Free Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) by Margo Maguire

pulled on her dress over her wet chemise. Andrew watched her quietly, and by the time he reached the shore, she had gathered up her belongings and headed up the path toward the manor.
    He knew how futile it would be to try to catch up to her. Not only would it take too long for him to drag on his trews and shirt over his wet body – for he had no intention of sprinting up the path in the nude – he was not going to force her affections. It was important that she realize her mistake in believing Weatherby.
    He slid back into the water and ducked down deep to cool his ardor and to try and understand what had caused her distress. If she’d been angry about the kiss, she’d have slapped him before running away.
    But she had not. It wasn’t anger that had driven her away from him.
    It was confusion.
    As Andrew came up for air, he realized he’d only added to her stress. Her father had just died. And before that, she’d taken the long and arduous journey home from the continent, only to find Derington nearing his last breath. She’d cared for him during his last week on earth, then carried out his funeral only to be put out of her home by Derington’s heir.
    Andrew needed to make things right for her.
    He returned to shore and dragged on his clothes, then made his way back to Primrose Manor. Grayson was waiting in the bedchamber Andrew had claimed as his own, and the valet clucked his tongue at the state of his clothes.
    “I’m going into town,” Andrew said. “I’ll need fresh clothes.”
    “I should say so, Your Grace.”
    “No further critique is necessary, Grayson. Only haste.”
    In less than an hour, Andrew was on his way to Reading, with Jasper Carrick and Matthew, one of his footmen, at his side. He would have preferred to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with Eleanor, but he knew his presence at the manor would not advance his cause. At least, not yet.
    “The town is bustling, Your Grace,” Carrick remarked.
    “Because of the races.”
    So many people out and about – gentlemen escorting ladies, parents with their children. On every street they passed, there were troupes of street performers, some singing and playing stringed instruments, others were juggling and performing acrobatics. A few muscle-bound men performed feats of strength to the delight of the crowds.
    People were talking and laughing together, and it all made Andrew yearn to share such frivolity with Eleanor.
    “This way,” he said, turning into a narrow lane. He’d come to see Solicitor Evanhurst once before, more than a year ago, when Derington had put him in charge of Eleanor’s annuity. Her father had admitted to draining a substantial amount of the funds, and he’d seen the need to create a barrier between himself and the money that was to have been Eleanor’s dowry.
    All that might have been true, but Andrew believed Derington sensed his own approaching demise and wanted to get his house in order first. It was fortunate he’d done so, for Andrew had invested most of the funds in a shipping venture to the Americas that had paid a handsome dividend. Eleanor’s annuity was worth four times what it had been when Derington had turned it over to him.
    She was comfortably wealthy now and could do as she liked. Travel, keep a house in London, or live modestly in Berkshire . . . Andrew intended to give it all to her now. He wanted her to understand that she was not beholden to him in any way. He wanted her to choose him.

    Eleanor felt shaken and at odds with her own emotions. She did not want to feel any grief for her father, and yet so many memories kept intruding on her peace of mind. Recollections of days past, when her parents were as one, and their family was happy.
    And then there was the Duke of Beckworth. Dear God, would he never leave her alone? Couldn’t he just dole out her quarterly allowance as any normal trustee would do and leave her to her own devices?
    Couldn’t he refrain from kissing her? A deep sigh