The Duke She Left Behind Page 2

  The young man nodded and rushed off to reach the butler before he sent the caller away.

  Beck ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his cravat as he walked downstairs to his drawing room. He didn’t bother donning his coat. Hart wouldn’t stand on ceremony and could care less how Beck was dressed. Only pride made him straighten his waistcoat. Relaxed was a far reach from slovenly, and even on his darkest days, Beck kept his pride in place.

  When Hart entered, his searching gaze landed on Beck and he smiled warmly. His long stride quickly closed the distance between them and he clapped his friend on the arm while shaking his hand. “You are alive. My wife will be pleased to hear that.”

  The corner of Beck’s mouth twitched but he couldn’t muster a smile. “Yes, I am of good health. I merely avoid subjecting society to my ill humor.” He turned and took a seat without offering Hart to do the same.

  Hart didn’t seem to care and sat opposite him. “Since when am I society? And Basingstoke…all of our friends have been concerned. You must leave your house at some point.”

  “What brings you here that you ride so madly? Your horse must be exhausted.”

  “I didn’t push him the entire way. And I suppose my excitement in seeing you will make my purpose seem all the more frivolous. Marjorie is having a party in Town and insists you come.”

  Beck snorted and shook his head. “A party? You came all this way to invite me to a party? What made you believe I would wish to join a group of people playing silly games and performing even more ridiculous entertainments?”

  Hart’s lips pressed thin and his eyelids narrowed. “You can’t live like this forever.”

  “Can’t I? Who will stop me? Who even cares?”

  “We all do. Marjorie will be crushed if you do not accept her invitation.”

  She would, Beck knew. The duchess had been his friend long before Hart came into the picture. Marjorie, being so close to Eliza as well, was likely almost as sad as Eliza when the wedding was canceled. The letters Marjorie had written since were bright and cheerful, obviously meant to draw him from his morose darkness, but seeing her would have cut open the scar on his heart. He would expect to see Eliza at every turn, to hear her sweet voice down the hall. Was he strong enough to endure the fresh pain?

  In four years, his mental anguish and emotional agony hadn’t lessened as much as it was boxed away in a corner of his mind. The door to that corner had been barred, then nailed shut, leaving him hollow, but safe. No one would ever get close enough to hurt him that way again.

  Still, Marjorie must be hurt by the apparent loss of his friendship. “Give her my regrets and tell her how sorry I am to disappoint her.”

  “No.”

  Beck frowned and glared at Hart. “What?”

  “I won’t tell her that.” A wide grin slowly spread across Hart’s face and he leaned back, crossing one leg over his knee. “You must tell her yourself.”

  How ridiculous, Beck thought. “Don’t be foolish. I’m not in the mood for your childish humor.”

  “Nor am I in the mood to tolerate your blue devils.” Hart remained quite at his leisure, one hand resting on his raised knee.

  “Very well.” Beck shoved himself to his feet and marched to the small writing desk where he scribbled on a piece of paper. Waiting impatiently for the ink to dry, he shook the paper, then folded it and marched back to Hart. “Here. Give her this.”

  “No.” Hart simply smirked.

  Beck knew he wouldn’t win this argument. Hart was well aware of the close friendship between his wife and Beck, and how close to impossible it would be to decline her personal invitation, for having Hart voice it was the same as the words coming from Marjorie’s lips.

  Why couldn’t she have continued to write to him? Her letters were the nearest thing to company he’d had in such a long time. His male friends wrote often enough, but their sentiments felt more polite than genuine. If Marjorie had written to ask him to come, he could easily decline by post.

  Turning away from Hart, still holding the note in his hand, Beck paced to the window, then to the fireplace. He set the paper on the marble mantel and leaned against it. Wood had been laid for a fire in the back hearth, but the weather was much too warm to require the heat, which was probably a good thing as the air in the room was already too close, suffocating him. He needed to walk outside in the fresh air. Walk, and walk some more, until he’d burned off this unbearable itch of indecision.

  What harm could come from being among a few friends? Enough time had passed that no one he considered a friend would dare bring up Eliza’s name. Hart was right, he couldn’t spend the rest of his years in isolation. He didn’t need to frequent society—he’d never been comfortable in that role—but even one event a year would be an improvement. “Who will be there?”

  “Lord and Lady Basingstoke, Buckland, and a few of Marjorie’s lady friends.”

  A small gathering, it appeared. People who knew him well enough to tolerate his surliness and not call him out on it. He needed to join them, to make even the smallest attempt to climb out from the hole in which he dwelled. “Very well. When is the gathering to be?”

  Hartshorne hadn’t moved, his face was frozen in that smug grin. “You may ride back with me today.”

  “Today? Don’t be daft. I have business to see to…and must give Wheaton instructions for the staff in my absence.”

  “Your butler, your steward, and I imagine your men of business all know how to manage your properties by now. It’s not as if you’re traveling to India or—”

  At Hart’s abrupt stop, Beck realized he was about to say America but had caught himself. Perhaps Beck shouldn’t go to Town. No one would enjoy their evening at Hartshorne if they must watch every word they spoke.

  Hart cleared his throat. “Anything that arises can be dealt with by messenger.”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Beck turned to look out the window at the expanse of lawn and shrubs, but he didn’t see them. He didn’t see anything, to be honest, his thoughts going back to that horrid night when he’d received the message saying Eliza was gone. The look of pity in Marjorie’s eyes when he’d called upon them with the news. “I cannot bear anyone’s pity.”

  “No one pities you. We felt sorry at first, of course, but we have continued to live our lives. Come with me. You’ll be at your ease once you see the others.”

  Beck nodded. “I’ll have a bag packed. I’ll have some refreshment prepared for you in the meantime.” He turned to call a footman.

  “Oh, I should mention that you have an acquaintance with one of the young ladies who’ll attend. Lady Eliza and her mother are our guests of late.”

  Beck stumbled, caught himself and froze in place. Why hadn’t Hart said so from the start? He knew the answer to that—Hart knew Beck would have refused to go.

  Could he see her as an indifferent acquaintance…spend a week under the same roof as she and not beg her to take him back? Beg her to explain what he’d done to send her fleeing so far. Thanks to Hart and Marjorie, he was about to find an answer to at least the former.

  Unable to string together a coherent thought, Beck left the room without another word.

  Chapter Two

  While Hart hadn’t said anything to her about his destination before he left two days ago, Eliza had worn down Marjorie’s resistance to reveal the truth. Since she’d learned he’d gone in search of Beck, her stomach knotted, chest tightened, and her mouth went dry. Two days later, she was still a glass bubble ready to shatter at the slightest upset. Would Beck come to her?

  Marjorie stood in the doorway of Eliza’s bedchamber, where Eliza sat on a window seat watching for horses or a carriage. More than one horse meant he was to join them. He wouldn’t come to chastise her; that wasn’t in his makeup. He might wish only to question her reason for jilting him, or to tell her she had no chance with him, but she doubted he’d take the time to do so after all these years. No, Beck was either done with her or read
y to renew their engagement. Eliza was old enough now to not require permission to marry and she cared nothing about a settlement or any other legal arrangements her father and Beck had entered in the past. All she wanted was her love in her life forever.

  “Watching the drive for him won’t make him arrive any sooner,” Marjorie chided. “You must come eat. Join me outside in the fresh air. Read a book. Do something before you melt into that cushion,” Marjorie ordered.

  “I am well enough here. I’m not hungry, thank you.”

  Crossing the room, Marjorie sat on the opposite side of the bench facing Eliza. “Tea, then. Or hot chocolate. You’ve barely eaten or drunk anything since you learned where Hart had gone. You’ll be pale and wan when my guests arrive. Heaven forbid Beck sees you in this condition.”

  Her friend had a point. Eliza glanced away from the window and toyed with the ribbon on her gown. “Perhaps, but at least he’ll know how much I missed him.”

  “You don’t want his pity, do you? You’d be better off with a bloom in your cheeks at the sight of him. Walk with me up and down the hallway. Or we may take a turn in the conservatory. The greenery there always perks me up.”

  Eliza didn’t want to move from the window, unless it was to find another to watch from. A part of her she couldn’t smother was certain he wouldn’t come if she looked away for more than a moment. Of course, nothing she did would change whether he was on his way—she knew that in her head, but her heart was another matter. No one could reason with a scarred heart on the verge of being torn apart yet again.

  She was behaving foolishly, like a young girl with a crush, and she needed to stop. To grow up. Spinning to put her feet on the floor, she asked, “Where’s Mama?”

  Marjorie grinned and hopped up. “She asked for some fabric and silk thread to stitch with. I believe she’s in the morning room.”

  Stopping in front of the mirror on her vanity, Eliza tucked a stray lock into her bun. Her black hair seemed to have lost some of its sheen. She pinched her cheeks. She did look wan, dark circles below pink-rimmed eyelids. She forced a smile, then attempted to make it more natural. Almost satisfied but knowing all the face powder in the world wouldn’t repair the signs of her loss of sleep, she said, “Shall we join her?”

  When she reached the foot of the staircase, Eliza required all her mental fortitude to turn in the direction of the morning room and not the entry door. The morning room was on the back of the house, so its windows faced the wrong way to see arrivals.

  Mama looked up when Eliza and Marjorie entered, and she set her needlework aside. “There you are. What plans do you two have for today?”

  After sitting in a pretty little embroidered chair near Mama, Eliza glanced at Marjorie, having no clue what was scheduled.

  “Since the party is tomorrow, I must oversee the preparations, but that doesn’t mean you both must stay here. Why don’t I call for our curricle and you may enjoy a ride through the park? Or shop. I’m sure there are little things you weren’t able to bring with you. Have them put your purchases on my account.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan,” Mama said. Then her face darkened, her brows lowered, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “That’s kind of you to think of our situation. Until I hear from the bank, we have limited money.”

  “Do you think Walter left your money there?” Eliza asked. “Or that he won’t write ordering them to refuse to send our allowance since we left Boston?”

  “Wilhelmina swore she’d not let the boys discover we’ve returned to England. And I had the foresight to write the bank before we left to tell them of our new residence. I used your address, your grace,” Mama added. “I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon. I also enquired about your jointure from your father’s death, since that was never added to what we received each quarter after he died.”

  The marriage settlement would have been dissolved upon her jilting Beck, so Eliza’s increased allowance would ease the burden of Mama’s expenses.

  “Did your father leave you any property?” Marjorie asked.

  Eliza glanced at her mother. “I’m sure he changed his will after sending me away, but Mama has a house in Sussex. Once we have our finances settled, we can live there.”

  “I’m afraid to write to the housekeeper to make arrangements,” Mama said, “because I don’t know what Walter will do when he hears.”

  Marjorie frowned and nodded. “I’ll remind you, you have a home with me as long as you desire it.”

  Putting on a bright smile, Eliza added, “Yes, we have four years of gossip to catch up on.”

  When their conversation wound down, Marjorie sent for her needlework supplies and she and Eliza chose some cloth and a few silk threads to start with. While stretching her fabric in the small wooden hoop, Eliza wished she could find some excitement picturing how she’d use her project in Mama’s house. A pillow, perhaps, or a picture to be framed.

  Marjorie announced she’d make a brim for a baby bonnet. “I’ve made a few garments for each baby, even though I saved the entire wardrobe Neddie wore.” Her face took on a serene glow as she spoke.

  Babies were one of the dreams that haunted Eliza lately. How many children would she and Beck have had by now, if they’d married as planned? Two, three? She’d mourned the idea of them, which added to her pain. No wedding, no husband, no family. Was she about to have the chance to change that?

  Please, Beck, come for me.

  Beck’s grip on his reins had his knuckles white, yet they were only trotting. They approached the outskirts of London, and with each mile he rode, his stomach burned more. He assumed Eliza was agreeable to seeing him or Hart wouldn’t have come. Had she told Hart and Marjorie why she’d left? All he knew was that she and her mother had traveled to America on a ship that left the day before their wedding. He’d received no letters beyond that first one, which he didn’t believe she wrote.

  He assumed her father was behind it, and Hart—while not affirming that assumption, neither did he deny it—gave no other reason. If Eliza had told Marjorie, surely she told Hart. The question was, did his friend value Eliza’s privacy more than Beck’s need for explanation?

  He knew the answer to that. Hart would never reveal something another person wanted kept secret. Beck could do nothing but wait. Wait until he arrived at Hartshorne House, wait until he could find a private moment with Eliza. And he was not a patient man.

  If the choice hadn’t been her father’s, then Eliza had chosen to leave him. Her words when they’d seen each other a week before the wedding still haunted him with their possible implication. They’d been in London at a ball held by one of the matrons whose name he no longer recalled, and they had escaped the heat of the ballroom to walk the paths lit by torches and moonlight. They didn’t speak much, as comfortable in their quiet moments as when dancing and laughing.

  Suddenly, she’d laughed and spun with her arms wide. “How much do you love me?”

  “Can you measure love? I love you with all of my heart, all of my being.”

  Picking a flower, she pulled off the petals one by one. “Would you love me as much if I was plain and frumpy?”

  “Of course I would, but you, my dear, will never be plain.”

  “Oh, then you think I will become frumpy? Once we’re married, I’ll neglect my beauty potions and eat petit fours all day?”

  Beck would never understand how women could turn a conversation this way. “Why all these questions? Do you doubt my love for you?”

  Her sudden pout was something new. “No, I suppose not. But a lady wants to be certain before she marries.”

  He hadn’t questioned her more at the time, believing she was suffering the usual bridal nerves before a wedding. At least, he’d been told the emotions were common. Could her worries have been real? No one could have said anything to make her question him…his behavior was beyond reproach. Yet a week later, she was gone.

  When Hartshorne’s home appeared in the distance, Beck’s stoma
ch knotted, which did nothing to stop the burn made worse by those memories. He shouldn’t have come. He wasn’t even certain why he had. It seemed he was determined to awaken the suffering he’d finally gotten past.

  “There it is,” Hart said, as if Beck hadn’t been there a hundred times in the past. “How are you faring?”

  “How do you think? I want to be done with the first moments of seeing her reaction to my presence.” He longed to see her but feared how she’d react. Where had his confidence gone? The cocky assuredness he’d been known for? Being left at the altar had emasculated him. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Did she say anything about me?”

  “Not in my hearing.”

  The last hundred feet of their journey was the longest stretch. A stable boy appeared around the corner of the house and ran to take the horses to the mews. The butler stood on the steps awaiting his master. No one stood at the many windows on the front of the house, though, watching for his arrival. He huffed out a short breath but was unable to relax just yet.

  Beck’s hands shook as he removed his hat and gloves and handed them to the footman who’d stepped forward. From the entry, he couldn’t see into the nearby rooms. Where was she?

  “Shall we change clothes?” Hart asked, motioning to the staircase.

  “I have to see her, even if I smell of horse sweat.”

  Hart nodded and led him down the hallway. “My guess is they’re in the morning room awaiting word that we’ll join them in the drawing room.”

  If that’s where they sat, Beck couldn’t tell before entering the room, as the air was silent except for the tapping of the men’s boots on the polished marble floor. He stepped in the doorway and immediately his gaze swept the room, landing quickly on Eliza. His heart pounded. He locked eyes on hers and prayed for her welcoming smile.