CHAPTER2
Richard Musgrave, Duke of Richmore, stood his massive body over his large mahogany desk, staring down at the map of Surrey. He needed Brown Manor empty for a joint venture with one of his closest friends, the Marquess of Aberdeen, to succeed. There was a tiny part of him that felt a little cruel for evicting his cousin’s widow so close after the man’s death. But Richard reminded himself that any woman who would willingly marry his wastrel of a cousin did not require or need his sympathy. Besides, she had three months to find a home.
He had never met his cousin’s widow. She had never came to town as far as he knew. They did not associate in the same circle.
Why would they?
Richard was an intellectual who associated himself with intelligent people, so how could he know anyone who would willingly bind themselves until death do them part to Graham Musgrave?
He and his cousin had never been close. In fact, they despised each other. Musgrave never came to terms with being the first-born son of the second son of a duke. It mattered not that their grandfather, who lived longer than Richard’s father and Musgrave’s father, cared at all. His grandfather, the late Duke of Richmore, had the unfortunate luck to have lost both his heir and spare before either of them could reach forty years.
A knock on the door sounded, taking him out of the memories of his bleak childhood. He cared not for his cousin’s widow. There was work to be done, and nothing would stop him.
The door to his study opened before he could give permission, of course. Looking up, he watched as his annoying butler, Barrington, stood at the door, his head nearly grazing the top of the doorframe.
The tall, thin man of African descent did not bother to excuse himself for interrupting Richard. Barrington had no sense of propriety after working for him for over ten years.
After his grandfather died, Richard had dismissed all the servants, ensuring that they had funds to compensate for their years of service. They were loyal to the old man, set in his grandfather’s ways of how a house ought to be run.
“Mr. Harris to see you, Your Grace.” Barrington ducked his head, clearing the door frame as he stepped in to allow the solicitor to pass.
Good.Richard had waited a sennight for the solicitor to inform him of when he could start vacating Brown Manor. There was much to be done in the upcoming months, and one delay would ruin everything he had planned.
“Thank you, Barrington. That will be all.”
Richard waited for the portly solicitor to reach his desk. The man moved with a slow gait. In fact, he did most things slower than Richard would have liked.
“Shall I ring for tea?” Barrington asked with a tilt of his head.
Barrington knew very well that Richard did not serve tea during business meetings. He liked to conduct his business and then send the person on their way. Really, he wasn’t socializing with Harris. The man was a complete bore.
“That won’t be necessary,” Richard said, ignoring the incredulous look he was receiving from his butler.
Every servant at Musgrave House felt it was their duty to behave as if Richmore needed to be reprimanded like a child or reminded to be kind. He was kind; he had beentookind most of his life, and where had that gotten him?
Made a fool of in front of all of society.
Barrington closed the door, leaving Richmore alone with Harris as the other man stood on the other side of Richard’s desk.
Richard, much taller than the man, looked down at the solicitor’s bald head. “Is Lady Musgrave on schedule to vacate Brown Manor in three months?” he asked as he looked down at the map again.
Three months would bring them close to the deadline, but at least he had a date. Richard had four manor homes at his disposal. Aberdeen had two. That might not be nearly enough, but he was ever diligent in his pursuits.
Harris cleared his throat several times, compelling Richard to look up at him. The man’s face was turning a strange red color, as if he was choking.
“What is it?” he asked, losing his patient with the other man.
“It appears, Your Grace, that your cousin’s widow, Lady Musgrave…” He trailed off, looking up to the ceiling, to the floor, then around Richard’s office which was decorated in the French style with a touch of Asian influence scattered around the room.
“Yes, I know her name. What about her?”
He waited patiently as the man pulled at his tight cravat.
“She…Lady Musgrave, that is…is expecting—”
“Expecting what exactly?” He wasn’t quite understanding what his solicitor was trying to say. Was the blasted woman vacating the manor or not?
“A child. Lady Musgrave is with child, Your Grace.” Harris pressed on, ignoring what Richard was sure must have been a dumbfounded look on his face. “The terms of the marriage settlement states that if she and your cousin produce a child, that child would inherit Brown Manor.”
