Not Just a Wallflower (A Season Of Secrets #2)(8)
Author: Carole Mortimer

‘I will join you shortly, Eleanor,’ Justin bit out harshly.

‘Your Grace?’ she said in surprise as, having turned her horse back in the direction they had just come, she now realised he had made no effort to accompany her, the two men currently seeming to be engaged in an ocular battle of wills.

A battle of wills she had no doubt the duke would ultimately win, but it was one which Ellie would prefer not take place at all; not only would it be unpleasant to herself, but she very much doubted the dowager duchess would be at all pleased to learn that Ellie had been present during an altercation in the park between her grandson and another gentleman.

Justin’s hands tightly gripped the reins of his restive black horse as he continued to meet Dryden Litchfield’s insolently challenging gaze. ‘You will wait for me by the carriage, Eleanor,’ he commanded firmly.

‘But—’

‘Now, please, Eleanor.’ He did not raise his voice, but she must have realised by the coldness of his tone that it would be prudent not to argue with him any further on the matter, and he thankfully heard her softly encourage her horse to walk away from the two men. ‘Do you have something you wish to say to me, Litchfield?’ he prompted evenly.

The other man feigned an expression of innocence. ‘Not that I recall, no.’

Justin’s mouth thinned. ‘I advise that you stay well clear of both me and mine, Litchfield.’

Those pale eyes glanced across to where Eleanor now sat on her horse, talking to the maid inside the waiting carriage. ‘Is she yours, Royston?’

‘Very much so,’ Justin confirmed instantly.

‘If you say so…’ the other man taunted.

His jaw clenched. ‘I do.’

‘For now, perhaps.’

‘For always as far as you are concerned, Litchfield.’ Justin scowled darkly.

‘And if the lady should have other ideas?’

Justin drew in a sharp breath at his insolent persistence. ‘Do not say you have not been warned, Litchfield!’

‘You seem mightily possessive, Royston.’ The older man gave him a speculatively look. ‘Can this be the same young lady whose missive caused you to end our card game so that you could run eagerly to her side?’

Eleanor’s note was indeed responsible for that occurrence, but certainly not in the way in which Litchfield implied it had.

‘Ah, I see that it is indeed the case.’ Litchfield nodded in satisfaction at Justin’s silence. ‘As I said, she is certainly a rare beauty—’

‘And as I have said, she is not for the likes of you,’ Justin bit out tautly.

‘Well, well.’ The older man eyed him curiously. ‘Can it be that the top-lofty Duke of Royston has finally met his match? Are we to expect an announcement soon?’

‘You are to expect that I shall not be pleased if I hear you have made so much as a single personal remark or innuendo about the young lady who is my ward,’ Justin snarled, wanting nothing more than to take this insolent cur by the throat and squeeze until the breath left his body. Either that, or take a whip to him. And Justin would cheerfully have done either of those things, if he had not known it would draw unwanted attention to Eleanor.

Litchfield’s eyes widened. ‘Your ward…?’

Justin gave a haughty nod. ‘Indeed.’

The other man continued to look at him searchingly for several seconds before giving a shout of derisive laughter and then turning to look at Eleanor speculatively once again. ‘How very interesting…’ He raised a mocking gloved hand to his temple before turning his horse and deliberately riding in the direction of the Royston carriage, raising his hat to Eleanor as he passed and so forcing her to give an acknowledging nod in return.

Justin scowled as he recalled Anderson’s previous warning for him to beware of Litchfield in future, with the added comment that the other man was at the very least a nasty bully, and at worst, a dangerous adversary. Indeed, if not for the fact that it would have been damaging to Eleanor’s reputation, then Litchfield would have been made to pay for his insulting behaviour just now, possibly to the extent that the other man found himself standing down the sights of Justin’s duelling pistol. As it was, Justin had dared not involve Eleanor in the scandal of a duel before she had even appeared in society!

Tomorrow, or possibly the next day, was another matter, however…

* * *

‘What an unpleasant man.’ Ellie could not resist a quiver of revulsion when Justin finally rejoined her and the two of them turned to walk their horses back to Royston House.

‘Very,’ he agreed.

‘Will he be attending the ball this evening…?’

The duke gave a scathing snort. ‘My grandmother would never allow one such as he to step over her threshold.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘And yet he is obviously a man of your own acquaintance, is he not?’

‘We have shared a card game or two, which he has invariably lost.’ Justin shrugged dismissively. ‘His reputation is such that much of society shuns him. And while we are on the subject,’ he added harshly, ‘I forbid you to so much as acknowledge him should you ever chance to meet him again.’

‘You forbid it?’ Ellie gasped incredulously.

The duke looked implacably at her. ‘I do, yes. Unless, of course, I am mistaken and you would welcome Litchfield’s attentions?’

She gave another shudder just recalling that unpleasant man. ‘Of course I would not.’

‘Then—’

‘Whilst I accept that we are distantly related by marriage, Cousin—’ Ellie’s bland tone revealed none of her inner anger at his high-handedness ‘—and that you are the grandson of my employer—’

‘—and your newly appointed guardian—’

‘Perhaps that is so—’

‘There is no perhaps about it!’ the duke swiftly interjected.

‘Even so, I cannot—I simply cannot allow you to forbid, or allow, any of my future actions,’ Ellie informed him firmly, with far too many memories of how his cousin Frederick had held such sway over her poor mother for the last years of her life.

Justin reached out and grasped the reins of her horse as she would have urged her horse into a canter. ‘In this instance I must insist you obey me, Eleanor.’

Tears of anger now blurred her vision. ‘You may insist all you please, your Grace, but I refuse to allow myself to be bullied by any man.’

Justin scowled his frustration as Eleanor wrenched her reins from his grasp, leaving him to sit and watch as she urged her horse forwards and away from him.

Damn Litchfield.

Damn his troublemaking hide!

Chapter Six

‘I believe, Royston, that if you do not cease scowling, you are in danger of taking your duties as Ellie’s guardian to such a degree that you will succeed in scaring away all but the most determined of eligible young gentlemen!’

Justin turned to raise one arrogant brow as he looked down to where his grandmother had moved to stand beside him at the edge of the crowded dance floor in her candlelit ballroom. Still slightly pale, and uncharacteristically fragile in her demeanour, the dowager duchess had, as she had said she would, rallied from her sickbed in order to take her place as hostess of the Royston Ball.

Justin’s mood had not improved since he and Eleanor had parted so frostily upon returning to the stables behind Royston House. For the most part because Justin knew he had handled the situation badly, that issuing orders to a woman as stubborn as Eleanor was proving to be was sure to result in her doing the exact opposite of what was being asked of her—an accusation, which if repeated to Eleanor, would no doubt earn him the comment of ‘the pot calling the kettle black’! Not that Justin thought for a moment that she would ever encourage Litchfield’s advances, but he had no doubt she would find some other way in which to bedevil him for what she had considered his high-handedness this afternoon.

He had known, the moment Eleanor walked down the grand staircase at Royston House earlier, and he had seen the light of rebellion in those emerald-green eyes and the defiant tilt to her chin, that she intended for that punishment to begin this very evening…

At first glance Justin had wondered at his grandmother’s choice of attire for her young protégée. But the longer he gazed upon Eleanor’s appearance, the more he realised how astutely clever the old lady had been; brightly coloured silks were now the preferred fashion for the ladies of the ton, as were the garishly matching feathers and silks worn in their hair.

In contrast, Eleanor’s gown was the palest shade of green silk Justin had ever seen, as were the delicate above-elbow-length lace gloves that covered her hands and arms. Her hair, those glorious red curls, had been swept back and up and secured at her crown, before being allowed to cascade gently down to brush lightly against the slenderness of her nape. Her bare nape. For, unlike the other women of society, of any age, who often chose to wear their wealth, quite literally, upon their sleeves and about their throats, Eleanor was not wearing a single piece of jewellery. Her wrists, her hair, the lobes of her ears, the creamy expanse of her throat and br**sts, were all completely unadorned.

As a consequence, Justin realised that Eleanor Rosewood’s understated elegance gave her the appearance of a dove amongst garishly adorned peacocks. A pure, unblemished, perfectly cut diamond set amongst roughly hewn and gaudy-coloured sapphires, emeralds and rubies.

As predicted, the crowded ballroom had fallen deathly silent the moment Stanhope had announced their entrance. But Justin was fully aware the speculative attention was not directed solely towards him this evening, but included the young lady standing so coolly self-contained at his side—admittedly, it was a façade of calm only, as hinted at by the slight trembling of her gloved hand as it rested lightly upon his arm, but to all outward appearances Eleanor was a picture of composure and elegance. She was also, as his grandmother had intended, instantly recognised as the same young woman who had been seen riding in the park with him this afternoon.

The ladies, as Eleanor had previously suggested might be the case, had gazed openly and critically at her from behind fluttering fans—with not a single sign of recognition, Justin noted ruefully, that the elegant Miss Eleanor Rosewood was also Ellie, the previously nondescript companion of the dowager duchess. The gentlemen, Justin had noted with more annoyance, had been much more open in their admiration.

An admiration confirmed by the fact that at least a dozen of those same gentlemen had crowded around begging to be introduced the moment Justin had finished presenting Eleanor to his grandmother and her two close friends, the Dowager Countess of Chambourne and Lady Cicely Hawthorne, all of them expressing a wish to claim a dance with her before the evening should come to an end.

As her guardian and protector, it had been Justin’s duty to claim Eleanor for the first dance, of course, and he had politely done so—much to the increasing interest of his grandmother’s other guests; the Duke of Royston never stood up to dance on these occasions. Indeed, Justin had always made a point of not doing so, making his attentions to Eleanor all the more noticeable. It would, as his grandmother had always intended it should, secure her place in society.

The two of them had not exchanged so much as a word as they danced that first set together, Eleanor’s expression one of cool detachment as Justin studied her beneath hooded lids, finding himself pleasantly surprised by her grace and elegance on the dance floor; proving that she had indeed been shown how to ‘behave in the company of ladies and gentlemen’.

Justin had not been quite so pleased by those same gentlemen who had rushed to fill Eleanor’s dance card the moment he escorted her back to his grandmother’s side. Or the fact that Eleanor appeared to blossom under their avid attentions.

His mouth thinned anew as he continued to gaze across to where Eleanor was now laughing merrily at something amusing her current dance partner had said to her. ‘Lord Braxton can hardly be considered young or entirely eligible,’ he remarked curtly to his grandmother.

‘Nonsense!’ Edith dismissed as she continued to smile benevolently at her young protégée. ‘Jeremy Caulfield is a widower as well as being an earl.’

Justin grimaced. ‘He is also twice Eleanor’s age and in need of a stepmother for all of those children he keeps hidden away in the nursery at Caulfield Park!’

His grandmother raised iron-grey brows. ‘There are but three children, Justin, the heir, the spare and a girl. And anyone with eyes in their head can see that Braxton is smitten with Ellie herself, rather than having any thoughts of providing his children with another mother.’

Justin was only too well aware that Jeremy Caulfield’s admiration of Eleanor was personal; that was made more than obvious by the warm way the other man gazed upon her so intently, and the way in which Caulfield’s hand had lingered upon hers as they’d danced together. That Eleanor returned his liking was obvious in the relaxed and natural way in which she returned the earl’s smiles and conversation. Nor could Justin deny, inwardly at least, that it would be a very good match for Eleanor if Caulfield were to become seriously enamoured of her, enough so that he made her an offer of marriage.

It would, Justin also acknowledged, bring a quick end to his reluctant role as Eleanor’s guardian.

An occurrence which, surprisingly, he found far less pleasing than he had thought he might.

* * *

‘—am afraid that I have already promised to eat supper with the dowager duchess, Lady Hawthorne and the Countess of Ambridge, my lord,’ Ellie shyly refused the invitation of the handsome and attentive Lord Jeremy Caulfield, Earl of Braxton, placing her hand upon his arm as they left the dance floor together.

After the disastrous end to her ride in the park with Justin earlier, Ellie had been in a turmoil of trepidation about attending the Royston Ball with him this evening, only to find, once the tension of dancing the first set with Justin had been dealt with, that she was actually enjoying herself. Mainly due, she admitted, to the genuinely warm regard of such gentlemen as the attentive earl.