Chapter Eleven

D

reamer stretched into full, effortless flight beneath Eleanor. It was as if Dreamer’s equine body escaped earth and took her rider to a transcendent place where there remained only speed. All else became a blur as wind assaulted her face and tears obscured Eleanor’s vision. It didn’t matter. The emerald green surface over which her mount flew stretched uninterrupted for miles. In her left hand, Eleanor fisted a heavy hank of blonde mane with only enough rein to keep the excess out of Dreamer’s way while her other hand pumped the air as she stood in her stirrups and whooped and laughed and cried with uncontainable jubilation—for how could one participate in such perfection and not give voice to it?

Her exaltation couldn’t continue indefinitely for a living creature of flesh and bone, heart and sinew, and fragile, fragile legs carried her—the tremendous forces of combined speed and weight borne by one slender pastern no bigger than a man’s wrist. Gently, Eleanor sat, took the reins up in both hands and restored a measure of control, shortening Dreamer’s stride from twenty-two-feet to twenty and then to eighteen and then to fifteen, and finally down to a nine-foot trot.

She whispered heartfelt thanks to Lord Miles Everleigh for his stunning generosity. She hadn’t known him for an extensive period, but what she knew of him gave her to realize he well understood the value of her bride gift. She supposed it did her no credit, but she’d never entertained for one instant the thought of returning the three-year-old. 

As she turned for home and rose and fell with the filly’s springy gait, she leaned down and hugged her chestnut neck. “You glorious, glorious girl! We’re going to do fabulous things, you and I.” 

Eleanor pulled Dreamer down to a walk quite a distance from where Fedder, Bitters, and Jemmy sat their mounts and watched. As she approached at Dreamer’s free-swinging walk, the expressions on Bitters’ and Jemmy’s faces never altered in their mimicry of her cheek-to-cheek grin. Her trainer, Fedder, was another manner.

“Fedder, I want Joshua Crane as her jockey. He’s light enough to make the weight and has excellent hands. Plus, he’ll know how to handle her speed. Assign Bedham as her exercise boy.” Eleanor leaned down and patted Dreamer’s sweaty neck. “He’s a kind, patient rider and she likes to play before settling in.”

Her trainer gave a curt nod, his gaze focused on his stopwatch. He tapped the crystal with his fingernail. “I think something’s wrong with my watch. This can’t be right.” He gave Eleanor a look of disbelief. “She’s done six furlongs in a minute, ten.”

Eleanor’s head flopped back, and she laughed to the sky. Bitters grinned like a boy, his eyes never leaving the filly.

“Ain’t she somethin’, my lady?” Awe filled Jemmy’s hushed voice. “Never seen nothing like her.” He sighed the heartfelt sigh of a young man hopelessly in love.

“She’s everything you say and more, Jemmy.” Eleanor slid off Dreamer and swapped horses with Jemmy. “Let’s get her cooled off. Hand-walk her for a couple of hours before you stall her. I’m sure she’d appreciate some green grass, and mud her legs before you leave for the evening.”

Back in the stable block, Eleanor couldn’t wait to share the time of Dreamer’s workout with her father and hurried to change out of her breeches and into a day gown. Her maid was just adding a necklace to her ensemble when a rap sounded on her door. “Yes?”

Walters responded through the closed door. “Lady Eleanor, a Mister Ludlow, personal agent to His Royal Highness Prince George is here and is asking to speak with Lord Miles Ever—

Eleanor strode to the door, yanked it open and regarded Walters with wide eyes.

Walters didn’t so much as blink. “…leigh. I have advised him that Lord Miles is not receiving and the man has demanded to speak with you. I told him I would inquire if you are accepting callers. He is in the blue room.” Walters offered her a white calling card.

All the joyous feelings that her morning with Day Dreamer had produced popped one after the other like so many laundry bubbles. “Thank you, Walters. Tell Mister Ludlow I’ll be down presently.” She paused for a moment. “Offer him some of Father’s port. Ensure his glass stays filled.”

“Ma’am.”

It may have been her imagination, but she thought she detected approval in Walters’ voice before he bowed and made his unhurried way down the hall. 

Crossing to her dressing table, she pulled out the chair and slowly sank onto its seat while her thumb ran over the raised letters on the man’s business card. Her grim reflection stared back at her. She clenched her jaw and raised her chin. The white day dress with its printed sprigs of yellow flowers would never do. Neither would the simple braid that hung over her shoulder.

“Sally, help me out of this dimity. I want the purple damask with the jet trim and ring for May. She is very good with hair. I wish mine up.”

“Ma’am? The purple damask?”

“Yes, it strikes exactly the right note.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It took her an hour to reach a state where she felt ready to receive an agent of the Prince Regent and another hour before she felt the agent might be ready to receive her.

“Mr. Ludlow. I am Lady Miles Everleigh. How may I help you?”

Eleanor swept into what she’d always considered an overly-ornate and incredibly-ugly blue parlor, a holdover from a deplorable splurge on gilded French Rococo excess inflicted upon Rutledge Manor by one of her father’s predecessors and addressed the gentleman staring at the vaulted ceiling painted sky blue with a baroque scene of naked cherubs and white clouds. She knew why he stared. Several of the cherubs were engaged in amorous activities that were anything but celestial. He smelled strongly of fortified wine and cupped a large crystal goblet in one hand. An impassive footman in formal livery stood immediately inside the door beside a gilt and blue paint console and held a decanter less than half-full of golden brown liquor.

Her visitor stopped his staring, cleared his throat with a loud, “Ahem,” and acknowledged her with a brief bow. Irritation edged his voice. “Ivan Ludlow, Senior Investigative Agent to His Royal Highness George Augustus Frederick of Hanover, Prince of Wales, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, and Baron of Renfrew.” He sniffed. “My lady, is it your intention to fog my mind with drink? I’ll have you know, it won’t work.” He held her in a glassy-eyed gaze of indignation and swayed ever so slightly.

“I cannot imagine what you mean, sir.” Her charming smile oozed naiveté. “I merely thought to provide you with a high treat while I rid myself of the stables and changed into something more suitable to receive an agent of His Royal Highness. You are partaking of The Earl of Rutledge’s favorite port. He never shares it with anyone.” She perched on the edge of a diminutive, powder-blue, satin double-sofa and indicated an unusually low-to-the-ground, eminently fragile-looking, slipper chair. “Please, be seated, sir. Take your ease.” She smiled brightly. “Tell me what business the Prince Regent can have with me.”

The agent eyed the unstable-looking furniture with obvious doubt and descended onto the narrow seat with an overabundance of caution. When he was fully seated, the chair creaked in an ominous fashion, and his knees lacked only a foot of being at his chin.

“I don’t desire concourse with you, madam, I want to speak with your master, Lord Miles Everleigh, but I am informed he is not receiving. Equally, I am given to understand that your father is too ill. So…since neither of the heads of this household are available, I must make do with you.”

He must “make do” with her? Eleanor wanted to hurl the Meissen shepherdess figurine on the sofa table at his head, but she “made do” with smiling vacuously and blinking like an ingénue. “For the second time, how may I help you?”

The agent regarded her with a narrowing of the eyes.

She smiled wider and if possible, more vacantly, with much batting of her eyelashes.

“The Prince Regent has come into possession of the premarital contract signed by yourself and your husband and has strong misgivings as to the legitimate nature of your union.”

“Heaven save me!” She sprang to her feet necessitating that Mr. Ludlow rise also. The man’s knees produced multiple sounds resembling a dead chicken being disjointed. “Are you suggesting we are not legally married?” Before he could answer, she sank back onto the sofa.

The agent clenched his jaw, and slowly returned his posterior to the fragile chair, which once again complained about his weight. “I, on behalf of the Prince, have several questions to put to Lord Miles Everleigh concerning the financial settlements accruing to him upon his marriage to you.”

Once more she bolted upright in alarm. “My husband and I enjoy the greatest of domestic harmony. Do you imply that Lord Miles received recompense to marry me! What an infamous suggestion.”

Forced to his feet again, Ludlow grimaced and cleared his throat with some exasperation. “Ma’am, I cannot have a rational discussion with you popping up and down like… like… some demented gopher.”

“Sir! Your comments are beyond insulting.” Eleanor clutched her hand to her breast and gave every evidence of being mortally offended as she once more sank to the love seat. She tried, unsuccessfully, to manufacture tears, though she did dab at her eyes with a hastily procured handkerchief and was quite proud of the quiver she injected into her normally direct tones.

With obvious ill-ease, Ludlow once again perched his buttocks on the tiny chair with all accompanying sound effects and scrubbed his face. “Apologies, ma’am. Can’t think what…” He blinked as if to clear his vision. “When might I speak with Lord Miles Everleigh?”

Eleanor rose and drew herself up to her full six-foot height. She snickered internally as the agent regained his feet with an unmistakable grunt and much protest from his joints.

“That I cannot tell you, sir. Lord Miles has gone to the continent on a horse buying trip. The date of his return is uncertain. I have your card. I will send notice to you upon Lord Miles’ return to Rutledge. Now, good day.” Having issued the latter in her most imperious voice, she turned and swept out of the room.

As she gained the second-floor landing, she met her butler coming from the direction of her parents’ apartments and paused. “Brilliant move putting him in the Blue Parlor, Walters. He was half disguised on Father’s port and much distracted by the ceiling.”

The man inclined his head. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Yes, madam.”

She lowered her voice. “Did you advise Father of Ludlow’s presence?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Ludlow won’t be satisfied until he speaks with Lord Miles.” With a long sigh, she smoothed the front of her elegant gown and played with the pieces of black jet that adorned the skirt. “I can think of no other option than to make a personal appeal to Lord Miles and throw myself on his mercy.”

“Yes, madam.”

“I suppose I should consult with Father before taking any action, though I do hate to burden him.”

“Yes, madam.”

Eleanor smiled wryly. “Enlightening conversation, Walters. I appreciate your always astute contributions.”

“Yes, madam.”

The Earl of Rutledge watched from his bed as his daughter left his bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Laura, please step outside. I’ll ring when you may return.”

“Yes, sir.” The pretty nurse rose from the chair where she sat stitching and dipped a curtsy.

When she, too, had exited, he reached an age-spotted hand sideways and clasped that of his wife. “You wanted private speech with me?”

She gazed at him, intelligence alive in her blue eyes.

“Rutledge, I’m worried that our daughter will make a misstep in this tricky business with the prince, and she has one hand tied behind her back in her efforts to keep her true standing with Lord Miles from us. Shouldn’t we tell her we know? Offer her our support?”

He lay back and closed his eyes. “If we confess to our knowledge, we will also have to confess to how we came by such knowledge. Knowing Eleanor, she will be gravely wounded by our manipulation of what she very rightly considers her private affairs.” He paused, laboring for breath. The simplest things had become such a struggle. It quite wore him out. “I still think silence is our best ally. She’ll do the right thing. She made the correct choice for a husband, after all.”

His beloved wife considered his comment in thoughtful silence then offered in a quavery voice, “I quite like Julia’s eldest. Lord Miles was an excellent selection, darling, but really… you and Penwick offered her little else to choose from.” She gave a theatrical shudder. “A drunkard with eleven children … I’d as soon have had the opium-eater or the Nancy boy.”

He chuckled dryly. “I’d have preferred the older brother, Duncan, for her, but he removed himself from consideration when he bought his commission. A dead husband is of no use to me. I couldn’t take the chance of some mishap on the battlefield. As you know, I have always liked that family; we would not have introduced Lady Julia to His Grace otherwise. Still… there is something very havey-cavey going on with the first son. The old Duke was tireless in his lauds for all but his first-born. Retreated into tight-lipped silence whenever Edgar’s name was mentioned.”

“Still, I do wish we could openly help her, and I can only wonder what happened between her and Lord Miles that she should refuse to offer him the hospitality of Rutledge for even one night.”

He squeezed his wife’s hand gently. “Don’t worry, my love. It will all come right. They have too much in common and are too sensible not to see it in the end.”

“Do you suppose I should write to Julia and ask her to … assist?”

“I have already done so. The Dowager Duchess of Chelsony replied that she will do whatever she can manage discreetly. It helps that Lord Miles has moved her into his new property and out from under Chelsony’s neglect.”

“Poor Julia. I wonder sometimes if we did the right thing in introducing such a young woman to such an older gentleman…but, she so loved her duke—and he her.” His wife squeezed his hand. “Rutledge, I want for our daughter what you and I have, what Julia found.” Tears stood in her eyes. “I want her to find love.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the paper-thin skin. “As do I, darling. As do I.”