedless of her surroundings, she walked on, only to be almost knocked from her feet by a sudden, powerful rush of air. The wheels of a carriage screeched against the gravel and four steaming bays stumbled to a halt. A lithe figure jumped down from the perch and in a second was at her elbow.

“Do you not think to look where you are walking? I may have ruined my horses’ mouths by pulling on them so and they are expensive beasts.”

The rapid swoop from daydream to angry reality shocked her. Gabriel Claremont had once more run her down.

“And do
you
not think you should drive with greater care?” she demanded, as though he occupied no more exalted status than the local carrier.

“I believe you forget yourself.” His tone was even but feathered with ice. He was right—she was in no position to object. She tried to bow her head but managed it so half-heartedly as to make the gesture almost insulting.

The duke ignored this and nodded at his groom. “Drive on to the stables, Parsons. I will be with you shortly.” And then to Elinor, “Enough of this. Are you hurt?” His voice held a kinder note.

“Not in this instance but I would not vouch for your third attempt.” She was unable to keep the angry tremble from her voice.

“My third attempt? What are you talking about?” He was genuinely mystified.

“Only that you appear to make a habit of running me off the road. On the first occasion I was walking a public highway, or so I thought—but perhaps Your Grace owns that, too?”

“Speak plainly, Nell. What exactly did I do to incur your wrath and when?”

“The day I arrived I was forced to leap into the ditch to escape death at your hands.”

“Into the ditch?” His smile was appreciative. “I wish I’d seen that.”

“Doubtless it would have given you amusement.” The incident still smarted. “But only if you were likely to notice such a lowly person as myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. When I’m driving at full speed, I see little to right or left, including dairymaids. If indeed you
are
a dairymaid.”

They were approaching dangerous ground and she thought to walk away, but he caught her arm and pulled her back towards him. “Not so fast, Mistress Nell. What are you doing here? Should you not be in the dairy at this hour?”

“Indeed no,” she said a little too hotly. “Martha wished to have the place to herself and I have merely been taking exercise in the gardens and beyond.”

“And what is Martha engaged in that is so important?”

“She is preparing for the village fair tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, I had forgot. The clamor of Brighton tends to push such small pleasures out of mind.”

His grip on her arm had dropped and she hoped she might be allowed to continue on her way. It wasn’t so much that she minded his touch, it was the shocking thought that she didn’t. But he had not yet finished with her.

“Tell me, how are you faring under Martha’s instruction?”

It was an unexpected question but she tried to answer as honestly as she could. “I am fortunate in having a good teacher.”

“So you are happy with us?”

It seemed to matter to him. “I love Allingham.” It was strangely true, for she had felt an attachment to the place from the very beginning.

“Do you?” His voice expressed surprise but surely, she thought, the estate must be important to him—it was his birthplace and his inheritance.

She found herself asking, “Do
you
not?”

“Not greatly. But Allingham is my fate and one cannot escape one’s destiny.”

“One can change one’s destiny—I believe everyone has that power, if they will but try.”

“As you are doing?” Dangerous territory once more and she held her breath. But he didn’t pursue the topic and instead said in a leaden tone, “It is my duty, Nell, or so I’m told, to husband the estate and care for its dependents.”

“You are still adjusting to new circumstances,” she ventured. “You could not have thought such a burden would fall on you.”

“You are right. The burden, as you call it, would have been far better shouldered by my brother. He was born to inherit and trained to be duke. I can only act the role.”

He looked lost for the moment, the devil-may-care, hard-living man transformed into the boy he must once have been. She wanted to comfort him.

“Allingham must have been a wonderful place to grow up,” she tried.

“Very occasionally.” He still seemed lost in time, looking away to a world she could not envisage, and then quite suddenly he grabbed her arm. “Come with me, I want to show you something. If you love Allingham as much as you say, it is only right you should know one of its secrets.”

There was no chance to protest before he was dragging her with some force towards the wooded area on the other side of the drive. She had no idea what lay beyond the trees and could only hope the duke was not about to live up to her worst fears. But she need not have worried. He let go of her arm as soon as they stepped onto the shadowy pathway leading through the woods.

“Come,” he beckoned her on.

The path was twisting and uneven, in parts almost impenetrable from the colonizing undergrowth. Elinor was forced to fix her eyes on the forest floor to avoid tripping on tree roots that crooked their way above and beneath the path, or stumbling into the bountiful clusters of nettles and thigh-high weeds. The duke was some way ahead when she heard a slight slithering noise close at hand. She stopped on a sixpence. She was going no further without knowing what exactly was concealed beneath the covering of leaves and stray branches.