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

shuddered through her.
    “What is it, Miss?” Lizzie asked as she helped Eleanor into fresh clothes.
    “Nothing, Lizzie.”
    “Mrs. Thornberry says you haven’t come here much since your mum passed on.” Of course, Lizzie would not know, for she’d only been in Eleanor’s service about two years. Two very tumultuous years.
    “No, I . . .” She straightened and put thoughts of Beckworth from her mind. “I will have to accustom myself to living here . . .”
    “Yes, Miss. It’s a rather comfortable house. Perhaps in time it will seem like home.”
    “You’re right, Lizzie. I’m sure I’ll get used to it again.”
    But not to having Andrew so near.
    Eleanor was afraid she would not be able to resist him if he persisted in trying to seduce her. Because, against all logic, she still desired him. He had filled her dreams from the day she met him, even after their aborted nuptials, when she’d learned what a cad he truly was.
    And still her body yearned for his touch.
    “Mrs. Thornberry said that the duke’s secretary came to see him on urgent business.”
    Eleanor frowned. She’d been too preoccupied to consider that Beckworth was neglecting his responsibilities in London to harass her here. “Did she know what business it was?”
    Perhaps he was buying yet another house for some woman whose bed he shared.
    “’Tis about a law he and Sir Robert Peel are trying to pass through Parliament. Something about children working in the mills.”
    Eleanor felt a twinge of guilt for thinking her petty thoughts. Of course he had business. Parliament was still in session, and Eleanor knew he had an important bill to pass.
    His efforts to improve conditions for children in factories spoke well of him. Ellie had seen some of the urchins he referred to, and she had felt more than a small measure of sympathy for them. If her own childhood had been dismal, what must theirs be? Toiling in one of those dusty mills from dawn until dark, rarely even seeing the light of day. She shuddered.
    “Shall I close the window, Miss?”
    “No, Lizzie,” Ellie replied. The day was warm. She had no business shivering in the heat.
    She reached for her leather portfolio from behind the trunk that Lizzie had just unpacked and pulled the strap over one shoulder. “I think I’ll go down to the garden and do some drawing. Tell Mrs. Thornberry I’ll have a light supper when it gets dark.”
    “Yes, Miss,” Lizzie said. “Shall I come along?”
    “No. ’Tis different here in the country. More relaxed than London. ’Tis not necessary for you to accompany me everywhere I go,” Eleanor said. “You can finish unpacking, and see to your own supper.”
    Eleanor felt an overpowering need to get away from the house, away from the past, a great deal of which was just too painful to recall.
    Where she’d expected a peaceful withdrawal from society, she’d found anything but peace. She needed to get Beckworth to give her the quarterly allowance she was due and send him on his way back to London. She did not see why it had to be so difficult when it was clear he had more important things to do than bother her here.
    She went to the farthest reaches of the garden and spread out the blanket. Sitting down on it, she opened her portfolio and brought out a number of sketches she’d made in Italy, sketches that had nothing to do with the Florence landscape. They were all of Beckworth.
    She ought to have burned them as soon as she’d drawn them. Like some primitive ritual, maybe that would exorcise him from her soul.
    And yet she had not been able to part with the drawings, taking them out whenever her self-control was at low tide and she could not bear another day without seeing the planes and angles of his face.

    It was unfortunate that Eleanor was unable to come into town and enjoy the lively faire. Andrew remembered how well she delighted in such entertainments. They’d attended plays in Drury Lane and concerts in Vauxhall Gardens. They’d