Chapter Eleven
A Chance Meeting Near Cambridge
The following morning…
A mile from Excelsior Park, Cambridgeshire
B ored and still smarting from the invoice he’d had to pay at the coaching inn for the wheel, dinner, and rooms for the night, James stared out the coach window and began counting the tall yews that lined the drive to Excelsior Park.
His count was interrupted by something that wasn’t a yew. Some one , rather.
He used his cane to pound on the trap door. When Simmons appeared in the opening, James said, “Pull over.”
“Yes, guv’nor.” The coach slowed and finally stopped.
James opened the window and poked his head out, his gaze directed on a young woman who was now several yards behind the coach. Despite the equipage having stopped and his head hanging out the window, she continued to walk as if she didn’t notice him.
Wearing a rather fetching poke bonnet and a day gown and pelisse that might have been too light for the chilly weather, she looked as if she might be a year or two shy of twenty. “May I offer a ride, miss?” James called out.
The young woman slowed her steps, her gaze darting about as if she might be looking for a quick escape. “Thank you for your offer, sir, but I much prefer to walk.”
James frowned. “Are you quite sure?” He glanced about in search of a chaperone—a lady’s maid or a footman—but saw no one else on the road. “There could be highwaymen,” he warned, rather annoyed by her cavalier response. Didn’t she know better than to walk alone on a country road?
“Oh, I rather doubt that, sir, but thank you for your concern.”
Scoffing, James was about to admonish the young woman but thought better of it. She was fetching. What he could see of her beneath her bonnet suggested dark hair and dark brows, large eyes, and a peaches and cream complexion found only on English misses who didn’t walk outside for extended periods of time.
Probably because they walked at dawn.
“Besides, you could be a highwayman,” she said, her steps bringing her nearly in line with the coach.
“But…but I’m not,” James replied, instantly offended.
The young woman paused and regarded his traveling coach. Her eyes came to rest on the gold crest on the door. “I suppose not, seeing as how you’re probably here for Lady Stephanie,” she said. This last was followed by a roll of her eyes and a sound of disgust.
“Lady Stephanie?” he repeated, pretending ignorance.
“You must be the eighth or ninth aristocrat to pay a call at Excelsior Park this month,” she accused. “Save yourself the embarrassment, sir. She’s betrothed to Weatherby. Happily so,” she added, her manner once again suggesting she was annoyed by the situation.
James decided it would be best if he were walking with the young woman. The sun wasn’t yet overhead, but the yews would provide little in the way of shade once it was.
He stepped down from the coach and waved the driver on. “I’m going to walk,” he said when Simmons gave him a look of disbelief.
Enjoying the opportunity to stretch his legs, he hurried to catch up to the young woman. “If you insist on walking, miss, then I insist on escorting you,” he said as he offered his arm.
She regarded it as if it might be infested with some sort of vermin, but she finally rested her arm on it. “Oh, all right,” she replied. “You don’t even know where I’m going,” she added.
“I don’t, but the walk will do me good. I’ve been cooped up in that coach since before dawn both yesterday and today,” he complained. He glanced over at her, glad her poke bonnet wasn’t of the style that completely hid her profile. “Where are we headed?”
She turned and gave him a quelling glance. “ We haven’t been introduced, sir,” she reminded him.
“Oh!” James paused and performed an exaggerated bow. “James, Earl of Leicester,” he said as he reached for her gloved hand and brushed his lips over the back of it. For the brief moment that he held her hand, he could tell her gloves were of good quality. Silk, not cotton, and quite white. The rest of her clothing was just as fine, the redingote made of navy superfine and her gown obviously made by a modiste of some skill. “Might I learn your name?” he added when she didn’t offer it.
“You can call me El,” she replied.
James furrowed a brow. “El, as…as in the letter L?” he asked, obviously confused.
She looked as if she might roll her eyes again, but she instead gave him the sweetest smile she could muster and said, “El, as in Eloise, but if you call me Eloise, I shall never speak to you again.”
Offering his arm once more, James said, “It’s very good to meet you, Miss El,” he said. “Although my acquaintances call me Leicester, I should like it very much if you called me James.” After a pause, he asked, “If I added that I would never speak to you again should you call me Leicester, then I fear you would do so just so I’d have to keep my word, and neither one of us wants that, now, do we?”
For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he’d just said. No one called him James except for his brother, Charles, and that was usually when they were in the middle of a heated argument. Or a game of cards.
Judging by how amused she seemed by his rambling response, James decided he was on the right track with the young lady.
“You haven’t met Lady Stephanie, have you, James?” Eloise asked after a moment.
James shook his head. “I’ve not had the pleasure. Perhaps I have seen her at a ball or a soirée and wasn’t introduced, though,” he replied. “Are you acquainted with her?”
Eloise angled her head to one side and finally said, “I see her on occasion. Talk to her when I do, but I find we don’t get on so well.”
A bit shocked at her words—she seemed ever so amiable—James said, “Whyever not?”
Shrugging, as if she didn’t care one way or the other, Eloise said, “She is older than me. A bit high on her horse. Or I should say horses , given she has three of them now,” she added with a hint of disgust.
“Racers?” James guessed. He’d heard of some women in the aristocracy owning horses for the sole purpose of racing them. The hobby was expensive. Whoever she married would no doubt have to fund the enterprise and share her interest.
“Walkers,” Eloise replied. “Irish, I think, but I haven’t paid much attention. She seems to trade them out every Season.”
James was relieved the marquess’s daughter wouldn’t cost him a fortune he didn’t have. He had already decided he would still pursue the matter of a proposal in the hopes the lady might change her mind about Weatherby.
“And this Weatherby? Have you met him?” James asked, pretending not to know of the marquess who was old enough to be Lady Stephanie’s father. Having almost run out of topics to discuss with the young lady, he was relieved to see the Portland stone manor of Excelsior Park just beyond the last of the yews.
For the first time since their introduction, Eloise turned her gaze on him. “Met him, dined with him, played cards with him. I was even his partner in charades last week,” she claimed on a sigh.
James frowned as a horrible thought crossed his mind. “Is he…is he your father ?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t said something objectionable about the marquess.
Eloise giggled, the musical sound causing James to release the breath he’d been holding. “Oh, goodness, no. If he were, I would not only walk this lane alone in the mornings, I would do so at night and keep going.”
Scoffing, James said, “You don’t like him.”
The statement wasn’t meant to offend, but Eloise’s good humor quickly vanished. “I don’t dislike him,” she said with a sigh. “But I do think Steph is more excited about wearing the Weatherby coronet than she is about wedding Weatherby.”
James blinked. So, Lady Stephanie had accepted the marquess’s suit, not because she felt affection for him, but because she was looking for a title. Marchioness was a rather rare title. Almost as rare as duchess but certainly not as rare as princess . Or queen . “Do you think she will regret her decision?” he asked out of curiosity.
Eloise shrugged again. “Don’t know. Don’t really care,” she replied. “Perhaps we can talk about someone else. Such as you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m just an earl,” he replied as humbly as he could manage. “No coronet for my future countess,” he murmured. “Although there are some nice jewels my mother left for her. A house in Westminster. Comes with decent staff.” He ended the list when he couldn’t think of anything else he had to offer a wife.
“And your heart?” Eloise asked. “Or has a mistress already claimed it?”
James stared at her, his alarm evident. “Mistress?” he repeated in surprise. What was an apparently gently bred English miss thinking in bringing up such a subject? “I don’t have one of those.”
“Oh,” she replied, apparently more surprised than he had been. “Well, that’s a point in your favor, surely,” she added as they passed the last yew. The sound of their footsteps was now more noticeable given the crushed granite that made up the circle drive in front of Excelsior Park.
The Leicester traveling coach was already pulled up near the front door, and a footman was seeing to James’s valise and small trunk. Swallowing, he wondered how he was going to explain his presence now that Lady Stephanie was already betrothed. He would have to pretend he was merely passing by and felt the need to stop and pay his respects. Or feign some other reason to pay a call on the marquess. Maybe ask him if he would support legislation he was hoping to have brought to the floor in the next session of Parliament.
Hope he was offered a room for the night.
“I’m planning to pay a call on Lord Huntsford, but I’d be happy to escort you to your home,” James offered. His gaze took in the young woman’s countenance when she turned and looked up, and he was struck by her loveliness. The light from the sun bathed her in a golden glow. For a moment, all he could think about was how beautiful she looked with her dark hair highlighted with glints of gold and red. How her complexion appeared so soft—not a flaw to be found. Even her lips appeared wet as if she’d licked them only the moment before, or eaten an especially juicy strawberry at some point during their walk.
“Do you always stare at ladies?” Eloise asked with a teasing grin.
James gave a start. “No. Uh…never. Until just now,” he stammered. “And I’ve just realized why you were walking,” he added.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because it brings the most comely color to your cheeks,” he murmured, hoping he wasn’t sounding like a complete idiot.
The golden glow that suffused her face quickly took on a pinkish cast. “Oh,” she replied. “Well, then I guess it’s working,” she said.
He nodded. “Now, which way do we need to go to get you home?”
Eloise scoffed. “Oh, we’re almost there,” she said as she resumed the walk toward the front door of Excelsior Park.
James blinked. “Wait. Do you live here ?”
She nodded. “I do. I’ll be sure to tell Father you were the perfect gentlemen whilst escorting me,” she said as the front door opened. She stepped over the threshold.
About to follow her in, James paused. “Who’s your father?”
Eloise gave him an impish grin before she doffed her bonnet and gave it to the butler. The auburn hair that had been mostly hidden by the poke bonnet fell into a cascade of waves around her shoulders. “Lord Huntsford,” she stated. “Steph is my older sister.”
With that, she disappeared into the manor house, leaving James open-mouthed and tongue-tied.