Chapter 7
June wore a morning dress in a soft shade of lavender that reminded Cameron of a blooming lilac bush. The neckline was square and decorated with small floral appliqués. A wide ribbon sash in a darker shade of purple cinched around her narrow waist and created a striking contrast against the pale hue of the gown. Ribbons wove through her hair which was done up in a Grecian style with a few soft strands of gold framing her face.
Cameron had never been blind to a beautiful woman. But he couldn’t say he had paid much attention to what they wore before.
It was different when it came to June. He seemed to drink in every detail about her. He always had.
He forced himself to take a sip of coffee and turn his attention back to his plate, heaped full with eggs and rashers of bacon. Around him, the house party guests were discussing their plans for the day. A hunting party would be leaving after breakfast, made up of mostly men.
Cameron was inclined to go with them.
He looked up as the earl swept in. Windermere appeared out of sorts this morning. The dark-haired man marched across the room without greeting any of his guests and approached the table where his wife stood.
Cameron watched as the earl gripped his wife’s upper arm, then whispered something in her ear. June paled.
He glanced around. No one at the breakfast table seemed to have noticed the strange interaction between the earl and his wife.
After terrorizing June, the earl’s mood seemed to improve swiftly. The man reminded Cameron of bullies from his childhood. Having been beaten at home, they would attack neighborhood children, trying to get rid of the feelings of unworthiness they had been made to feel at home. It was a tragedy when the bully was a child. But in a grown man who was taking these feelings out on his vulnerable wife, it was simply unacceptable.
Cameron watched as Windermere took his own plate and filled it, then sat down at the opposite end of the table and began speaking to some guests.
June stood at the side table for a moment, then slowly lifted her plate again. When she took a seat at the dining table it was not near her husband. She ate with her head down, unspeaking.
“Will you be joining us on the hunt this morning, Tulloch?” The Earl of Windermere’s voice boomed down the table. He was smiling now, looking for all the world like a man who was truly enjoying himself, enjoying his party, enjoying his life. And why shouldn’t he be? The earl was in control of his entire dominion.
And June? She was his helpless pawn. Her pain sustained him.
“Nay,” the duke replied, trying to keep his tone even. He had planned on joining the group but plans could change. “Nay, I shallna. Yer groundskeeper tells me ye have good fishing here. I believe I’ll try my hand at catching trout today.”
The earl looked surprised. Then he frowned slightly. “Very well, Tulloch. But you shall not escape me forever.” He wagged a finger playfully. “Sooner or later, we must discuss the enterprise I mentioned.”
The duke nodded politely.
Soon the earl was conversing with his guests once again.
“It’s an excellent day for being out on the lake, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Pembroke cheerfully, setting down her plate beside him. “Although it looks as if it shall be an exceedingly hot one.”
“Aye, ma’am. A right scorcher ye might call it,” the duke replied politely, as the matron took her seat.
“My daughter wishes to ride along with the hunt. Apparently the duke’s cousin, the dowager, will be doing so. Dowager! What a stuffy sounding title for a relatively young woman. It makes one think of much older widowed ladies, does it not, Your Grace?”
The duke nodded acquiescence.
“Mind you,” Mrs. Pembroke went on. “The dowager doesn’t watch from a carriage. She rides right alongside her cousin the earl, so that she’s in the thick of things.”
“Does she now?”
“Yes. Very bold and daring, would you not say?”
Horatia had just come into the room. Though the duke knew she and her children resided at the Dowager House on the estate grounds, she seemed to be taking her role as guest at the house party very literally–even appearing at breakfasts.
Or perhaps this was the usual way of things for the family. Perhaps she always joined the earl and countess in the mornings. Cameron tried to picture it. He imagined the earl and Horatia talking and laughing as June sat at the far end of the table, quiet and miserable, a third wheel in her own marriage.
The duke took another sip of his coffee, considering the arrogance of a man and woman so cruel and shameless. “Aye, verra bold. Verra bold indeed.”
“Nevertheless, I’ve told my Amelia that if she wishes to go with the hunt, a carriage it must be. I have only one daughter, you know. A mother cannot be too careful.” Mrs. Pembroke sighed in a way that reminded the duke of his own mother.
“Verra wise,” the duke murmured. “I shouldna let my own daughter hunt. It can be verra dangerous at times, especially for an untrained rider or a horse not used to all the commotion.”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Pembroke agreed. “Why, my nephew died in a hunting accident a few years ago. A fox hunt, just like this one. His horse reared and he took a terrible fall. The excitement is simply too much for some animals.”
The duke winced slightly. “Aye, even the best horse can be unpredictable when dogs are barking and a fox runs in its path.”
“Indeed they can. Amelia knows all about what happened and yet still, as soon as she hears another woman is doing something daring–and such a pretty and sophisticated lady, too–she is of a mind to join in. I sometimes wonder if there is any sense in the girl’s head.”
“I’m sure my mother wondered the same of me at times,” the duke said with a smile. “Did you know the Dowager Countess before the party? ‘Twas my understanding she doesna leave the country often.”
“I’ve heard the same thing,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “Well, with four children and no husband, I suppose country life is the most economical. Thank heavens she has such a kind cousin in the earl.”
“Indeed. Verra kind.” The duke took another sip of his coffee.
Across the table, June was no longer alone. She was making quiet small talk with Miss Pembroke. That is to say, June was listening while the girl spoke excitedly and without pause. From what Cameron could tell, the young lady was expressing her frustration over something that had gone amiss with one of her gowns.
He watched the two women for a moment, taking note of June’s gentle expression, the way she smiled encouragingly at the younger woman.
“She is a very kind lady, the countess.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Cameron frowned. “Is she? I wouldna ken.” He took a bite of food, then remembered the countess was his hostess. “I mean to say, she certainly has been a verra gracious hostess. Aye, she seems a kind enough lady from what I have seen. I dinna know her well, ye ken.” He was stumbling and he did not like to stumble. Not in conversation. Certainly not in life.
“Oh, she most assuredly is,” Mrs. Pembroke promised him. “Why, when she learned that my Amelia was ‘out’ for her second season but without the means to join in all that London has to offer a girl, the countess quite took Amelia under her wing.” She lowered her voice. “I am a widow, Your Grace, and so my daughter and I live very economically ourselves, which is why I sympathize with the dowager.”
“I see,” the duke murmured. “Verra understandable.”
And it was. His mother had been a poor widow. He had grown up poor. He understood what it was like to have to be sparing with one’s resources. Why, he had anticipated spending his entire life that way. Happy and content, yes, but poor as a churchmouse.
“Well, as I was saying, when the countess found out, she reassured Amelia that all would be well and she invited us to this house party. She was even considerate enough to beg the earl to invite a few prospects.”
Mrs. Pembroke inclined her head subtly towards two young men sitting at the other end of the table who the duke had not given much notice to before now. The young men were conversing animatedly–likely about the imminent fox hunt. They were average-looking fellows, but looked well-to-do and well-dressed enough.
“And if neither of them suit her,” Mrs. Pembroke said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Lady Fairchild has said she insists we join her and her husband at their London townhouse later on in the season. She is kind. Very kind indeed. Do you not think so?”
“She certainly sounds like a considerate woman, aye,” the duke conceded.
He glanced across the table again. In the sunshine that spilled through the long row of windows, June’s hair wrapped in its ribbons glowed like a golden halo.
She was no angel, however. For a long time, Cameron had believed she might be the devil himself.
Now he was no longer so certain.
The woman may not be an angel, nay, but there was more to her of the old June, the girl he had known and fallen in love with as a boy, than he cared to admit.
Would the Countess of Windermere be joining the hunt like Horatia? Somehow the duke doubted it.
No, he was fairly certain the countess would be going fishing today.
At least, if he had any say in things.