Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) by Margo Maguire

trip.
    Fortunately, Lady Stillwater addressed her, preventing her from dwelling upon the past. “Lord Stillwater and I are anxious to hear more about Florence, my dear,” she said. “Perhaps once you’ve settled in.”
    Beck made a low sound that slid through Eleanor’s body and finally rested in the hollow space beneath her heart. She ignored it. “Of course. You must come to tea soon, all of you. Isn’t that right, Aunt?”
    “Oh yes. Yes, we would love that,” Aunt Minerva said with some enthusiasm. It was going to be as much an adjustment for Eleanor’s aunt to live in the country as it was for Eleanor. Minerva had lived in her brother’s townhouse in London for the past few years and had developed her own circle of friends, her own habits. Life in Berkshire was bound to be quite different.
    They partook of the simple picnic fare and chatted about inconsequential things. But Eleanor’s attention drifted, and she found herself remembering those last moments with her father, sitting at his bedside and holding his cold, thin hand. Listening to his strained breathing.
    After so many years of enmity between them, Eleanor did not know why she’d felt compelled to stay with him. But she’d come home from Italy and stayed in the townhouse where she’d lived with him after her mother’s death. It was the house where she’d had to grow up very quickly because of her father’s demands for quiet while he slept late, and his lack of any sort of fatherly attention.
    Eleanor had wanted her father. She’d wanted him the way he’d been years ago, when her mother—
    “—travel much outside of Florence?”
    “I beg your pardon?” She gave a quick shake of her head. “I’m sorry . . .”
    “I wondered if you’d had a chance to travel while you were in Italy,” Jessamine asked.
    “Oh. No, not much.” She hadn’t had much money, certainly not enough to go traveling about. “I stayed with friends of my grandmother – the Miss Randalls – and they knew every inch of Florence. We explored every church and museum in the city. Oh, and the shops.”
    “How lovely, dear,” Lady Stillwater said.
    “Did you have your drawing materials with you?”
    “Yes,” Ellie replied. “I brought home stacks of sketches.”
    “Perhaps you can paint some of your scenes after you settle in,” Meg said. “You are such a talented artist.
    “I hope so,” Eleanor said. Just as soon as she got rid of Beckworth and began a new life for herself.
    Lucy stood and reached for Eleanor’s hand. “Shall we stroll down to the cliff?”
    “Yes, let’s do.”
    “I’ll join you,” Beckworth said.
    “’Tis not necessary, Duke. We won’t go far,” Eleanor protested.
    “No matter.” Beckworth tipped his head companionably as if to indicate they should walk ahead.
    Eleanor cast a glance toward Joshua, but he only shrugged. He was not helping in the least. She reined in her pique and went along with Lucy.
    “It’s been far too long, Ellie,” she said. “I cannot tell you how pleased I was to learn you’d arrived at the manor.”
    “I might have been pleased as well,” she said quietly, “but for my unexpected guest.”
    Lucy laughed, but did not look at Beckworth, who had come up behind them. “When did you become so direct in your speech?”
    “When I . . .” Eleanor shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    But she did. It had been the moment she’d made her decision to leave London rather than face the certainty of a disastrous marriage. Instead of going through with it and living with intolerable consequences, she’d acted upon her instincts and fled.
    “Your aunt is not quite so disapproving of me,” Beckworth said, and Eleanor felt her face heat.
    Eleanor snorted in a wholly unladylike manner. “Of course not, Duke. She believes a pedigree trumps all else.”
    “And what do you believe, Miss Easton?” he asked, coming up to walk beside her.
    “I believe that truth . . . truth and honor carry more weight than titles