by S. G. Rogers
The doorbell rang, and Belle groaned. Can’t I be left alone for just a few minutes? The housekeeper appeared in the doorway shortly thereafter.
“Sir Errol, miss.”
Belle’s heart sank. “Show him into the drawing room, please, Mrs. Beveridge, and bring tea.”
She forced a smile to her lips as she crossed the hallway. Errol was posed next to the fireplace in a fetching manner. He wore his smartest jacket, a ruffled front shirt, and cream-colored pants that tucked into fine leather boots. His wavy brown locks were brushed back off his face, and he had never appeared more romantic. Belle felt her shoulders relax. You see? Now that he’s here you’ll fall in love with him all over again.
Errol smiled as she entered the room. “Annabelle!”
“How kind of you to call, Errol. We’ve only just arrived home.”
“You’re more beautiful than I remember,” he said. “Travel agrees with you.”
He took both her hands in his and bestowed a lingering kiss on her cheek.
“I’ve just ordered tea, Errol. I hope you’ll stay?”
“Certainly. From your letters, I rather expected you back yesterday afternoon.”
“We were delayed. Oh, Errol, so much has happened!”
Mrs. Beveridge rolled in the tea cart, which held a pot of tea, two cups and saucers, lemon, sugar, a platter of sliced cake, and a tray of small sandwiches.
“Thank you, Mrs. Beveridge. Can you take some sandwiches to my father?” Belle asked.
“Yes, miss.”
As the housekeeper left, Belle poured the tea and began to narrate events from when the City of New York weighed anchor in the North River until it reached Liverpool, leaving out those details which would only lead to awkward questions.
“Your poor father,” Errol said, shaking his head. “I imagine he’ll need a great deal of rest over the next week or so. We’ll do our best to make him happy, won’t we?”
“I’m determined he should focus all his energy on getting better.”
“In your first letter from America, you described Wesley Parker as little better than a street urchin,” Errol said. “Now, Annabelle, you shouldn’t have rushed to judgment, especially since the young duke has revealed himself as a remarkable sort of person.”
A feeling of relief flowed through Belle. It will make things so much nicer if Errol and Wesley become friendly.
“You’re quite right, Errol, and I’m ashamed of what I wrote,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll like His Grace very much. He’s only a few years younger than you are, so you should have many of the same interests.”
Errol’s liquid gray eyes caressed her face. “I’m quite certain we do. I’ll call on him tomorrow.”
“That would be most kind.” Pleased, Belle poured Errol more tea, and added two lumps of sugar. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing since I’ve been away.”
In response, Errol rose from his chair, came to sit next to Belle on the narrow love seat, and took her hand in his. “I’ve missed you so very much, Annabelle.”
He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. His lips moved from her mouth, across her cheek, and down her neck with increasing passion.
“Errol, this is improper!”
“Is it improper for a man so much in love to express his feelings to his fiancée? Annabelle, I’m going to apply for a license from the clergyman tomorrow. It’s time to set a date for the wedding.”
Belle was taken aback. “But…we’ve no wedding ring.”
Errol fished a ring out of his vest pocket. “Will this suit you, my love?”
The gold ring featured an enormous round cut diamond, with smaller diamonds clustered all around like the petals of a clear, sparkling flower.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, quite truthfully.
He slipped it onto Belle’s finger and resumed his caresses. She closed her eyes and found with very little effort she was able to imagine Wesley’s arms around her and Wesley’s lips stirring her emotions. So complete was her fantasy, that when Errol whispered her name, she was brought to her senses with a shock. This isn’t right! Flushed and embarrassed, she pushed him back.
“I’m sorry, Errol, but I—”
“My ardor increases every moment. Don’t make me wait, my love,” he said. “Let’s marry as soon as may be.”
“Errol, I can’t marry you!”
In the shocked silence that followed, Belle jumped to her feet, pulled the ring off her finger and set it down next to Errol’s teacup.
“Forgive me, but my travels have given me a different perspective. To accept your proposal was a hasty, youthful mistake, and done without malice. Although I continue to hold you in the highest regard, I find I can’t marry you.”
Errol’s face was impassive as he rose and straightened his clothes.
“Oh, I think you’ll find you can.”
Belle peered at him, confused. “Did you not hear me? My feelings forbid it.”
“Do your feelings forbid a breach of promise lawsuit?”
If Errol had slapped her full across the face, she couldn’t have been more shocked. “You wouldn’t!”
“Said lawsuit would cause quite a scandal and cost your father a great deal of money he doesn’t have. You see, while you were gone, I was rather curious how a country lawyer of modest means could afford to bring his daughter with him to America. I discovered he took out a mortgage on this house.”
“You’re lying.”
“Indeed I’m not. I performed a search on the property, and the mortgage showed up as a cloud on the title. Your father is in debt, Annabelle, and is therefore ill-equipped to pay a legal judgment which would surely accrue in my favor.”
Belle backed away as Errol drew closer, until the wall prevented any further retreat. He insinuated his body full against hers.
“As I was saying, I’ll apply for the marriage license tomorrow.” Errol’s lips hovered next to her ear, tickling the hair on her neck with his hot breath. “Three weeks from last Saturday should give you enough time to buy a wedding gown and plan the wedding breakfast. Do we understand one another?”
Trembling, Belle barely managed a nod. His eyes traced a path from her mouth to her décolleté and back again.
“Good. Welcome home.”
Errol picked up his hat and riding crop. A slight smirk tugged at his lips as he departed, leaving the ring behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Caisteal Park
THE CLATTER OF HORSE HOOVES on the driveway faded, but Belle stood frozen like a statue. A sudden lightheadedness threatened to overwhelm her, and she ran from the house as if pursued by the hounds of Hell. The orchard became her refuge, and she wandered through the trees, gasping for air.
What on Earth had happened to change Errol? Before she left Mansbury he’d been attentive, courtly, and tender; a touch of his hand on hers and a chaste kiss or two was all they’d ever exchanged. Now the man was demanding, pitiless, and almost cruel in his disregard for her feelings. He seemed serious about the lawsuit. Certainly his male beauty and romantic air made him a sympathetic witness, but could he prove his case for breach of promise? Her heart sank as she recalled all the letters she’d written to him during her travels. The first one especially had expressed her eagerness to become his bride, and was the perfect evidence. The tone of her letters must have altered thereafter, alarming Errol enough to seek leverage against her—but why? A gentleman would just let her go.
Her thoughts focused on Errol’s assertion that her father was in debt. Could such a thing be true? Belle immediately returned to the house and went directly into the library, where her father kept his desk. She didn’t have to search long; the bank documents she sought were inside the first drawer she opened. Her father had indeed borrowed the funds to purchase her passage to America and back, and the house was pledged as collateral. Dear, sweet, generous Papa! You’ve always indulged me far too much, and I’ve taken it for granted. She remembered what he’d told her about her gra
ndfather and his money; had the ticket been her father’s way of trying to compensate? He must never know I found out. Belle returned the papers to the drawer, slid it closed, and pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. What am I to do?
The late afternoon sun slanted through the library windows, illuminating swirling dust motes and casting shadows across the floor. Belle tried to find a way out of her dilemma, but as the sun dipped toward the horizon, the shadows lengthened and her options dwindled. Almost trancelike, she stared at nothing until Mrs. Beveridge came into view with Errol’s ring in her hand.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Oakhurst, but I found this in the drawing room and thought it must be yours.”
Belle snapped out of her reverie, and took the ring with a sense of dread. “Thank you, Mrs. Beveridge, it is mine.”
I can’t tell Papa what has happened. I can’t break the engagement. I’m trapped.
While Lady Frederic met with Mrs. Blount to discuss menus and housekeeping matters the next morning, Wesley went off to explore. One of his first destinations was the carriage house, where the coachman, Bartleby, showed him the several carriages at his disposal.
“If there’s ever anywhere you’d like to go, Your Grace, just send word,” Bartleby said.
“Actually, I’m going to town to pay a call after lunch,” Wesley said. “This morning, however, I’m exploring Caisteal Park on foot.”
“Would you like the groom to saddle a horse from the stable for you, sir? You can cover more ground that way.”
Wesley demurred. “Thanks, but I really ought to take riding lessons first. Otherwise, I’ll break my neck and annoy the horse.”
He left the carriage house and strolled through a series of exquisite, soothing gardens. In one, he walked upon a carpet of green velvet so lovely he had to touch it with his fingers to make sure the surface was real. On either side of the path were banks of flowers, interspersed with large tufts of grasses, ferns, and plants of all shapes and textures. Further along, large, towering hedges formed natural walls.
In the flower garden, Wesley sat inside a gazebo and watched bees flit from bloom to bloom. From his vantage point, the view of the glorious estate was breathtaking. It was as if he were sitting in the center of a jewel box, surrounded by a crown of colored gemstones. The cloudless sapphire sky glowed overhead, the emerald hills stretched as far as he could see, and explosions of citrine-, opal-, ruby-, and lapis lazuli-colored blossoms dotted the garden. Caisteal Park was truly far more magnificent than he’d anticipated, and he still couldn’t quite believe it was his. A warm breeze sent a gust of intoxicating perfume his way, and he wished Belle were there to enjoy the moment with him.
At lunch, his mother was effervescent. “I received an answer to one of my letters this morning. My sister Constance and her husband Tom have agreed to visit next month from Bristol, and they’ll be bringing your three cousins. Isn’t that exciting?”
“It will be wonderful to meet actual relatives.”
“I’ve ordered calling cards, so we can begin visiting the more prominent families in the neighborhood.” She paused. “Mr. Oakhurst’s advice would have been so useful in that regard, but I hate to bother him while he’s recovering. Perhaps we may rely on his daughter’s observations?”
“Miss Oakhurst will have to give us an approved list. It wouldn’t do to cultivate the lowly, would it?”
Lady Frederic gave him a reproving glance. “Jest if you like, but we must put our best foot forward.”
“I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Mother, so long as you handle the details of my house party. There’s to be a ball the first night, and the rest is up to you. The names and addresses of my friends are on the desk in the study.”
“A ball is the perfect occasion to invite the local royalty and gentry,” Lady Frederic said.
“Whatever you like, Mother, but written invitations should be sent as soon as possible.”
“Actually, I’m quite looking forward to hosting a house party. It should be a great deal of fun.”
After lunch, Cavendish helped Wesley don a fresh shirt, waistcoat, and jacket for his afternoon call on Belle. Wesley told his valet about his conversation with the coachman.
“Apparently to be a gentleman I must learn to ride.”
“It’s somewhat expected, Your Grace.”
“I don’t suppose you could teach me?”
“Certainly, although the proper attire is a prerequisite. We’ll have to purchase a riding habit and boots for you.”
“I wonder if Uncle Septimus had riding clothes I could use? See to it, would you Cavendish?”
A deep chime sounded just then.
“What’s that?” Wesley asked.
“The doorbell. You’ve a visitor.”
“Blast! I’m on my way to see Miss Oakhurst. Do you think anyone would notice if I slipped out the back?”
“Shall we find out who it is first?”
Wesley gnashed his teeth. “I suppose so.”
Cavendish disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, he had a calling card on a silver salver.
“Who is it?” Wesley asked, reaching for the card.
“Sir Errol Blankenship.”
Wesley’s hand froze, mid-air. “You’re not serious?”
“I can show you the back staircase, if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
With one final glance in the mirror to check his appearance, Wesley strode from the room.
As Wesley approached the drawing room, he heard his mother’s voice.
“Truly, we’re quite lost without Mr. Oakhurst’s guiding hand, Sir Errol, but we have every confidence he’ll rebound. In the meantime, Miss Oakhurst has been most accommodating,” she said.
“My fiancée is very useful sort of person,” a man replied. “I think that’s why I was first attracted to her.”
Annoyance ran down Wesley’s spine at the note of superiority in Errol’s voice, and he took a moment to square his shoulders. When he entered the drawing room, the visitor rose.
“Wesley, this is Sir Errol Blankenship,” Lady Frederic said. “Sir Errol, allow me to introduce my son Wesley Parker, the Duke of Mansbury.”
Wesley and Errol bowed to one another.
“Welcome to Mansbury,” Errol said.
“Thank you,” Wesley said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Miss Oakhurst spoke of you quite often.”
As the two men sized each other up, the temperature in the room plummeted. Wesley studied Errol; the man was beautiful to the point of being effeminate, down to the ruffles on his shirt and way he dressed his hair. Wesley hated him on sight. Errol wouldn’t have lasted two minutes in Brooklyn.
“I must say, you are a vast deal different than Miss Oakhurst described in her letters,” Errol said. “Far younger and far less…dangerous.”
“First impressions can be misleading.” Wesley paused. “Miss Oakhurst and I had a rather colorful introduction, but I believe her opinion of me improved greatly afterward.”
“Hmm,” Errol replied. “Perhaps I should give a party to welcome you to the neighborhood. Do you ride?”
“Not yet.”
“Shoot grouse or pheasant?”
“No.”
Errol made a dismissive sound. “What do you do?”
“I’m rather good with fisticuffs,” Wesley snapped.
Wesley and Errol locked eyes. Lady Frederic became alarmed, and cleared her throat. “Miss Oakhurst has been teaching my son to waltz, Sir Errol. Perhaps a dance would be in order?”
“Ah, yes. Before I knew her, Miss Oakhurst taught dancing at the local dance studio,” Errol said. “She could probably teach a pig to fly.”
His insult was so obvious, Wesley began to laugh. After a moment, Errol joined in. A bewildered smile crept onto Lady Frederic’s lips.
“A dance it is, then,” Errol said finally. “I’ll have to schedule it for a date following my weddi
ng, however. Miss Oakhurst and I are to be married in less than three weeks.”
Wesley couldn’t stifle his exclamation. “What?”
“Yes, we set the date yesterday afternoon,” Errol said. “You’re both invited, of course.”
A wave of nausea roiled Wesley’s stomach. It isn’t possible!
“Oh, dear,” Lady Frederic said. “Wesley has already scheduled a house party for that weekend. What a terrible shame to have to miss your wedding!”
Errol sighed. “I’m devastated at the thought.”
“I have an idea! Would you consider having your wedding breakfast here? Amongst Wesley’s guests are many of Miss Oakhurst’s mutual acquaintances,” Lady Frederic said.
“That’s terribly kind of you, Lady Frederic. Annabelle will be thrilled at the idea, I know. There’s no finer estate in the county.”
After bowing to Wesley one last time, Errol took his leave. Lady Frederic waited to speak until she heard the front door close.
“What on Earth is wrong with you, Wesley?” she exclaimed. “I feared for a few moments you and Sir Errol would come to blows!”
“Errol Blankenship is an arrogant, preening, supercilious popinjay, and I’ll see him burn in hell before he marries Miss Oakhurst!”
Wesley stormed from the drawing room, ignoring Lady Frederic’s expression of shock.
Bartleby drove Wesley to Belle’s house in an open air carriage pulled by a dappled gray gelding called Kelpie. The afternoon heat was not nearly as oppressive as it had been in New York, and the air was remarkably fresh and free of soot. The bleating of sheep grazing in a field off to one side would ordinarily have made Wesley chuckle, but he was too angry to pay it any attention.
The Oakhurst’s house came into view, neat and cheerful. Thick ivy creepers clung to the walls, giving the cottage the appearance of having sprung from the earth. A horse was tied to the hitching post out front, but Wesley was too distracted to take much notice of it. Almost before the carriage had come to a stop, Wesley jumped down.