NOT JUST A WALLFLOWER (2 page)

Her hair was an intriguing shade of red, despite attempts on her part to mute its fieriness and curl in the severity of its style. Her eyes were a stunning clear green and surrounded by thick dark lashes, freckles sprinkled the tops of her creamy cheeks and the pertness of her tiny nose, and her mouth—

Ah, her mouth... Full and pouting, and naturally the colour of ripe strawberries, it was far too easy for a man to imagine such a mouth being put to far better uses than talking or eating!

She was tiny in both stature and figure, and yet the fullness of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her plain and unbecoming brown gown, emphasised the slenderness of her waist and thighs, her hands also tiny and delicate, the fingers long and slender in wrist-length cream lace gloves.

Justin was well aware that his grandmother had lost no time in gathering this orphaned chick into her own household as her companion after Eleanor had been left alone in the world, following the death of her mother and stepfather, Justin’s own profligate cousin Frederick; Edith St Just might like to give the outward appearance of haughtiness and disdain, but to any who knew her well, it was an outer shell which hid a soft and yielding heart.

‘Your note implied the request was urgent in nature,’ Justin now drawled pointedly.

‘Yes.’ Colour now warmed those creamy cheeks. ‘I—the physician was called to attend the dowager duchess earlier this evening.’

‘The physician?’ he repeated sharply. ‘Is my grandmother ill?’

‘I do not believe she would have requested the physician be called if that were not the case, your Grace.’

Justin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he privately questioned whether or not she was daring to mock him; the green of her gaze was clear and unwavering, with no hint of the emotion for which he searched. Which was not to say it was not there, but merely hidden behind that annoyingly cool façade. ‘What is the nature of her illness?’ he enquired coldly.

She shrugged. ‘Your grandmother did not confide in me, sir.’

Justin barely restrained his impatience with her unhelpful reply. ‘But surely you must have overheard some of her conversation with the physician?’

Her gaze lowered from his piercing one. ‘I was not in the room for all of his visit—’

‘Might I ask why the devil not?’

Eleanor blinked those long dark lashes as the only outward sign of her shock at the profanity. ‘She asked that I collect her shawl from her private parlour. By the time I returned Dr Franklyn was preparing to leave.’

Justin’s impatience deepened. ‘At which time I presume my grandmother asked that I be sent for?’

She nodded. ‘She also requested that you go up to her bedchamber the moment you arrived.’

A request this lady had obviously forgotten to relay to him until now. Because his arrival had diverted her from the task, perhaps...? It was a possibility he found as intriguing as he did amusing.

He nodded. ‘I will go up to her now. Perhaps you would arrange for some brandy to be brought to the library for when I return downstairs?’

‘Of course.’ Ellie found she was relieved to have something practical to do, her usual calm competence seeming to have deserted her the moment she found herself in Justin’s overpoweringly masculine presence. ‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’

The duke came to a halt on the second step of the wide staircase in order to turn and give her a pointed look. ‘I believe I am well aware of where my grandmother’s bedchamber is located, but you may accompany me up the stairs, to ensure I do not attempt to make away with the family silver, if that is your wish.’

‘Is that “family silver” not already yours?’ she asked, trying hard to keep hold of her composure against his needling.

‘It is.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Then perhaps you fear I may become lost in my own house, Cousin?’

Ellie was well aware that this was his house. As was everything connected with the Duchy of Royston. ‘I believe my time might be better served in seeking out Stanhope and requesting the decanter of brandy be brought to the library.’ Even the thought of accompanying the duke up the stairs was enough to cause Ellie’s cheeks to burn—something she knew from past experience to be most unbecoming against the red of her hair.

‘And two glasses.’

She raised surprised brows. ‘You are expecting company?’ The fact that the duke had been so difficult to locate this evening would seem to imply that he had been otherwise...occupied, and perhaps less than reputably. Even so, Ellie could not imagine him inviting one of his less-than-acceptable friends here, especially if he had been spending the evening in the company of a lady.

‘It is you whom I am expecting to join me there,’ he explained with a sigh.

Ellie’s eyes widened. ‘Me?’

Justin almost laughed at the stunned expression on her face. A natural reaction, perhaps, when this was the longest conversation they had ever exchanged.

Surprisingly, he found her naivety amusing, and, Justin readily admitted, very little succeeded in amusing him.

His childhood had been spent in the country until the age of ten, when he had been sent away to boarding school, after which he had seen his parents rarely and had felt an exclusion from their deep love for each other when he did, to the extent that it had coloured his own feelings about marriage. He accepted that a duke must necessarily marry, in order to provide an heir to the duchy, but Justin’s own isolated upbringing had dictated his own would be a marriage of convenience, rather than love. A marriage that would not exclude his children in the way that he had been excluded.

His three years as the Duke of Royston had ensured that he was denied nothing and certainly not any woman he expressed the least desire for—and, on several occasions, some he had not, such as other gentlemen’s wives and the daughters of marriage-minded mamas!

Eleanor Rosewood, as companion to his grandmother, was not of that ilk, of course, just as their tenuous family connection ensured she could never be considered as Justin’s social equal. At the same time, though, even that slight family connection meant he could not consider her as a future mistress, either. Frustrating, but true.

‘Your Grace...?’

He frowned his irritation with her insistence on using his title. ‘I believe we established only a few minutes ago that we are cousins of a sort and we should therefore address each other as Cousin Eleanor and Cousin Justin.’

Ellie’s eyes widened in alarm at the mere thought of her using such familiarity with this rakishly handsome gentleman; Justin St Just, the twelfth Duke of Royston, was so top-lofty, so arrogantly haughty as he gave every appearance of looking down the length of his superior nose at the rest of the world, that Ellie would never be able to even think of him as a cousin, let alone address him as such.

‘I believe that you may have implied something of the sort, yes,
your Grace,
’ she said stubbornly.

He arched one blond brow over suddenly teasing blue eyes. ‘But you did not concur?’

‘I do not believe so, no, your Grace.’

He eyed her in sudden frustration. ‘Perhaps it is a subject we should discuss further when I return downstairs?’

She frowned. ‘I—perhaps.’

He scowled darkly at her intransigence. ‘But again, you do not agree...?’

Ellie believed such a conversation to be a complete waste of his time, as well as her own. What was the point in arguing over what to call one another? They’d probably not speak to each other again for at least another year, if this past year—which consisted of this last few minutes’ conversation for the entirety of it—was any indication! ‘It is very late, your Grace, and I believe the dowager duchess, if she has been made aware of your arrival, will be becoming increasingly anxious to speak with you,’ she prompted softly.

‘Of course.’ He now looked annoyed at having allowed himself to become distracted by talking to her. ‘I will expect to find you in the library, along with the decanter of brandy and two glasses, when I return,’ he added peremptorily before resuming his ascent of the staircase.

Almost, Ellie recognised indignantly, as if he considered her as being of no more consequence than a dog he might instruct to heel, or a horse he halted by the rein.

Chapter Three

‘I
must say, you took your time getting here, Royston.’

Justin, as was the case with most men, was uncomfortable visiting a sickroom, but especially when it was that of his aged grandmother, the dowager duchess being a woman for whom he had the highest regard and affection.

Tonight, the pallor of her face emphasised each line and wrinkle, so that she looked every one of her almost seventy years as she lay propped up by white lace pillows piled high against the head of the huge four-poster bed. A state of affairs that was not in the least reassuring, despite the fact that her iron-grey hair was as perfectly styled as usual and her expression as proudly imperious.

The St Justs, as Justin knew only too well, after learning of his grandfather’s long and private struggle with a wasting disease, were a breed apart when it came to bearing up under adversity; his grandmother might only be a St Just by marriage, but her strength of will was equal to, if not more than, any true-born St Just.

He crossed the room swiftly to stand beside the four-poster bed. ‘I apologise for my tardiness, Grandmama. I was not at home when Cousin Eleanor’s note arrived—’

‘If you lived here as you should that would not have been a problem,’ she said querulously.

‘We have had this conversation before, Grandmama. This is your home, not mine—’

‘You are the Duke of Royston, are you not?’

Justin sighed. ‘Yes, for my sins, I most certainly am.’

Edith eyed him disapprovingly. ‘No doubt living here with me would put a dampener on your gambling or wenching—or both! Which diversion were you enjoying this evening to cause your delay?’ She gave a disgusted sniff, but couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eye.

Justin kept his expression neutral so as not to upset his grandmother; his reluctance to live at Royston House was due more to the fact that he associated this house with the frequent absences of his parents during his childhood, and his subsequent loneliness, than because he feared his grandmother would put a crimp in any supposed excesses of his in gambling and wenching, as she put it. As a consequence, he preferred to remain at the apartments he had occupied before the death of his father. ‘I am sure this is not a suitable conversation for a grandson to be having with his aged grandmother—’

‘Less talk of the aged, if you do not mind! And why should we not talk of such things?’ She looked up at him challengingly. ‘Do you think me so old that I do not know how young and single gentlemen of the
ton
choose to spend their evenings? Many of the married ones, too!’

‘I believe I may only be called young in years, Grandmama,’ he drawled ruefully; these past three years as the Duke of Royston, and the onerous responsibilities of that title, had required that Justin become more circumspect in his public lifestyle, and at the same time they had left him little or no time for a private life either.

Perhaps it was time he thought seriously of acquiring a permanent mistress, a mild and biddable woman who would be only too pleased to attend to his needs, no matter what the time of day or night, but would make no demands of him other than that he keep her and provide a house in which they might meet. It was an idea that merited some further consideration.

But not here and now. ‘I did not come here to discuss my own activities, when it is your own health which is currently in question.’ he changed the subject deftly. ‘Cousin Eleanor has informed me that Dr Franklyn was called to attend you earlier this evening. What is the problem, Grandmama?’

‘Might I enquire when you decided that Ellie is to be referred to as your cousin?’ Edith raised those imperious grey brows.

‘Ellie?’

‘Miss Eleanor Rosewood, your Cousin Frederick’s stepdaughter, of course,’ she supplied impatiently.

‘I can hardly be so familiar as to address her as Ellie—a name I do not particularly care for, by the by—’ Justin gave an irritated scowl ‘—when her mother, one supposes, bestowed upon her the perfectly elegant name of Eleanor. And Miss Rosewood is far too formal, in view of her connection to this family.’

‘I agree.’ His grandmother gave a haughty nod. ‘And it is Ellie—Eleanor, whom I wish to discuss with you.’

Justin made no attempt to hide his astonishment. ‘Are you telling me that you had me tracked down at my club, with all the fervour of a pack of hounds baying at the scent of fox—’

‘Do not be melodramatic, Justin.’ Edith eyed him with indulgent exasperation.

His brows rose. ‘Do you deny having had a note delivered to my rooms late in the evening, one moreover that appeared to be of such vital urgency that my manservant instantly dispatched one of the other servants to track me down at one of my clubs?’

‘I did instruct the note be written and delivered to you, yes. But it was not so late in the evening when I did so,’ his grandmother added pointedly. ‘Nor can I be held responsible for the actions of your manservant in dispatching a servant to seek you out so doggedly.’

Justin gave another scowl. ‘But you do not deny that the reason for sending the note was so that you might bring me here simply in order to discuss your young companion?’

The dowager duchess sent him a reproachful glance. ‘There is nothing simple about it, my dear. Ellie, and her future, have loomed large in my thoughts of late. Even more so this evening, when I am feeling so unwell—Justin, would you please refrain from pacing in that restless manner and instead sit down in that chair beside me? It is making my head ache having to follow your movements in this way.’ She gave a pained wince.

Only one part of that statement was of any relevance to Justin at this particular moment. ‘In what way are you feeling unwell?’ He pounced on the statement, his expression distracted as he lowered his long length down into the chair beside the bed before reaching out to take one of his grandmother’s delicately fragile hands into both of his.

Edith gave a weary sigh. ‘I find I become very tired of late. An occurrence which has made me realise that—it has made me aware that I should have made much more of an effort to ensure that things were settled before now...’ She gave another sigh, a little mournful this time.

Justin scowled darkly. ‘Grandmama, if this is yet another way for you to introduce the unwelcome subject of my acquiring a duchess—’

‘Why, you conceited young whippersnapper!’ She gave him a quelling glance as she sat up straighter in the bed. ‘Contrary to what you appear to believe, I do not spend the whole of my waking life thinking up ways to entice my stubborn and uninterested grandson into matrimony!’ Then she seemed to collect herself and settled back once more on her pillows with another pained wince.

Justin gave a rueful shake of his head at hearing her berate him so soundly; not too many people would have dared speak to him like that and hope to get away with it! Oh, he was certain that many of the
ton
referred to him, behind his back, as being ‘arrogantly haughty’ or ‘coldly disdainful’, and even on occasion as being ‘harsh and imperious’ just like his grandmother was, but they would not have dared to do so to his face.

Not when they were sober, at least, Justin acknowledged derisively, as he thought of Litchfield’s insulting behaviour earlier this evening. A rash and dangerous move on Litchfield’s part, when Justin was acknowledged as being one of the finest swordsmen in England, as well as one of the most accurate of shots; no gentlemen would dare to talk to him in that way when they were sober, for fear they might incite—and subsequently lose—the duel that would undoubtedly ensue.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he drawled in answer to his grandmother’s comment. ‘Pray, then, what are these “things”, which need to be “settled”, Grandmama?’

‘Eleanor’s future, of course.’ She eyed him carefully, her gnarled fingers folding and then refolding the fine bedsheet beneath them. ‘She is so very young, and has no other relatives apart from ourselves, and I cannot bear to think of what might become of her when I am gone.’

Justin tensed. ‘When you are gone? Is there any likelihood of that happening in the near future?’ he prompted sharply as he felt the slight trembling of the hand he still held in his own.

The fact that the love his parents shared had been exclusive and all-consuming, and not one which had allowed time or particular consideration for their only child, had, as a consequence, meant that it was Justin’s paternal grandparents, Edith and George St Just, who were the constant influences in his life, and with whom he had chosen to spend the majority of his school holidays, as well as Christmas and birthdays.

‘Doctor Franklyn is of the opinion that I am simply wearing out—’

‘Utterly ridiculous!’ Justin barked, sitting forwards tensely, blue gaze fierce as he searched the unusual delicate pallor of her face. ‘He is mistaken. Why, you had tea with your two dear friends only a few days ago, attended Lady Huntsley’s ball with them just yesterday evening—’

‘As a consequence, today I am feeling so weak that I do not even have the energy to rise from my bed.’

‘You have overtaxed yourself, that is all,’ he insisted.

‘Justin, you are no longer a child and, sadly, neither am I.’ His grandmother gave another heavy sigh. ‘And I cannot say I will not be pleased to be with your grandfather again—’

‘I refuse to listen to this nonsense a moment longer!’ Justin released her hand to stand up before glowering down at her. ‘I will speak to Dr Franklyn myself.’

‘Do so, by all means, if you feel you must, but bullying the doctor cannot make me any younger than I am,’ Edith reasoned gently.

Justin drew in a sharp breath at the truth of that statement. ‘Perhaps you might rally, find new purpose, if I were to reconsider my decision not to marry in the near future.’

‘Generous of you, Royston.’ She gave him an affectionate, understanding smile, which had the effect of shooting more fear into his heart than anything she might say considering she’d been so hell-bent on seeing him married off as soon as humanly possible. ‘Unfortunately, the outcome would, I am sorry to say, remain the same.’

‘I simply cannot accept that!’

‘You must, Justin,’ his grandmother chided gently. ‘Gratified as I am to see how the thought upsets you, it is a fact of life that I cannot go on for ever. I should, of course, have liked to see you settled before my time comes, but I accept that is not to be...’

‘I have already suggested I might give the matter of matrimony further consideration, if it would make you happy!’ He scowled fiercely at the mere thought of it.

‘You must, and no doubt will, do exactly as you wish. At the moment I am more concerned with my dear companion. I must know that Ellie—Eleanor’s—future has been settled before I depart this world.’

‘I would prefer that you not say that phrase again in my presence, Grandmama.’ Justin had resumed his restless pacing, too agitated by his grandmother’s news to be able to stand or to sit at her bedside any longer.

‘Ignoring something will not make it go away, my dear,’ Edith pointed out.

Justin was well aware of that, but even the thought of his grandmother no longer being here, gently chiding or sternly rebuking him for one misdemeanour or another, was anathema to him. She was only in her sixty-ninth year, and Justin had not so much as spared a thought for the possibility of her dying just yet; Edith St Just had been, and still was, the woman in his life on whom he had always depended, a woman of both iron will and indomitable spirit, always there, the steely matriarch of the St Just family.

‘May we discuss Eleanor’s future now, Justin?’ Edith continued, uncharacteristically meek.

Eleanor Rosewood, and her future, were the last things that Justin wished to discuss at this moment, but a single glance at his grandmother’s face was enough to silence his protests as he noticed once again how the paleness of her face, and the shadows beneath her eyes, gave her the appearance of being every one of those eight and sixty years.

He bit back the sharpness of his reply and instead resumed his seat beside the bed. ‘Very well, Grandmama, if you insist, then let us talk of Cousin Eleanor’s future.’

She nodded. ‘It is my dearest wish to see her comfortably married before I dep—am no longer here,’ she corrected at Justin’s scowl.

He raised his brows. ‘It seems to me that you appear to wish this dubious state upon all those close to you. I am heartily relieved it is not just me you have set your sights on.’

‘Do not be facetious, Royston!’ The dowager frowned. ‘As I have already stated, you must do as you wish where your own future bride is concerned, but for a young woman in Ellie’s position, marriage is the only solution.’

‘And do you also have a gentleman in mind to become her husband? More to the point, does Cousin Eleanor have such a gentleman in mind?’ He raised mocking brows.

His grandmother sighed. ‘She has been so taken up with my own affairs this past year that I very much doubt she has given the matter so much as a single thought.’

‘Then—’

‘Which is not to say she should not have done so.’ Edith frowned him into silence. ‘Or that I should not have insisted she do so, before she is of an age that is considered as being unmarriageable.’

‘Exactly how old is Cousin Eleanor?’ Justin eyed his grandmother incredulously, thinking of the girl’s fresh, dewy complexion and unlined brow.

‘She has recently entered her twentieth year—’

‘Almost ancient then!’ he teased.

‘I am being serious, Justin. A young woman of Ellie’s meagre circumstances, if left alone in the world, will, as I am sure you are only too well aware, have very few opportunities open to her.’ She arched a pointed brow.

Yes, Justin was well aware of the fate that often befell impoverished but genteel young ladies of Eleanor Rosewood’s beauty and circumstance, being neither a part of society and yet not of the working classes either. ‘And exactly what do you expect me to do about it? Settle some money on her as a dowry, perhaps, in order to entice a penniless young man of the clergy or some such into offering her marriage?’ he suggested sarcastically.

‘The dowry would certainly be a start.’ His grandmother took his suggestion seriously as she nodded slowly. ‘Heaven knows the Royston fortune is large enough you would not even notice its loss! But I do not see why Eleanor should have to settle for an impoverished clergyman. Surely, somewhere amongst your acquaintances, you must know of a titled gentleman or two who would willingly overlook her social shortcomings in order to take to wife a young woman of personal fortune, who also happens to be the stepcousin of the powerful Duke of Royston?’