Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) (16 page)

“Once we were friends, or so I thought. He was competitive and loved to be the center of attention. I still don’t understand why he did it, but I suspect he was jealous because a woman he coveted who had set her sights on me. It rankled with him, coming second and he wanted to teach me a lesson.”

“Are men truly that cruel?”

“Not all men, just Devlin.” Huntley looked in Eulogy’s eyes, brown and sincere. With effort he tore his gaze away. How easy to forget that Miss Foster harbored secrets…just like all women.

“I have told you of my past, now what of yours?” Call it a test, let her return his trust and confide in him. But at her stillness, a chill gripped his heart.

Miss Foster turned white and clutched the side of the barouche, speaking in a choked whisper.

“I made a promise,” she said and hung her head, “that I cannot break.”

Huntley welcomed the pain. It confirmed he was right to doubtful. He had confessed his shame and she had given him nothing in return. So be it. Lack of breeding was one thing, but secrets quite another.

“Drive on!”

Now all he had to do was convince his heart of what his head already knew, and forget Miss Foster.

Chapter 13

A dandelion seed drifted in through the studio window. Eulogy watched its dawdling path, spiraling on a feathery parachute across the room until it alighted on her sleeve. Her world contracted into that one seed; how it had voyaged so far, only to fall on fallow ground. For a moment Eulogy allowed her weighted lids to close over burning eyes and shutter out the pain. Inhaling the comforting smell of oil paint, she forced herself to keep still.

“Are you all right, Mauvoreen?” Farrell peered around the canvas.

“A little stiff, that’s all.”

“Shall we stop?”

“Oh no, the light won’t hold much longer, please carry on.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

The artist’s head disappeared back behind the easel.

“This picture needs finished this week, and wi’ Mr. Huntley hisself expected soon, I want him to see progress.”

Eulogy’s pulse accelerated. “He’s coming here? Today?”

“You’ve gone pale, Mauvoreen, take a break.”

“No, no, continue. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

Farrell’s disembodied voice lilted from behind the easel. “Aye, well it seems the worst of the heat is over thank goodness. Who’d have thought it would last so long, wi’ September half done.”

“And your exhibition opening in October.” At the unexpected boom of Huntley’s voice, Eulogy’s eyes flew open.

The artist grinned and made to greet their visitor, but Huntley raised his arms in mock alarm at Farrell’s paint stained hands.

“My valet would have me forgo the handshake, if it’s all the same to you.” Huntley laughed. “So, how does the final piece progress? I hope it’s worth the wait.”

“Aye, it is. See for yourself.”

Huntley disappeared behind the canvas Eulogy fought to calm her jangling nerves. She heard an exclamation of surprise, and the sound of shoulders being slapped.

“Magnificent! What can I say? Magnificent. Your best work to date.”

Beaming, Huntley stepped around the easel. Still holding the pose, Miss Foster avoided his gaze.

“Mauvoreen, we will finish for the day.”

Free to move at last, her muscles ached from dis-use. Eulogy wriggled her shoulders, arched her back and cautiously rolled her neck. She felt a stab of panic as Huntley crossed the room, his eyes bright as he watched her stretch and flex. He reached out to help her down, the touch of his hand on hers made her melt inside. She could avoid him no longer.

“Miss Foster?” His unblinking moss-green eyes held her. “Miss Foster, you work too hard. Why I have barely seen you these past three weeks. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

Eulogy smiled weakly. How could she speak when it was the truth? She knew she had let him down, that time at Gunter’s. He’d trusted her and expected her confidence in return. She couldn’t break her promise to Devlin and besides, since Huntley hated Devlin might he not hate her to, if he knew her secret?

“Is something wrong?” Huntley squeezed her hand. She pulled it away.

“Mr. Farrell needed me,” she said, dropping her gaze.

“But so pale.” With unmistakable tenderness his hand strayed across her cheek, leaving Eulogy unable to breath. Huntley rounded on Farrell.

“This simply won’t do. Miss Foster has been cooped up for too long and needs fresh air.”

“I asked her to take a break.”

“Then you should have insisted.”

“You talk as if I’m not here,” Eulogy interjected. “The painting needed to be finished.”

“Yes, well now it is nearly done. Farrell, you can fill in the background and such without Miss Foster can’t you?”

“Well, yes.” Farrell stuttered.

“Good, that’s settled then. Tomorrow afternoon, four p.m. sharp. I shall expect Miss Foster to be waiting.”

“For what?” Perplexed by his high handedness, her voice caught.

“To go for a drive in Hyde Park.”

Before she could object, Huntley turned back to Farrell. “Now, you can see the sense can’t you? A faded model is no good to you.”

“Yes, but only if Miss Foster agrees.”

 Eulogy found herself nodding.

Huntley departed, as suddenly as he’d arrived and Eulogy sank back down onto the dais. Farrell regarded her, knowingly.

“He cares for you, but doesn’t think you feel the same.”

“I’m content as I am.”

Farrell frowned, regarding her as someone who has missed the obvious. “Why do you think he came here today?”

“To discuss the exhibition.”

“No! He came because he can’t keep away. He came because he had to see you Mauvoreen, sometimes you have to take a chance.”

“Perhaps…perhaps.”

The following afternoon, with Farrell’s encouragement and against her better judgement, Eulogy allowed Jack Huntley to escort her to his high-perch phaeton.

“Is it safe?” Eulogy fingered her pelisse nervously. “I hadn’t thought it would be that high.”

Indeed, the buggy stood taller than she and rocked atop huge wheels as the horses fidgeted in the traces. She glanced at Huntley for reassurance, but in skin tight breeches and polished hessians, he looked every bit as dangerous as the carriage.

Huntley laughed good-naturedly. “The horses need an airing that’s all. They’ll settle once we get going.”

Half-heartedly, Miss Foster inspected the fine craftsmanship and rich paintwork.

“It is a beautiful carriage.”

“Wonderful isn’t she? Once Thor and Odin get used to the new rig, I’ll wager she’ll be the fastest in town.”

“I’m not good with heights.” Eulogy looked doubtfully at the waist high step.

“Nonsense.” Huntley’s strong hands circled her waist, boosting her up like a child. She gripped the rail for dear life and pulled herself onto the bench. The phaeton bucked as Huntley sprang up and the carriage tipped alarmingly.

 Huntley’s thigh squeezed against hers on the narrow bench and, proud as a king, he took up the ribbons.

“Oh my.” She stared longingly at the ground below.

“Ready?”

Eulogy nodded weakly.

“Then you are in for a rare treat.” Jack threw her a grin that made her insides melt. “There’s nothing to fear.”

Feeling the tension ease on the bit, the matched greys sprang forward. They took a route to avoid St Giles, Huntley struck north, executing a series of sharp turns to emerge into Oxford Street where the straight road was a merciful relief. Surprisingly, Eulogy found some comfort in being head and shoulders above the traffic as they turned south along Regent Street into Piccadilly, and then Hyde Park hove into sight.

They entered the park; the late blooming roses perfumed the air. Jack sat back, whistling, as they gained the sandy path. Almost overnight the horse chestnut trees seemed autumnal and conker cases lay scattered like thorny confetti. Eulogy drank in a deep breath of cool air and forced the tension fall from her shoulders.

Jack threw her a quick smile. “Now for some fun.”

“We’re so high up,” she repeated, still feeling faintly sick.

“It strange at first, but you’ll soon get used to it.”

Jack’s confidence was infectious and despite being balanced atop what felt like a fairground ride, she managed a smile. The horses stretched out at the trot, their effortless momentum unlike anything she’d experienced before. The light chariot built for speed, just a narrow bench, a thin rail and Jack to hold her in place.

“The park’s not so busy in the little Season.”

Jack acknowledged a passing carriage; it occurred to Eulogy that by escorting her in public, unchaperoned, Huntley would fuel the rumor mill.

“Over there,” Jack nodded to a landau with a gilt insignia. “The Earl of Onslow…and there…” He indicated another high phaeton with a woman, looking every bit as scared as Eulogy. “The new Duke of Hexham and his betrothed.”

“Being seen together like this, don’t you mind?”

“Mind?” Jack’s green-gold eyes searched her face. “When it comes to you, I’m past caring what people think.”

“Oh?” But before she could quiz him further, the greys lilted into a canter. The wind rustling her curls and with Jack warming her side, she started to enjoy herself.

Then the carriage jolted over a pot hole, bouncing Eulogy into the air. With a squeak she grasped Jack’s arm. Throwing his head back he laughed and his arm snaked around her waist.

“Have no fear. I’ve got you.”

Eulogy was beginning to appreciate the benefit of phaeton travel as she snuggled into his reassuring bulk.

“I’m not a ninny you know. It’s just that I’ve never ridden in anything so daring before.”

A lingering smile wavered on his lips. “Well get used to it because now Farrell’s pictures are finished, your excuses have run out.”

Eulogy’s heart skipped a beat. What could he mean?

The end of the sandy track was fast approaching. Jack leant back, reining in the greys, slowing to a trot then a fast walk. Ears pricked forward the horses whinnied, still fresh for more.

“Now. How did you enjoy that Miss Foster?”

She beamed with genuine exhilaration. “Wonderful.”

 His grip tightened round her waist, she felt the jerky rise and fall of his chest.

 “Let’s walk for a while”

“I would like that.”

“Now Odin and Thor have shaken out the cobwebs, they can wait for their gallop.”

Eulogy’s hand flew to her throat, “I hadn’t imagined galloping.”

“Don’t worry, I’m only joking. It’s not allowed in the park.” Jack’s voice rumbled low and Eulogy melted afresh. But before Eulogy could argue, the horses took matters to their own account, snatched at the bit… and bolted. The phaeton flew forward with such force that Eulogy almost tipped off backwards. Jack clung to her, heaving her into the carriage whilst grappling with the ribbons.

With shocking speed the phaeton swooped and bounced along the track. Eulogy’s bonnet fell across her eyes and the wind ripped it from her throat. Air suffocated her with its smothering weight; she struggled to breath. Thundering hooves filled her senses. Trees passed in a blur. Terrified, she clung to the swaying seat.

Carriages and riders dived for cover. Men shouted and women screamed around them. Jack wrestled, tendons taut as the reins cut into his gloved hands. Braced against the footboard, Huntley hauled on the reins. A glance at Jack’s leaden face left her chilled. His lips pressed in a taut line, a snake of blood coiled from the cut above his eye. Muscles taut with effort he attempted to rein in the bolting horses.

Oiled black hooves ate up the sands, closing the distance to the turn at the end of the track. Silver manes tossed out behind, like foamy crests on a stormy sea. Strong legs pounded relentlessly amidst a chaos of sand and sweat.

Beyond fear, Eulogy closed her eyes and prayed that they would stop before the end of the Row.

With a reverberating crunch, the world swung upside down. Wood splintered. Horses squealed. And Eulogy sailed through nothingness. Time slowed….airborne forever, and then, suddenly, the ground broke her fall. Jarring, rolling, jolting, a searing pain in her shoulder and back. She bumped along the sandy track like a rag doll.

Briefly, she lost consciousness and when she came too, her lungs burnt with gasping pain. She heard groaning and realized it was her.

“Lie still.”

Eulogy felt disinclined to argue. Her head cradled against a wide chest, she felt strangely safe. The disembodied voice crooned words of comfort as stabbing pains shot through her chest.