Elenore's eyes lit up. “She reminds me so much of my horse when I was a little girl. Cinnamon was her name, and she was just as sweet as Sally.”
“Would you like to take her for a ride?” Daniel couldn't help but offering, though he wasn't sure if it was acceptable for a nun to do so.
Elenore's eyes widened in surprise. “Truly, you would let me?”
Daniel smiled at her childlike excitement. “Of course you may, I'm sure Lord Brattondale won't mind at all. I'll get her saddled up. Then you can be on your way.”
Elenore itched with excitement. It felt as if it had been an entire lifetime since she had been back in Bristol riding Cinnamon across the open farmlands surrounding their small home. For the first time since she had come to Westbrooke Hall she felt happy.
***
Like a moth drawn to the light, Devon couldn't keep himself from being drawn back to Westbrooke Hall. He had stayed away for an entire week and a half, which wasn't highly unusual—he often came back at his father's insistence, checking on the ailing man and seeing to his comfort, but there were so many things in London that kept him occupied, he didn't have time to visit as much as his father would have liked him to.
But, if he was being honest with himself, this time it wasn't his father that was drawing him home. He immediately thought of an impish face covered with a smattering of light freckles and he groaned. No, he told himself. The fetching Sister Genevieve was not the reason for his trip home, but rather, he had a more practical mission in mind. Ever since he'd had his encounter with Lord Grayson and had been unable to retrieve any of his father's money, he felt a desperate need compelling him to go over the account books to see exactly how much his father had lost this time around. It was depressing to see how their finances were dwindling so rapidly with each hand his father lost, but he felt a dismal need compelling him nonetheless.
His carriage had just pulled into the drive when he heard an unfamiliar squealing off in the distance. Pushing the curtains back from the carriage window, he peered out to see what the commotion was all about. It took him a moment to see where the ruckus was coming from, but then he spotted it—sitting atop a galloping mare was Sister Genevieve, her long hair blowing behind her in waves of brown. Devon gasped—where was her veil? He couldn't remember the last time he had been stunned into total silence. He sat staring at her, riding Sally wild and free, as she squealed in delight, and he knew he had never seen a lovelier vision in all of his life.
Sister Genevieve was a total enigma to him; she seemed too young and too lively to be dedicated to a life of solemn piousness. It seemed a shame that somebody so spirited would choose to waste there life on such a constricted existence. It didn't really seem fair either for her to have removed herself from the grasp of potential suitors. He was sure there were many gentlemen who would be just as enamored with her joyfulness as he was. Is that what he was, enamored? He shook himself out of his trance. Intrigued maybe, but definitely not enamored, she was a nun after all, and he knew nothing about her decision to become a nun. For all he knew, she had no desire for the opposite sex, the thought making him feel oddly disappointed.
He quickly alighted from his carriage as he saw her riding towards the front of the house. He stepped into the drive and waved a hand above his head, signaling her to stop. His smile widened as she approached, her face flush and her eyes all lit up. Her expression held no hint of embarrassment to be seen without her veil. Instead, she looked happy and alive.
“Good afternoon, Lord Bridgerton. I didn't expect to see you here today.”
“Nor did I expect to see you gallivanting around the property on horseback. I must admit I prefer you without that awful headpiece covering up your beautiful hair.”
Sister Genevieve's hands let go of the reigns, as they flew up to curl around her silky waves, seeming for the first time to realize her state of disarray. “Please, you must forgive my bad manners, I just couldn't fathom riding with it on. It gets so hot and itchy. Promise you won't say a word.”
Devon laughed, “And who do you imagine I'd tell? I'm sure my father wouldn't be concerned in the least. As long as you are there to hand-feed him his meals and rub his feet, I'm sure he couldn't care less what sat atop your head.”
Sister Genevieve sucked in a shocked breath, “I do not rub his feet. How improper of you to even suggest I'd do such a thing.”
“But you do spoon feed him his meals,” Devon pointed out.
“That I do,” she shook her head in disgust. “And if I had it my way, I wouldn't do that either.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, surprised by her candor.
She scoffed. “Pardon my frankness, but coddling a grown man was not exactly what I had in mind when I...” her voice trailed off momentarily. “...decided to become a nun.”
“I see,” Devon said solemnly. Then, gazing at her sincerely he said, “But you have to know how truly grateful I am for your assistance, as I'm sure my father is as well.”
“I'm not convinced that man has a grateful bone in his body.” Both hands instantly clamped over her mouth as if she was trying to restrain any further insults from flying forth, her eyes wide with alarm.
Devon couldn't help but laugh. She was definitely not like any girl, nun or otherwise, that he had ever met. He found her honesty refreshing, if a little abrupt. “You could very well be correct, but I, fortunately, do have many grateful bones in my body, and I'm very appreciative of your service to our family.”
He could tell his words had relaxed her, as she let her hands slip from her mouth and back into her lap, where they rested casually, a small smile pulling at the corners of her perfect lips. “Well, then I'm happy to be here, though I must confess I'm not sure how much longer I can stay.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's just that I have other places to go, things to do.” She couldn't very well come out and tell him of her plans to sail to America. She didn't want him prying into her affairs and somehow letting it slip that she had any sort of involvement with a highwayman.
Devon inwardly groaned. He didn't want to add another concern to his list, having to worry about finding someone else to watch after his father, or worse, having to do it himself. She had promised him a month, but it sounded as if she was growing impatient. “Surely there's nothing more pressing than performing service for somebody in need,” he pointed out, hoping she'd reiterate her agreement to stay on as caregiver for a month.
Letting out a deep sigh she replied, “Indeed that is important, but I have other people who need me, other places to go.”
“Who are you referring, to and when do you plan on going? I could send them a missive offering to find them a replacement so you may remain here with father.”
To his surprise, Elenore giggled. “Now why would you go to the trouble, if you could just find yourself a replacement instead? No, I cannot allow you to interfere with my plans, though I'm flattered by your desire to retain my services. I shall continue to care for the earl but thought it was fair of me to warn you that it won't be for much longer.”
“How much longer?” he asked desperately.
Elenore shrugged. “No more than three weeks, at most.”
Devon breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he had thought she had a change of heart and was going to flee before their bargain was up. He had been so overcome with desperation at the thought of her leaving, he had resorted to begging her to stay. What had gotten into him? He knew that if they hadn't currently been short on funds, he would've offered her monetary compensation next. The degree of desperation he felt was unsettling even to himself. He rationalized that it was all of the late night escapades as Black Lightening that were getting to him, but something inside warned that it might be something else.
Suddenly anxious to get away from the intoxicating little imp, he bowed before her saying, “I have some business I need to attend to, so I'll let you get back to your ride,” before cutting in front of his carriage and entering
his home.
Chapter 10
Sunday, May 8, 1814
Elenore was proud of herself—she had just successfully fed Lord Brat an entire meal without spilling on him once. It seemed as if her nursemaid skills were improving, and if the content grin on the earl's round face meant anything, he was pleased with her improvements as well.
“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?” she asked, desperately hoping he would let her leave. She had been itching to go for a ride on Sally ever since Daniel had assured her that she was welcome to the horse whenever she liked.
“Actually, there is.”
Elenore bit the inside of her cheek to keep from expressing any irritation. “Very well, what can I do for you?”
Lord Brattondale sat silently mulling his thoughts before he got the courage to voice his request. “Would you mind staying and just talking for a spell? I confess I'm getting rather lonely these days.”
Walking to the chair, her fists clenched tightly beneath her robes, Elenore said nothing as she sat, hoping and praying that he wouldn't want to talk long. She had been dreaming of riding Sally all day and this might be the only chance she got for some time.
“My wife died one and twenty years ago.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.” Truly she was.
Lord Brattondale continued as if she hadn't spoken at all. “Now that my children are grown and have their own lives to live, I find I'm quite beside myself with loneliness.”
“Understandable.”
“My daughters are both wed so I hardly see them at all, and Devon is so busy with his own life in London, he hardly has time to waste on an old man such as myself. ”
Elenore wasn't without empathy for the man, for she too had experienced her share of loneliness, but his pouting like a sullen child was almost more unbecoming to her than his gruff manner, of which she had grown accustomed to. “Well, my lord, then you must treasure these visits from your son immensely. Would you like me to send for him so you can enjoy his company?” She really hoped her offer to call for Lord Bridgerton would relieve her of having to remedy his boredom. She knew that Lord Bridgerton was still at Westbrooke Hall, though she had hardly seen him at all since his arrival and hoped that he would willingly come to her relief.
“I suppose, though I'm not sure he'll come.”
“Oh phooey, why would you say such a thing?” Elenore rose from her chair. “I'm sure he would be delighted to spend some time with you.” Before he had a chance to reject her offer, she was rushing out of the room, hoping to still enjoy an evening ride.
As she began walking towards the stairway, Charlotte was just slipping out of one of the rooms, smiling kindly at Elenore as she approached. “Oh Charlotte, would you mind sending for Lord Bridgerton? His father is most anxious to spend some time with him this evening and has requested he come to him at once.”
“Certainly,” she said, but before she did as instructed, she pulled a folded note from her apron pocket and handed it to Elenore.
“What's this?”
“It just arrived here for the master. Will you see to it that he gets it while I go summon Lord Bridgerton?”
Though the last thing she wanted to do was return to the earl's room, she knew she couldn't say no. “Very well. Thank you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte curtsied before turning to see to her task. Elenore huffed straight back to Lord Brattondale's room, entering without so much as knocking. He looked up at her beneath hooded eyes but didn't seem surprised by the intrusion, just that it was her and not somebody else he was expecting.
“Where's Charlotte?” he asked.
“She went to find Lord Bridgerton to let him know that you requested his company. She asked if I'd deliver this missive to you.” She stepped forward and handed the folded piece of paper to him.
Lord Brattondale quickly opened the letter, scanning its contents before pushing his lower lip out in a pout. Whatever the letter said, apparently it was unwelcome news.
“Is everything well, my lord?”
“No,” he pouted. “My daughter and her husband, unbeknownst to me, were on their way for a visit, when one of their carriage wheels broke. They decided to stay at a nearby inn while it was getting repaired. My daughter is with child and according to this letter, staying on the inn's lumpy mattress only served to exhaust her for the remainder of the journey. They decided to return home instead of continuing on to pay a visit as they had originally planned.”
Oh dear, thought Elenore. Lord Brattondale had just been lamenting his loneliness to her moments before and now this would seem like a crushing blow to his already dejected spirit. She wished that his daughter would never have sent the note informing him of their doomed trip. It would have been better had he never known of their intentions than to be made aware of the visit. She could understand why the earl would feel disappointed, but she thought his pouting reminded her more of an overgrown child than an earl.
Attempting once more to console him, she said, “I'm sorry, truly I am, but your son should be here any moment and that should do wonders to buoy your spirit.”
“I suppose,” he said without conviction.
Making her voice sound light to help lift his moods, she bade him goodbye once more, before turning to leave. It was with light feet that Elenore scurried back to her room, anxious to prepare for her ride.
***
“You wished to see me?” Devon asked, as he peeked his head into his father's chambers.
“Come in son, don't be a stranger.”
Devon walked into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He chose to sit in the chair closest to his father's bed, hoping that this would give him the opportunity to speak to him about the missing funds in the account books, the funds he knew he had gambled away.
“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked, not wanting to instantly delve into things, knowing his father would not be eager to talk finances with him.
“Oh, I suppose I'm alright.”
“That didn't sound too convincing. Is your stomach bothering you? Can I ring for tea?”
“No and no. Sister Genevieve just finished feeding me my supper. I'm sure I couldn't manage anything else at the moment.”
Devon propped one booted ankle up on his thigh, resting casually back in the chair he was occupying. “So tell me father, how have you been feeling as of late?”
“Decent I suppose. It really depends on the day.”
Seeing this as his chance to pry a bit, he asked, “Have you felt well enough to get out of bed much?”
“Of course not. I'm not nearly well enough to be up and about. The doctor ordered strict bed rest. Surely you remember that. You were after all, here when the old chap came by last.”
Devon was rankled. He knew his father had just lied to him twice. He obviously felt better than he was letting on, well enough to have traipsed into London and spend an evening gambling away precious funds, and he was certain that the doctor had not ordered strict bed rest for his father, but rather had suggested he rest when his episodes got bad, making sure not to overdo it. For some reason, knowing his father had lied to him gave him the courage he needed to be blunt about his concerns. It was clear that his father was going to great lengths to hide things from him, and he was getting sick of it. “I went over the books today.”
He noticed his father stiffen slightly, though he tried to appear unaffected. “What books would that be? Have you been going through the library again?”
Devon rolled his eyes. “I've never gone through the library in the first place, you know that. And I'm positive you know what books I am referring too.”
Lord Brattondale's jaw clenched in fury but he didn't utter a word. Devon forged ahead. “I noticed two hundred pounds missing that weren't accounted for. Do you happen to know what that's about?”
“I'm sure it must be a mistake in counting—work the figures again, and I'm certain you will see there isn't a discrepancy.”
“You're
wrong, Father. I have gone over the numbers time and time again, and I can't seem to make them match. No matter how you work it, we are coming up two hundred pounds short. There must be some explanation. This has been happening regularly and it's starting to cause me a large amount of concern. If this continues, there won't be enough money to run the estate properly. As it is, we will already have to make some immediate and noticeable changes in how things are being run.”
Lord Brattondale's eyes widened in surprise, before his thick eyebrows settled into a scowl above squinted eyes. “You shouldn't be concerning yourself with these things, boy. I am in charge of the finances around here and have not asked for your assistance. These things do not concern you.”
“How can you say that?” Devon sat forward, leaning both elbows on his thighs. His voice rose to match the quickly rising anger brewing inside of him. “How can you pretend like this doesn't affect me? Have you forgotten that I am your heir, that I will be inheriting everything you have, including a pile of debt if this keeps up?”
Devon watched as his father's face went red with anger. “That's what this is about, your inheritance? If you were so concerned about that, then I would think you'd be more eager to find a wife with a large dowry. That would solve your problems nicely. What about Lord Bingham's daughter? She would make a suitable wife and her dowry is rumored to be enormous.”
“Lady Isabelle? She's as dull as a mud puddle. I couldn't care less what size of a dowry a lady has if her ability to think doesn't compare.”
“Who cares how much the chit does or does not think if she has good connections and an even better dowry? You can't afford to be picky, my son or...”
“You'll wager my hand in a card game like you did Noelle?” His father gasped, and Devon immediately regretted the words he let slip. He didn't make it a habit of talking disrespectfully to his father and was just as surprised by his actions, if not more so than his father was.
Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman Page 8