Danny’s heart gave a squeeze thinking of a stranger living in the house of the man they’d all loved so dearly. The former duke wouldn’t hear of his neighbors and friends using his title. As a child, Danny had known Lord Grandfellow only as ‘Uncle Jack,’ the man who’d boosted her into trees when her little arms couldn’t reach the branches, or the man who’d offered her lemon candies before dinner when nothing but gamey pheasant and boar had been on the menu.
When her governess had scolded her for her informal greeting to His Grace, Danny made sure to use the proper honorifics at their next weekly dinner. To which she’d received the greatest lecture of her life, from a man—the refined and honorable Duke of Grandfellow—as he’d rolled up his sleeves and pointed to every scar he’d ‘earned’ chasing around his beloved goddaughter.
The man had been a staple in her life for its entirety. And now he was gone.
Danny pushed away her grief and offered her papa a smile. “Uncle Jack would approve of your charity and neighborly concern. Shall I accompany you?”
It wouldn’t be proper, she knew. Gentlemen greeted other gentlemen as strangers before formally introducingacquaintances, but the Grandfellow and Bromley estates had a long history of friendly connections, and the rules of propriety were laxer in the country than in the city. And, frankly, she didn’t want her papa to be alone when he rode by the family cemetery and saw his friend’s name carved in grey stone.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, his smile warming. “You know I’d never turn down your company.” His smile turned sly. “We’ll take the curricle, if you don’t mind? I’d like to drive today.”
Knowing the two-person carriage would make it impossible for one rock-named chaperone to accompany them, Danny returned his smile. “I don’t mind at all, Papa.” She dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll go change.”
She headed for the door, prepared to clip any emotional threads if it meant staying strong for her papa’s sake. She’d be civil and charming no matter what the new duke was like.
But as she glanced back at her papa, his pipe forgotten in his hand and staring into the cold hearth with that same blank expression he’d had when he’d received news his oldest friend had passed, her heart gave a painful ache. She vowed, duke or not, whoever the new Duke of Grandfellow was, if the man so much as insinuated insult to her papa, she’d take the dandy by the ear and give him a tongue lashing to rival those of her dearly departed Uncle Jack.
*
Death has tobe better than this, Percy thought.
Standing in the drive, Percy sneered up at what had to be the grandest house in the English countryside.
Columns—taller than the mighty oaks along the drive—lined the front of the house in startling white marble and supported a triangular overhang that had to run a mile long from edge toedge. The yard in front lay green and lush, broken only by a staircase that had been impressive even from the bend on the carriage ride over.
With the inconvenient death of the previous Duke of Grandfellow—a pretentious name if ever he’d heard one—and a rather annoying family relation, Percy was expected to move into this ghost mansion, or whatever pompous name the structure was given: Grand Manor. Grand Hall. Kill Me Now Estate. Damned nuisance!
As if he needed the trouble of a big house and a nosy staff gossiping to every wagging tongue and grocer about his comings and goings.
And then there’d be the introductions. As misfortune had it, with the season being two weeks from over, every lord and lady would migrate to their country estates—too close to not stop by—and offer their names to the new lord in residence. There’d be country balls and weekly fairs, and idle chitchat.
Forget the blasted servants. He’d cross the border into Scotland and leave the title to rot.
“Your Grace?”
Percy eyed the man approaching in pressed pants and a sharp tailcoat, the grey at his temples and in his vest stating for the whole world the man was the butler of this monstrous house. The man didn’t even have the decency to be overweight and balding. Lean and clear eyed, he no doubt would be a credit to his position and impossible to tolerate.
Percy rubbed the ache in his temples seeing the other servant in the butler’s wake, a woman in middle-age wearing a frown sharp enough to cut a would-be duke in two.
Remembering the names from the solicitor, he asked, “Which of you is Smith and which is Lancaster?”
The woman stepped forward. “I am Mrs. Smith.” She nodded in the direction of her counterpart. “This is Mr. Lancaster.Would you care to meet the rest of the staff, or would you prefer a tour of the house and grounds, Your Grace?”
The noose or the firing squad? There were forty-two servants lining the front stairs—he couldn’t help counting—starting from the top step all the way down to the rough gravel drive.
It would take a man half a day to make that climb. “Grounds,” he said.
Mrs. Smith nodded and called a man in a smart frock coat and brown gaiters over. “This is the groundskeeper, Your Grace. Any questions you have about the property, Mr. Brinkley can answer. I shall be in the study working on the household accounts when you wish to address the running of the staff.”
With a single clap of her hands, the servants dispersed, revealing the full scale of the grand, stone steps. A mountain of limestone to ascend after miles of walking across meadow, moor, and whatever auspicious topiary garden an estate like this had to have somewhere to impress people who wouldn’t know the difference between a maple and a bonsai tree.
Percy groaned, his feet aching already. “Let’s go in the back entrance when we’re done.”
Mr. Brinkley nodded. “As you like, Your Grace. Where would you care to start? Gardens? Stables? Lakes?”
Percy didn’t miss that all options came in the plural. He should’ve changed into his moleskin instead of the coat and boots he’d worn into the solicitor’s office. Any jaunt in nature and his ensemble would be hopelessly ruined, along with his feet. “What’s closest?”
“The hedge maze,” Mr. Brinkley said, nodding towards the south side of the estate, where Percy had mistaken a massive wall of trimmed shrubbery for a single-level addition.
