Terri Brisbin (4 page)

A
drian watched out the window of his study as work on the estate continued as usual. His breathing had eased now, but he’d suffered two attacks during his travel here. Usually, the air felt easier to breathe in the country than in London, where the ash and dust and fog could make it rather uncomfortable. So long as he stayed away from the stables and the gardens, he remained free of those attacks the physicians and apothecaries called “hay fever.” It was the others, the more virulent, breath-stealing ones, that seemed to be on the increase.

The last seven days had been grueling for him—first traveling north to Windmere Park and then the extensive review of all his estate and family documents. If his steward here thought it strange that he should appear and demand to see all the records, he would never say so. They’d ridden to outlying farms, visited the rector in the village that lay on his property, and spoken to
many of his tenants. Repairs and some changes to the summer and autumn crops were planned where needed. A larger selection of books was ordered for use by the rector’s wife to teach the children of the village.

The most difficult task yet lay ahead of him. His solicitor should be arriving either this day or the next, and Adrian would review and update his will. Although his title and most of the accompanying estates were entailed, he still had some discretionary properties and funds. He would feel better once those decisions and arrangements were made for everyone who depended on him for support or a living.

Turning from the window, Adrian picked up the glass of wine and drank from it. He’d learned the hard lesson of overimbibing the night he’d discovered his fate. His stomach had remained unsettled for days, and he’d had to stop several times on the road north to empty it rather forcefully. No, he would rather face his future, limited though it might be, with a clear head and a calm stomach.

It would be a few hours until supper even with the earlier country hours, so Adrian decided to walk down to the lake. He mentioned his intent to the butler as he picked up his hat and made his way through the house. Using a side door in the blue drawing room, Adrian followed the path that led away from the house to the larger of the two lakes in Windmere Park.

The sun beat strongly and its heat could be felt, in spite of the cool breezes that moved through the trees
surrounding the lake. Seeking refuge from the strongest of its rays, he found a well-spread chestnut and sat down next to it, leaning against its stout trunk. The irony of facing his own impending death, even as every living thing was moving toward bloom and maturity, was not lost on him.

As was his custom, he reviewed the list of unaccomplished tasks left to him on this trip and realized that in his haste to leave the city, he’d not had the latest concoctions made up. The crumpled papers were most likely still in the pocket of his coat, where he’d shoved them the next morning. There was an apothecary of some experience whom he usually frequented some miles away in Newcastle, but also a woman in his own village who had gained some measure of good repute as a healer. Perhaps he would visit her.

Adding it to his mental list, he moved on to the next item. The estate and his personal papers were in order. Everything would be ready for his…demise. Adrian pulled off his hat and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes.

How did one approach this? Never an overly spiritual or religious man, he did not feel compelled to seek out a religious advisor. He trusted that the rector would perform the necessary rites with the solemnity Adrian deserved. When his symptoms worsened and he was convinced the end was nearing, he would speak to the rector about it. But not now.

The matters of the entailed estate were handled, those
of his own properties and will would be, and the only ones left were…his family. His mother and his wife.

His mother and his wife.

Shaking his head, he knew there would be no way of avoiding those subjects once his solicitor arrived. Although the estate documents included arrangements for both of them, he would verify the specifics and clarify what each woman could expect for an income and home after his death.

What would become of each of them? The strange thought formed in his mind and he knew that it was the thing that bothered him the most.

His distant, twice-removed cousin Robert would inherit the lands and titles and, since he already had the prerequisite heir-and-a-spare, the dukedom would go on. A pang of regret pierced Adrian then and he tried to discover its cause.

Never meant to inherit, he had come almost reluctantly to the titles and the powers and the responsibilities of being Duke of Windmere. And the primary responsibility after taking control was to produce an heir. In that, he and Miranda had failed. Perhaps that was the source of his discontent? No son of his own to inherit? Not even a daughter to convey everything entailed to a son of her own?

Racking his brains would make no difference in this. He picked up his hat and stood, dusting off his clothes as he did. Tugging the hat into place, Adrian began the walk back to the house. He suspected that once his so
licitor arrived and everything was in order, his mind would cease struggling with the questions and ramifications of his death, and he could seek out ways to spend the time he had left.

Dinner and the rest of the evening were spent in quiet reflection as he examined his life. When sleep would not come, he walked the halls of Windmere House. He visited rooms he’d not seen since his childhood and was surprised to find that some of his toys were still stored in the nursery, waiting for small hands to find them. From the window of the bedchamber where he’d spent his visits home from the university, he spied the tree that had been the site of many adventures for him and his brother.

Dawn found him as restless as the night before, so he called for a horse and rode over the lands that had been his for such a short time. Only when the sun reached high in the midday sky and the loud protestations of his stomach could no longer be ignored, did he return to the house for rest and food.

The butler woke him to inform him that a coach had arrived from London. No instructions need be given about the hospitality required for guests at Windmere Park, so Adrian sent word that he would see Anderson at dinner. Spending time in the country had its advantages, the foremost in Adrian’s mind being that of earlier and less formal meals. His household knew his clear preferences, and that, coupled with the fact that most of
his neighbors were in London, assured him of uninterrupted time with his solicitor.

Now, drinking a glass of claret in the drawing room, he awaited the man’s arrival. A clamoring outside the door drew his attention and he turned as the footman opened it, admitting not his solicitor, but his best friend.

“Parker! What are you doing here?” Adrian stood and strode over to his unexpected guest.

“Your cryptic note about your sudden departure did more to inflame my curiosity than to appease it, so I am here.” Parker accepted a glass of claret from the butler. “Is it nearly time to eat? We did not stop for a noon meal.”

Adrian looked to the corridor but saw no one else. Had Parker traveled with the solicitor then?

“As soon as Anderson arrives, we will go in to dinner. I’ll have them set a place for you.”

“Anderson?” Parker shook his head. “The man sent word that he is delayed in London and will not arrive until tomorrow. Surely we need not wait that long?”

At Parker’s dry wit, Adrian shook his head. “I received no such word.”

“I am, I fear, the messenger in this, Windmere. I ran into him at your house in London and have now delivered the message to you.” Parker held out his glass and watched as it was filled again. “Where the devil is she?” Walking to the door, he peered out.

“She?” Alarmed, Adrian turned to the door. “Who
did you bring here?” Surely not. Surely, Parker would not have brought….

“Here now! If your thirst is not overwhelming, we can go right in,” his friend was saying.

“Good evening, Windmere. My apologies for holding you up from your meal.”

Miranda.

She stood in the doorway, with an anxious frown on her brow as though waiting for his anger. Relieved that Parker had not brought Caro as he’d suspected, Adrian walked to greet his wife.

“I did not expect you, madam,” he said, lifting her hand and touching his lips to it. “I said there was no need to accompany me here.”

He felt her shiver at the sharpness in his voice. He needed time alone to deal with his fate and did not want the complications that a wife presented. However, he could ascertain her reasons over dinner and send her back to the city on the morrow. Before he could say more, Parker pushed Adrian aside and offered Miranda his arm.

“He said the same thing to me, Your Grace, and you can see how much weight I gave his words. Come, the butler has assured me that dinner is ready.”

After a glance at him and a moment’s hesitation, his wife laid her hand on his friend’s arm and off they walked down the hall, following the butler to the private dining room. Indeed, his staff knew of the changes to his plans, for three places were set at the oval table, all
to one end, as he’d requested for the two originally planned. He watched as Parker escorted Miranda to one of the side chairs and then took a place opposite her. Adrian then sat in the chair at the end, with his wife on his right and his friend on the left.

At his nod, the butler and his assistant began serving the meal. Parker shoveled food into his mouth at an alarming rate. Without stopping for more than a breath or a swallow of his wine, he devoured two bowls of cream of lobster soup along with a small loaf of bread. When there was a slight delay in serving the next course, he continued to tear a slice of bread into pieces and push them in his mouth.

“Are you certain you only missed
one
meal?” Adrian asked. Parker did not even have the decency to look embarrassed at his behavior.

“Traveling the long roads here over these last… How many days did it take us, madam? Four?” Parker mumbled the rest as he finished chewing.

“It did take four days, although we arrived a bit earlier today than I had thought possible,” Miranda replied softly.

Irritated by their friendly manner and the very fact that they were here, Adrian snapped out what he’d wanted to ask from the first moment.

“Why are you here, Miranda? I told you that this trip was simply to handle some family business. There is no entertainment here. No parties or luncheons to attend. No balls to dance at. I would think that the amusements of the city would have held your attention longer.”

The room grew silent and even the servants paused in their actions at his tone. It was only the briefest of pauses, but he marked it. Parker choked as he chewed, and then swallowed loudly and washed his food down with another mouthful of wine. When he cleared his throat, Adrian got the message. For Miranda’s part, the only reaction to his rude words was a slight fluttering of her eyelashes and her refusal to meet his gaze.

Any response was interrupted by the arrival of the next course. Plates of roast venison and leg of lamb were placed on the table, as well as boiled turnips and sauces for all the dishes. Adrian took up the carving knife and cut slices of the meats for each of them. At Parker’s glare, he added a few to his plate. It was as he cut into his own food that Miranda answered his question.

“I have felt a bit overwhelmed by the demands of the Season, Windmere. I thought a short respite to the country might do me well.”

“Overwhelmed by the dowager’s demands, more likely,” Parker interrupted. Pointing at her with his fork, he continued, “And now that she is sponsoring that chit in her first season, I would guess she’s dragging you from one end of town to the other.”

“That chit? What do you know of my mother’s social activities?” Adrian felt the odd man out in this discussion.

“She cornered me ever so politely at Lord Hanson’s soiree and made it clear that as your friend and close associate, I had a duty to help bring out the chit—excuse me, Miss Stevenson.”

“And your reply?” Adrian asked. It wasn’t often that someone got the better of Parker. Of course, his mother was, candidly, quite formidable when she desired to be so. And she’d made no secret of her desire for a successful launching of her goddaughter into polite society.

Parker blinked several times and frowned at him. “What do you think I told Her Grace? I agreed, of course.”

Not to be deterred from his original question, Adrian turned back to Miranda. “Are you well?”

A hint of a blush tinged her cheeks and the corners of her mouth rose in a slight smile as though she was intrigued at some private thought. Then she met his gaze and shook her head. “I am well, Windmere. It is just that your mention of the country reminded me that, at times, I find it so much less tiring than the tedium and closeness of town.”

Adrian winced at the formality of her address. He sensed that the one expressed was not her only answer. But, in company, even just Parker, he decided he would not press her for more. To articulate more concern than necessary would make her presence into an issue. And it would make it seem more important than the inconvenience it was. It was a simple case of not having the solitude he’d anticipated when he’d journeyed north.

He turned back to his food and silence filled the room, interrupted by Parker’s occasional chomping noises. How had the man made his way in polite company? A few minutes later, filled from the hearty and fla
vorful food, Adrian pushed back and suggested that they proceed to the billiard room. Although Parker looked as though he would argue, he swallowed the mouthful of food he had just forked in and nodded.

M
iranda had looked away as she finished her words, not wanting to allow her lack of candor to show. Luckily, her husband seemed to give up on his chase for ulterior motives at her appearance here. At least, he had for now. Finished with her food, she dabbed at her mouth and laid the napkin on the table. She rose as the footman held her chair, and walked behind Adrian to the masculine sanctuary he favored so much when here at Windmere House. She wondered if he knew that billiards was a favorite of hers and that she played frequently…when he was not present.

She took a seat near the fireplace and watched as her husband and his friend chose their weapons from the rack of billiard sticks. They exchanged typical boasts about the upcoming game and even placed bets on the outcome. Tea arrived and she sipped hers as the even match went on.

“Would you be completely offended if we removed our jackets, madam?” Parker asked some minutes later. “I know it’s terribly informal, but…” His words drifted off and he smiled that infectious smile of his as his hair fell into his eyes once more. He tossed his head to shake it back into place.

“I am certain that my constitution and sensibilities can withstand such an informality, sir. Only as long as we are in the country, of course.”

“I told you she would be game, Windmere. Now nothing, not even too tight a fit, will stop me from defeating you,” Parker boasted, as he shrugged his jacket off and tossed it on a nearby chair.

As she watched, her husband removed his, too, but instead of carelessly throwing his, he folded it and laid it over the back of a chair. Without their jackets, it was an easy thing to compare them. Both men were tall, with Parker having several inches over her husband. Both were muscular, but Adrian’s build was a leaner one than his friend’s. She could well understand that after seeing how much food Parker ate in a given day! In coloring they were opposites, with Adrian being the dark-haired one and Parker the blond Adonis.

After spending four days on the road with him, Miranda decided Parker definitely reminded her of the Adrian she’d known early in their marriage. An irreverent sense of humor pervaded his personality and behavior, but at the heart of it was a man of honor and caring. Drinking the now slightly warm tea, she won
dered when Adrian had changed. She placed her cup back on the side table as she thought about it.

Not in the year they’d spent engaged to be married and not in the first year of their marriage, either. He was still the same outgoing man even during the terrible time of his brother’s death and their year of mourning. It was after they’d put away the colors of official grief that something changed deep within him.

Instead of resisting the dowager’s every command and directive, Adrian accepted them. Instead of plotting his own course for the dukedom he’d inherited, he followed the one left by his father and brother before him. Instead of the affectionate relationship he and Miranda had had, he began to distance himself from her, insisting that his mother’s ideas of the proper way to do things were what he wanted for them.

Pulling herself back from her woolgathering, Miranda watched as the match drew closer. Startled as he laughed out loud at some whispered threat from Parker, and pushed him away to the other side of the table, she enjoyed the moment of camaraderie between the two of them. Not accustomed to seeing him so, she wondered why he hid it from her.

Why did he not let down his guard with her as he did with his friend? Was she the only one from whom he’d withdrawn this side of himself? Did he share this with his mistress?

Laughing.

Spontaneous.

Playful.

Caring.

Attractive.

Miranda’s stomach roiled as the uncontrolled thoughts forced themselves forward. This kind of introspection did no good and now she felt truly sick as images of her husband and his paramour flashed fleetingly through her mind. She knew what the woman looked like—someone who disdained Miranda for her humble origins and had wanted to embarrass her had pointed out Mrs. Robinson in the park one day. She’d passed the woman by without any acknowledgment, of course, but she’d seen her clearly.

“Call for her maid, if you please.” Her husband’s voice broke into her reverie. Blinking to clear the now-gathering tears from her eyes, she saw that their game had stopped and they were both watching her.

“You see, Parker. It is as I suspected. The duchess is not well.” Adrian approached and crouched down before her. “Her complexion is now turning green.”

Parker rang for the footman, who was sent off for Fisk. Then he walked closer, squinting as he leaned down to her. “Was it the soup, do you think? Something spoiled at dinner?”

Miranda took a deep breath and shook her head. “I think that I am simply overtired from traveling. If you will excuse me,” she said as she stood, or tried to, for her legs would not hold her up. Pausing for a moment and allowing Adrian to offer her his arm in support, she
took in another deep breath and felt her head clear a bit. “I will seek my chambers and recover more thoroughly from the journey.”

Parker backed away and allowed Adrian to escort her to the door. Fisk arrived and Miranda was released into the maid’s efficient and meticulous care. She turned to take her leave and noticed Adrian’s quiet scrutiny. He did not ask anything else of her, but wished her a good night’s rest and nodded as she turned away.

It was as she drifted off to sleep that she realized it was Thursday evening.

Day was full upon them when Miranda next opened her eyes. Even the drawn curtains at each window could not disguise how high the sun was in the sky. Guessing it to be early afternoon, she pushed the covers aside and slid from the bed. As her feet touched the carpet, the door to the hallway opened and Fisk entered.

“What time is it?”

“Half past one, Your Grace. The duke gave orders that no one should disturb your rest,” she said as she held out a dressing gown for Miranda to slip into. “The house does not have its full complement of staff, so it was easier than most times to insure that you would not be disturbed.”

“Is the duke busy?” Miranda tied the gown and sat at her dressing table, allowing Fisk access to her hair for arranging. “Something simple, if you please.”

“His Grace has been closed up in his study with his solicitor since early this morning, Your Grace. Other
than a call for some food and wine to be served to them there, no one has seen or heard him.”

Their lives did not intersect much at any time, least of all in the country, so Miranda decided to invite the rector and his wife to dinner. Tempted to include her husband, she hesitated, for his opposition to her presence was quite clear. She would stay out of his way for a day or two and then see if she could approach him with her questions.

“If the weather is as fine as it looks from my window, I plan on taking advantage of it and sitting out in the gazebo. Would you have Cook send some chocolate and a roll out to me there?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Should I join you there?”

Fisk stood and helped her out of her night rail and into a yellow day dress that had short sleeves and was trimmed in white ruffles. After taking the proffered matching bonnet, Miranda shook her head. “There is no need. You may remain inside.”

Miranda picked out a book she’d been intending to read and walked through the house, out a side door, and found the gazebo surrounded by pleasant sunshine. Once her chocolate and roll arrived, she sat quietly and read the book she’d chosen.

Actually, she tried to read, but irritating and bothersome thoughts kept creeping into her mind. Finally, she put the book down on the table and considered her options.

She’d learned over the last four days of travel that there were many things about her husband that she did
not know. Lord Parker had regaled her during their time in the carriage with tales of his and Adrian’s visits to the various Windmere estates and other places in England. Even a hunting lodge in Scotland that Miranda did not know the Warfield family owned. When he’d looked embarrassed about having mentioned it, she knew it was used for the type of event a wife was not invited to attend.

She’d learned last night that her husband could be stubborn and secretive. Something was indeed going on, and he did not want her interference. His words clearly told her she was an inconvenient interruption to his plans.

The wind blew a loose curl free and it fell into her face. Miranda tugged off the bonnet and laid it on her lap, rearranging the curl.

She’d also learned, by her own weakness and reaction to the thought of his more personal relationship, that she would not be able to broach such a subject with him. They’d adjusted over the past few years to a certain level of marital involvement, and, although it was not the warm and personable one she’d dreamed of having with her husband, it was clearly his choice.

She smiled at her own folly. A momentary lapse in the duke’s behavior did not mean he wanted things to change. It meant that he was simply a man. She should have waited for something more significant than one night’s overindulgence to signal a change in him…or a crack in his ducal veneer.

“You do make such a lovely sight, Your Grace.”

The words and Lord Parker’s approach startled her out of her thoughts. “My lord, you surprised me.” Shading her eyes to see him in the bright sunlight, she realized she had no bonnet on.

“Pardon for barging in on you here, Your Grace. I’ve been bumping around the house and grounds and not having much success finding anyone else. Well, at least anyone who is not engaged in some earth-shatteringly important endeavor that cannot be interrupted.”

He looked confused and then laughed. “Not that your activity here is not as important—that is, not as…”

Miranda held up her hand to stop him. “I took no offense at your words,” she said, pointing to an empty chair. “Join me if you care to.”

As they slipped into a pleasant conversation about the estate, Miranda realized that she’d spoken more to Parker in these last few days than she’d spoken to Adrian in years.

He tugged the curtain aside once more to watch her. From his study he had a clear view of the gazebo on the western veranda and its occupants. His wife had been alone for some time before Parker had joined her. They seemed to rub along quite companionably. Parker had told him of the journey north from town. Although she still looked pale, Miranda did appear recovered from whatever had ailed her last evening.

“So, that is the extent of the settlement for the duchess? No property, no title?” Adrian turned to face his solicitor.

The terms of the will and the entailment were not a complete surprise to him—without a male heir to inherit directly, everything moved to his grandfather’s other line. His mother had also inherited an income from her eldest brother, so her future was quite settled.

Miranda was a different sort of problem. With her widow’s jointure, she would live closer to the edge of genteel poverty than to the standards to which she’d become accustomed. When they had married, her dowry had replenished his family’s depleted coffers and allowed him, on his accession, to make much needed improvements on the grounds here, as well as on the other family estates. Her father, overwhelmed by the prestige of joining his with the exalted Warfield family and Windmere name, was not overly concerned with carving out a protected settlement for Miranda. And he’d been willing to pay for the privilege of his daughter marrying even the second son of the esteemed Duke of Windmere.

Within a few years, changes unthought of and certainly unanticipated had occurred, and the second son held the title. And after his death, she would have a small allowance and be granted a place to live on the grounds of Windmere Park. As the widow of the previous duke, with no family to take her in, she would be an outsider.

Still an outsider.

As she’d always been.

Turning back to the window, he watched her talk
quite animatedly about something with Parker. Then she stopped and her smile disappeared. Instead, she stared pensively out toward the lake and nodded her head at whatever question she’d been asked.

It was only a thought at first. Then it tickled Adrian’s conscience and drew his attention. He watched as some sadness overtook her, and he found himself opening the window. For what, he knew not. Drawing away, he tried to discover the source of his discomfort.

“Your Grace? Should I continue?”

“Let us break for a bit. I should like to walk to clear my head,” he said, nodding at the man.

Anderson agreed readily and gathered his papers into neat little piles before standing and bowing to him. Adrian waited for him to leave his study before opening the door that led out to the gardens. Striding quickly, he approached the gazebo and listened to the conversation.

“Rubbish!”

“I assure you, Parker, though it may sound as though I boast, I could do it.”

“An affront! That’s what it is. An affront to my honor,” Parker replied with the theatrics of a man intensely insulted.

Adrian’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked the obvious, drawing their attention at once as he approached. “What could you do, madam?”

He stared at her and she placed her bonnet back on her head and then stood to greet him. He had enjoyed the sight of the wind catching little tendrils of her
hair and pulling them free of the arrangement that her maid had done up. Part of him wanted to tear the hat off and run his hands through her hair, loosening it until it fell below her waist. His body took no more than a moment to respond to the feelings engendered, with a clear message of intent. Blinking, he shook off the odd thoughts and turned his attention back to his wife’s boast.

“Your duchess claims that she could best me in a game of billiards. Is that not audacious?” Parker said, offering a bow to Miranda. “Couldn’t be true, could it, Windmere?” His friend looked horrified as he contemplated the very thought of it.

“Is it true, Miranda? I have not seen you play in many a year.” Adrian realized it was before their marriage and before his mother began her campaign to make Miranda a suitable wife for a man bearing the Warfield name.