Duke's Folly

by Melinda Hammond

  She thinks I am offering marriage.

  Perry's heart sank. He was in no position to marry her, even if he wished to do so. He stifled the devil voice in his brain whispering that that was precisely what he wanted to do. He was as good as betrothed to Lady Honoria. He had given his word that he would propose to her and there was no going back on that.

  'What I mean is,' he said hastily, 'Let me pay for the boys to go to school, and hire a companion for you.'

  The confusion in her face became more pronounced. 'But why should you do that?'

  'Because I…'

  Because I am the duke, your landlord. I am your father's patron, a role, a duty, I have inherited.

  'I want to help,' he said finally. 'And I am rich enough to do so.'

  Her chin went up a fraction. 'Thank you, sir, but we cannot accept your charity.'

  'It is not charity!'

  'Then what is it?' she asked him. 'I do not understand. Why should you want to help my family in this way?'

  'For your sake, Sophie!' He took her hands, running his thumbs over the rough skin on the palms. 'You should not be toiling away as you do, ruining your hands and careless of your complexion. You should be living as a lady, dressed in fine silks and with servants to look after you!'

  She recoiled from him then, her eyes sparkling with anger. 'As your mistress, perhaps.'

  'No, that is not what I meant at all!' He raked a hand through his hair. He had gone too far and should explain everything. But how? He swung away, staring into the glittering waters of the lake, then turned back to her. He said in a low voice. 'I cannot marry you, Sophie. I am not free.'

  She stared at him. 'Y-you are married.'

  'Not yet, but soon.'

  Her eyes never left his face. She was very pale and after a while she nodded.

  'I understand.'

  His mouth twisted. 'No, I don't think you do, Sophie. You see―'

  But something behind him had caught her eye.

  'It is Hugh, and Armand!' she exclaimed, stepping past him and waving.

  Perry cursed silently. It was one thing to tell Sophie the truth, but he did not want to explain everything in front of the boys, too.

  They came up, Armand leading the cob, and Sophie greeted her brothers with a cheerfulness that Perry knew was strained. She was hurt, he thought. Most likely angry, too, and doing her best to hide it.

  'Well, this is delightful,' she exclaimed, linking arms with Hugh. 'Now we can all walk back together.'

  There was no help for it. Confidences were at an end and Perry turned to accompany them back to the castle. Sophie was silent, but he did not think her brothers noticed. They were eager to know how he had come there, if he had driven his curricle with that bang-up team of greys, if he could stay and take pot-luck for dinner.

  'Oh heavens, boys, Mr Wyre has dined with us every day,' replied Sophie with a brittle laugh that told Perry how angry she was with him. 'We must not take up all of his time.'

  There could be no mistaking her message, he thought. She wanted him to go, and quickly. Hugh immediately begged pardon. But Armand was too young to worry about such niceties.

  'Pho, Mr Wyre likes being at the castle, is that not right sir? And dining here must be better than eating alone at the Greyhound.'

  'It is, but alas I have another engagement this evening.'

  'And your time here must be almost done,' Sophie remarked, the meaning all too clear. 'You must not let us keep you.'

  'Is it true, Perry?' asked Hugh. 'Are you leaving soon?'

  'I am,' he replied. 'I must. But you shall hear from me before I go, you have my word.'

  They can hardly fail to do so, he thought grimly. By tomorrow night everyone would know that the Duke of Cullenmore was in Hyndmarsh, and it would soon be common knowledge that he been there, incognito, for the past two weeks.

  Sophie kept her head up and her smile in place as they walked back to the castle, refusing to dwell on what Perry had said. She was afraid if she allowed herself to think of it her brave façade would shatter and she would burst into tears. When had Perry become so much more than a friend, when had he stolen her heart? She did not know whether he had done it by design or accident, and could not pinpoint an exact time or place, but it had happened, and now she would have to live with the pain of it.

  She was grateful that the boys were so eager to talk to Perry, because when they reached the bridge it left her free to walk ahead, hurrying into the castle yard, where Owen was just coming out of the stables.

  'Mr Wyre is leaving now,' she told him. 'Bring his horse for him, if you please.'

  The boys voiced their disappointment when they realised Sophie was not allowing their guest the opportunity of taking refreshment with them, but Perry insisted that he could not stay.

  'But when will you come again?' Armand demanded as Perry swung himself up into the saddle. 'You will call again before you leave, will you not? You promised.'

  'I shall call, although I cannot say just when it will be.' Perry gathered up the reins. 'Pray give my regards to your father.'

  His eyes sought Sophie's but she turned her head away, afraid he might read how much he had hurt her and she would not allow that. She had demeaned herself quite enough before him today.

  With a final word to the boys he trotted out of the yard. Sophie was busy re-arranging her shawl and did not see him cross the bridge, nor did she watch as he cantered away into the trees and by the time she did look up again, he was gone.

  *

  The following morning Perry brought his team to a stand at the door of the Beaucliffe Arms, where he was expected. The landlord came running out to greet him, informing him that his valet was already in residence in the suite bespoken for his grace. There was much bowing and scraping as Perry was shown in and as he was escorted past the public rooms he saw some of the locals gawping at him. He knew some had recognised him but he gave an inward shrug. They would put it down to the inexplicable ways of the Quality, so it did not matter. The only thing that did matter to him was what Monsieur Coutras and his family would think, when they discovered the truth. He pushed that uncomfortable thought aside as he was shown to his rooms. The landlord was clearly delighted to have such an august visitor, but he was not cowed by the ducal presence and talked non-stop, even as he led the duke up the main staircase.

  'Just like old times,' he remarked, looking back over his shoulder. 'The old duke used to stay with us at least once a year, sometimes more.'

  Perry knew the landlord was referring to his grandfather. He doubted his father had ever been here. He had spent his time in pursuit of pleasure and ignored his responsibilities, which had not endeared him to his tenants. Well, that would change, Perry decided. He would follow the example of his grandfather and look after his inheritance. It was his duty.

  When they reached his rooms, Perry found Holby was waiting for him with hot water and a fresh set of clothes already laid out on the bed.

  'Any word from Grieves?' asked Perry, when the landlord had at last withdrawn.

  Holby bowed. 'Yes, your grace. He sent a note to say he will wait upon you at two o'clock, as arranged with Mr Rafford.'

  'Good.' He began to shrug off the brown woollen jacket which, along with his buckskins and topboots, had served him so well as plain Mr Wyre. It was time to become duke again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Mr Grieves, your grace.'

  Perry put down the ledger that he had been perusing and nodded to his valet.

  'Show him in, Holby.'

  Perry stood by his chair, watching the land agent stride into the room and make his bow. As his visitor straightened and met his eyes, Perry kept his face impassive. He could not recall seeing Claud Grieves during his stay in Hyndmarsh, but that did not mean Grieves had not seen him. However, Perry knew that the Duke of Cullenmore, with his spotless snowy linen and elegantly tailored blue tail-coat and cream trousers was a world away from plain Peregrine Wyre in his country clothes, and there was
no hint of recognition on the man's face, merely an ingratiating smile, which irritated Perry.

  In fact, he found himself taking an instant dislike to Claud Grieves. He was several years older than Perry, a powerfully built man of medium height with a thick neck and heavy jowls below a pair of small grey eyes separated by a bulbous nose, whose mottled red colour suggested a man who was too fond of his drink. He wore a tobacco-brown coat over a yellow waistcoat, buff coloured breeches and topboots that looked to Perry's jaundiced eye as if they were rarely polished but had been cleaned up for this occasion.

  'Welcome to Hyndmarsh your grace. I trust you had a pleasant journey?'

  'Pleasant enough.' Perry sat down and waved his visitor to a chair opposite.

  He decided he did not want to prolong the meeting with this fellow. In fact, what he really wanted to do was to ride back to the castle and explain everything to the family, to prepare them for the news that would surely break within hours. It was possible, he supposed, that living as they did, away from the town, they might not hear about it until tomorrow, or even the following day. A cough dragged him from his reverie. The agent was looking expectantly at him.

  He said, 'Tell me, how long have you been the agent for our Hampshire estate?'

  Grieves rubbed his chin. 'It must be seventeen, eighteen years now your grace. I came to Hyndmarsh in '99. That was in the seventh duke's time. Your grandfather.' Another of those ingratiating smiles. 'He was a great man, and very knowledgeable.'

  Perry inclined his head silently and after a few moments, Grieves continued.

  'I looked after everything here on behalf of the eighth duke your grace. Mr Rafford will tell you, I have reported regularly.' He lifted one brow and looked at Perry. 'I trust there has been no cause for complaint?'

  'No grievance has been filed, that I know of,' drawled Perry.

  'Ah, good, good. I hope you will allow me to escort you about the properties, your grace, and you can see for yourself how things go on here.'

  'Yes, we must do that,' said Perry. 'I would like you to explain, if you can, the state of repair of some, nay, most of the farm buildings.'

  'Your grace has been misinformed. If someone has been telling you―'

  'No one has told me,' snapped Perry. 'I have seen it for myself. Many of the farm buildings are in urgent need of repair.'

  Grieves was no longer smiling. He said quickly, 'I agree that the farms are not in such good heart as I would like. What with poor harvests and the war with France, times have been very hard.' He glanced at Perry to see the effect of his words but receiving no encouragement he pressed on. 'I assure you, your grace, I have put in place extensive building works.'

  'Only on one farm, I believe. One that is now rented to your kinsman.'

  Grieves sat back, his expression of innocence ruined by the wary look in his eyes. He shook his head. 'I believe you have misjudged things here your grace. I pray you will ride out with me tomorrow and let me explain everything.'

  'We will ride out, certainly,' said Perry, 'but not tomorrow. Tomorrow I have other matters to attend. Let us say the day after. Saturday.'

  'As your grace wishes.'

  Perry rose, wanting to bring the interview to an end, but as Grieves picked up his hat and walked towards the door he remembered something he had meant to ask the agent earlier.

  'One last thing. I have a castle hereabouts, I believe.'

  'Aye your grace. In Hyndmarsh Lake.'

  'What do you know of the family there? '

  'Why, very little, your grace. There is no rent to be collected and they never ask for money for repairs, so I go there but rarely. The tenant is an émigré, I understand your grace's grandfather granted him the castle for his lifetime.' He shrugged. 'It has no real value, except as a habitation, and I doubt it is even very comfortable.'

  'Oh, I do not know about that,' murmured Perry, forgetting himself. 'I think it might be very comfortable.'

  A sly look entered Grieves' eyes. 'The Frenchman has had the use of it since your grandfather's time and has never paid a penny in rent your grace. 'Tis common knowledge it was granted to him, but I do not know of any written agreement to say as much. We might be able to find a way round it, if you were wishful to have the place to yourself.'

  'My grandfather's wishes are sacred,' Perry retorted. 'I have no intention of forcing anyone out of their home!'

  He waved the fellow away and when Grieves had gone Perry dusted his hands, as if to rid himself of the whole encounter. He did not trust the fellow, but this was all new to him and he must not let his personal dislike prejudice him. Much as he wanted to return to the castle immediately, he knew his first task must be to write to Rafford. He must make sure of his facts before he acted. He would suggest that his steward join him here. Grieves had been working for his family for a long time, it would not do to act rashly and lose a good agent.

  Perry soon discovered that as the Duke of Cullenmore, his presence in Hyndmarsh brought with it certain duties that could not be avoided. No sooner had Grieves departed than a messenger arrived from the mayor and town dignitaries, requesting an audience and the opportunity to welcome him to Hyndmarsh. He toyed with the idea of sending them away, but almost instantly dismissed it. His visit here was the first by a duke of Cullenmore for over a decade. It was a great event for the town and while he knew many noblemen would ignore such considerations―indeed, his own father had cared nothing for the wishes of anyone―Perry wanted to follow his grandfather's example and that brought with it responsibilities. Stifling his own wishes, he invited the delegation to join him.

  By the time these worthies had left him it was time to change for dinner. Again, the responsibilities of his position bore down upon him when Holby explained that the landlady had spent the entire day preparing his meal. To refuse, to set all that hard work at nought, was impossible. His visit to Duke's Folly must wait until the morning.

  *

  Perry was up early, eager to reach the castle and make a clean breast of everything to Monsieur Coutras before the old man heard of it from another source. However, when he went out to the yard he found the curricle standing without its team and Wragg soundly berating the ostlers. When the groom saw Perry, he turned and touched his forehead.

  'Begging your pardon, your grace, but the damned fools put the wrong team into harness and it seems they've sent another carriage off with your greys.' He scowled at the landlord, who stepped forward and tried to elbow him out of the way.

  'It was a mistake, your grace,' cried the landlord. 'A terrible mistake. How often do we get two pairs of greys in on the same night?'

  'Two pairs?' scoffed Wragg, 'Those nags your lads hitched up to the curricle couldn't run together if they was tied at the hocks!'

  Their host had the grace to look shamefaced at that. 'Well, they ain't up to his grace's standard, I grant you, but you told my boys "greys" and these were the only ones in the stables by then. And how Mr Silsby didn't come to notice that he had the wrong horses I don't know.'

  'Most likely he did notice,' retorted Wragg. 'He's probably on his way to Tattersall's now, to sell 'em!'

  But at that moment a rather battered phaeton came into the courtyard, pulled by Perry's high-stepping greys and with a cry of heartfelt relief, the landlord rushed towards it.

  'Well, Wragg, it appears you have maligned Mr Silsby,' murmured Perry, amused despite his impatience to get away.

  'My only hope is that he ain't ruined their mouths,' muttered his groom, running towards the greys.

  Perry watched as the landlord helped the phaeton's driver to alight. Judging by the fellow's age and the glasses perched on the end of his rather long nose, he guessed Mr Silsby's eyesight was not that good, which might explain how he had come to drive off with the wrong horses. The old man appeared to be extremely agitated and when he began remonstrating with both Wragg and the landlord, Perry decided it was time to take a hand.

  He stepped up and gave a slight cough. The old man broke o
ff from his tirade and glared at him.

  'And who the devil might you be?'

  'I am Cullenmore,' Perry replied cheerfully. 'I am the other injured party in this affair, sir. May I suggest that we repair to a private parlour while my groom sorts out this muddle?' He put a hand upon Mr Silsby's arm. 'Come along, sir, they will get on much faster without us. You can watch proceedings from the window, if you wish.' Gently he drew the old man away, saying over his shoulder, 'And Wragg, you are to remain here to make sure everything is right and tight before I set off, do you understand? I will not countenance any further delay!'

  He escorted Mr Silsby into the inn, accompanied by the landlord, who continued to apologise. At the door of the private parlour, Perry bade him go away and find them some coffee.

  'Hmmph,' Mr Silsby allowed himself to be helped to a chair by the window, from where he peered up at his companion. 'Cullenmore, you said. So you are the new duke?'

  'At your service,' murmured Perry with a slight bow.

  'Hmmph.'

  Perry thought this was as much of an acknowledgement as he was going to get from the old man, but he was wrong.

  'I knew your grandfather, when he used to come here.' The stiff figure relaxed a little. 'We played backgammon together.'

  'Did you indeed?' Perry smiled. 'I played it with him, too. Although I was only a child, and never beat him, unless he let me.'

  A servant hurried in with a tray and they lapsed into silence while the coffee and a plate of sweetmeats was set on the table.

  'A good fellow, your grandfather,' barked Mr Silsby, when at last they were alone again. 'I hope you mean to follow his example, and not that of your father.'

  'I fully intend to do so.' Perry replied coolly, hoping Wragg would not take too long changing the horses.

  'Never saw the eighth duke in these parts,' Silsby continued, between sips of scalding coffee. 'Left everything to that rascally agent.'

  'Really?' Perry's attention was caught. 'And may I ask what you know of Mr Grieves?'