Page 7 of Her Wily Duke

“Because she’s always so glad to see me. After all, since the old Duke died, and Lord Whitewell went to London, she has no-one but me, the household staff, and her brother the Duke to talk to… And whilst the Duke is kinder to her than anyone else, that does not give her much conversation, or entertainment. I think it’s sad. But I don’t quite know what I could do about it. There are very few other ladies anywhere near her age, and of her social class, within many miles of here. And…”

Emme’s voice trailed off, as she found herself unsure how to say what she saw as obvious. Her father set the paper down on the table and nodded.

“And most of the other nobility who have estates anywhere near here don’t choose to visit since the old Duke died. None of them find the current Duke at all… personable.”

Relieved that he understood, she nodded.

“That’s right. How can she meet other people, especially other young ladies who might become her friends, if no one will visit Foxridge Park anymore?

Her father sighed, looking very sad. She supposed that she looked just as sad when she contemplated poor Lady Caroline’s situation.

“Perhaps things will improve, now that Lord Whitewell has returned.”

Emme looked at him, shocked.

“Returned? Really! When?”

“Just last night, I’m told. A hired post chaise brought him, and his valet, as far as the Inn at Trenton, but the roads are so bad from there to here, that the postillion refused to take them the final distance. Mr Johnson told me when he brought me the paper – this morning, Mr Forbes from the livery stable got out two of his own horses and the little carriage, and sent his head coachman to take Lord Whitewell and his valet up to Foxridge Park. The coachman told him all about it, when he stopped in here in Foxridge Village on his way back to Trenton. It's shocking, it is, that the Duke didn’t send a carriage for his own brother! But at least that will give Lady Caroline someone more congenial to talk to…”

“That’s very true. I hope that it makes her happier.”

What Emme didn’t say was that she also hoped that it might make her own life a bit happier…

She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’d always found Lord Whitewell utterly charming – not that she’d met him, but she’d seen him from afar, and he was just the perfect picture of the handsome heroes who inhabited her daydreams…

Chapter Three

Adam was glad that he was a friend, however unusual a friendship it might be, of the livery stable owner in Trenton, who had heard from one of the grooms at the Inn that Adam had no way of getting home unless his brother or a member of the staff came to get him – which it seemed obvious they would not. The Inn grooms were gossiping with his own grooms, and all were shocked, even knowing well the Duke’s reputation, that he would be so discourteous to his own brother.

Mr Forbes had, therefore, sent Adam on his way with a couple of horses, a carriage, and a coachman to complete the journey. When Adam asked Mr Forbes to send him the bill, Mr Forbes waved that offer aside - Adam was known as generous and this inclined those around him to be generous in return.

Having stayed at the Inn overnight, and then lost some time with arrangements in the morning, as well as time well spent speaking to the innkeeper, the livery stable owner and others, when Adam and Walham finally arrived at Foxridge Park it was nearing twilight.

The household staff could not have known exactly when they would arrive, yet rumours suggesting probable times had been whispered amongst them, due to the letters which Adam had written in secret just before he departed London.

As a result, when Adam’s carriage was driven up to the front of Foxridge Park, they were greeted by rows of familiar faces, including Caroline’s lady’s maid, the Housekeeper / herbalist, the apothecary, the Cook, the footmen, the grooms — along with a comparable number of unfamiliar faces. But Wiggins was not present – the other staff informed him that, for the past hour, Wiggins had been distracting the Duke in his study so that he would not know that the entire house was preparing to welcome Lord Whitewell back home.

Having sent Mr Forbes’ coachman off to the stables, reacquainted himself with old friends and acquainted himself with new ones, Adam made his way, alone, upstairs to the second floor, where he stood for several minutes in the hallway listening to Frederick denying his need for Adam, to which statements Wiggins responded with admirable patience and grim courtesy.

“How did you get here?” asked Frederick, aghast, as Adam swept into the room, his travelling cloak lifting behind him like the wings of a large bat.

“You asked to see me,” said Adam. “Or did you not know that I appear whenever I’m summoned.”

Frederick blanched, as if to say that his brother had been home for all of about two minutes, and he was already nauseated by his brother’s jokes. He hated to be made a fool of, not realising that he needed no help to make that impression.

“This is most excellent, my Lord!” said Wiggins to Adam, buoyed by the return of his favourite Villiers brother. “With you here to manage things, there is nothing that can hurt us. The accounts will be settled. The estate’s budget will be brought back to heel!”

“Or none of that will happen,” said Frederick with a scowl. “Wiggins, you forget yourself. But I will overlook your impertinence this one time, in consideration of your past good service. However, I insist that you escort this man from the grounds at once.”

Adam stared at his brother, shocked. He had known that Frederick was self-serving, and did not take the suggestions of others well, but he had not thought that he might try to cast Adam from his home.

“Which would not be to your advantage,” said Adam, throwing a sharp glare at Wiggins when he tried to approach, his expression apologetic. Wiggins fell back. “Everyone who works here, and half of the people in the village, and in Trenton, already know that I have come home. You don’t want to be known as the Duke who threw his own brother out of his house the moment that he returned from London. For that is the story they will tell.”

“You always did think two steps ahead of me,” said Frederick, his expression surly and resentful.

Wiggins stood between the two brothers, his good eye darting rapidly back and forth from one to the other. Finally settling on the older of the brothers he spoke, less forcefully than his previous speech.

“If what Lord Whitewell says is true,” he said, “it might be unwise to send him out.”