Page 2 of Her Wily Duke

Because of their close relationship, Walham was allowed to delve into subjects of the most personal nature.

“It amazes me that there could be so many women in London to attract the eye,” said Walham, “and yet your eye remained singularly undistracted.”

The carriage moved slowly on the crowded London street, and, as he stared out of the window, Adam watched with pity as a young boy, his feet covered in rags, crossed the narrow street carrying a broom in one hand while humming the tune to a filthy song.

“I didn’t come here to get married, I came here to learn. I came here to begin the journey of becoming a man of importance.”

“And do you think you were successful, my Lord?”

Adam frowned, as if not liking the question.

“Only time can tell.”

It was a remarkably hot afternoon. At home, this late in summer, they should be starting to bring in the harvest, and Adam wondered how well that was going, given the rather alarming reports he had received in letters from his sister, and from some of the estate staff.

He turned his attention back towards the passing view outside the carriage. The heat had affected the horses, making them sleepy and sluggish. Shimmering mirages of water rose up out of the street in front of them. A woman of no older than twenty with a long neck like a giraffe’s passed them on the sidewalk, her white muslin gown splotched with dark patches of perspiration.

“Your brother has not answered a single one of your letters since we left,” said Walham, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

At only six years Adam's senior he was a passably handsome man. With no ambition to wed until he stumbled upon the perfect woman, Walham was unconcerned with his appearance.

Neat and clean and not at all fancy, he was content to serve his friend. He was a bit broader, a bit more muscular, than his employer, and he had not run to fat. In his neat, quality attire, only close scrutiny would show him to be a servant and not one of the ton.

“More likely he’s not even read them. There’s not much I can do about it, but I have been writing to the servants in secret. They’re expecting us tomorrow night at nightfall.”

“And what will you do when you get there?”

“What will I do?” said Adam. He paused a moment. “Continue to live there, I suppose. He can’t interfere with that. I’ve a right to live there as much as he.”

This was not strictly true, as they both knew. Frederick, being a Duke, had the right to turn his younger brother off his property whenever the mood struck him. It was only the threat of a popular outcry in the neighbouring towns and villages which prevented him from doing so.

Frederick would have been universally disgraced by taking that action, for the rumours of the villagers and servants would rapidly reach the ears of the other nobility in the surrounding districts. Their disapprobation would be harsh, both because turning off one’s brother just wasn’t done, and because Adam was liked by most people, whilst Frederick certainly wasn’t.

Frederick could not risk it, and they both knew it. Otherwise, Adam might have stayed in London indefinitely.

“But what do you hope to accomplish?” asked Walham.

Adam chewed his upper lip thoughtfully.

“It can’t be a secret to you that the servants were displeased with our departure,” he said at last.

“They have written to me of nothing else since we left.”

“Apparently it was seen as an act of betrayal in some quarters. I hope to rectify that. If Frederick is determined to continue on his present course, there’s not much that we can do to gainsay the destruction. But we can be a bulwark and moral support, if nothing else. A refuge.”

“Your brother will not be pleased with that.”

“I’m counting on that. There will be discord. But the people of Foxridge Park need to know that they’re not alone any more. If no one else will fight for them, I will fight for them. For the staff, and for my sister. What remains to be decided, however, is exactly how I will carry out that fight.”

*****

Miss Emme Mowatt sat in her father’s library, carefully holding a cup of tea in both hands above a double-flapped mahogany table. Mr Benjamin Mowatt sat opposite her on the velvet couch, reading the Edinburgh Review and studiously choosing to ignore the vexed look on his daughter’s face. She was a pretty young woman, and the scowl did not serve her well.

“Why is the world so set on being difficult for women?” she said in a raised voice. “Why can’t I make my fortune as any man would, through a splendid inheritance or some astonishing display of genius? Why can I not be idle as they are?”

“Because that is the nature of things,” said her father. “You will have to earn your own way in the world.”

Emme set down her teacup, then took off her bonnet and set it on the table, allowing her brown hair to flow freely, for the pins had slipped out of it as usual.