Duke's Folly

by Melinda Hammond

  A lively discussion followed until it was agreed that Perry should call at nine the next day. He had wondered if that was too early, but Monsieur Coutras had insisted that they were all early risers, and to leave it any later would mean too great a delay to his journey. Having reached an agreement, Perry sat back and drank his tea. It meant he might not reach Cullenmore until dark, but no matter.

  Perry arrived at the castle the following morning to find Monsieur Coutras waiting for him with Hugh and Armand, but there was no sign of Sophie. He dearly wished to enquire after her, but with an effort he refrained.

  'We have kept the hens in,' Armand told him, 'so that we do not have to worry about them escaping through the gates.'

  They all stood around, admiring Dulcie, his mare, then Monsieur Coutras excused himself.

  'I hope you do not object if I leave you with my sons,' he said, eyeing him anxiously. 'I have been struggling with a passage in my book, and during the night the solution came to me. I want to commit it to paper before I forget.'

  Having assured himself that Perry was happy to be left with the boys he went off. They watched him disappear through the tower door, then Hugh turned back to the mare.

  'Are you sure you do not mind if I ride her, sir? I will take care of her, I give you my word, but I thought you might have brought your groom, to accompany me.'

  'No, no, I left Wragg packing up our things at the inn. I shall watch you ride up and down the lane a few times and if I am satisfied you know what you are doing them you may take her a little farther.'

  'Thank you, sir!'

  Armand was kicking at the ground with one toe, and Perry realised this was not much of a treat for him.

  'Perhaps you would like to saddle up your own horse and go with him,' he suggested. 'Just to make sure they come to no harm.'

  'Oh no need to worry about that,' the boy looked up and gave him a strained little smile. 'Hugh has an excellent seat.'

  Hugh met Perry's eyes then touched his brother's shoulder. 'Thank you, Armand. But I should be glad of your company, you know.'

  Armand's face lit up. 'Truly?'

  Hugh grinned at him. 'Yes, truly. Come along, I will help you to saddle up Hercules. That is…'

  'Yes, yes,' said Perry. 'Off you go. I will walk Dulcie until you are ready.'

  The boys ran off to the stable, and in a very short time reappeared with the Welsh cob saddled and ready to go. Perry stood back and watched Hugh mount up on the hunter, observing him closely as he walked the horse around the yard and trotted out across the wooden bridge.

  'You are right, Armand, he looks to have a very good seat. Come along, we'd better go outside.' He walked beside the cob and they had crossed the bridge by the time Hugh came trotting back. 'You appear to be quite at home, so off you go and try out her paces.'

  Hugh flushed, a beaming smile spreading over his face. 'I will, sir, thank you. We won't go too far, you have my word. Come along, Armand, follow me, and keep up if you can!'

  Perry watched them ride off, the Welsh cob trotting gamely along behind the long-legged hunter.

  'I did not realise both boys were riding out.'

  Sophie's soft voice at his shoulder made him turn. She was wearing a pale blue gown that emphasised the deep cornflower colour of her eyes and she had a faded cashmere shawl wrapped about her shoulders.

  Perry smiled at her. 'Armand is happier riding after his brother than standing around here with me.'

  'May I offer you a little refreshment, sir?'

  'Thank you, but I would much rather stay out of doors on such a sunny day. Perhaps you would show me around your gardens?' He looked toward the stables. 'Your man will tell the boys where we are, if they come back early.'

  'The land is mostly put to vegetables,' she told him. 'There cannot be much there to interest a gentleman.'

  'A gentleman must eat, like anyone else.'

  She chuckled at that. 'Very true.'

  He held out his arm. 'So, will you show me?'

  With a faint smile and an inclination of the head she slipped her hand onto his arm and they made their way back through the hall and out of the door leading to the gardens. The sun was beating down and felt warmer here, on the southern side of the castle. Sophie led him to what she called the kitchen garden, where gravelled paths had been laid between the beds.

  'We grow as much food as we can here,' she explained. 'Papa has a real talent for growing plants and enjoys it very much, when he can spare the time from his books. We all help him, too.' She pointed. 'Over there is the herb garden, which I planted, if you would like to see it.' She led him to the small area enclosed by hedges. 'It was originally a rose garden, but herbs are far more useful.'

  Perry nodded. Within the shelter of the tall hedge he could smell lavender, rosemary, sage and mint as they walked between the plants.

  'But flowers,' he said suddenly. 'Do you have no flowers here?'

  'We grow a few, over there beyond the hedge, but most of our efforts go into growing fruit and vegetables.'

  He thought of her toiling out here with her father and brothers, hoeing out the weeds and gathering in food for the table. It was a world away from his own life and Cullenmore, the acres of parkland, lakes and shrubberies tended by dozens of servants.

  'What about you?' she asked him. 'Does your house stand in large gardens?'

  'They are sufficient,' he said warily. 'The kitchen garden is similar to the one here, it provides most of the produce we need.'

  But his mind was far from kitchen gardens. He was thinking of how he would like to show Sophie the rose garden at Cullenmore, where on a summer night the scent was so heavy you could almost touch it. He wanted to walk with her there, under the stars, breathing in the heady, intoxicating perfume. She might lean closer, then they would stop and turn towards each other and he would pull her gently into his arms and kiss her.

  No!

  He had no wish to flirt with Sophie. He tried to tell himself he did not want to kiss her, but honesty compelled him to admit that was just what he wanted. Perry halted, appalled at his wayward thoughts. Then he realised that Sophie had released his arm and was looking up at him, her blue eyes dark with anxiety.

  'Is anything wrong, sir, are you ill?'

  It was a supreme effort to compose himself, to smile and tell her he was perfectly well. A movement on the far bank caught his eyes and he said in relief, 'The boys are coming back. We had best go and meet them.'

  They turned and went back to the courtyard in silence, walking side by side but never touching. Something had changed, thought Sophie as she led the way back through the great hall and out into the courtyard. They had been getting on famously, looking around the gardens, then Perry had stopped, and there had been such a look of horror on his face that she had been seriously alarmed. Had she said something wrong?

  Her heart skittered in her chest at the thought that he was displeased with her, then she told herself not to be so silly. In a few moments he would be gone, and they would probably never meet again. For one frightening moment Sophie felt a sudden urge to cry. That would never do. She stepped away from Perry.

  'I will go and fetch Father. He will want to say goodbye to you.' She fled into the tower, but with one foot on the first of the spiral stairs she stopped and put her forehead against the cold, rough stone wall. How foolish of her. She was behaving like a silly schoolgirl. The sooner Mr Peregrine Wyre was removed from Hyndmarsh the better.

  Taking a steadying breath, she mounted the stairs and informed her father that Mr Wyre was about to take his leave.

  'Then I shall come down immediately.' He put down his pen and walked to the door. He looked back. 'Sophie, are you coming?'

  'No.' she shook her head. 'There is no need for us all to be there. I shall stay here.' Her father looked slightly surprised, but did not say anything and went out, leaving Sophie alone.

  The tower room was chill after the warmth of the sunshine outside and she pulled her shawl closer and hugged
herself, the rough skin on her hands catching on the smooth cashmere. It was a timely reminder of how dangerous it would be to allow herself to daydream about a man like Peregrine Wyre. She looked around her at the familiar muddle of books and papers. This was her life, she told herself. Clearing up after Papa, who would allow no one else to clean this room, helping him with his work or in the garden when her household duties would allow. She should not repine, she had more than enough to do here. She must put her dreams away and be sensible.

  She walked closer to the window and watched as a tall figure on a rangy bay horse cantered away from the castle. There was a layer of dust on the windowsill, so it was time she came up here again and cleaned it up. Perhaps she would do it this afternoon. It might take her mind off Other Things.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Peregrine's bedroom overlooked the rose garden at Cullenmore house. His grandmother had redesigned the grounds, and it was maintained by an army of minions under the watchful eye of the aged head gardener, who had worked at Cullenmore all his life and was devoted to the family. Perry stood by the window, looking down at the bushes which were in full bloom. It was high summer and the colourful flowers ranged from the palest cream through yellow, orange and red to the deepest lilac. He thought how much Sophie would like it.

  He pushed the thought aside. He had been back at Cullenmore for more than two months and it was time he forgot about that little episode. Especially today. He squared his shoulders. Today, he was off to Dulverton House, the home of Lady Honoria Flintley.

  However, as he drove his curricle with its pair of spirited greys in harness through the winding lanes towards Dulverton House, he could not stop his mind from going back over the two days he had spent at Hyndmarsh. He had returned to Cullenmore and asked Rafford for details of the castle in Hyndmarsh Lake.

  'Ah.' The steward had smiled. 'Duke's Folly.'

  'That's it. What do you know of it, and Monsieur Coutras, the tenant?'

  'Your grandfather was one of a group of gentlemen who saved the Frenchman from the guillotine. Several of them contributed towards a pension and when the fellow married, your grandfather provided the castle for him to live in, rent free, for life. No one had used the folly for years and according to my predecessor, your grandfather told Coutras he would be helping him by looking after the place. As far as I know, Monsieur Coutras still lives there, but there has been no correspondence from him for several years. If you want more information you need to speak to Grieves, the agent.'

  'No, no, that is all I need to know,' Perry had told him. He would not go against his grandfather's wishes and he was now resigned to the fact that he would not turn the Coutras family out of Duke's Folly. It had been their home for far too long and they loved it. Well, no matter. He had plenty of other estates, he would find one of those for his bolthole, if he needed one after his marriage.

  Dulverton House was an austere Palladian mansion set in land bordering the Cullenmore park and it had belonged to the earls of Flintley for generations. Perry's father and Lord Flintley had been friends since childhood, and there had been some sort of understanding between them that a marriage between Perry and Lord Flintley's only child would cement the relationship, as well as adding another valuable estate to the duke's domain.

  Honoria was a year younger than Perry, but she had been sent off to an exclusive seminary for her education, while Perry had gone away to school and then university, and they had not met again until Honoria was presented. Perry had always known of his father's marriage plans for him, but by the time Honoria was presented in London he was enjoying his bachelor life too much to consider settling down. He had met no one he wanted to marry, so the idea that at some point he would offer for Honoria did not worry him. She was a wealthy heiress, her birth was impeccable, and she knew what was expected of his duchess. The only problem was that he did not like her very much.

  He told himself that would change. It was his duty to marry well and beget an heir, and he had promised his father that he would take a bride before his thirtieth birthday. At eight-and-twenty, he knew he must now make a push to fulfil that promise and propose to Lady Honoria. She had waited for him all these years and he felt more than a little guilty about that.

  He brought his curricle to a stand before the door and waited for his tiger to jump down and take the greys' heads before he climbed down and went indoors. He had sent a message earlier, so his arrival was not unexpected and the butler showed him into the drawing room, where he found Honoria and her parents.

  If the house was plain outside, the interior was the exact opposite. Lady Flintley had lavished a fortune on the decoration and the house now glittered with crystal chandeliers and gilded cornices, with the drawing room being the zenith of her aspirations. Gold-framed paintings were hung against panels of powder blue silk set between ornate plasterwork while a blue and gold Aubusson carpet covered most of the floor. Gilded sofas and chairs in blue satin were placed around the room, designed to allow guests to drape themselves elegantly to maximum effect. Everything was of the finest quality, no expense had been spared, but to Perry the room had always felt cold and uninviting. A showpiece, designed to impress visitors, not put them at their ease.

  Lord Flintley was standing before the marble fireplace waiting to greet him. Perry returned his bow before turning to the mistress of the house, who was sitting in regal state on one of the sofas with her daughter beside her and the accoutrements of tea making in front of them.

  'Welcome, your grace,' declared Lady Flintley. 'And in good time. Honoria is about to make tea. You will take a cup, of course?'

  It was more a statement than a question. Perry smiled and inclined his head. He sat down and watched as Lady Honoria boiled water on the little spirit stove and spooned tea into a silver teapot. There was a reverent silence while she poured the tea into the elegant porcelain cups and he could not help comparing this formal ritual with the last time he had taken tea in company. Then it had been prepared in the kitchen and Sophie had poured the tea while he conversed with her father, the boys joining in without fear of being snubbed. It had been a comfortable, lively occasion, a world away from this cool, elegant ceremony. A world away from the life of a duke.

  'We have seen very little of you since you returned to Cullenmore,' observed Lady Honoria, when he got up to collect a cup of tea from her.

  'No, it has been a busy time,' he replied vaguely, knowing any eager suitor would have been haunting the place.

  'I hope your grace has not been waiting for an invitation to visit us,' stated Lady Flintley with a condescending smile. 'I thought I had made it plain when you last called that you are welcome here at any time.'

  'You did, ma'am, and I am obliged to you.' Perry would have said more, but he was grateful when the earl interrupted him.

  'I've no doubt Rafford keeps you busy with estate matters, what?'

  'He does indeed.' Perry threw him a grateful look. 'I had not realised how matters would build up in my absence.' He laughed. 'And I was only away for a few weeks!'

  'And I have no doubt you have been busy making the dower house suitable for your dear mother,' added Lady Flintley. 'And how does the duchess go on? I hope she is well?'

  'Yes, she is very well,' Perry replied. 'She has settled well into the dower house and has a cousin living with her. They are currently visiting the Lakes.'

  'I have never travelled to the north,' remarked Lady Flintley. 'I cannot understand the fascination with Nature. The hills are too wild, too untamed. It cannot make for civilised living.'

  Honoria gave a little laugh. 'The duchess is only visiting there, Mama, she is not planning to live there.' She glanced towards Perry. 'I should like to see the Lakes, one day.'

  'Perhaps you will,' said her father. 'It would be an ideal destination for a honeymoon.'

  Lady Honoria looked uncomfortable and the Countess glared at her husband for this blatant reference to the reason for the duke's visit. Perry himself gave no sign of being disco
mposed by the hint, but he felt a stab of anger, and the stubborn streak that so dismayed those who knew him best began to harden. He would not be rushed into anything.

  Lord Flintley fidgeted and tried another subject.

  'You have been making yourself familiar with your estates, I understand your grace. Do you plan to make your home at Cullenmore?'

  'I have not yet decided,' replied Perry. 'Cullenmore is the largest of my houses, but it is a little formal for my taste.'

  'It requires a mistress's touch,' stated Lady Flintley. 'Your new duchess will be able to make it a suitable abode for you.' Perry put down his teacup. Really, that was almost as blatant as the earl's remark about a honeymoon! The countess continued, unaware of his displeasure. 'You have finished your tea your grace. The sun is shining, perhaps you would like Honoria to show you the gardens.'

  No, I would not.

  Even though he only thought them, the words sounded churlish to Perry and he scolded himself for his bad temper. He had come here today with every intention of making an offer, but the Flintleys were trying to force his hand, and he did not like it. He hid his annoyance behind a smile and rose.

  'That would be delightful.' He held out his hand to Honoria. 'Shall we?'

  'But of course, your grace. Pray give me a moment to fetch my parasol.'

  The Dulverton gardens were immaculate. Orderly rows of flowers stood to attention at each side of the path and even in the rose garden, the bushes were grouped into blocks of colour, as if planned with military precision. He could not help contrasting this with the walk he had taken through the gardens at Duke's Folly. He glanced down at the hand on his sleeve, it was soft and white, a hand that had done nothing more strenuous than painting a watercolour or arranging flowers in the drawing room. Only there were no fresh flowers in Dulverton House, he thought suddenly. There was nothing at all to soften the cold perfection of the rooms.