Beautiful Barringtons 7 - The Desire of a Duchess by Ayers Kathleen

Author:Ayers, Kathleen [Ayers, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0BVPTKR4S
Published: 2023-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

15

Ellis wandered down the main street of Chiddon, amazed at the preparations for the upcoming festival. Seemed out of proportion given the population of Chiddon, but Gates had said the idea was to draw people to the village with the hopes they would wish to stay. A peddler’s wagon, complete with a dancing monkey and mountains of pots, pans, tools, and other household goods was set up at the end of the main street. Opposite sat a stall full of ribbons, lace, and other frippery. At another stall, a plump man, round like a ball of dough, manned a booth selling fresh-baked breads, tarts, and pastries.

Beatrice’s baker. Well, at least he’d have a mill close by now, thanks to Ellis. The building she’d had renovated for the baker’s use possessed fine glass windows at the front, perfect for the display of cakes and pies. Living quarters were above. The rent was minimal and set for two years.

Ellis nodded to the baker but continued on to the village green. The thought of the Duchess of Castlemare spoiled Ellis’s mood, as it had for the past week. He’d returned from their tour of the mill—and Beatrice coming apart for him—intending once more to return to London with all haste.

His trousers tightened immediately. Ellis couldn’t get the erotic picture of Beatrice’s pleasure at his hands from his mind. Her dismissal of him had done nothing but make Ellis want her more, if such a thing were possible.

What was he still doing in Chiddon? Buying mills for duchesses who would never—

She is only afraid.

Settling before the fire later that same day, with a tray brought to him by a morose Sykes, Blythe had finished the bottle of wine he’d meant to enjoy with Beatrice. It was the talk of London and Estwood which had altered her mood toward Ellis. They had only danced around the carriage accident when Ellis should have bluntly confronted her, told her that he knew. Untied the damnable ribbon holding her hair and forced Beatrice to confront that which terrified her. Coddling her had been a mistake as it had given her too much time to conjure up a host of absurd reasons for his pursuit.

I couldn’t just find a nice farmer’s wife to tup.

“Ho there, my lord.”

Gates, red-faced in the late afternoon heat, waved from a long table. The owner of The Pickled Duck presided over a makeshift bar, handing out mugs of ale and cider. Several wooden casks were being taken to the village square by a pair of sturdy lads, muscles straining under the weight. Two young boys ran back and forth filling mugs, but there was no collection of coin. Refreshments, Ellis recalled Gates saying, were courtesy of the Duchess of Castlemare.

More of Beatrice’s bloody benevolence. She had it in abundance for everyone but Blythe.

“I worried that your lordship had returned to London before the festival,” Gates said. “Perhaps the good vicar’s sermon had driven you off. Or perhaps the vicar in general.”

Farthing’s ambition was a poorly kept secret in Chiddon.

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