by Diana Quincy
“Sold.” The boy grinned. “Pluto and Plunder are yours.”
Lady Victoria smiled gratefully at Hunt. “May I go and get your dogs?”
“Certainly, you may.” He and Leela watched Lady Victoria make her way through the crowd to take possession of the dogs.
“What are you going to do with them?” Leela asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Do you even like dogs?” He heard the smile in her voice.
“Not particularly.”
She placed a hand on his forearm. “That was very well done of you. Thank you.”
He stared at her gloved hand, warmth spreading through him like wildfire. His body ached for her. He yearned to take her hand in his and raise it to his mouth so that he might press his lips against the tender spot on the inside of her wrist.
“Here we are.” Lady Victoria’s voice jolted him from his musings. A smile wreathed her face as the two leashed dogs moved restlessly by her side. “What shall we do now?”
“Take them home with us?” Hunt asked dubiously. Both Leela and Lady Victoria laughed as if he’d made a humorous remark.
Leela reached over to take one leash from Lady Victoria. “Now which one is Plunder? What a name.”
Lady Victoria pointed to the smaller of the two bulldogs. “That’s Plunder and you have Pluto.”
Chattering to themselves and cooing to the animals, the two ladies strolled back in the direction of Lambert Hall, barely taking note of Hunt, who dutifully trailed behind them.
The afternoon after Hunt acquired his new dogs, Leela found herself gliding down the Oxford Canal aboard the narrowest boat she’d ever seen.
While the majority of the houseguests were gone, Mr. and Mrs. Paget, along with Aunt Helene’s particular friend, Baroness Wallace, all lived in the neighborhood and had joined the excursion.
“This is the strangest vessel,” Leela remarked. “I’ve never been on one quite like it.”
“It must be slender enough to fit in the canal,” Tori informed her. “Most narrow boats carry cargo. Others carry mail and parcels. And, at times, passengers.”
“You seem very knowledgeable about narrow boats,” Baroness Wallace observed.
“I cannot help it,” Tori said with a smile. “My brother is fascinated with canals. He enjoys taking guests for leisurely jaunts down the waterways.”
The long wooden boat was about seven feet wide and ten times as long, with a small cabin at the back of the boat. A glimpse inside the boatman’s cabin revealed two padded benches, a storage drawer and a stove for warmth and cooking. Four horses tethered to the sides of the tunnel by a long rope walked along the towpath pulling the vessel at a gentle pace.
Mrs. Paget, parasol perched high over her head, peered over the side into the sun-speckled water. “Why look, there’s a mallard.”
The ladies sat in wooden benches toward the front of the boat. The duke was at the rear of the boat with Edgar and Mr. Paget, learning how the steering mechanism, the hand rudder, worked.
Leela stared at the passing scenery—greenery and the occasional charming stone cottage—and tried not to think of Hunt. Tori slid closer to her.
“I have something to tell you,” she whispered urgently.
“What is it?”
“Lady Devon,” the baroness interrupted, “I hear you have seen fit to move into Parkwood.”
“Indeed I have.” Bracing for criticism, she added, “I am very comfortable there. It is a beautiful house.”
“Is it?” Mrs. Paget inquired. “I should like to see the dower house.”
“You are most welcome to call at any time.”
“Parkwood is a family home and has been for more than a century,” Aunt Helene said pointedly. “My mother, my grandmother and all of the mothers of the earls of Devon throughout history have resided there.”
“And as the widow of the late Earl of Devon, I am following that tradition,” Leela said evenly.
Hunt rejoined them, slipping onto the built-in bench next to Tori on one side of the boat. He’d discarded his tailcoat, and looked entirely too dashing in a cream silk waistcoat worn over a white linen shirt, and buff leather breeches tucked into tan-topped leather boots.
Edgar and Mr. Paget followed closely behind the duke. Aunt Helene, who sat in a forward-facing bench, did not take note of their reappearance.
“But you are hardly mother to the next duke.” False sympathy filled the older woman’s voice. “Sadly, you are not even a mother.”
“Neither are you,” Leela reminded the spinster. She spoke in a pleasant tone, like one might when commenting on the weather, even though anger stirred deep in her belly. She would never grant Helene the satisfaction of knowing she’d scored a direct hit. The barb stung not because Leela had a burning desire to have a baby, but because Douglas had wanted another child and Leela had failed to give him one.
Aunt Helene stiffened. “I might not have children, but I do have blood ties to Lambert Hall. You do not.”
“But she has ties of the heart,” Hunt interjected. “Lady Victoria is most fond of Lady Devon.”
Aunt Helene’s head jerked in Hunt’s direction, taking note of his presence for the first time. “Your Grace, how lovely that you have rejoined us.”
“Lady Victoria is pleased that Lady Devon is staying at the dower house,” he said to the older woman.
“Oh yes, indeed.” Tori reached for Leela’s hand. “Nothing could make me happier.”
“There you have it,” Hunt said pleasantly. “Surely Lady Victoria’s happiness is paramount.”
Edgar beamed. “Huntington would hate for his future duchess to be unhappy.”
Leela’s heart lurched. Future duchess? Hunt had made it official? Audible gasps sounded around her.
“Are you saying what I believe you are saying?” the baroness inquired.
“Is that an announcement?” Mr. Paget asked a bit too loudly.
Edgar smiled. “Of a sort.”
“What?” Aunt Helene asked.
Hunt darted a look at Leela before blinking away and taking Tori’s hand into his own. The girl’s face turned a deep rosy shade as she stared down at their clasped fingers.
“Lady Victoria has agreed to make me the happiest man in all of England,” Hunt said carefully, as if willing the words to leave his mouth. “She has done me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife.”
“When did this happen?” Aunt Helene asked. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
“We’re informing you now.” Edgar vibrated with satisfaction. “His Grace asked for Lady Victoria’s hand yesterday afternoon. And she has consented.”
Yesterday afternoon. Shortly after they’d returned from the village. Hunt must have gone directly to ask Edgar for Tori’s hand. Despair carved itself into Leela’s chest. It was done. Tori couldn’t cry off now. The betrothal was official.
Mr. Paget reached out to shake Hunt’s hand. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you,” he said heartily.
“Oh happy day!” Baroness Wallace went to hug Tori. “You will make a wonderful duchess.”
Tori returned the baroness’s embrace but her worried gaze met Leela’s. Forcing a smile, Leela stood to hug Tori. “I wish you every happiness.”
Tori hugged her back hard. “Thank you. It all happened so fast. I tried to tell you.” She was pulled away to embrace Aunt Helene. Around her, everyone chattered happily. Leela heard none of it. She smiled and laughed when the others did, but had no idea why.
“Tunnel ahead!” one of the boatmen called, cutting into the congratulatory chatter. Leela stared blindly ahead and saw that they were coming up to a long narrow covered passage.
“Now we untether the horses,” Edgar informed them.
“How do we get through the tunnel?” Mr. Paget asked, turning so that his good ear faced Edgar.
“Two of the boatmen will leg it,” the earl answered. “It should take about fifteen minutes to get through to the other side.”
&n
bsp; Everyone except for Leela proceeded to the back of the boat to watch the boatmen lie on their backs atop the cabin. They propped their legs up against the tunnel walls at a forty-five-degree angle, walking their feet along the wall. The strength of their legs powered the narrow boat through the dark passage.
Relieved that the others were distracted, Leela sank onto the bench. Her heart raced. Her head pounded. Soon the entire boat was inside the tunnel, pitching her into complete blackness. Her surroundings were cool and cave-like, the damp air pressing against her clammy skin. Sounds of water dripping from the moist tunnel walls echoed around her. Pulling off her gloves, Leela laid a hand against her cool forehead.
Behind her, the boatmen began to sing, stomping their feet against the sides of the tunnel in rhythm, in tune with the shanty.
Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
To me way-aye, blow the man down.
Leela closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the torment in her chest. It was done. Tori would wed Hunt. She would bear his children. Leela had never cared about having children. She’d hoped to get pregnant solely because Douglas wanted another son, not due to any deep desire on her part. But now, the idea of someone else bearing Hunt’s children felt like there’d been a death in the family.
Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down!
Give me some time to blow the man down!
Something warm settled next to her. Even in the darkness, she immediately knew who it was. She knew his masculine scent. She knew him. Hunt’s hand brushed against hers. Their fingers interlocked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They sat there silently for a minute or so, intimately connected, drawing strength and comfort from each other.
His lips were at her ear, his breath sweetly humid. “I did it for you.”
Her heart twisted. “I know.”
“I was afraid that if I waited any longer, I would lose my nerve.”
She nodded, even though he could not see her.
His voice was strained. “I swear I will do everything in my power to ensure that Victoria never regrets her choice.”
The emotion clogging Leela’s throat made words impossible. Instead, she just clung to his hand and let the tears flow.
When the narrow boat emerged from the tunnel several minutes later, Leela had composed herself.
And she was alone again.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, Leela was at breakfast attempting to review her manuscript and not think of Hunt, when Tori rushed in.
“You aren’t angry with me, are you?” The girl was out of breath, her cheeks flushed. “Please tell me you’re not disappointed in me.”
“Why would I be upset with you?” Leela set her tea down. “Why are you breathing so hard?”
“I ran all the way here. It was my first opportunity to sneak away.”
“Sit down.” Leela poured the girl a drink of water from the floral porcelain pitcher on the table. “And drink.”
Tori collapsed into the chair across from Leela and gulped down half the glass. “I was worried you’d be put out because I accepted the duke’s proposal so quickly.”
“Darling, this is your life.” The ever-present knot in Leela’s stomach—the one related to all things Hunt—twisted a little tighter. “All I can do is give you advice. But, in the end, you must do as you please.”
“I had hoped to spend more time with Hunt—he said I should call him Hunt now that we’re betrothed—but he was most ardent in his proposal.”
Leela’s heart fluttered. “Was he?”
“Yes, he seemed so determined to make me his wife that it was difficult to say no.”
“Did you want to turn him down?”
“No, not really.” She swallowed more water. “He was so wonderful when we visited the village. The way he saved Pluto and Plunder was quite heroic.”
Leela had to agree. “Where are the dogs now?”
“Out in the stable. Hunt intends to make them stable hounds at his country estate.”
Leela smiled. “It was very kind of His Grace to save the animals.”
“You must call him Hunt now that he is to be family.”
Family. “Very well. It was very kind of Hunt.”
“I agree. His gallantry greatly influenced my decision to accept his offer of marriage. And I took Mr. Foster’s opinion to heart as well.”
“The duke’s secretary? He voiced an opinion on whether or not you should wed the duke?”
“No, of course not. Mr. Foster would never be so bold.” She finished her water. “I asked him if he enjoyed working for Hunt, and Mr. Foster responded that he could not ask for a more worthy employer. He says His Grace is honorable, generous and fair.”
“You must remember that the duke is his employer. Mr. Foster would be foolish to speak against him. He risks losing his position.”
“I realize that. But Mr. Foster worked for the last duke as well.”
Leela reached for the water pitcher to refill Tori’s glass. “Mr. Foster was employed by His Grace’s brother?”
“Yes. He assisted the late duke’s secretary. When Hunt assumed the title, he elevated Mr. Foster by making him his secretary. Mr. Foster says there never were two brothers more different than those two.”
Leela’s curiosity piqued. “What did he say about the last duke?”
“Nothing directly. Mr. Foster would never be so indiscreet. But it is obvious from the way he speaks about the current duke that he respects him a great deal. He even seems a little fond of Hunt.”
It did not surprise Leela that Hunt was well regarded by the people he employed. He’d proven himself to be a worthy man. “I do believe His Grace will do everything in his power to make you happy.” Hunt had told Leela as much. And she believed him.
“Do you?” Delight washed over Tori’s face. “Oh, I am so pleased. Your good opinion of him means everything to me.”
Leela could not bear to discuss Hunt any longer. It hurt too much. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I’ve already eaten.” Tori paused, sniffing the air. “But what is that delicious smell?”
“It’s called manaeesh.” Leela broke off a piece of the round flatbread on her plate. “Try it. It’s za’atar mixed with olive oil and then spread onto the dough before baking.”
“Well, I am partial to your za’atar.” She bit into the warm bread and chewed slowly, appreciatively. “This tastes as delightful as it smells.”
“It’s one of my favorites. I’m fortunate that Hashem is an excellent cook.”
Tori examined the za’atar-topped bread before taking another bite. “I should warn you that you might have guests soon.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Mrs. Paget is up at the Hall. I overheard her telling Aunt Helene that she’d like to accept your offer to take tea here at Parkwood House.”
Leela stifled a groan. “Hopefully, she will decide against it.”
Voices sounded in the front hallway. One particularly imperious tone left no doubt that Aunt Helene was among the visitors.
Tori’s brows lifted. “You could always escape out the back door.”
Leela rose, resigned to her fate. “I suppose I shall have to go and greet my guests.”
The tantalizing smell of fresh-baked bread and mint tea reached Hunt the moment Leela’s manservant admitted them to Parkwood.
This was the last place he wanted to be. He’d come along reluctantly, at the urging of Devon, the old aunt and Mrs. Paget, who seemed to spend a great deal of time at Lambert Hall. He had no desire to be inside Leela’s house so soon after their last encounter. The more distance they kept between them the better. Crossing into Leela’s domain stirred up emotions best left dormant.
“Where has all of the furniture gone?” A frowning Aunt Helene surveyed the gracious reception room with its pale yellow walls and soaring windows. “Where is Mama’s chaise?”
Leela joined them, looking fresh and very desir
able with her dark hair pulled up. A few waves had escaped their confinement and draped about the smooth column of her neck and down to her shoulders. Her morning dress—white with red pinstripes—hugged her generous breasts before flowing gently over the rest of her sweet curves. The unbidden memory of running his lips down that neck, of tasting her lush breasts, assailed him. Reality slammed into Hunt when Victoria entered the room behind Leela.
“What a delightful surprise,” Leela said to her unexpected guests.
Ignoring Leela’s greeting, Devon focused on his sister. “So this is where you ran off to without a word.”
“Victoria came to visit with me.” Leela defended her stepdaughter. “It isn’t as if she left the estate grounds.”
“All the same.” Devon looked to Hunt. “His Grace will no doubt wish to take Victoria in hand once they are wed.”
“Lady Victoria hardly needs to be taken in hand.” Hunt felt a rush of protectiveness toward the girl, instinctively coming to her defense the way he might for a younger sister. “I see no fault in the lady’s behavior.”
Victoria flushed and shot him a grateful smile. He returned her smile, realization hitting that he was growing fond of the bright and amiable young woman. Not with the heated desperateness with which he craved Leela, but in a more familial way. He supposed that was a start. He glanced over at Leela. She watched his warm exchange with Victoria. His gut squeezed at the stricken expression that fleetingly crossed her face.
She quickly masked it with a welcoming smile. “I have already rung for tea. Won’t you all make yourselves comfortable?”
“Where? There is hardly room to sit.” Glacial resentment poured off of Aunt Helene. “What have you done with Mama’s chaise? And Grandmama’s marble tables?”
“They are in the small salon across the hall for now,” Leela informed her, “until Devon decides where he wants them stored, either in the attic here or up at the Hall.”
“Why ever did you move them?” Mrs. Paget took a seat next to Aunt Helene on the gold chintz sofa trimmed in dark wood.
Leela sat in a velvet high-backed armchair opposite the older ladies. “I’ve recently come to realize that I prefer spaces that are less crowded, a bit more simple.”