Read Online Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) by Margo Maguire - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margo Maguire
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Regency, 19th century, Intrigue, guardian, 1800's, Second-Chance Love
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with her parents in happier days. So even if Minerva was unlikely to approve, Eleanor had no qualms about taking a short dip in the small lake. She hoped the cool water would help clear her head.
She wanted to dispel all memories of Beckworth’s touch. She would never marry the man, and such intimacies were absolutely unacceptable. She couldn’t succumb to him again. She recognized that the bond between them was merely physical attraction. There was no substance to his intentions – no honesty beyond the pleasure of the moment.
It was an easy walk to the small lake hidden in a secluded little glade south of the manor house. It was the perfect haven in which to spend a warm, sunny afternoon with her dismal thoughts. There was hardly any beach at all, but an unkempt lawn and thick willows growing right up to the water’s rocky edge.
Here was where Eleanor’s father had taught her to swim when she was a child, when he had found it amusing to pretend to be a father. In the days when Eleanor had loved him.
It was peaceful and quiet at the lake, but Eleanor found it painful to think of her father, of the weeks he’d been alone, lying ill before she’d come home. She hadn’t believed his first letter, and it wasn’t until the third that she’d realized he was in earnest. He was dying.
She’d been so damnably stubborn.
The sun shone brightly on the water, and bees buzzed about the clover in the grass. Derington had once been a devoted father. In those days, he hadn’t gone running off every night to chase skirts and lose his money at the gaming tables. Eleanor didn’t know what had caused him to change, but the change had not endeared him to her. By the time she’d come out in society and become engaged to Beckworth, she had barely acknowledged him as her father.
And yet his illness and death . . .
She forced aside her upsetting memories and put her satchel down beneath a tree. Pressing the blanket to her breast, Eleanor smothered her sorrow, refusing to shed the tears that burned the backs of her eyes. There was no point. She could not imagine Derington caring about her tears, anyway.
Swallowing the thickness in her throat, she spread out the blanket. She sat down and removed her shoes and stockings, then took a quick look around to be sure she was truly alone before unbuttoning her bodice.
In a few short moments she was completely undressed, but for the thin cotton chemise she wore under all her dull, black clothes.
She stepped into the water and found it refreshingly cool. She waded out to deeper water, then lay back and floated, gazing up at the clear, blue sky while she tried once again to empty her mind of all its troubling thoughts.
But her melancholy would not abate. Nor would her questions. Eleanor could not understand why Derington had thought it acceptable to make Beckworth trustee of her funds. When her father had come to Florence to chastise her for leaving England and an incredibly desirable marriage, Eleanor had made it perfectly clear that she would never wed the duke.
Obviously, Derington thought they were well-matched, in spite of Beckworth’s philandering ways. Her father must have believed that renewed contact with the duke to work out the disbursement of the annuity would result in a new engagement.
It would not.
“You know the rule—”
Eleanor sank under the surface of the water at the sound of Beck’s voice and came up sputtering.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, treading water.
“I knew where you were headed and really, Ellie – you should have brought your maid at the least.”
“I am quite a good swimmer, Beckworth,” she said, her feathers thoroughly ruffled. She felt like some poor duck in the sights of a hunter’s rifle. The only thing missing was the hound.
“No sense in taking chances.” He removed his coat and sat down on the blanket she’d brought.
“Haven’t you anything better to do than badger me?” she asked.
“No.”
“What about
She wanted to dispel all memories of Beckworth’s touch. She would never marry the man, and such intimacies were absolutely unacceptable. She couldn’t succumb to him again. She recognized that the bond between them was merely physical attraction. There was no substance to his intentions – no honesty beyond the pleasure of the moment.
It was an easy walk to the small lake hidden in a secluded little glade south of the manor house. It was the perfect haven in which to spend a warm, sunny afternoon with her dismal thoughts. There was hardly any beach at all, but an unkempt lawn and thick willows growing right up to the water’s rocky edge.
Here was where Eleanor’s father had taught her to swim when she was a child, when he had found it amusing to pretend to be a father. In the days when Eleanor had loved him.
It was peaceful and quiet at the lake, but Eleanor found it painful to think of her father, of the weeks he’d been alone, lying ill before she’d come home. She hadn’t believed his first letter, and it wasn’t until the third that she’d realized he was in earnest. He was dying.
She’d been so damnably stubborn.
The sun shone brightly on the water, and bees buzzed about the clover in the grass. Derington had once been a devoted father. In those days, he hadn’t gone running off every night to chase skirts and lose his money at the gaming tables. Eleanor didn’t know what had caused him to change, but the change had not endeared him to her. By the time she’d come out in society and become engaged to Beckworth, she had barely acknowledged him as her father.
And yet his illness and death . . .
She forced aside her upsetting memories and put her satchel down beneath a tree. Pressing the blanket to her breast, Eleanor smothered her sorrow, refusing to shed the tears that burned the backs of her eyes. There was no point. She could not imagine Derington caring about her tears, anyway.
Swallowing the thickness in her throat, she spread out the blanket. She sat down and removed her shoes and stockings, then took a quick look around to be sure she was truly alone before unbuttoning her bodice.
In a few short moments she was completely undressed, but for the thin cotton chemise she wore under all her dull, black clothes.
She stepped into the water and found it refreshingly cool. She waded out to deeper water, then lay back and floated, gazing up at the clear, blue sky while she tried once again to empty her mind of all its troubling thoughts.
But her melancholy would not abate. Nor would her questions. Eleanor could not understand why Derington had thought it acceptable to make Beckworth trustee of her funds. When her father had come to Florence to chastise her for leaving England and an incredibly desirable marriage, Eleanor had made it perfectly clear that she would never wed the duke.
Obviously, Derington thought they were well-matched, in spite of Beckworth’s philandering ways. Her father must have believed that renewed contact with the duke to work out the disbursement of the annuity would result in a new engagement.
It would not.
“You know the rule—”
Eleanor sank under the surface of the water at the sound of Beck’s voice and came up sputtering.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, treading water.
“I knew where you were headed and really, Ellie – you should have brought your maid at the least.”
“I am quite a good swimmer, Beckworth,” she said, her feathers thoroughly ruffled. She felt like some poor duck in the sights of a hunter’s rifle. The only thing missing was the hound.
“No sense in taking chances.” He removed his coat and sat down on the blanket she’d brought.
“Haven’t you anything better to do than badger me?” she asked.
“No.”
“What about
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