Free The Duke's Last Hunt by Rosanne E. Lortz

so high above me, but Henry gave me reason to believe that he would not frown on the match, unequal as it might be.”
    “And the duke?” asked Eliza, much more interested in his opinion than Lord Henry’s.
    “Well, I had thought Brockenhurst might quibble at my lack of fortune, but then again,”—Mr. Blount looked at Eliza in her plain pale blue dress—“perhaps he is not so opposed to an unequal match as I had thought.”
    Eliza did not know how to answer that, but fortunately, the dining room doors swung open and she did not have to.
    “Ah, there you are, my dear,” said Sir Arthur, with Lady Malcolm on his arm. Eliza’s father helped himself to a full plate, the hearty fare much more plentiful than what they had to break their fast in London.
    Lady Malcolm, on the other hand, contented herself with a muffin and some tea. “I hope they have already ordered the carriage,” she said with a sniff. In town, the Malcolms always arrived at Sunday services with at least a quarter of an hour to spare. Lady Malcolm did not approve of being late.
    “I am sure the duke will have everything in order, Mama,” said Eliza.
    “Of course he will!” said Sir Arthur, amidst a mouthful of sausage. He eyed the sideboard lovingly. “He’s a good man, Brockenhurst! A good man!”
    * * *
    Henry mounted his horse and, setting his back to the Blue Boar, headed north up the main road. With fast riding, he would be in London before noon. He would stop in at Maurice’s on Bond Street and make sure all was well and perhaps pay a visit to Mr. Maurice himself to assure him of the fact.
    London would be dull now that the season was over, but then he was always used to spending his summers at Harrowhaven. Boyhood habits died slowly. A pity the old house was forbidden country for him now, except for the occasional visit he could steal behind Rufus’ back or underneath his nose.
    Was it only yesterday morning that he had walked through the entrance hall and found Miss Malcolm frozen there against a column like the statue of some virgin goddess? He had hoped that the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves would drive that picture out of his head, but instead, it only seemed to set Ned’s words to a regular rhythm in his memory: “It’d be a pity to leave now and leave the poor girl in such a state of befuddlement.”
    Yes, well, it was not his duty to mend matters that were none of his own making.
    He urged on his horse with a flick of the reins.
    “Please, your grace. Let go of me.” He could hear the maid’s voice echoing in his head now. The hair bristled on his arms and his jaw clenched at the memory. He had confronted his brother about this very behavior three years ago—and Rufus had thrown him out on his ear. Clearly, time had not improved his brother’s morals.
    What if Miss Malcolm had walked down the corridor a few moments earlier? What if she had been the one to overhear the exchange behind the closed door and glimpse the distraught maid trying to put her apron to rights?
    What if the same scene was reenacted three months from now, when Miss Malcolm had been lured into becoming the new Duchess of Brockenhurst? What if she learned the truth about Rufus only after it was too late?
    Henry let out a low growl. Sensing the tautness in his rider’s body, his horse became skittish and he was forced to slow the pace. He had no special knowledge of the future, but he would wager a thousand pounds or more that matrimony would not rectify Rufus’ rakish nature. And it was certainly not a love match if Rufus had the audacity to make love to a maid while his intended was in the house.
    Henry pulled sharply on the reins and brought the horse to a halt in the middle of the road. Dash it all! Ned was right. Elizabeth Malcolm was a lamb going to the slaughter. He could not, in good conscience, leave now and leave her to her fate.
    He turned his horse’s head around. If that meant returning to Harrowhaven and enduring her ill opinion of