The Duke, the Wallflower, and the Holly Tree, page 1
THE DUKE, THE WALLFLOWER, AND THE HOLLY TREE
AILEEN FISH
ASPENDAWN PRESS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Excerpt: The Duke who Loved Her
About the Author
Other Books by Aileen Fish
The Duke, the Wallflower, and the Holly Tree
Copyright © 2022 Aileen Fish
All rights reserved.
An earlier version was published by Wolfebane Publishing
Excerpt: The Duke Who Loved Her
Copyright © 2017 Aileen Fish
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Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical figures, any resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.
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CHAPTER 1
Somerset, England
Summer 1813
Lady Eliza Clayton tugged on her gown to free it from the holly leaves that held her gripped in their unrelenting grasp. The kitten she’d planned to rescue mewed from a higher branch, still refusing to climb down on its own. “I can’t climb any higher,” she told the animal.
It simply mewled, its claws clutching the branch it lay on.
For the life of her, Eliza couldn’t determine how her gown had become so twisted, so entangled. Admittedly, climbing the tree had been an ill choice. She should have sent for a footman to rescue the kitten, someone with a ladder and more appropriate clothing. But no, that was not her way.
Deciding to try to break the branch that was stuck, rather than pull on the gown more, she began to bend it back and forth. Perched as she was on the low branch, she wasn’t too afraid of falling, but using both hands to work likely increased the possibility. She worked faster, just in case.
“I spy a delightful pair of limbs,” The Duke of Beckhampton called out.
Looking down, Eliza saw him stop beneath the tree. She tugged harder on the branch in desperation. “A gentleman wouldn’t look.”
“A lady certainly wouldn’t be sitting in a tree with her ankles on display.” His grin showed no remorse that he was ogling her in the midst of her distress. “What are you doing?”
“I’m rescuing that kitten,” she said, pointing above her.
“You’re not doing very well.”
“I’m stuck.” She now resorted to plucking the leaves off the branch.
The kitten decided Beck was a more capable rescuer, apparently, and it scampered to the trunk and scurried backwards past her before leaping into Beck’s arms.
“Well, hello there, little one.” He bent and placed it in the grass, where it scampered off. Then he looked back up at Eliza. “Your turn.”
“I’m stuck, I tell you.” She tugged again on her gown. It ripped, and she reached for the trunk to steady herself. Too late, she toppled.
Beck caught her easily, one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. “That wasn’t quite how I pictured it happening, but…”
“Put me down,” she urged, straightening her gown to cover her legs.
“I rather like this.” He met her gaze, then his lowered to her lips.
She drew in a breath as warmth filled her at the thought of his kiss. “Someone will see.”
“We’ll be married in a few days, what can they say? ‘Did you see that? They kissed. Imagine that. Do you supposed they’re marrying for love?”
Eliza reached up to toy with the curled end of his hair where it met his cravat in the back. “What a scandal! No one marries for love.”
His hazel eyes shone with all the love he held for her. “I do.” He leaned in to press his lips to hers for a much too brief moment, then lowered her to the ground.
She straightened the ribbon around her waist and inspected the tear in her gown. “Mama will be mad at me for climbing the tree.”
“As your soon-to-be husband, I must ask if you plan to continue climbing trees. I suggest you stick to something less apt to ensnare you.” He plucked a pointed leaf from her hair and fingered the tips. “Although, holly is said to bring peace and goodwill, so perhaps climbing it will promise a harmonious marriage.”
Eliza shook her head. He always said the darnedest things. “It represents Jesus’ crown of thorns, silly. It’s a Christmas decoration, not for weddings.”
He began to stroll toward her father’s house. “Are you arguing with me?”
“Of course not,” she said in a voice that sounded an awful lot like an argument.
“I didn’t think so. So, you’ll carry sprigs of holly in your bouquet for the wedding. Or maybe just a sprig on your bonnet. What do you think?”
She looked up to him, trying to ascertain whether he teased or not. “I’ll carry peonies.”
“Hmm, love, honor…I suppose that will have to do.” Unable to maintain the serious pretense, Beck grinned. “I do love you, you know.”
“And I love you, silly man. Our wedding cannot come soon enough.”
The door to Lady Eliza’s bedchamber slammed against the wall, waking her in shock. She sat up, heart racing, clutching the bedclothes to her chest. There in the doorway stood her father, his face scarlet with anger.
“Get dressed and come downstairs.” He stormed away, leaving the door open.
Eliza blinked, staring at the spot where he’d been. What was wrong? What could have happened overnight to make him so upset?
“My lady?” Her maid, Fanny, peered into the room.
“It’s safe to come in, he’s gone. I must hurry. I’ll wear my red day dress and style my hair in a simple roll.” Eliza hurried to begin dressing. Her hands shook as she rolled up her stockings. She poked pins into her hair while Fanny tightened her stays. They finished at the same time and Fanny held the red gown up for Eliza to slip into.
Pausing to look in the mirror, she tucked a stray lock of her brown hair into the bun. Father despised disarray and his temper was already beyond anything she’d seen since childhood. She smiled at her maid. “Thank you, Fanny.”
“You’re welcome, miss. I’ll say a little prayer for you.” The young woman curtseyed and began to straighten the brush and combs on the vanity.
Eliza slipped her feet into her half boots and scurried silently down the hall, then trotted down the stairs on her toes to make as little noise as possible. Father abhorred noise. He hadn’t said where to find him, only that she be downstairs.
Their butler, a wizened older man with pronounced white side whiskers, approached. “Your mother is waiting in the carriage.”
“Thank you. Where are we going? Let me fetch my pelisse and reticule.”
“You won’t need them, my lady. Please…” He held his arm out toward the door.
Frowning, confused at the cloaking of her activity, Eliza walked outside and down the steps where her brother, Walter, waited. “Come.” He took her hand and helped her into the carriage, then sat opposite her and her mother.
Mama had her head down, but Eliza heard a quiet sniffle escape before she dabbed her nose with a handkerchief.
“Mama? What is happening?”
She shook her head quickly, briefly.
Eliza turned to Walter, who held her gaze with a hard glare so close to their father’s. Clearly, he would answer none of her questions. There was nothing for her to do but watch out the window.
This was not how the day before her wedding was to go. Fanny should be trying out assorted hairstyles until they found the perfect look. Eliza should be packing her remaining possessions that hadn’t been sent to the Duke of Beckhampton’s home.
Beck. Were they going to see him? For what reason, she couldn’t fathom, but the idea gave her small hope. Very small hope. In her belly, she knew something was dreadfully amiss.
She recognized the warehouses to one side of the road and knew the docks lay just beyond. Oh, please, no.
Throughout her lifetime, Eliza had heard Father threaten Mama with being sent to stay with her sister in Boston. He couldn’t be sending the two of them now. Not right before her wedding. What had she and Mama done to make him so angry?
If Father wanted her out from under his roof, he need only wait one day for Beck to take her home with him after their wedding. Mama could have come with them to live—Eliza had mentioned it to Mama more than once. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done to upset him enough to send her out of the country.
Perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps this morning was just another of his tantrums brought on by heavy drinking. Beck might be waiting for them, although the wedding was to be held in St. George’s Church in London.
None of this explained why Walter escorted them like a jailor. Her brother never took his eyes off her, never softened his harsh, frowning glare. None of her “perhaps” situations could explain his presence.
Tall m
Surely there must be an ounce of love inside her brother’s heart that would force him to explain. Even to give a hint of what was happening, some small words that would relieve Eliza’s growing terror.
Beck, I love you. Please come after me.
Walter waited at the base of the gangplank while Eliza and Mama boarded, their hands clutching each other so tightly the blood couldn’t possible reach the tips of her fingers. He remained, stiff and unflinching, when Eliza stood on the deck watching him.
When a seaman took Eliza and Mama to the small cabin where they would spend the next few weeks, the pain finally burst out. Eliza sank to the floor in the corner of the room, buried her face against her knees, and cried until she had no tears left.
Beck, I love you. Please come after me.
A footman rapped on the doorway of Gabriel, Duke of Beckhampton’s library, entering only once Beck commanded. He handed over a note addresses to Beck.
My dearest Beckhampton,
I fear I’m unable to marry you. I know how these words will hurt you, but I cannot live my life as your wife. Please do not come look for me. I wish for no contact from you.
Yrs.,
Eliza
He read it three times and in none of those readings did the words sound like Eliza’s. Firstly, she never spoke so concisely. She would have poured her heart into a three-page missive, tears would have blotted the ink in places, and her reasons for breaking their engagement would have been explained clearly.
Something was horribly amiss. He stood so quickly his chair fell over. “Who brought this letter?” he asked his footman.
“One of Lord Dalcliffe’s servants, your grace.”
Beck didn’t know why he’d expected—hoped for—any other answer, but this confirmed his suspicions that this wasn’t Eliza’s choice. “Have my horse brought around,” he commanded as he left his library.
The moment his horse arrived at his front steps, Beck galloped away to Dalcliffe’s town house. He didn’t wait for a servant to hold the reins, but left the horse standing as he strode to the door. When the butler appeared on the other side, Beck demanded, “I must speak to Dalcliffe.”
“His lordship has given strict instructions not to allow you in, your grace.”
Beck threw out his fist to push the door open. “I will be seen.”
The old servant stood his ground. “Lord Dalcliffe is not receiving callers. I beg you to go.”
Something in the butler’s voice showed fear, although he did a good job at remaining authoritative. The old man didn’t deserve Beck’s anger. Turning away without a word, Beck mounted his horse and rode away.
Maybe Eliza’s friend Marjorie would have the answers he sought. The two young ladies were as close as sisters, so if anyone knew what had happened, she would.
If he could just speak to Eliza, he could remind her how much he cared for her, how deep their love ran. They belonged together, and Beck would do everything he could to make certain they spent the rest of their lives as husband and wife.
CHAPTER 2
London, England
December,1817
Standing in the entryway of Hartshorne House in Mayfair, Lady Eliza Clayton prayed her friend had meant what she’d written so often in the four years that Eliza had been in Boston. Marjorie, the Duchess of Hartshorne, would never let on if she were dismayed at the surprise visit, of course, but Eliza wanted to cause as little stress as possible to as few people as possible with her impulsive decision to sneak back to England. Poor Mama stood beside her looking bone-weary after their voyage from Boston followed by the carriage ride from Liverpool to Marjorie and Hart’s home. Her back was straight, head held high, but her exhaustion was plain in the deep lines beside her mouth and the crease between her eyebrows.
They’d traveled as quickly as possible, in the mail coach rather than a comfortable stage, just in case Eliza’s brothers, Walter, Earl of Dalcliffe, and Peter, learned of their escape. Oh, they hadn’t been physically held captive, but when Walter—like their father before him—commanded something, everyone obeyed. No one argued, not even Aunt Wilhelmina, Mama’s sister in Boston, who was the strongest woman of Eliza’s acquaintance. There’d been no mention of coming home during the last four years living with her aunt.
Her mother and aunt had argued with her for two weeks when Eliza first suggested the time had come to go home. Father was dead, and in February Eliza would turn five-and-twenty. Surely Walter would no longer be able to control her life by then. She had no inheritance that she knew of, since Father had likely stricken her from his will.
She wasn’t coming home. That could never be. Dalcliffe was no longer home to her. Eliza now needed to find a husband, or she’d become a burden to Marjorie. Mayhap she could winter in London with Marjorie and spend summers in the country with their dearest friend Lady Phoebe Basingstoke. Then she’d only impose on each family for half the year.
The butler returned and Mama released a long sigh. He motioned toward the staircase. “Come with me,” he said.
A wave of giddiness and relief swept over Eliza at the thought of finally seeing her friend again. Until she saw Marjorie in person, part of her feared Walter would step out from a doorway, grab her arm, and carry her off to parts unknown. His anger at the Duke of Beckhampton knew no bounds, and he’d never demonstrated any love toward her.
When Eliza and her mama entered the conservatory, they found Marjorie sitting in a large, comfortable-looking chair brightly lit by the sun flowing through the windows. Marjorie jumped up when she saw her friend, and her book landed noisily on the floor at her feet. “My dear Eliza, it’s been so long! At times, I feared I’d never see you again.”
Eliza returned the hug, holding her friend tightly for an extra moment or two. The safety she represented brought much-needed comfort. “I feared the same thing. Mama still is uncertain we’re doing the right thing, but I couldn’t stay there any longer. With father dead I shouldn’t have to.” She cringed at the coldness her words carried but didn’t take back her words. She felt no sense of loss with him no longer running her life.
“Have you spoken with your brothers?” Marjorie asked.
“I’m afraid to,” Eliza replied. “I don’t know how determined my brother, Walter, is to follow Father’s orders. Peter would allow me to follow my heart, but Walter is as cruel as our father was.”
Mama had always said that Walter was playing their father’s game, having been created from the same mold. Cold-hearted, power hungry, only willing to follow someone else’s suggestion if it benefitted the earldom. Yet for all his self-centered dealing, the Earl of Dalcliffe had fewer properties and less income from those properties than most of his peers.
Releasing Eliza from her embrace, Marjorie hugged the dowager countess. “Lady Dalcliffe, I’m delighted to have you stay. I’m assigning a maid to you. Her name is Susan. Anything you need, she’ll see to it. Now, come sit, ladies, while we wait for tea. Or would you prefer to refresh yourselves before we visit? I never even considered how tired you must be, Lady Dalcliffe. When the footman brings our refreshment, I’ll have him show you to your room.” Marjorie spilled her words nonstop. Her excitement was plain to see, and it warmed Eliza, calming her just a bit.
“Your grace, you’re too kind to allow us to visit without an invitation.” Mama’s voice was barely above a whisper, as always, but in the still room she could be understood.
“But I did invite you,” Marjorie said. “I wrote directly after Eliza said you were coming back to England, and the letter might not have arrived until you’d left, but the invitation was always there. And please, call me Marjorie like you always have.”
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