“How old were you when you lost your parents?” he asked, shifting the attention to her.
“My mother died when I was two. I don’t remember her,” she said regretfully. “My father was killed in a hunting accident when I was eight. I don’t remember much about him either. Most of my time was spent with my governess after my mother died. My father was too disappointed in not having an heir to bother with me,” she said with a trace of bitterness. “When he died, I was sent away to school and remained there until I made my come out.”
“That must have been difficult,” he said sympathetically. “I, at least, had Case. You had no one.”
“No,” she murmured. “I didn’t. Will we stop for the night?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No, we will switch drivers and travel straight through. I don’t think it would be wise to risk staying at an inn and being seen. I hope you don’t mind sleeping in the carriage.”
“No, not at all, it certainly looks comfortable enough,” she said surveying the plush seats and numerous cushions. “Hilda packed plenty of food so we can enjoy a pleasant meal when we stop. Will we have time to eat?”
“Yes, we will have a few minutes. I have another team of horses waiting at the halfway point with the new driver, so it will take some time to switch them out.”
He looked searchingly at her. “You look tired,” he said gently. “Is your head paining you?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Why don’t you lie down and rest. We’ve a long way to travel yet.” He handed her a cushion for her head, and she nestled down on the comfortable seat.
“Tell me more about Whittington. Is it very beautiful?”
“It’s been our family seat for generations. The land has been ours since the time of William the Conqueror.” Pride was evident in his voice. “The original castle burned when my grandfather was a boy. My great great-grandfather rebuilt Whittington on the ruins of the old castle and made it into what it is today.
“We were originally farmers, but we had a downturn in fortune when we suffered a drought. My father began dabbling in trade, and I carried on after he died. I have fared well, so I turned over the land to the people of our village to farm.”
She closed her eyes, the soothing timbre of his voice lulling her into a painless sleep.
Justin smiled as she drifted off and then sat back gazing out the window, taking in the rolling hillsides as they rode down the winding road. He felt a tendril of anticipation tighten his chest. No matter how many times he traveled this path, he always felt the same excitement. He was goinghome.
How many times had he retreated here when he felt overwhelmed or dissatisfied with his life? Whittington never failed to be a soothing balm for life’s unpredictable turns. His happiest memories revolved around this sanctuary. Every milestone in his life had culminated there.
He wondered what his father would have thought of him bringing Jillian to Whittington. He remembered a time his father took him riding just a few weeks before he received the news that his parents were dead. They had ridden over the rolling terrain of the estate, pausing alongside a bubbling stream to let the horses drink. The lush green fields and the meandering stream butted up against a dense forest, marking a stark contrast in the landscape.
“Look around you, my boy, one day this will all be yours.” He clapped Justin on the shoulder. “Come walk with me, son.”
The two walked up the steep hill they had just ridden down. Once at the top, they looked down at Whittington Hall. The top of the hill was the highest point for miles and provided a bird’s eye view of the ducal holdings and the outlying village.
“My father brought me up here when I was your age. It was the first time I clearly understood my duties as the future Duke of Whittington.”
“Grandpapa took you here to this very spot?” Fifteen-year-old Justin asked.
“This very spot.” The duke smiled. “Justin, being a duke is much more than having prestige and wealth. You have vast responsibilities. Many will depend on you. The villagers look to you for guidance and protection. You must always act with honor and integrity.”
“I won’t let you down, Father,” Justin said solemnly.
“I know you won’t. You and Case are the finest sons a man could hope for.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable. “When the time comes, Justin, you’ll bring home a bride as all the Whittington men have done. God willing, your mother and I will be here to welcome you. If not, I trust you will be fortunate as I was in choosing the next duchess. Your duchess must be a credit to you and the title, honorable and above reproach. The Whittington line is rich in its history of proud, noble women, very worthy of bearing the next heir to the title. Who you choose as your duchess has everything to do with the continuation and preservation of our line. If ever in doubt, look to your mother’s example. You could hope for no finer a wife or duchess than her.”
Justin’s throat tightened as the memory assailed him. His parents had perished just two weeks later when his father’s hunting lodge burned. He quickly swallowed the knot in his throat as he saw Jillian stir. She opened her eyes, her lids heavy and drowsy from her nap.
“Feel better?” he asked as she sat up in her seat.
She yawned indelicately. “My head seems to have stopped hurting,” she said after a moment.
He smiled. “That’s good. We’ll be stopping soon to change the horses, and we can eat.”
“Good, I am famished.”
A few moments later the carriage slowed and pulled off the road. A footman hurried to open the door and lower the step. Justin disembarked first and then assisted Jillian down. He then reached back into the carriage for a blanket and the picnic basket Hilda had packed. “Are you up for a moonlight dinner?” he asked, sweeping his arm in an outward motion in front of her.
