Eliza stepped into the airy room, impressed. Eaton’s staff had already been here. The bed linens were fresh and the window was open to let in the crisp autumn air. A small bud vase with deep pink ginger lilies stood on the table beside the bed, lending the room a personal touch, an extra detail. She was aware of Eaton behind her, his words a quiet, masculine rumble. ‘Will it suit?’ At the enquiry, her eyes began to sting, tears welling. She was glad she was facing the window. How would she explain that a simple question had moved her to tears?
She cleared her throat, summoning a modicum of control. ‘Yes, it will do splendidly.’ But she did not turn from the window. The echo of her previous thought came again: How long had it been since someone had taken care of her? The jingle of harnesses sounded in the drive, announcing the arrival of her coach and saving her from any further awkwardness. At the sound of horses, Eaton was in motion. ‘I’ll go down and tell them to bring your things up.’ His boots sounded on the stairs and, within moments, her trunk was deposited in her room. ‘I’ll have one of the maids unpack,’ Lynford offered.
‘No, I’d like to unpack on my own. Thank you.’ Eliza turned from the window, finally the mistress of her emotions. ‘You’ve done more than enough.’ He’d done so much, in fact, that she was on the brink of tears, perhaps a sad commentary on her life that such acts would have this effect, especially when he clearly viewed the efforts as basic acts of politeness.
Lynford gave her a grin and a bow. ‘Then I will leave you to it. I have business to complete, but before I go, I would like to ask for your company at dinner tonight. It gets lonely eating by myself. Meanwhile, if there’s anything you need, send to the house for it.’
Eliza set to undoing the buckles on her trunk. She needed to stop being overwhelmed by him. It would be too easy to fall into the trap of relying on him, of laying her burdens down. This afternoon was proof enough she needed to be wary. Men bearing gifts always wanted something and Lynford’s gift was far more than Detford’s bonbons and roses had ever been. Perhaps she was being too cynical. Perhaps it was just as he’d said—he’d given it because he could.
Eliza shook out her dresses and hung them in the wardrobe. Today had been upsetting. Tomorrow would be better. Sophie would be here by teatime and she’d have a clear mind with which to think about the situation with the ledgers. Until then, however, there was dinner with Lord Lynford to keep her busy.
Chapter Six
The school was still busy with move-in-day excitement when Eaton returned. It had been a bustling hotbed of activity when he’d left and, if that hotbed wasn’t precisely still boiling in the late afternoon, the chaos of housing the boys and reassuring their parents remained very definitely at an energetic simmer. Trunks from later arrivals were piled in the drive awaiting the attention of footmen. Parents milled in the wide hall while instructors, strategically placed about the hall, attempted to direct the last of the boys and pair up roommates. It was a good kind of chaos, reminiscent of his own days at school. The sight put a certain nostalgic warmth in his heart. His own father had made it a point to travel with him to school for the start of autumn term the first few years he’d gone instead of consigning him to a servant’s or tutor’s care for the journey. Not all the boys at Eton had been that fortunate and he looked back on those times fondly. He remembered their parting ritual, that last manful shaking of hands as his father said goodbye in the main hall and pressed a secret five-pound note into his palm with a wink.
There were still a few families saying farewell in the hall, but from the looks of it Cade had everything in hand, a realisation that was both satisfying and bittersweet as Eaton slipped into the headmaster’s office unnoticed.
Eaton poured himself a drink from the sideboard and slouched into a tall wing-backed chair with a silent toast. His vision of a music school had come to fruition most magnificently. Richard Penlerick would be proud. That was something for which to be thankful. It had been a tremendous undertaking accomplished in a short period of time. Today, watching students arrive and move in was something to celebrate. But it also carried a tinge of sadness to it. His part in the school was done. Cade Kitto would take things from here, as had always been the intention. Eaton knew he wasn’t relinquishing his association with the school. He’d always be in the background, raising funds, recruiting patrons and students, but the school wouldn’t be his, not any more.
Eaton twirled the stem of his glass, indulging in a moment of whimsical melancholy. The school had absorbed him entirely since December when Rosenwyn Treleven had first put the idea to him. Since then, he’d embraced the project fully. He’d cancelled his long-anticipated trip to Italy in March. He’d foregone most of the Season, spending his summer here instead putting the finishing touches on the school. It had filled his days, but that was over now. It was time to get on to the next project, whatever that might be. Urgency surged. He didn’t like being at a loose end. Life was short and unpredictable, Richard Penlerick’s death had proved it, but even that ghastly reminder hadn’t been enough to spark an interest in a new project.
The door opened and Cade slipped inside, all smiles despite spending a trying day of student arrivals. ‘I thought I might find you here.’ The sight of a satisfied Cade Kitto did much to alleviate Eaton’s melancholy. In many ways, this school had been for Cade and Rosenwyn. If not for them, the school wouldn’t exist. ‘I don’t know if I’ve answered a thousand questions or just the same question asked a thousand different ways.’ Cade laughed good-naturedly as he poured a drink. ‘I think everyone is settled now.’ He took a seat across from Eaton and crossed a leg over one knee. ‘Here’s to you. Without you, today wouldn’t have been possible. You saw the potential of Rosenwyn’s idea and made it a reality. You provided the house, the funds and the prestige of a name that would draw worthy students. Rose and I can’t thank you enough.’ Cade saluted him with his glass. ‘What will you do with yourself now that the school is up and running? You’ll have time aplenty on your hands.’
‘I was just thinking the same before you walked in.’ Eaton smiled, determined not to lose the joy of the day. ‘I will have time to work in my orangery, perfect my truffle oil recipe. I can plan my trip to Italy again.’ But his tone lacked conviction. None of the ideas held any appeal.
‘And Mrs Blaxland? Is she settled to your satisfaction?’ Cade asked with keen eyes. ‘I got your note that you’d ridden out to assist her. I hope all is well?’
‘Yes, I put her up at the dower house at Falmage Hill,’ Eaton replied neutrally, but not neutrally enough to escape Cade’s attention.
‘At your family estate?’ Cade’s brow creased in surprise and perhaps concern.
‘Yes, is there a problem with that?’ Eaton asked somewhat teasingly. He’d not expected Cade to react one way or the other.
‘It’s just the suddenness of it all,’ Cade answered. ‘You hardly know her and now she’s entrenched on your family’s property. I would have thought a cottage near Penzance or even rooms at the Trelevenses’, where she’d have female company.’
‘They’d be strangers to her,’ Eaton dismissed the suggestion. ‘She’s been a generous donor to the school. It was the least I could do and I know plenty about her.’ Did he? He knew only that he was attracted to her, that she stirred something in him that hadn’t been stirred in a long while. How would he explain if Cade asked what that meant? ‘She’s alone, she knows no one else here she can turn to,’ Eaton offered obliquely. ‘I helped her because I could.’
Cade chuckled, but Eaton did not miss his warning. ‘She runs a mining empire. She’s not helpless or without resources. Do not, for a minute, my friend, think Eliza Blaxland is a damsel in distress.’
No, he would not make that mistake. ‘She is definitely not that.’ Eaton had seen the flustered look on Eliza’s face today when he’d offered the house. There’d been relief in her eyes and disbelief, too. For a moment she’d been able to lay down
her burden. ‘Perhaps that’s why I did it,’ he mused. ‘Sometimes even the strong need a hand.’
Cade offered a wry smile. ‘Like helping court musicians establish a music school?’
Eaton shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the praise. ‘The estate was from my great-aunt. She’d be pleased to see it used as a school. Quite possibly, I should be the one thanking you. The house was standing empty before Rosenwyn suggested it. As for the funds, those came from patrons. It would be a mistake to think I singlehandedly funded the school and those patrons came because of you, because of the chance to study with Cornwall’s very own home-grown genius, Cador Kitto, Porth Karrek’s finest musician.’
Cade leaned forward in earnest, not distracted in the least by Eaton’s rebuttal. ‘You know what I mean. It’s not only the school I thank you for. It’s everything this school represents: a chance for me to work in one place, a chance to give up the risk of the itinerant lifestyle, moving from court to court with no assurances of commissions. It’s relieved me of the shame of relying on my wife’s dowry for funds. I will always be truly grateful for what you’ve done for me. Without your efforts behind this school, Rosenwyn and I would never have been able to marry. I would have left Porth Karrek in December and returned to a life of wandering. I would never have known what it was like to have a wife and a family.’
The last was said with all the passion of a newlywed man only a month out from the bliss of his honeymoon, but there was something else in Cade’s words that caused Eaton to think he wasn’t talking about Rosenwyn’s five sisters when he referred to family. ‘Family, Cade? Do you have something to tell me?’ Eaton smiled, a few other subtle hints from throughout the last weeks falling into place like Rosenwyn’s indisposition rendering her unable to play hostess for the open house.
Cade’s face broke into a beaming smile. ‘I am going to be a father in March.’
‘That’s wonderful news, for you both,’ Eaton congratulated him. He and Cade had grown close in the last months, bonding over the school. He knew how much having a family meant to Cade, who’d grown up in Porth Karrek as mining poor, and to Rosenwyn, whom Eaton had known since childhood. The Trelevens and Falmages were both part of the district’s society. He’d saved Rosenwyn from a disastrous marriage a couple of years ago in London and the happiness she’d found with Cade was all he could wish for his old friend. Yet there was a stab of jealousy as they drank to Cade’s good news. Cade had the dream: meaningful purpose, a wife who was a partner and companion, who challenged him, who loved him, and very soon Cade would have a child to dote on as well. Envy speared Eaton, driving deep. How was it that a poor miner’s son should have all those things while a duke’s son did not?
Cade clapped him on the knee and rose. ‘I need to get back out there and make sure all the parents have left, then the masters and students will have our first supper together as a school in the dining hall. Reverend Maddern is coming to say the blessing.’
Eaton rose with him. ‘I need to go as well. I asked Mrs Blaxland to dinner. I wouldn’t want to be late for my own invitation.’ He wanted fresh air in his face, the power of his horse beneath him. What he needed was a good hard canter to push away his jealousy and dilute his anger over the hand fate had dealt him.
Outside, he swung up on Titan and kicked him forward, letting his thoughts race with his horse’s hooves. It wasn’t the idea of a marriage that sparked his envy of Cade. He could marry anytime he wanted. Candidates were thick on the ground for a man of his attributes and expectations. It was the quality of that marriage he envied. Rosenwyn had fought for Cade. She had wanted him despite the limitations of his station. She loved Cade for who he was, not what he was. It was the one thing Eaton could never ask of a woman. He could marry whenever he wanted, that was true, but it came at a cost.
He could make a woman a duchess. He could never make her a mother, could never give her a family. A measles epidemic when he was fourteen had seen to that. But it was not him society would be unkind to. Society never believed it was the man’s fault when there were no heirs. Debutantes were raised for titles and aristocratic motherhood much like heirs were raised to be aristocratic studs. He would not burden a wife with a foregone conclusion of failure she could do nothing about. What woman of his circle would care for him, live for him without the promise of a family? No one he knew, quite honestly. So, he remained unwed and would choose to remain unwed.
In terms of the ducal succession it did not worry him. He had his younger brother to see to the line. But in terms of his own personal journey, he minded very much. He would make the journey of life entirely alone. No wife. No children. No one even to confide in. Naturally, the family had kept this a secret. No one knew except their close circle of friends and they were sworn to secrecy. He would reach a certain age when society would begin to speculate about him. There would be questions: Why didn’t he marry? A duke’s heir was duty-bound to wed. His source of intimacy would be reduced to a collection of temporary relationships with temporary women to see him through. Who else would want the broken heir to the Duke of Bude?
Eaton let Titan’s hooves eat up the ground, let the wind push against his thoughts. He did not want to wallow in his own misery. He was lucky in other ways. He would rejoice instead in the little thrills, the small joys that were available to him, like dinner with a beautiful woman whose pulse raced when he was near.
* * *
What was she doing, dressing up for dinner with a marquess? Staying in his home—well, on his property—spending time with him alone? All this, after she’d allowed him to kiss her. If he offered her an affair tonight, she’d have only herself to blame. She was sending all the wrong signals, quite possibly right down to the very gown she wore, yet she seemed unable to resist.
Eliza surveyed her image in the long mirror. She smoothed the silk of her blue skirts, debating yet again what to wear. Was the gown too sophisticated for the country? She eyed the other gown on the bed, a mignonette-green India muslin. It was far simpler, perhaps too simple for supper with a marquess regardless of where they dined. Eliza bit her lip in contemplation. Better to overdress than underdress. She would stay with the blue silk, but no jewels, just her pearls, and she’d wear her hair up in a modest style, devoid of curls and ornate braids.
No sooner had Eliza made her decision than the sound of carriage wheels crunched on the drive. She peered out of the window and froze in feminine panic. Lynford was here with an open carriage! Heavens, she wasn’t quite ready. Eliza dabbed a quick spot of perfume on her wrists and snatched up her shawl from the bed. Was that everything? Oh, her bracelet! She took it from the vanity and headed down the stairs, trying to fasten it as she went, but the dratted clasp wouldn’t catch.
‘Let me help with that.’ Eaton met her at the bottom of the stairs, grinning at her efforts, his fingers nimble at her wrist as they worked the stubborn catch, her pulse fluttering at the contact. He was once more turned out in evening attire, his unruly hair combed in stark contrast to the windblown man who’d ridden into the courtyard of her mine today. He smelled of his woodsy toilette and clean linen, a scent that was just as intoxicating tonight as the smell of the outdoors on him had been today. Maybe it was the duality he presented that was intoxicating—a man of elegance and refinement by evening, a country squire by day. Or perhaps it wasn’t his looks that made him intoxicating, but his manner; his competence, his confidence, the way he took charge whether it was finding her a home or managing the tiny clasp of her bracelet. She had to be careful. That competence was something she could not indulge for long. She had her own competence to look after and exercise.
‘There, now you’re ready.’ He released her hand and offered her his arm. ‘Your carriage awaits, madame.’
‘As does my escort, it appears. I wasn’t expecting you or a carriage.’ She was glad now that she’d chosen the blue silk. ‘This is greatly appreciated, but I could have walked up. It’s so
much work to harness the horses just to go to the main house.’ She didn’t want him to think she had to be pampered.
He handed her into the carriage and took the rear-facing seat across from her. ‘All true. However, we are not going to the house. We are going to the orangery and, with the weather being so fine, I thought we might enjoy a drive before supper.’ He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a hamper. ‘I have champagne, still chilled. I recall how much you enjoyed it at the reception. If you could help with the glasses, I might endeavour to pour.’ He freed the cork with a loud pop, the sound and subsequent fountain of foam causing her to gasp and twitch her skirts out of the way with a laugh.
The first attempt at pouring was met with a spill of champagne on the carriage floor and laughing instructions from Eaton. ‘Hold the glass still.’
‘I am!’ she protested as the carriage hit a rut in the road and more champagne sloshed in sacrifice to his efforts.
‘Steady now,’ Eaton cautioned, this time managing to get enough champagne in each glass for drinking. He set the bottle aside. ‘Now we can toast. Here’s to a day that will end better than it started.’
She held his eyes as she drank, trying to divine what he meant. Did the toast hint at a forthcoming proposition? Or was he merely toasting the truth? Her need earlier today had been assuaged. She hoped for the latter, but felt compelled to mitigate cause for the former. She did not want to have to refuse him point-blank later tonight. Perhaps she could insinuate as much. She raised her glass for a toast of her own. ‘Here’s to a friend indeed.’ It was well done. She was certain he heard her subtle message. If seduction was on his mind, he’d been warned not to pursue it.
The Secrets of Lord Lynford Page 6