The Reluctant Duke (Love's Pride Book 1) (3 page)

“I will take care of everything, and we will ensure he knows that he is welcome at Brookshire.”

“Thank you, Miss Harding, I knew you would take care of things.”

She left the room sighing. It seemed that the earlier incident had been put behind them. Now if only she could get through the night without disturbing dreams.

The Duke of Bathurst drove his own wagon into the village later that morning. Even as a Major he wouldn’t have driven his a wagon. The idea of a Duke driving was preposterous. Stableman Jack, however, had to be older than Sir Raleigh’s coat, and Goodwin couldn’t have driven if his life depended on it.

Besides, Thomas was enjoying himself atop the wagon box the reins between his fingers. It was one of those bright blue mornings English summers are known for. The air smelled of life, clean and free of corruption.

Thomas pulled up on a short hill overlooking the small village. Like any commander. He preferred to see the ground before any battle. This is your valley; he thought as he looked out over the rolling green fields. You may not own it all, but you are responsible for these people.

His insides knotted up when he realized there were at least a dozen such places throughout Great Britain that he was responsible for.

The village located next to a stream in the center of the valley contained almost fifty buildings including two public houses, a few merchants, the blacksmiths, and the butchers shop. Outside of the village the large gray mill stood like a sentinel. It reminded him of dozens of villages in Portugal only with greener fields and no soldiers anywhere in sight, bucolic in its simple appearance.

He smiled, as his insides relaxed. This is what you were fighting for. Not the London streets, or parliament’s proclamations. Nor all the high lords and ladies.

Protecting these simple people in this picturesque setting. Keeping it safe from “Bonnie” and his conquering horde. Ensuring the people did not experience the terror and pain that had swept across Europe from Moscow to Madrid.

Was it worth it he wondered? Faces danced through his mind; a young soldier shot in the gut, an old woman holding the lifeless body of a young girl next to a bombed out building. And so many more. Sighing to himself, he looked across the valley. Damn right it had been worth it.

Flicking the reins, he started the horse on his way.

Pulling into the “Lion’s Den” he turned the wagon over to a hostler, informing him that he’d be back for it in a few hours.

Stepping into the public-house, he made his way to the tap. The main room was dark with only a few candles burning and a weak light peeking through the greasy windows. The room smelled of wood, men, and last night’s dinner.

Sitting at a wobbly table, two older men, obviously farmers, watched him as he entered the room. A very large bartender wiped down one of the tables. Seeing the new customer, the large man made his way to the tap and asked, “What will it be Sir?”

“I’ll take ale, my good man, in fact, one for yourself and the two gentlemen,” Thomas said, placing a silver coin on the bar.

The bar tender’s eyes grew big in surprise. Obviously people weren’t in the habit of buying him drinks, especially people he didn’t know. But that didn’t stop him from quickly drawing four pints, placing one before the gentleman, then delivering the others.

Thomas raised his ale, acknowledging their thanks.

“To whom do we address our thanks, sir?” One of the old men asked?

“Bathurst, the new Duke,” he answered.

Both of the men froze in place, their mouths open in shock; you could have knocked them over with a feather. The old Duke wouldn’t have been found dead in this place and had never bought a drink for another man in his life.

The Inn Keeper was the first to recover; raising his mug he said, “Welcome home, Your Grace.” The others joined him in the toast.

“Thank you,” The new Duke said finishing his ale and then put another silver coin on the bar, more than ten times what he owed. He knew the story would quickly spread that the new Duke was back and had blunt to spare. He turned to leave, then stopped and pulled out a packet of letters.

“Can these be put on a mail coach?” He asked.

“Yes Your Grace, Of course.”

Placing the letters on the bar, he laid another silver coin on top.

“Thank you, gentleman, Good day to you,” he said, nodded, and left.

The village buildings were made of flat field stone and topped by either wood or in a few cases by thatch. They lined either side of the single road, and each seemed to have a small garden or chicken coop behind.

The butcher shop was apparent from the hanging signboard that said simply “Butcher.”

The Duke of Bathurst was overwhelmed by the smell of blood and smoked meat as he entered the small shop. Scenes from a Spanish battlefield flashed into his mind along with the explosions of cannon and the screams of men.

The gore and stink made his inside rumble with rebellion. One of the benefits of being a Duke he thought as he pulled himself back to reality would be avoiding this place in the future.

“Are you the butcher?” he asked the small man wrestling a boars head to the table.

The man looked at his new customer. “Yes,” he answered hesitantly.

“I wish to take care of the bill for Brookshire.”

The butcher was obviously surprised but quick to recover. Wiping his hands on his bloody apron; he grabbed a large book off a shelf.

“I see the new Duke finally decided to take care of his responsibilities.”

The sanctimonious attitude bothered Thomas. Taking out two gold crowns from his pocket he tossed them onto the book.

“I assume that’ll cover the bill? With enough left over to cover anything that Cook will need.”

The look of incredulity on the butcher’s face was priceless.

“Please send up some hams and sausages to the Lion’s Den and put them into my wagon.” He turned to leave.

“Who should I said paid,” the butcher said, “For the book you know.”

“Bathurst,” he said with disdain as he left. He didn’t even bother to see the shocked face of the butcher.

Visiting each of the merchants he ensured all bills were taken care of and enough left to cover future needs. At least until he could get a business agent and or secretary to handle these types of things.

Once the merchants were done, he stopped at the church and introduced himself to the vicar. Surprised to find someone so young and intelligent. His experience with vicars, while not extensive, had run to the old and stern variety. Not someone who looked like he should still be in school.

Seeing his reaction, the vicar held out his hand, “Mr. Moore, Your Grace. And yes I am the vicar and not a choir boy” he said with a smile.

“Mr. Moore, I see the news of my arrival to Brookshire has spread.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Tom Hollis is our version of the town crier. You had no sooner left the ‘Lion’s Den’ than the word spread quicker than the plague. I can only wish I had such a rapt audience on Sunday. Your arrival is probably the biggest news since the old Duke passed. I must say, you have created quite a stir. It is not every day that we see a Duke driving his own wagon into town.”

Thomas laughed. “It seems that I have found the Brookshire staff a little short at the moment. “

The two men spent a few minutes getting acquainted. Liking the man, he invited the Vicar to dinner on the coming Saturday. That would give his diminished staff enough time to get things into working order.

Mr. Moore said that he looked forward to seeing him in church on Sunday. Thomas cringed inside. Church was a waste of time, something he no longer had. A man was going to either Heaven or Hell based upon his actions throughout the week, not because he attended a meeting on Sunday.

He knew the importance of appearances, however. So he reluctantly confirmed he’d be there on Sunday, knowing it would give everyone in the village an opportunity to see the new Duke.

Most of these people had never traveled out of the district. Their entire lives revolved around this village, their families and Brookshire were forever entangled.

To a large extent, the congregation would be made up of either his tenants or merchants whose livelihood relied upon him and his tenants. They’d want to see him and try to determine what impact he’d be having upon their village. Another of those responsibilities that were beginning to feel like an anvil tied around his neck.

He bade the Vicar farewell and made his way back through the village retrieving the loaded wagon from the inn and pulling out onto the road back to Brookshire. He’d made sure to purchase something from each of the merchants, including some dress fabric from the milliner. What he was going to do with dress fabric he had no idea, but it was important that each of the shops had benefited from his arrival.

Of course, the fact that the cloth was the same color as Miss Harding’s eyes had no impact on his decision. None what so ever.

Retrieving the wagon, he started the horse back up the long hill to Brookshire. He’d only traveled a few hundred yards when he saw the woman filling his thoughts walking down the middle of the road, carrying an empty basket and looking at the dusty path lost in thought. He pulled up the horse and waited for her to notice his presence.

“Hello Miss Harding”

She looked up surprised. “Your Grace,” she said and curtsied. Her eyes had grown big as a pretty flush touched her cheeks.

“What are you doing here? Running away already?” he teased.

“Hoping to talk the butcher into providing your dinner,” she answered, and then remembering who she was talking too, blushed.

He smiled and pointed to the back of the wagon, “I believe this will take care of dinner, and much more.” He studied her for a moment; she was so innocent, purity in motion. The walk had placed a tantalizing rosy glow to her cheeks, and those striking eyes were alight. Lighter in color today, almost mirroring the crisp blue sky above.

“Would you like a ride back to Brookshire?”

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to jump down and help her into the wagon. His leg cringed in anticipation of the effort of getting down and then back up into the wagon.

Before he could act she was up on the vehicle, smoothing out her dress as she sat on the bench seat of the wagon. She looked over at him with a raised eyebrow as if asking what? You expected a helpless female, didn’t you?

Shaking his head, he flicked the reins. How does a Duke talk to a woman like her he wondered? A servant but so much more. Why even bother.
Because you want to impress her you idiot.
While that was definitely true, it was also very true that he’d just scare her away.

A woman like this had probably been fighting against unwanted advances from her employers for years. The last thing she needed was to be bothered by another boorish oaf pestering her with attention. But God, it was hard not to.

Has there ever been such a beautiful, innocent woman, someone so full of life? Just looking at her made him want to smile. Thoughts of bloody battlefields and Ducal responsibilities melted away.

A strong desire to know everything about her washed through him. What is she doing here, where’d she come from, and what did she think of Brookshire? What did she think of him?

“Nice weather isn’t it,” he said, God, how inane.

“Yes, Your Grace. It is very pleasant.”

Why is it, when one of his young soldiers called him sir, it affirmed that he was in charge. However, when this pretty young woman called him Your Grace, it just made him feel old and decrepit.

This is preposterous. He’d faced canons and bayonet charges. He’d led tough, grizzled veterans against an experienced and terrifying enemy. Nothing should trouble him, yet he felt out of place. He didn’t know the rules, didn’t know what was expected of him.

Let’s be honest, he thought, he knew what was expected, and he knew the rules, he just didn’t like them.

Focus on making Brookshire and all of his holding successful he thought. Remember you have thousands of tenants and hundreds of retainers depending upon your actions.

The silence between them returned, not as tense or unnerving as before, but still there between them like a dead fish on the parlor floor.

The horse slowly made its way up the narrow path. Normally Thomas would have been getting impatient with the plodding pace. There were too many things that needed to get done, too many problems that needed to be solved. He shouldn’t be wasting time like this. But he smiled to himself, he was enjoying the drive, there was something about sitting next to a pretty girl who smelled of lilacs and roses. It just seemed to comfort him.

“I need to stop at a tenant’s farm, I believe we turn to the left up ahead, and they are just down a short way,” he said. “It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. I do hope that won’t be a problem.” Again, why was he explaining himself to a servant! But then you don’t see her as a servant, do you Thomas.

He turned down the road and a few minutes later brought the wagon to a halt in front of a small cottage. He steeled himself for what he must do.

It was important to be strict he reminded himself. He couldn’t afford people thinking they could get one over on the new Duke, and the Rifes had been getting one over for years. It was better for everyone to know that he had high standards. He could always relax later, but under no circumstances could people ignore their rents, the whole system was dependent upon them.