Justin began shrugging off his jacket. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I’ve worked at enough construction sites to know how to dig a trench.”
The man flashed him a wide smile, throwing his own shovel at him. Justin caught it, happy for the distraction. His feelings were complicated, but not impossible. He would sort them out later.
Chapter Fifteen
From the society of papers of one Lady Prudence DeLessops. 10 May 1825
You must forgive your dear author for being so silent on the subject of Hollyhead House and the Blacksmith Duke. The nobles in the area have been decidedly tight-lipped about their new lord. Now that construction has begun on a monstrously large project, one believes that great things are in store for the estate, which has been standing in disrepair for many years. Better still, your author has received an invitation to attend a ball that is to be held at Hollyhead at the beginning of summer. So our duke is not only handsome and loyal to his subjects, but also ambitious.
One must wonder what a certain Lady C.N. thinks about all the hubbub. Rumor has it that the Earl of H. is to be invited. If the threads of gossip are to be believed, it seems that she has been spending quite a bit of time with the Blacksmith Duke, and not all of it chaperoned. Perhaps the Lady Icicle is finally beginning to thaw…
Cordelia was livid as she urged Brutus on faster, his black mane streaming in the wind. The dark clouds above were threatening bad weather, and a big gust of wind sent a chill up her spine where sweat was pooling.
She tried to warn Justin of this several times, but she would always be drawn in by his blithe, laid-back suggestions that all was well. That no one would make insinuations about the two of them, regardless of the fact that they were spending hours of the day together, inspecting Hollyhead’s grounds, planning the ball, and making sure his manners were up to snuff.
Cordelia also cursed herself. She had been lulled into a false sense of security when the papers were arriving, filled with gossipy tales of the women in London who had taken the season by storm. She’d rather thought the novelty of the Blacksmith Duke had blown over.
She came upon workers digging a trench. Searching their faces, she could see that Justin was not in sight.
“Excuse me, sir,” she called to a redheaded youth. “Do you know where I might find the Duke of Rothesay?”
The term sounded foreign and stiff on her tongue. She blanched at her own familiarity with a man. The only other person she could beg the same closeness with was Rhys, and that had resulted in Lady Billings’s fervent marriage plans.
No, as of today, she had resolved, she was putting an end to their meetings, their conversations, their exchanging of ideas. Cordelia could not bear to suffer further scandal, more than what had already been brought down around their heads.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “He’s gone to help the Collinses with their sheep dip. Would you like me to escort you?”
“No, thank you,” Cordelia replied, flicking her reins to veer Brutus to the west.
They galloped for a few minutes before finding the Collinses’ cozy cottage, nestled near a copse of trees, close to the banks of the artificial lake. Cordelia reined up her horse and swung off. She’d been in such distress that she was wearing only a simple day dress and taken out a proper saddle, rather than the side-saddle she usually insisted on using in the duke’s presence. Shekeenly hoped the men at the worksite and the farmers would not make such a fuss, lest it reach Lady Prudence’s ears and cast further doubt on her propriety.
Striding up to the group herding sheep, she tucked the newspaper under her armpit, clasping her hands behind her back. She passed Buttercup, who was cropping grass in a pen. At first, old Sam and some of the other servants were incredulous that Justin was choosing to ride a ladies’ horse rather than the big black charger favored by the last duke. But then, like everyone else who met him, the matter was quickly dropped when they saw how little it bothered Justin and how congenial he could be about such things.
The dappled mare nickered softly as she passed; Cordelia was not to be deterred—she was on the war path.
At first, she could not make out Justin’s dark head amongst the men. That was due, she soon found out, to him standing at the edge of the dip, immersed in water to his knees, handling the sheep as they jumped into the water.
“Easy there, Your Grace!” Mr. Collins called out. He was leaning on his crook, watching intently as his sons clicked their tongues, urging the sheep through a chute that would plunge them into water, effectively cleaning their coats before the shearing.
Cordelia had watched such things from afar, ever since she was a little girl. For a moment, she marveled at how at home the duke looked in an activity that would have been so foreign to him mere weeks ago. He had doffed his long coat, and his white shirt was rolled up past his elbows, revealing strong, muscled forearms. The shirt was becoming soaked with water, tracing the outline of his chest.
Cordelia felt her cheeks catch fire. “Botheration,” she muttered under her breath.
Now, more than ever, she would need to keep her wits about her. She required a stern reminder of why she’d come out in the first place: Not to ogle the duke’s chest hair, which was visible from the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt, but instead to put more distance between them.
“Pardon me, Mr. Collins,” she said, ensuring her voice sounded firm. “But I must speak with the Duke of Rothesay, as a matter of absolute urgency.”
Justin, who had offered a smile as she approached, set his lips in a line.
“Apologies, Collins,” he said, climbing out of the dip and reaching for his coat. He slung his red tie around his neck and threaded two buttons of his shirt.
The old farmer nodded his head. “Not to worry, Your Grace. We all appreciate you taking the time.”
Cordelia was already halfway down the bank toward the lake, hearing his heavy footfalls behind her. “What’s this about, Cordelia?” he asked, jogging to catch up with her. “Is someone hurt?”
“Yes!” She was doing her best to whisper but her voice was frantic. “My reputation… and more to the point, our family’s!”
Justin’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”
