The old man shook his head. 'It is more suspicion than hard fact. And I ain't one to speak ill of a man behind his back.'
'While I value the sentiment, sir, that is hardly helpful.' Perry set down his cup. 'I am anxious to be as good a landlord as my grandfather, but I am woefully lacking in knowledge of what is going on here. I would appreciate your telling me what you suspect.'
'Hmmph.' The old man sat for a while, stirring more sugar into his coffee, then he appeared to come to a decision.
'Grieves started off well enough in Hyndmarsh. He was a young man, eager to learn, and I don't doubt if there had been someone to keep him in check he would have made a fine agent. But after your grandfather died he was left to rule the roost here.' He frowned up at Perry from under bushy brows. 'Power can be a dangerous thing, your grace. For the past ten years Grieves has been in charge here, with never a check. As far as I am aware no one from the Cullenmore estates has come to examine him, to see if the reports he is sending back are correct.' He took another sip of coffee. 'He lives very well, too, for a land agent. There's rumours the increases in rent don't go back to the estate but line his pockets.'
More than likely, thought Perry, grimly. With Rafford struggling to maintain the principal properties while his father played fast and loose with his inheritance, the smaller estates had been allowed to continue unchecked as long as there were no complaints or obvious malpractice.
'I will look into it,' he said now.
'Don't expect the tenants to tell 'ee much,' growled Silsby. 'They are all terrified of being turned out.'
'Has that happened, then?'
'Oh yes.' The old man's lip curled. 'Old Ralph Alton, for one, who used to have Totfield. He wrote to the duke a few years ago, complaining about the rent increase and asking if he might use the money to rebuild his haybarn. The next thing we hear, old Ralph is turned out on the pretext that he was neglecting the property.'
'You think my father ordered it?' demanded Perry.
'That is what he was led to believe, but a duke who has never shown the least interest is unlikely to stir himself upon such a matter. I think it more likely that Ralph's letter never left Hyndmarsh.'
'You think Grieves intercepted it?' asked Perry, frowning.
'I have no proof of it.' The old man hesitated, as if wondering how much more to divulge. Then he said, 'All I do know is that he is mighty thick with Mrs Ambrose, the widow who runs the post office in Hyndmarsh, so it is possible the letter, ah, fell into his hands.'
'And his cousin is now installed at Totfield,' said Perry, recalling the well-maintained house and outbuildings. The new barn.
'I don't say 'tis any more than coincidence your grace.'
'But worth investigating further.' Perry finished his coffee and glanced out of the window. 'I think our carriages are ready.'
He and the old man walked out of the inn together but before they parted to go to their separate vehicles Mr Silsby stopped and looked up into Perry's face.
'You'll do,' he said, nodding with satisfaction. 'I wish ye well, your grace, and if you follow your grandfather's precepts you will not go far wrong.'
'I shall do my best. Farewell, sir, and I hope you will allow me to call upon you when I have more time. We might enjoy a game of backgammon.'
That seemed to please the old man.
He said, 'Aye, we might, your grace,' then walked off towards his phaeton, chuckling.
Perry took his seat in the curricle and gathered up the reins. The interlude had delayed him by a good hour, but he considered it time well spent. What Silsby had told him matched his own suspicions about Grieves. He had written to Rafford, asking him to come and verify it all, but he thought it highly likely that Grieves' days as agent here were numbered. He gave the word and Wragg released the greys, springing nimbly up into the rear seat as the curricle passed him, gathering speed as it swept out of the yard and bowled along the road towards the lake.
CHAPTER TEN
Two days after her last meeting with Perry, Sophie rose from her bed resolved to put her unhappiness behind her. After all, nothing had really changed, she had always known that he was no more than a fleeting visitor and if she had lost her heart to him she could not blame him for it. Indeed, she told herself, living as she did, it was no surprise that she had fallen in love with the first personable gentleman to enter her orbit.
Her spirits might be low but she decided to put on her newest gown, a cornflower-blue muslin trimmed with white lace. It was important that Papa and the boys should not guess at her unhappiness. As she dressed, she thought how foolish she had been to pin all her hopes upon Perry. It was unwittingly done, she had not realised just how much she had woven her dreams around him until two days ago, when he had told her he could not marry her. She had been upset by Mr Grieves' visit earlier in the day. The agent had been threatening, abusive and Perry's gentleness had been a balm to her anxious spirits.
She knew now that she had built him up in her mind to be some kind of chivalrous knight, sent to rescue her and her family from their predicament. When he had begged for the chance to look after them all she had thought, she had thought… Sophie closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory of the sudden, brief surge of joy she had felt at that moment. She had hardly dared to hope, had asked him to explain himself and he had brought all her newly-acknowledged dreams crashing down.
Now, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she was ashamed of the shadows beneath her eyes and the downward droop to her mouth. What a ninny she was. A more sophisticated young lady would have laughed at Perry, told him he quite mistook the matter, that she had no thoughts of marriage. Then she would have bade him a dignified farewell and got on with her life.
'Well, it is over now,' she muttered, shaking out her blue skirts, 'I do not need to see Mr Peregrine Wyre again. I will not see him. I shall tell Owen and Joan to deny me, if he should call.'
Having made her resolve, Sophie went downstairs. She was crossing the great hall when she heard voices. One she recognised as Joan's, the other was deeper. A man. For a moment she thought it was Perry and despite all her good intentions her heart leapt, but when the door opened it was Claud Grieves who walked in.
He checked when he saw her then came towards her.
She said coldly, 'You are not welcome here. Please leave.'
He ignored her.
'Have you heard the news? The new duke has arrived and he is intent upon changes.'
Sophie looked at Joan, who was still hovering at the door.
'Please fetch my father.' When the maid had withdrawn she turned back to the agent. 'You must talk to Papa. I do not want to listen to you.'
She turned to go, but his next words stopped her.
'But you will want to hear this.' He threw his hat on the table. 'I met with the new duke yesterday and he mentioned the castle. He is determined to have it for himself, to cast you all out upon the street!'
Sophie pressed a hand against her breast and stared at him. 'No. Why should he do that?'
'Who knows why great men do anything? Listen to me, Sophie. I am still willing to help you.' He came closer. 'Come with me now. Once I am sure of you, I will put in a word with the duke. I am his agent, when all is said and done, and I have some standing here. I might even be able to persuade him to give up his plans for the castle. But if not, I will find a house for your father and the boys.'
'Sure of me?' She shook her head, frowning, the words not making sense. 'What do you mean by that?'
'You know what I mean, madam. The proposition I put to you the other day.'
Gradually the disappointment that it was not Perry and the shock of his announcement were beginning to lessen, she could think more clearly.
'To be your, your housekeeper?' Her lip curled. 'Papa would never countenance it.'
'If you agree to it then he will have no choice.' He took her hand. 'Once you are mine I will look after your family. You have my word.'
'I cannot be yours, Mr Grieves, you are a married man.' Sophie tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened.
'What does that matter? My wife will do as I say.'
His callous words shocked her and for a moment she froze, wondering if she had heard him correctly. He took her immobility for submission and with a triumphant snarl he dragged her into his arms.
'I want you. In my house and in my bed!'
'No!' She struggled, trying to hold him off. 'No, I will not be your mistress, nor any man's. Let go of me!'
'So, you would reject me, and be the cause of your family's ruin? Your father unable to finish his books, your brothers having to beg for a living? I think not. And I will have you!'
His arms bound her to him like iron. She turned her head when he tried to kiss her but she could feel his breath hot on her cheek. She tried to scream, but he was holding her too tight, she could not breathe, and it was no more than a feeble cry.
'I shall take you here, then. You shall not escape me!'
He had backed her against the hard edge of the table and now he was pushing her down. Sobbing, Sophie struggled against him, but he was too strong, too heavy. All she could do was twist her head to avoid his mouth, her eyes squeezed shut as she made her pitifully small cries for help.
Then, in an instant, she was free. She heard Grieves curse, followed by the thud and grunt of an altercation, but she was too winded and shaken to do more than turn and cling to the table, drawing in several long, steadying breaths. When she finally looked up it was to see Perry standing over the agent, his fists clenched, chest heaving and murder in his face.
She had not heard him come in, but the door was open and through it now came Papa. Sophie wanted to run to him, but her legs felt too weak, she feared if she let go of the table she would collapse in a heap.
'What is this?' Her father took a few steps into the room, looking bemused. 'Qu'est-ce qui se passe?'
The red mist was fading. Perry glanced at Monsieur Coutras. Hugh and Armand had run into the room and were now standing behind their father. He took a deep breath, fighting down the rage and the strong words he wanted to utter.
'I came in to find this villain accosting your daughter,' he said curtly. 'Get up off the floor, you miserable cur.'
He stepped back and Grieves scrambled to his feet.
'Your grace, I didn't expect you―'
'That I can believe!' Perry retorted. He snatched Grieves' hat from the table and tossed it to him. 'Get out. I will deal with you later.'
The agent gently touched his bleeding lip with one finger. The look he threw at Perry was pure venom.
'I beg your pardon your grace. If I'd known you had an interest in the wench I wouldn't have tried my luck.'
It was as much as Perry could do not to smash his fist into that sneering face.
'Your time as my agent is over,' he said curtly. 'Rafford will contact you, when he arrives. Do not let me see you again.'
Grieves hesitated, and Perry found himself hoping the fellow might argue, for he dearly wanted an excuse to give him the thrashing he deserved, but after glowering in silence at Perry for a long moment the man nodded and strode out, roughly pushing past Armand, who was still standing in the doorway.
Only when he was sure Grieves had gone did Perry allow himself to turn to Sophie.
'Are you hurt, ma'am?'
She was staring at him, her face as white as the lace on her gown.
'Your grace?' She was clutching at the table edge, her eyes huge and luminous. 'Y-you are a duke, the duke?'
They were all looking at him with various degrees of astonishment. Perry risked a tiny smile.
'I am afraid so.' He glanced at his hand, which was smeared with blood. 'I fear I am a little dishevelled. If I might beg the indulgence of a room and some water I shall clean myself. Then I should like to speak with you all, if I may?'
Monsieur Coutras recovered first.
'Of course,' he murmured in his gentle way. 'Of course. Hugh, show his grace to the guest chamber, if you please. Armand, go to the kitchens and ask Joan to take up hot water and fresh towels. We shall convene in the parlour, at your grace's convenience.'
Perry barely heard him. He was watching the old man enfolding Sophie in his arms, holding her close and comforting her. As he followed the boys out of the hall, Perry's heart bled to think that he would never have the right to do that.
*
'Ma chère, would you like to go to your room, shall I escort you?'
Sophie pushed herself out of her father's arms.
'Thank you, Papa, but I am well now, I can make my own way. I shall not be long.'
'You do not have to come back to the parlour, Sophie. If you would prefer to keep to your room I am sure his grace will understand.'
'No, no, I am merely shaken, I have taken no real hurt.' Sophie managed to give him a reassuring smile.
Hugh and Armand came in, out of breath.
'After we'd shown the duke to his room I ran up to the tower and watched Grieves riding away,' announced Armand, between pants. 'Then I went down and locked the castle gates.'
'I thought we should make sure he left the grounds,' added Hugh. 'And I have told Owen he is not to admit the fellow again, for any reason.'
Sophie nodded.
'That is one scoundrel out of the way,' she muttered. Then, more loudly, 'I shall go and tidy myself, and be back in the parlour shortly.'
As she left the room she heard her father telling Armand to find Joan and ask her to make tea.
Half an hour later Sophie was back in the parlour with her family. Armand was fidgeting on his chair and Hugh was looking at his reflection in the mirror, straightening his neckcloth. Only her father appeared at ease. Joan and Owen had brought in refreshments and placed them on the sideboard; brandy and wine, and a tray containing the silver tea set. Sophie was relieved the tea had already been made, she did not think her hands were steady enough to perform the ritual herself.
Outwardly she was calm, a muslin fichu tucked into the neck of her gown to hide the red marks where Grieves had mauled her. It could have been so much worse, if Perry had not come in and rescued her. But her gratitude was diluted by the revelation that he was not the gentleman she had thought him. He was the duke of Cullenmore, their landlord.
She sat quietly on her chair, her hands clasped in her lap, as she went back over every meeting with him. Why had he thought it necessary to deceive them? Was Grieves right, had the duke been trying to fix his interest with her, to persuade her to become his mistress? Perhaps that walk by the lake had been an attempt to win her sympathy. Perhaps that was why he had pulled Grieves away and knocked him down: two dogs fighting over a bone. She shivered.
The door opened and Perry came in. No, she reminded herself as she sank into a deep curtsy, she must not think of him as Perry, as a friend, anymore. He was a nobleman.
'Your grace.' Her father bowed and the boys followed suit.
'Please, no formality.' The duke waved a hand and Sophie noted his grazed knuckles.
Her father invited him to sit down and went to the sideboard to serve his guest with refreshment. Sophie joined him there, preferring to be busy. She poured wine for her brothers, took a cup of tea for herself.
'I owe you an apology,' said the duke, when they were all seated. 'When I came to Hyndmarsh in the spring I intended merely to look at the castle, to see if it was still habitable.'
'To have it for your own use,' stated Sophie, recalling the agent's words.
'Yes.' He looked across the room, but her eyes slid away from his gaze. 'All the Cullenmore estates have been sadly neglected, and it was only when I came into my inheritance twelve months ago that I discovered the true state of affairs. My steward has been doing his best to remedy matters, but he knew it was important to begin with the major estates. I came into Hampshire to discover how things stood here. I remembered the castle from my childhood.' A faint lift of the ducal shoulders. 'Happy memories.'
&
nbsp; 'And you planned to move us out so that you might have Duke's Folly to yourself.'
Sophie could not help the hard, bitter note in her voice. The hand holding the teacup was shaking, so she put both cup and saucer on the table at her elbow.
'I considered it,' he admitted quietly. 'But only if you were willing to move.'
Sophie looked at Papa, who merely inclined his head.
'Duke's Folly is of course your grace's, to do with as you wish. There was never a formal agreement.'
'No, it is our home!' Armand was glaring at the duke, his chin jutting out belligerently.
'Hush, Armand.' Hugh spoke quietly but he, too, was frowning.
'That is why I was coming here today,' the duke told them. 'I began my official visit yesterday and I knew it would not be long before word spread that I was in Hyndmarsh. I wanted to see you before you heard any rumours. To assure you that I have no intention of ousting you from your home.'
'But why did you not tell us who you were?' complained Armand, giving voice to the question that was going around in Sophie's head. 'You could have trusted us to keep your secret. We would not have told a soul.'
Perry looked into the boy's eyes and felt a stab of guilt at the hurt he saw there.
He said, 'I am sure you would, Armand, and I beg your pardon. It was a mistake not to tell you, I realise that now. But I was enjoying myself, being plain Mr Wyre for a while. If I had told you my identity we could not have been so easy together.'
He glanced towards Sophie, but she was looking down at her hands. He knew she was angry with him, that she was hurt. He wanted more than anything to make amends, to talk to her alone, but that was impossible. He had done enough damage here.
'I must go.' He rose. 'Monsieur Coutras, my steward will write to you. I will have him draw up a contract that secures your tenure here, free of rent, for as long as you and your family require it.'
He would also arrange for money to be put into a trust, to provide for the boys' education, and a dowry for Sophie. Perry would instruct Rafford to see to it, knowing he must distance himself from the family. There must be no hint of scandal, no suggestion that he was doing all this for her sake.
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