Page 4 of Her Wily Duke

“And yet I have been spared,” said Emme in a perplexed tone. “I have a theory as to why. I think, perhaps, that he’s not so fearsome as his reputation suggests, or as he wishes to imply. Certainly, he has humiliated footmen and maids in my presence, but always with an elaborate show as though trying to impress me. Yet he has never shown the least hint of unkindness to me or to his sister.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Emme tugged at her loose hair thoughtfully, becoming aware of the action as she did it, and stopping herself, for she knew that it was a gesture which reminded her father of his late wife.

It was a difficult question to answer – for how did one ever really work out why a person did something?

“I think,” she said in a hesitant voice, “perhaps, that it is because he genuinely cares about Lady Caroline and her education. He has been most insistent that she receive the best schooling available. It was almost charming to see the attention which he lavished upon her, the diligence with which he interviewed me, when he has shown no such care for any other living creature. I think it means that, whatever he says to the contrary, his heart is not made entirely of stone. There is one other person on this earth that he loves.”

*****

Benjamin Mowatt held serious doubts as to the likelihood that what Emme suggested was true, but he did not speak them aloud. Let her hold hope for even one as degenerate as the Duke appeared to have become – he would not have her heart and mind tarnished by the worst of the world just yet, although he knew that he could not protect her forever.

*****

The Inn at Trenton was a welcome sight, even if there was no sign of a carriage from Foxridge Park. Adam sighed, and turned to the postillion on their hired chaise.

“For an extra payment, can you see your way to taking us the last ten miles to Foxridge Park?”

The man hesitated, obviously tempted by the thought of money, then shook his head.

“I can’t, my Lord. The horses are done in, and if I took you out there, it’s twenty miles for them on that rough local road, before they can rest, for I’d need to come back here. And it’s nearing dark. I’m due back in London tomorrow afternoon, as well.”

Adam sighed again, not really surprised, and turned back to Walham, who stood beside the pile of their luggage which the Inn’s footman had just unloaded for them.

“We’d best take a room for the night then, and see about arranging ourselves transport out to Foxridge Park in the morning. After all, perhaps, by a miracle, Frederick will send someone for us. I’ll send him a message with one of the Inn grooms, to remind him that I’m here.”

Walham nodded, and went into the Inn, soon returning with the Innkeeper and two other footmen, who carried off their trunks. The Innkeeper smiled at them, a little sadly.

“It’s good to see you back, my Lord. You’ve been missed. Things here are… not so good. Far be it from me to speak ill of my betters, but… the new Duke… He’s… not the man your father was, shall we say.”

Adam nodded, and allowed the man to talk, as he seemed to want to. As, he discovered, half the town did, once the word passed around that he was back. He spent the evening in the tap room, speaking to whoever wanted his time, and in the process arranging a way to get to Foxridge Park in the morning, even as he heard an ever-worsening litany of sorrows, all caused by his brother’s unreasonable behaviour. Behaviour which he doubted would change, without something drastic happening. He mulled over that concept, listening at the same time, and considering what he might be able to do to help these people, who were Foxridge Park’s tenants.

By the end of the night, he had a plan – well, two plans really – one which he would undertake obviously, and hopefully with his brother’s co-operation, and the other which he would fall back on, if everything else failed. He wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to enact that second plan, but he suspected that he might have no choice. They went up to rest, late, and Adam lay in his bed, mulling over the state of things, until exhaustion drew him into dreams.

Chapter Two

His Grace Frederick Villiers, Duke of Foxridge, was seated in his study. Through the window behind him, it could be seen that the sun was setting, throwing splashes of pink light on the desk before him. On top of the desk sat an open lamp, a ceramic bowl in which a wick floated like a drowning sailor - he reached for a match to light it. He was at once thin and round shouldered, with arms which were scrawny, for all their encasement in fine linen.

Frederick held up a sheet of brownish paper to the dim light. It was postmarked from London two days previously. Adam was known for being a prolific writer, his words running in a thin scrawl all the way down the page and wedged into the margins, although he at least saved his correspondents’ eyes by not indulging in crossing his letters to save on postage costs. But the brevity of this message was unusual.

It said only, ‘Coming up by hired post chaise. Expect to arrive at the Trenton Inn by nightfall on the day you receive this letter. Send a servant to fetch me.’

The letter was unsigned, but he knew the writing well.

Frederick set the letter down with a look of great impatience.

“Wiggins!” he cried.

There was an echo of footsteps in the hallway and a servant of average height, dressed all in black, strode into the room. Wiggins, the long-time butler of Foxridge Park, was older than the Duke, but of considerably more vigour.

“My brother is on his way home,” said Frederick. “Did you know about this?”

“I just learned the news, Your Grace,” said Wiggins, “having just received a letter myself.”

Frederick frowned, as if wondering why his brother was writing letters to multiple people in the same house.

“This was sent yesterday,” he said aloud. “The roads from London are dangerous. Perhaps he didn’t make it.”