Page 10 of Denying the Duke (Lords and Ladies in Love 3)

Cyrus stood and looked in Alex’s direction. “A most splendid day, to be sure.” He drank the little bit of champagne left in his glass and offered a smirk. “Isn’t that so, little brother?”

Chapter Three

March 1818—Four Years Later

Woburn Abbey, England

Dressed in full uniform, His Grace, the Eighth Duke of Bedford, stood at the gravesite of His Grace, the Seventh Duke of Bedford. The rain that had threatened all morning had finally let loose, but no more than a steady drizzle.

The other mourners had left the site to return to Woburn Abbey to enjoy the repast that Cook had no doubt been preparing for two days.

Stationed in the United States for the past year, Alex had been on his way back with a member of the House of Lords accused of treason when he received word of his brother’s death. He’d spent a month on a ship, fighting boredom and anxiety, depending on the weather. When he’d arrived at Liverpool, he’d been met by a messenger from the War Department with the news. He had written a quick note and placed the prisoner into the hands of the messenger, then hired a horse to take him to Woburn Abbey to see Cyrus laid to rest.

Rest in peace, you bastard.

Not in the legal sense, of course, but certainly in behavior.

What a mess Alex had been thrown into. He wiped the water from his face and turned to face the Abbey.

His home.

The building he had not laid eyes on in four years. The Abbey was not a place he held dear to his heart. His thoughts wandered back to the angry young man he’d been when he’d packed his belongings and walked away from his family and his life.

Away from Patience, the only woman he had ever loved.

Once the betrothal announcement had been made on that ghastly night, Alex had excused himself and left the room, never turning back to see if Patience watched him. There was no reason, since there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. His father had never backed down from a decision in his entire life.

He’d ridden to his maternal grandparents’ home in London, only stopping to eat and change horses. After a week of roaming the streets of London and cursing his fate, he’d asked his grandfather to purchase colors for him, and he’d left for the military. He’d sent a note to his parents, which they responded to with the expected anger and threats.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, he walked from the church graveyard where all the Dukes of Bedford were buried in the family mausoleum, to the Abbey, his boots making a sucking sound in the mud.

He stopped on the stone pathway and studied the building. It looked exactly as it had all his life, and for generations before that. He, however, had changed significantly from the angry, brokenhearted young man who had left. War had carved him into a bitter, bedeviled-by-ghosts man. No softness remained from that addlepated young man in love.

Precisely how he liked it.

Patience, otherwise known as the Duchess of Bedford, would be holding court for the mourners who had come to comfort her on the death of her husband. Since he’d had no contact with his family in the four years he’d been gone, he had no idea if she and Cyrus had children. Of course, there wasn’t a son, or Alex would not have been summoned home to take up his duties as the new Duke of Bedford.

He snorted. One could only hope the pater was spinning in his grave as the prodigal son returned to assume the title he’d held so dear. He no more desired to be the duke than his father would have wanted him to be.

His thoughts returned to the Duchess of Bedford. It seemed nothing had changed since he left. Under the law, as his brother’s widow, Patience was just as off-limits to him as she had been as Cyrus’s betrothed. Of course, he had no reason to believe he still felt the same about her as he had four years ago. That Alex was dead, and he had the vile memories and dark dreams to prove it.

Before he could reach for the front door latch, the door opened. A new butler, unknown to him, stood there, stiff as a board. “Welcome home, Your Grace.”

Your Grace.

“You seem to be wet, Your Grace. Is your valet with you?”

Excellent observation on the man’s part, since Alex was dripping water on the floor. “My batman is on his way. I will need no assistance. Please have a hot bath sent up.” Alex headed to the stairs, then stopped and turned. “Your name?”

“Coombs, Your Grace.”

Alex nodded. “What room?”

A slight flush rose on the butler’s face. “I am afraid the only room prepared for you presently is your old room, Your Grace.”

“Fine.” He preferred it that way. He wasn’t quite ready to enter the duke’s bedchamber. Most likely Patience still had her things in the adjoining duchess’s bedchamber. The last thing he wanted was a mere door separating them, and a bed available on either side.

After a bath, and changing into clothes still left in the wardrobe from his departure four years before, he decided to join the mourners downstairs and at least make his presence known to his mother.