Chapter 4
It was a cool autumn afternoon, and despite the weak sunshine, Rufus Darnley knew that night would very quickly draw in. Still, he was not yet ready to return indoors, enjoying the cool air on his skin and the crunch of the leaves underneath his well-worn old brown boots.
Rufus had been out for a ride after luncheon but, on returning, found that it had not been quite as fortifying as he had hoped. The same old thoughts whirled around and around in his mind and, by the time his horse had been stabled again, he felt more listless than he had before he had gone out.
Since he was already well wrapped against the cold, the Duke decided to take a very good turn around his grounds. He had walked down the great gravel driveway some distance before turning in to walk through the woodland for a while.
He continued to crunch through leaves, enjoying the distraction of the sound which seemed capable of holding his attention in the present instead of allowing him to drift to thoughts of the past. As he walked, Rufus concentrated on the noise, fighting against any little thought that tried to break through his consciousness.
But, of course, he was unable to sustain it for long. Within a matter of minutes, he felt as if he was back on the old track, trapped inside the ball, rolling downhill.
Even though he had made his decision, and made it firmly, that he would now find a wife no matter what, there was no comfort in that decision at all. Rufus had found that there was at first. It was the relief of resignation, in the beginning, a kind of defeated, silent sigh.
But that feeling had very quickly worn off and been replaced with dreadful visions of the future in which he found himself forever tied to a woman of great beauty and little character. And, worse still, he turned to thoughts of the past, thoughts of the one woman who had seemed to turn him away from all the others for many years.
Eleanor Camden had been the first and only woman that Rufus Darnley had ever fallen in love with. She had been bright and funny and, without a shadow of a doubt, just about the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.
Rufus had just reached his twentieth year, and his beloved father’s failing health was a constant source of concern to him. But, as sick as his father was at times, Rufus had never really contemplated the idea that he might die sooner rather than later. He had assumed that his father would go on and on, that he would battle the sickness and defeat it, going on to see many more years in his role as the Duke of Hillington.
When he had met Eleanor Camden at an afternoon event held by an old aunt of his, now long dead, Rufus had been instantly attracted. Eleanor Camden had paid him so much attention that his young man’s ego was almost overwhelmed. And she was so amusing and bright that his heart was won almost immediately.
Rufus had courted her for many months, much to the pleasure of both her father and his own. She very quickly became a regular visitor to Hillington Hall, and he had fully imagined her there in the future as his wife, both of them happy and fulfilled, satisfied with everything that life had thrown at them so easily.
Before they had been acquainted even six months, Rufus had already decided that he would marry her. He waited until the six months of their courtship was complete, however, before deciding that he would, indeed, ask for her hand in marriage.
Despite the fact that he was sure that she would respond favourably to such a proposal, the very thought of making it had filled him with a sort of nervous energy for days on end. He kept imagining the whole thing, planning it out in his head and wondering when he might get his opportunity to actually ask her.
And he had been pondering just such a thing at a bridge afternoon in the home of one of Eleanor’s friends when he overheard a little conversation between the two young women.
He had just finished his game of bridge and had gone in search of Eleanor, never tiring of her wonderful company. It had been an extraordinarily warm summer and that day when they had all played bridge had been no different.
Thinking that the two young women had likely gone outside for some air, the young Rufus decided that he would follow.
He had walked around the side of the house, making his way to the terrace, when he finally heard two feminine voices. Judging it quite rightly to be Eleanor and her friend, he continued in their direction. But, just as he had been about to round the corner of the house and announce himself, something in the tone of the conversation stopped him and, instead of making his presence known, he paused for a moment to listen.
“I really do think that Lord Darnley is all set to ask for your hand in marriage, my dear,” the young woman said excitedly.
“Yes, I do believe you are right.” Eleanor sounded excited herself and Rufus, his ego satisfied that his proposal when he finally made it, would receive a favourable response, smiled to himself.
“And he is a very handsome young man, is he not?” her friend went on.
“He is pleasant enough to look at, I daresay,” Eleanor said in a strangely airy tone. It was a tone that Rufus Darnley had never heard before, and it brought him up short. “But he is perhaps a little dark for my taste. He has a very intense look about him at times, with such black hair and such dark eyes. I do so like a young man to be blonde and to have blue eyes.” She sounded a little far off and dreamy, and he wondered what was going on.
Surely, she did not have somebody else in mind that she preferred to him? After all, she had sounded so excited by the prospect that he might propose. Rufus was greatly confused. So confused, in fact, that he chose to linger just a little longer before announcing his presence.
“Oh, dear me, you are not still keen on Lord Brightwell, are you?” The young woman laughed girlishly.
“No, I should not wish to marry him, even though he is an Earl with a very fine and handsome face.” Eleanor laughed too, but it was a very much more cynical sound. “Not now, at any rate, when I have a Duke in the making.”
“Yes, but he is still in the making. He is not Duke yet, is he?” As the young woman spoke, Rufus frowned deeply.
“I think it is true to say that it is only a matter of time. The old Duke’s health fails day by day, and I think that Rufus will be the Duke of Hillington soon enough.” There was something in her tone, something greedy and foul that he had never heard before.
Rufus felt his mouth go dry as anger surged through him. He could hardly believe it, but Eleanor sounded as if she would welcome the death of his dear father. But how could this be so?
“And then you will be Duchess, my dear,” the young woman said.
“Yes, and then I will be the Duchess of Hillington. Just imagine that,” she said and laughed.
“Yes. All you have to do now is wait for the inevitable proposal.”
“And I look forward to it greatly,” Eleanor said.
Rufus had not waited to hear any more. As far as he was concerned, he had heard enough. He had thought that he had known Eleanor, known her heart and her mind as surely as he knew his own. But as he had listened, an eavesdropper standing silently just a few feet away, he realized that he had never known her at all.
Everything that he had assumed to be open and honest between them he could now see was anything but. She had not fallen for him with his dark hair and eyes, his olive skin. She had not fallen for his wit or humour, or his interesting conversation. She was simply seeking to make herself a Duchess and was so intent that she longed for the death of a man who had never done her any harm. Rufus had never felt so betrayed in all his life, and it had taken a great effort of will for him not to walk around the corner and tell her as much.
But, he knew that his father would not approve of giving in to such instincts. It was better to walk away from it all, to slowly turn his back on the woman without explanation and never, ever renew his addresses to her.
Rufus realized that he had been marching hastily through the woodland, fueled by the old anger and resentment which had overcome him as he relived that dreadful, overheard conversation. He had made his way deeper into the woodland and, just as he had earlier predicted, darkness was already beginning to draw down. The weak sunshine seemed to have disappeared without warning, although he knew that could not possibly be true.
Rufus had been trapped in his own thoughts, the same wheel of remembered conversations and feelings that he seemed to have been stuck on for so many years.
As he turned and trudged back out towards the gravel driveway, judging it to be his safest route home in the fading light, Rufus knew that he had made his decision on that day so many years before that he would never entertain ambitious young ladies again. He had made it his business to study them, to know them for what they were and to see them coming at every turn. He had been firm in his resolve never to find himself so used in the future.
But now, as he marched along through the cold and damp of early evening, he realized that he was doing nothing more than instigating a competition between just so many women of that type. Surely any young lady who crossed his path now, if Henry Mercer had done his job and propagated his gossip as he had promised, would be cut from the very same cloth that the young Eleanor Camden had been.
Rufus let out a deep groan and watched with familiar fascination as his warm breath condensed in the cold air, creating a great misty plume around him.
Suddenly a thought struck him, a thought that was not necessarily one which would induce happiness, but one which gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, at any rate.
Things would be different this time, even if the young ladies presented to him were no more honest and real than Eleanor Camden had been. And the reason that things would be different this time would be because he would determinedly keep himself distant from whichever woman he finally married. He would not fall in love with her the way he had with Eleanor Camden. He would not make himself so vulnerable to it all again. After all, if he did not love the woman, what would it matter if she was choosing to marry him for nothing more than the title? It would surely be neither here nor there to him as long as she was a good mother to their children.
The Duke laughed to himself without any hint of real mirth as he strode back towards the myriad of lighted windows of Hillington Hall. All he really needed was a wife with whom to produce an heir, and that was it. He need not love her, nor ever find himself in a position to be hurt by her true opinions of him. Her opinions of him would never be sought, and they would not matter to him anyway.
Rufus realized that he was becoming a very different sort of man, one he was not at all sure he liked. But if that was what it took to go through with his plan, to sire an heir to the estate and title his fine father had left him, then that was what he would do.
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