Page 47 of Her Duke in Shining Armor
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mr. Ambrose greeted. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” the Duke replied.
Dressed in a waistcoat of striped brocade, his jacket was obsidian, his snowy cravat was crisply tied, and his boots shined to mirror quality; he had the appearance of a gentleman, but Eleanor knew the crafty mind that rested behind it.
“Eleanor,” his baritone washed over her. “Is that a rosy complexion I see?”
“I believe so,” Eleanor replied as she tried to read her father’s attitude, looking for signs that he knew about her and the Duke of Oberton. “I have been outside more.”
“Beware of freckling, Eleanor,” Fenton said while moving in. “I’ll be down for dinner soon.”
There was nothing to show that he knew about her and the Duke, but probably he was masking it. Her father had a mask that kings and gamblers wished they had. Swallowing down her confused anxiety, Eleanor went back to her book and stared at it blankly. The words ran into each other and she closed it with a sigh. She felt like a clock was over her head, ticking down to an end or an ultimatum.
She gravitated to an open window and looked out toward the direction of Aaron’s home. With surprising delight, she realized that the rows of trees and space of land that separated their homes were not that lengthy. If she narrowed her vision, she could probably see the roof of his house.
“My Lady,” a maid spoke. “Your father is in the dining hall.”
Turning away, Eleanor went to the dining room and spotted her father already seated and saw that tall candles had been added to the table. A servant pulled out a chair for her and she sat with a muted thanks.
She unfolded her napkin and settled it in her lap just as a gloved hand rested her bowl of soup before her. She had no appetite but she forced herself to eat. The soup was spiced to perfection but she did not taste a thing.
“So,” her father broke the silence. “What have you been doing while I was gone?”
Eleanor considered her answer, “Not much, I admit. I perfected a sonata and began gardening like mother used to do. I made a friend—Lady Darcy Sutherland and we have a lot in common.”
“And where is she from?”
“Her family came from France and she is engaged to a constable of the River Thames Police. From what I ascertain, he’s on the fast track to being the Superintendent at a very young age too.”
“Mr. Julius Wilcox, no?”
Eleanor nearly dropped her spoon in the bowl and splattered her dress with the scorching liquid. That was it! That was proof that her father had been spying on her.
“Yes, how do know that?” she fished softly.
“News of up-and-comers in the political arena are points of conversation in many assembly rooms,” her father replied. “Why, is there another way I could have heard about that?”
That is a trap.
“There are many Father,” Eleanor replied while finishing a bite. “The papers perhaps, they are known to endorse our servicemen once in a while, especially when they do something extraordinary.”
“I suppose that—”
A splintering crash and a pained cry came from the room beyond and Eleanor was out of her seat in a second. She knew that voice—that was Maria’s.
She rushed into the room to see Maria picking herself up from the ground with cut knees and bloodied hands. On the floor were blue-green glass shards of an expensive Venetian glass bowl and she swallowed hard. That bowl was one of a kind and had been in the family before she had been born.
Oh, God!
“What is this ruckus?” he father demanded as he came in. Eleanor could see and feel the moment his eyes had lit on the broken bowl and the terrified child.
“Father, this is—” Eleanor began, knowing that her words to calm him down might be futile.
“You broke that bowl? You worthless child!” the Duke seethed. “That bowl was worth ten of your life! You broke almost five-thousand pounds and thirty years of history.”
“Father—”
“You there!” Fenton jabbed his hand to a nearby footman, “Take her out and flog her!”
