by Diana Quincy
“Please deliver this to Weston House, the Duke of Huntington’s residence,” she instructed. “His Grace may care to send a reply.”
“I’ll await His Grace’s reply, my lady,” Ivor assured her before going off on his errand.
She watched from the window as he went down the street, her thoughts swirling. She was worried about Hunt. Her concern had increased tenfold after her encounter with Viscount Griffin the previous afternoon.
Once Ivor disappeared from view, Leela sat down to work on her Morocco trip. She was behind in both research and planning. She spread maps out over the table and examined them, trying to determine a route. But after a half hour or so, she gave up on trying to concentrate and paced her mother’s sitting room.
She paused by the window and stared out, unseeing. What was taking so long? Weston House wasn’t so very far away. She couldn’t imagine that Hunt’s response would be lengthy. She spotted the footman, Ivor, coming down the street.
She waited impatiently for him to come up. There was no guarantee of a reply, her note did not require it, but she fervently hoped Hunt would send some word, even just a sentence or two, to reassure her that he was well. She instructed Ivor to enter almost the second he tapped on her door.
“Well,” she asked impatiently when the footman paused, “did you deliver the note?”
“I did, my lady.”
“And?” Why was he staring at the floor? “What happened? Did His Grace send a reply?”
“Not exactly, my lady.”
She noticed a letter in his hand. “Is that his reply?”
“No, my lady. It is your letter.”
“My letter? I thought you said you delivered it?”
“I did, my lady, it’s just that His Grace sent the letter back . . . erm . . . unopened.”
“He did what?”
“He refused delivery, my lady.”
“Are you certain? Did you see him?”
“No, my lady, but the butler informed me that His Grace did not want the letter and instructed him to return it to me to return to you.” He blushed. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”
“It’s not your fault.” She all but snatched the letter out of his hands. “You may go.”
She resumed pacing the room after he left. This time it wasn’t impatience but anger that fueled her private tirade. How dare Hunt return her letter unopened? Surely, he couldn’t blame her for Tori’s defection. Not when she’d done everything in her power to assure that their match would flourish.
As she began to calm down, Leela decided to resend the note the following day. Hunt was obviously out of sorts. Surely, he would not send her letter back again tomorrow.
But he did. Not just the following day but the day after that as well. By the fourth day, when Ivor returned from his delivery errand with a downcast look, Leela had had enough.
“Did he return it again?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, my lady.” He handed the now-worn letter back to her.
Leela bit her lip. The rejection stung. And it confused her. Why would Hunt take his anger at Tori out on Leela? “Thank you, Ivor.” She tossed the letter into the wastebasket. “That will be all.”
“Should I return to Weston House again tomorrow?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll see to His Grace myself.”
The following day, Leela took the carriage to Weston House. Ivor went ahead to use the door knocker. The massive front door opened just as Leela approached it.
“Lady Devon has come to call on His Grace, the Duke of Huntington,” Ivor informed the man Leela assumed to be the butler.
“I regret to inform her ladyship that His Grace is not at home to callers.”
“He will see me,” Leela said. “Please inform him that I am here.”
“My apologies, Countess Devon, but I cannot do that.”
“Are you the butler?” she asked in her most imperious tone.
“I am Hayes, my lady, His Grace’s underbutler.”
“If you do not tell Huntington that I am here, I will enter this house and search every chamber until I locate him.”
The underbutler looked concerned. “You could do so, of course, my lady, but His Grace is truly not at home.”
“Do you mean to say that he is not in this house right at this minute?”
“No, my lady.”
Leela entered the house, surprising the underbutler, who immediately stepped back to allow her to pass. “That is fine. I have all afternoon. I will await His Grace’s return.”
“I am afraid you are wasting your time, Lady Devon.”
“I will decide for myself when my time is being put to good use.”
“Yes, my lady, it is just that you could be waiting for several days.”
She frowned. “He’s truly gone then?”
“Yes, my lady. He had his valet pack his bags and His Grace went off on his own.”
“He’s alone?” Just as he’d been the evening they’d first met. When Leela had mistaken him for a clerk or a laborer.
“Indeed, my lady.”
“Where did he go?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say, my lady.”
“Please, you must tell me. I am concerned for his well-being.”
His stone-faced expression softened a fraction. “I honestly do not know, my lady.”
“Where does Huntington normally go when he is . . . in low spirits?”
The underbutler peered over one of his shoulders and then the other. Seeing none of the other staff in the vicinity, he leaned a tad closer, his voice pitched low. “He returns home, my lady, to Eaton Park.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully.
“Now, if there is anything else I can do for you—”
“There is not.” She left Weston House, hurrying to her waiting carriage.
“Where to now, my lady?” Ivor asked.
“We’re going to Oxfordshire.”
His eyes bulged. “Now, my lady?”
Leela forced herself to stop and consider her position. It would take a full day’s ride to reach Eaton Park. And although she trusted Ivor, the coachman was new to her. And servants gossiped. “I suppose His Grace isn’t interested in a family apology,” she said. “We should return to Peckham House for now. But first thing in the morning, I think I shall return to Lambert Hall.”
“You’re going back to the country, my lady?”
“Yes, to Parkwood, the dower house,” she lied. “I could use the serenity after the excitement of the last fortnight.”
“Very good, my lady.” He shut the door and secured it so they could be on their way.
Chapter Twenty-One
She left early the following morning with Hashem driving the horses.
Her manservant was discreet. The last thing Hunt needed was more gossip. It was preferable that no one know Leela had gone to see him. Along the way, they stopped only to change the horses and for a bite to eat. The late afternoon sun shone down on them by the time they reached Oxfordshire.
A mile-long, tree-lined drive led to Eaton Park’s mammoth stone manor. Two imposing Jacobean towers soared from the roof, looming over the rest of the manor like sentries standing guard. Eaton Park was formidably beautiful, not unlike its master. A shiver went through Leela. She could hardly wait to see Hunt again, to make certain for herself that he was well.
Her carriage pulled up to the entrance. The long open-fronted loggia, supported by columns and styled with arches, spanned the house’s facade. Double oak doors opened to reveal a surprisingly young butler.
Leela lifted her chin. “I am the Countess of Devon. I wish to see His Grace, the Duke of Huntington.”
“I am Hughes, at your service, my lady.” The man possessed a head of thick sandy hair and had yet to reach his fortieth year. “I regret to inform you that His Grace is not at home.”
“Will he be away from home for long?”
“He should return in an hour’s time, Lady Devon.�
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“Then I shall wait,” she said in her loftiest manner, “if you will kindly admit me.”
“I am afraid His Grace is not at home to visitors.”
“Surely he will see me,” she pressed. “I have, after all, come all the way from Town.”
Hughes paused. Leela had placed him in the untenable position of potentially facing his master’s wrath or turning away a countess who’d been long on the road.
“Surely you don’t mean to keep me out here on the doorstep,” she pressed. “I am fatigued and would welcome the opportunity to freshen up and perhaps have some tea while I await His Grace’s return.”
“Of course, Lady Devon.” He reluctantly admitted her. She’d given him no choice really. “This way, if you please.”
She followed the young butler through the outer hall and into the great hall, a magnificent galleried space with a spectacular dome at its center. He led her to a large reception room off the front hall with peach silk walls and generous-sized windows.
“If you will make yourself comfortable, Lady Devon, I shall ring for tea and refreshment. In the meantime, I will assign a maid to see to your comfort until His Grace returns. She will show you to the ladies’ retiring room should you like to refresh yourself.”
Once he left her, Leela went to the windows and stared out over swaths of green lawn that went on as far as her eye could see. A female servant appeared.
“I am Abigail, my lady. I am to look after you while you are here at Eaton Park.” The girl was young and eager to please. She escorted Leela to the ladies’ retiring room, where she took care of her bodily needs and washed her face and her hands. She returned to the reception room to find the tea tray waiting for her. She dismissed the young maid and indulged in sandwiches and desserts before settling down to await Hunt’s return.
Abigail checked in on her several times over the next few hours. Once night fell, the servant brought in a supper tray and then went to close the curtains. Hughes, the butler, reappeared once Leela finished eating. “Lady Devon, His Grace has directed me to assign you to a guest chamber where you can pass the night.”
She straightened. “He’s back?”
“Not exactly, my lady. His Grace returned only briefly and went out again.”
Irritation flashed through Leela. Hunt thought he could avoid her. Well, she would wait him out for as long as it took. “I see. Please take me to my room.”
Abigail led Leela to a beautifully appointed pink silk chamber with an enormous four-poster bed and a plush sitting area before the lit hearth. A part of Leela was surprised Hunt hadn’t given her one of his worst guest chambers. Anything to get her to leave.
To the contrary, these accommodations were luxurious, comfortable and inviting. Neatly stacked soaps and creams were available on the dressing table. Someone had set a selection of books and pitcher of water on the bedside table. Leela fell asleep almost the instant her head touched the pillow.
She was awakened by Abigail the following morning, after an unexpectedly restful night. The servant arrived with a breakfast tray laden with enticing breakfast foods.
“I had hoped to take breakfast with His Grace,” Leela said as the girl set the tray on the bed.
The girl flushed. “I am afraid His Grace is not at home.”
“Where is he?”
“I cannot say, my lady.”
Frustrated, Leela picked at her breakfast before rising to dress. Then she went to find Hughes. She located him in the butler’s pantry inventorying the silver.
He set down the polished platter in his hands. “Good morning, Lady Devon.”
“Where is Huntington?”
“He has gone out. His Grace left instructions for staff to see to your every comfort this morning before your noon departure.”
Leela’s temper flared at Hunt’s unsubtle way of kicking her out of his house. But she wasn’t going anywhere. “Then he will be back at noon?”
“No, my lady. His Grace was very firm that he will not be entertaining any callers for the foreseeable future.”
She flushed. “Where is he? I must see him.”
“I am afraid I cannot say.”
“Cannot or will not?”
A pained expression crossed Hughes’s face. “They are one and the same, Lady Devon, as I am sure you understand. It is my place to serve His Grace and to see to his every wish, command and comfort.”
Leela retreated, unwilling to put the nice young butler in the middle of her apparent feud with Hunt. She returned to her bedchamber. Frustrated, she gazed out of the window and contemplated her next moves.
That’s when she spotted him.
Off in the distance, Hunt strode across the low-cut grass with a golf club in hand, followed by a groom carting the rest of his clubs.
“I’ve got you!” she said triumphantly, although there was no one present to hear her. She rushed down the stairs and hurried toward the entrance.
Hughes appeared out of nowhere, keeping pace alongside her. “May I be of service, Lady Devon?”
“No,” she said cheerily, coming to an abrupt stop at the door. The attending footman quickly opened the double doors for her. “I think I shall go for a walk. Then I will instruct my man to prepare for our noon departure.”
“Very good, my lady,” he called out after her.
She stomped in Hunt’s direction, keeping her gaze fixed on his tall form. Now that she finally had him in her sights, she wasn’t going anywhere until she forced him to talk to her. She could have sworn he spotted her because he froze and stared in her direction for a few moments.
Her heart sped up. She’d missed him. He looked incredibly appealing in fawn breeches that fit his muscular thighs like a second skin. The tweed morning coat emphasized the wide breadth of his athletic form. A burgundy cravat hugged his throat.
She hastened her pace, eager to speak with him. Their gazes caught and held. She smiled, happiness soaring inside of her. She’d missed him.
Hunt frowned. Then turned and started to walk away in the opposite direction. Speeding up, Leela chased after him. She stumbled over something and almost lost her balance. It was one of his infernal golf balls. She snatched it up and raced after him. He had longer legs and moved at a fast clip. And he wasn’t burdened by a double layer of skirts. He headed toward a wooded area, where he could lose her quite easily.
She yelled out to him. “What are you going to do? Hide in the woods?” He was getting away. Frustrated, she hurled the golf ball at his retreating form. “Don’t you dare run from me, you coward!”
He turned in time to see the golf ball sailing toward him. If she hadn’t been so angry, she might have laughed at the way his eyes widened before he jerked out of the way, the ball narrowly missing his head.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
“I’m trying to knock some sense into that thick head of yours, you tase.”
“You are no doubt insulting me yet again.” Anger glittered in his deep blue eyes. “What is a tase?”
“If you must know, it is a stupid stubborn goat,” she snapped back when she finally staggered up to him.
“Did you come all this way to insult me?”
“Why are you running away from me?” she gasped, out of air.
“I am not running. I am merely trying to avoid you.”
She clamped her fists on her hips. “Why?”
His jaw was taut. “Because the very sight of you infuriates me.”
She leaned over, trying to catch her breath. “I know you are angry at Victoria and I don’t fault you—”
“You could not be more wrong,” he interrupted. “I am not angry with Lady Victoria.”
“You’re not?” She straightened. “Why not? She jilted you. Humiliated you.”
“Yes, thank you.” Looking pained, Hunt held up a staying hand. “I don’t need a list to remind me of what occurred. I assure you it is entrenched in my memory.” He looked to the groom who carried his
clubs and handed his putter to the older man. “You may go now.” The man bowed and trudged away carrying his burden.
Hunt watched after him for a moment. “Manley is too old to carry my clubs. I’ll have to get a new caddie.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Now that Foster is no longer available.”
“I know you are angry. Devon told me what happened. That you want nothing further to do with him.”
“Quite right. But my desire to stay clear of Devon has nothing whatsoever to do with his sister’s desertion.”
“It doesn’t?” Her jaw slackened. “Then why are you angry with him?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
He released an exasperated breath. “He obviously overstepped so grievously with you that you felt compelled to knife the man.”
“Oh.” Pleasurable warmth swept through her body. “You’re snubbing Devon on my account.”
“Don’t look so pleased. I also want nothing to do with you.”
“Me? Why? What did I do except everything in my power to help you and Victoria reach the altar?”
“That is precisely what you did,” he hissed. “You pushed us both toward marriage when it was clear neither of us wanted it. Both Victoria and I almost allowed you to force us into a betrothal with disastrous results.”
“I cannot believe—” Words failed her. Her body vibrated with indignant fury. “You blame me for this disaster.”
“You loved Victoria enough to push her to follow her heart. To never settle for less.”
“And what is wrong with that?”
His mouth twisted with disdain. “But when it came to me, you insisted that I quash any feelings that I might have. I was supposed to ignore my heart. I wasn’t supposed to do what made me happy. And I listened to you because I cared so deeply for you. I would have done anything for you, even if it was against my better judgment.”
She felt light-headed. “Oh.” He cared deeply for her. Still.
“Because I listened to you, I am the laughingstock of London.” He flushed. “Thanks to you, I am the subject of ridicule and humiliation. My name is on the tongue of every gossip in the kingdom. Everything I sought to avoid for my entire adult life is now upon me. And it is all due to your machinations.”