The Duke ushered her out of the dining room without raising too many eyebrows, as far as Ellen could tell. Many of the other guests were finishing up their meals and beginning to gravitate towards the door, so Ellen and the Duke blended right in with the crowd. He brought her to an alcove near a window, and they sat down. Her mother, who noticed her leaving, kept an eye on the two of them, but was distant enough not to overhear what they were saying.
"My lady, I know that you are a great lover of walks."
"I am."
He needed a moment to gather his thoughts, leaving Ellen wondering. Finally he said, "Would you do me the honor of taking a jaunt around the pond on the north side of Evansfield tomorrow before breakfast? There is some fine walking to be had there."
It struck her as a strange request, especially as the Duke was known to be a late riser, but she agreed.
"Six o'clock?" he asked.
"I'll see you then."
The Duke rose and bowed, and she watched him stride up the staircase without a backward glance. Meanwhile the Marchioness made her way to her daughter and Ellen stared up from her perch.
"What did His Grace want?" she asked. Eager speculation gleamed in her eyes.
"He asked me if I wanted to take a walk with him before breakfast. I guess that way we can still get to Church on time. But it was a very odd request."
"See if you can find out if he plans to offer for Sophie."
Lordy. "Of course Mother. I live to serve."
Her mother scrunched up her nose in disgust. "Sarcasm does not become you, Ellen Regina Brightly."
Ellen laughed. "That's funny. I think it's my best color!"
Her mother shook her head then glided to the stairs. After a moment, Ellen did too.
The next morning, some dark clouds were rolling in, and that meant rain at some point. Not an auspicious day for a walk, but Ellen along with her lady's maid (as her chaperone) met Danbury in the hallway anyway. When she expressed misgivings about the weather, Danbury assured her it wouldn't rain until the afternoon, but offered her and Leah umbrellas just in case. Outside, they proceeded to walk through the gardens and the bowling green until they reached the open fields where a herd of deer were feeding. A couple of fauns frolicked and chased each other—an image she would remember for the next time she sat to compose a poem.
The three of them made a turn along an old stone wall that stretched to the north edge of the property, and after nearly an hour of tramping through the high grasses, the pond came into view. Reflecting the gray skies, the pond showed a placid surface except where a pair of sheep drank from it. The Duke, Leah, and Ellen made for a few benches on the east side, and sat down. Leah sat on the further bench, allowing her mistress and the Duke some privacy.
The temperature had dropped a bit without the sun shining, and Ellen was glad she had worn her spencer against the chill. She smiled at the Duke. "You've been quiet all through this entire peregrination."
Danbury laughed, sheepish. "I guess I'm still waking up."
"Was there something you wished to tell me, Your Grace?" Perhaps a little encouragement would spur him on.
"I noticed your disagreement with Hambidge yesterday."
Ah, so he had seen their spat. Well, why was she surprised? Everyone probably did. Not a day went by that Ellen didn't do something embarrassing, after all.
"A minor difference in our point of view," she assured him.
"May I ask the nature of this difference?"
How could she tell him about her scandalous—but delicious—rendezvous with the Earl? What would he think of her? More to the point, such a private matter between her and Ethan did not concern him. "A minor tiff. Practically negligible." She hoped God would not strike her down for the prevarication, especially on a Sunday. "Why do you want to know?"
"You know my feelings about Hambidge."
"I know you believe I could do better husband-wise, but that doesn't tell me much. Why have you such a poor opinion about him?"
He sighed. "What I am about to tell you is scandalous and reflects poorly on Hambidge but most especially on my father. I must ask you not to divulge anything that I say. May I have your word?"
Ellen nodded, and the Duke began. "Hambidge and my father went to school together at Eton then Cambridge. They were good friends who nevertheless chose to be rivals in any number of ways. They both fell in love with a beautiful young French woman named Dorothea Tremblay, daughter of the Marquis De Renault."
"Dorothea was the name of the Earl's wife who died," Ellen said. Oh dear. She thought she knew where this story was going.
He nodded and continued. Apparently, both men had somehow courted her unbeknownst to the other. The Earl of Hambidge discovered that Danbury's father was going to offer for Dorothea by sheer chance during a hand of hazard at one of the gambling hells they frequented.
"My father was often in his cups in those days, and gambled with profligacy. He routinely shared personal information that should not be shared, about investment intelligence, and romantic conquests, and any number of other things. Hambidge, his good friend, used the information to improve his lot in life, winning business contracts that my father had counted on."
"I see," Ellen said.
"Hambidge plied my father with more and more liquor that night until he was quite senseless with drink, and made bets that would have bankrupted the Dukedom. On one hand alone, my father lost £100,000 to Hambidge."
"My God!"
"But Hambidge was savvy, and he wanted Dorothea for himself, so he told my father he would dismiss the marker if my father would not offer for her. He could not afford to lose that money, so he gave up his happiness and conceded Dorothea."
It was quite the tale, and Ellen was shocked, both to hear about Hambidge's questionable behavior, and Danbury's father's rakish lifestyle.
"So Hambidge married Dorothea, and my father married my mother later that year. But he still loved Dorothea, and they carried on an affair behind Hambidge's and my mother's backs for a couple of years. When Hambidge discovered the betrayal, he demanded satisfaction."
"Oh no!" said Ellen. "Surely he did not kill your father?"
As it happened, Danbury explained that Hambidge had deliberately fired in order to graze the previous Duke, and honor was satisfied. But even then, the pull of Dorothea was too much for his father to resist, and they resumed their affair. But by then, Hambidge was no longer bedding his wife, so that when she turned up with child, Hambidge had known she had made him a cuckhold yet again. And he knew exactly who the father of Dorothea's baby was.
Hambidge did not call the Duke out a second time, nor did he cast his wife out of the household, however. In fact by all accounts, Hambidge was delighted with the coming baby, and his relationship with Dorothea improved. But Dorothea had already told the Duke that the baby was his, and though it would have brought a scandal to the Danbury name, and would have broken his wife's the Dutchess' heart, he wanted to bring the baby up as his own. And then Dorothea died during childbirth.
