by Tarah Scott
Be sure to check out the next book in the Most Inconvenient Marriage Collection
The Duke’s Widow
Under the Shadow of the Marquess
Book Two
Summer Hanford
Chapter One
Robert Hadler, Duke of Solworth, rode unattended and unencumbered through the fine spring day, happy to be free of the city. In London, everyone seemed well-acquainted with his visage. The general toadying and kowtowing were enough to drive a man mad, or back to Egypt. Now, outside the clinging smog of the city and divested of retinue and carriage, nothing set him apart from a country squire. Far from missing his entourage, he was quite content to journey in relative anonymity.
He knew his anonymity would be more secure should he bow to the dictates of English fashion, but some compromises weren’t to be borne. Robert refused to grow out his night-dark hair, which he kept unfashionably short in the Egyptian manner. He had, as well, a build remarkably upright and powerful for a gentleman of forty years, his daily exertions another thing he would not relinquish.
Still, he might have passed for an ordinary English gentleman. A hat helped hide his lack of stylish locks, and some might assume the muscles beneath his jacket mere padding, were it not for his face. He could do nothing to mitigate his complexion, resistant to British pallor after nearly a dozen years under the Egyptian sun. Even after what felt like endless months in England, a single ride on a sunny day reinvigorated the color a far harsher sun had baked into his skin.
As he rode, Robert scrutinized the details of the British countryside with more than passing interest. Soon, he would enter the region beholden to the Everlys. Mister Edmond Everly, a distant cousin, was destined to receive the Solworth title, along with the duke’s entailed lands. All else, Robert could leave to his only child, Lady Lanora Greydrake, but not his title, and not the Solworth ancestral estate. The role of Duke of Solworth and the dukedom’s holdings must, by dint of the crown and the questionable wisdom of their ancestors, always pass into male hands.
While Robert had Lanora, along with several female cousins, the line had managed to produce only one male this generation. Before he finished his lecture series at the Royal Society and returned to Egypt, Robert wished to meet the young man to whom his lack of a male heir would relegate his people. He’d heard disturbing rumors, but rumor was to truth what a mirage was to water. Still, whispers of his cousin’s unsuitableness abounded. In good conscience, Robert felt obligated to investigate.
He glanced up at the blue sky, always painted in more subtle colors in England than Egypt. Below, the land about him teamed with verdant life. In his years away, Robert had forgotten how green England could be. The hills about him were lush, gently rolling in and out of sight.
They were a vivid contrast to Egypt’s starkness. There, the sun baked all moisture from the air. The rocky cliffs in which he often worked were scorched, too hot to touch by midday. The dunes, an endless shifting mass, were only slightly less so. Life had a harsh, raw edge that made him feel alive. England, pliant and soft, lulled. Like a favored lover calling him home, to slip into comfort and, from there, into obscurity.
Robert shook his head free of such fanciful thoughts and gauged the height of the sun. By his calculation, he now crossed into Everly lands. He refocused his attention. His mission was not only to meet Mister Everly, but to know him. The Egyptians had a saying, a house has the character of the man who lives in it. By Robert’s way of thinking, a gentleman’s holdings were his house.
The first tenant farm he came to was neat, if sparse. As he rode by, a young woman emerged from an outbuilding, basket under one arm. Sighting Robert on the roadway, she scuttled back inside. In the field across from her, several men stopped working. They watched, wary, as Robert passed. He nodded to them. Only one bent old man nodded back.
At the next farm, two young women hung wash, their laughter a balm after the men’s hard stares. When Robert reached the stretch of roadway alongside them, an older, rounder woman hurried from the house. She grasped each by an arm and dragged them inside. Robert frowned.
When his passage through the countryside evoked a like occurrence at the next farm, he wasn’t surprised. The following tenants evidenced less visible reaction, but Robert could readily gauge their mistrust of a gentleman on a horse. He’d honed considerable skill in reading the set of men’s shoulders, the tension about eyes and mouth. When he first reached Egypt, he could communicate only through an interpreter. Reading the truth behind the often-confusing words, skewed by translation and culture, had become the difference between success and failure, sometimes even life and death. On every farm he passed, be the emotions overt or hidden, Robert found loathing and fear.
Though observation and logic deemed the cloudless sky still as blue, an insidious haze seemed to hang over the Everly lands. The hills were dimmed to a murky olive, the sky cast in a dull, gloomy tone. By the time he urged his horse up the drive to the Everly manor, a feeling of foreboding draped heavily about Robert’s shoulders.
The manor, as with the tenant farms, maintained perfect order. Beveled, leaded glass windows accented the stacked dun stones of the home, which were constructed into artful peaks and topped by a black slate roof. Ivy snaked up the sides. Yet, the groom who ran to meet him kept his gaze turned toward the cobblestones of the yard, his shoulders bowed in defeat.
“Walk him, water him and rub down his legs, but there’s no need to unsaddle him,” Robert said to the thin young man. “Something tells me I won’t linger long.”
“Yes, sir.” The groom didn’t look up as he issued that mumbled reply.
Robert turned toward the manor steps. He tugged his cuffs into place and straightened his coat. He was, by design, over half an hour earlier than expected. He yanked off gloves and hat as his long legs carried him toward the entrance to the Everlys’ home.
A knock soon brought the door open to reveal a foyer as tidy as the exterior. The butler, nearly as young and scrawny as the groom, risked a quick glance before similarly dropping his gaze. “May I assist you, sir?”
“My lord,” Robert corrected. There should be no confusion over who had come to this home. “Lord Robert Hadler, Duke of Solworth.” He stepped in and, as the butler made no move to take them, tossed his hat and gloves onto a small table.
The butler swallowed, protruding Adam’s apple bobbing. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not recognize you.”
One of the very reasons Robert had come alone and without his carriage, ducal crest embossed on each side. “I would not expect you to. Is the master of the house in?”
Another convulsive swallow. “Mister Everly is with his mother, my lord, in the south parlor. They said to expect you. I shall inform them you’ve arrived.”
“No.” Robert used the firm, though not unkind, voice he routinely employed with workers in Egypt. “You will escort me to them. Immediately.”
That drew a startled, fearful look. “T-t-to them, my lord?”
“To them,” Robert repeated.
“R-right this way.”
The butler spun. Steps hurried, he led Robert through a well-appointed, if sparse, home. The place had an odd feel, as if everyone within endeavored for mouse-like inconspicuousness. There was no sound save the rapid shuffle of the butler’s feet, for Robert had long ago learned to walk with a light tread. In the ancient tombs he frequented, a misstep could bring a swift or, worse, a lingering death.
When he and the butler turned into a long corridor that ran the length of the building’s east wing, Robert placed a stilling hand on the man’s shoulder.
The butler flinched away.
Robert dropped his arm. He mastered a frown, not wishing the man to think it aimed at him. “The south parlor is which door?” He kept his voice low.
The butler blinked. His eyes darted down the hall and back. “I…I should announce you, my lord.”
“I’m afraid I must order you not to.”
Fear sparked anew in
the man’s eyes.
It lit anger in Robert’s gut. “What is your name?”
“C-c-carter, my lord.”
Robert resisted the urge to return a hand to Carter’s shoulder, aware the gesture wouldn’t be the reassurance he intended. “Carter, I am going to walk down this corridor and see if the Widow Everly and Mister Everly are conversing while they await the hour of my arrival. If they are, I will eavesdrop on them. When I am through, I will return to this spot and permit you to escort me down the hall and announce me. What say you to that?”
Carter stared at him through round eyes. He seemed almost to shrink, like a turtle retracting its appendages. “Do I have a choice, my lord?”
“You do, but I urge you to side with me in this.”
Carter met Robert’s gaze squarely for the first time. He swallowed. “It’s the final door on the left, my lord.”
“Good man.” Steps nearly silent on the smooth wooden planks of the floor, Robert set off down the hall. He was pleased to discern voices as he neared the recommended door. As soon as they resolved into intelligible words, he halted.
“…fidgeting and seat yourself, Edmond,” a woman, undoubtedly Missus Everly, snapped. “I am attempting to instruct you on the best course to take with the duke.”
“One course is as good as the next, Mother.” The man’s tone was bored. “The old codger hasn’t got an heir. As soon as he croaks off, I get everything.”
Robert raised his eyebrows. Old codger, indeed.
“Lord Robert Hadler is an influential man,” Missus Everly said. “If he takes a dislike to you, he may petition to have the holdings return to the crown, and then where shall you be?”
“Right where I am now, for you will use your influence to counter his petition, Mother.” Robert could discern a heavy tread as Mister Everly paced. “We’ve been over this before. There was no reason to order me dressed and in this parlor so early. I was having a perfectly splendid time right where I was.”
There came a hissing sound, as if someone drew in an angry breath. “What were you up to, Edmond?”
“You truly don’t wish to know, Mother.” Everly’s voice was smug.
“Were you with one of the maids again?” Missus Everly’s anger did her credit.
“Two, actually, and your footman interrupted just as things were becoming exceedingly enjoyable.”
“I have told you to keep your hands off those girls. You’ve already driven away two this month.”
“Driven away?” Everly’s tone dripped scorn. “Please. They come here begging for my attention. They know that one tumble with me and they can come crying to you and be paid. An hour’s work for a year’s wages. That’s how the little harlots see it.”
A year’s wages and a lifetime of sorrows, possibly a child in the bargain. One he doubted Everly provided for. Robert tried to ease the tension in his jaw.
“It’s becoming increasingly difficult to hire any young women to work in this household,” Missus Everly said. “We need maids and Cook needs assistants. Can you not go to London and pay for your amusements like a reasonable gentleman?”
“Raise the wage, Mother. They’ll come.”
“I have raised the wage,” Missus Everly snapped.
“Then I’ll raise our tenants’ rents.” Everly’s tone was exasperated. “Once they can’t afford to eat, they’ll send their daughters here to work.”
Robert took a step forward before he realized it, fists balled at his sides. He drew in a calming breath as Missus Everly began to reprimand her son again. Robert had heard all he needed. By force of will, he didn’t stomp as he made his way back down the hall to Carter. The butler hadn’t moved, though he looked more worried than ever. Robert gestured, indicating they should proceed back around the corner. Carter’s expression revealed confusion but he followed.
“How many young women work in this household?” Robert asked as he dug out his wallet.
“Young women, my lord?”
“Chamber maids. Parlor maids. Kitchen maids. Whomever.” Robert was pleased Egypt had taught him the wisdom of traveling with ready funds.
“Nine, my lord.”
Robert counted out nine ten-pound notes. “You are to find each girl, immediately, and give her one of these. She may do with it as she sees fit, but I recommend she use this advance in her wages to find a new place of employment.” Half a year’s wages, but would it be enough? He should keep his wallet fuller.
Carter gaped at the stack of notes, making no move to accept them.
Robert counted out two more. “And these are for you, under similar recommendation.”
“Th-th-thank you, m-m--”
Robert pressed the pile into Carter’s shaking hands. “I’m going to storm down the hall now,” he said, cutting off the man’s stammered attempt to speak. “If you feel the need, feel free to run after me and protest as loudly as you like, but then make all haste to do as I’ve bade you.”
This time, Robert didn’t wait for the butler to attempt a reply. Fists clenched at his sides, he strode around the corner and down the hall. He was pleased with the way his boot heels struck the wood planks. The sound reverberated, shattering the oppressive silence of the manor.
Both occupants of the parlor were on their feet and turned toward the door as Robert barged into the cozy little room. Missus Everly, cherubic features alarmed beneath gray-streaked brown curls, gaped at him. Edmond Everly, a decently put together young man, wore a similarly startled look. Robert spared the room, the only inviting space he’d yet seen on Everly lands, a brief glance before leveling a glare on his distant relation.
“Who are you?” Missus Everly gasped. “What are you about?”
Robert forced his fists to uncurl. He shouldn’t be so unkind as to alarm the lady, several years his senior. It was Everly, not his mother, who must receive Robert’s ire. He offered the widow a slight bow. “Robert Hadler, Duke of Solworth.”
“My lord.” She bobbed a curtsy, round face wreathed in confusion. “We’ve been expecting you. Shall I send for tea?”
“I do not require tea. I will not be staying.” Robert turned unyielding green eyes on Everly. “I have merely come to inform you, sir, that you shall never lord over so much as a yard of my holdings. I will take the issue to King George himself, if I must, and if he’s unwilling to accommodate me, I will relocate every tenant and raze the manor to the ground before you lay hand on anything that is mine.”
Everly and his mother stared, mouths open and eyes wide. Robert turned on his heels and strode from the room. His boots struck with enough force to dent the planks of the floor. He was nearly to the corner when light footsteps hurried after him.
“Lord Robert,” Missus Everly called. “Lord Robert, please, wait.”
Robert swallowed against the vitriol lodged in his throat and turned.
She scuttled down the hall, slippers unable to find firm purchase on the smooth wood. She skidded to a halt when she neared. Though she’d run barely the length of the building, her matronly bosom heaved with every breath. “Lord Robert, please.”
“Please what, madam?”
“Please hear reason, my lord. My son is not a terrible man. Whatever you’ve heard, it is slander and lies.”
“I doubt that.” Robert was grimly amused. Then, what mother wouldn’t defend her child?
“Then you truly mean to petition the king?”
“I truly do.”
A frown pocketed the smooth skin of her chin. “Then I must inform you, my lord, that a cousin of mine is wed to a cousin of his.” Her blue eyes glinted. “You have the fame of Egypt attached to your name, but you’ve been away from England for many years. I do not think your petition will outweigh the future Duke of Solworth’s.”
“Then the estate shall burn.” Robert forced an even tone, unsure himself if he bluffed.
“Burn your ancestral home? Turn out your tenants?” Her voice took on a desperate edge.
“Relocate,” he corrected.
“My lord, I can reform Edmond. He is not beyond hope.”
Robert frowned down at her. “You’ve had the rearing of him. After what, five and twenty years, you believe you can now alter him?”
“Six and twenty,” she corrected. Her frown deepened, aging her. “My lord, you cannot raze the Solworth ancestral holdings. There must be another way.”
Could he displace those beholden to him to save them from a despot? Burn down the home in which he was raised? Where he’d brought his wife on their wedding day. Seen Lanora born.
And buried his wife.
Through the still-bitter pain of the loss that, years ago, drove him from England, Robert realized the Widow Everly was correct. There was another way.
“No, madam, I will not destroy that which has been beholden to my line for so many centuries.” He watched in grim amusement as hope sparked in her cornflower-blue eyes. “Indeed, there is another way, and as soon as I return to London, I shall pursue it.”
“Pursue what, my lord?” Her tone was tentative.
He permitted a hard smile. “A wife.”
“A wife?”
Robert nodded. “Mark me well, madam. Within a month’s time, Solworth will have a new duchess. One capable of giving me an heir.”
She gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth.
“Good day, Missus Everly. I will see myself out.” Robert turned and strode away.
Chapter Two
Lady Cecilia Greydrake, Dowager Marchioness of Westlock, perched on the very edge of a plush armchair in her stepdaughter-by-marriage’s sitting room. Across from her, Lanora was the very architype of calm, skin radiant and belly now visibly round with child. Cecilia clutched her knees to keep both them and her hands from jittering.
“Grace will be here soon.” Lanora’s tone, though amused, was kind.
“You’re sure she hasn’t any notion what you’ve done?” Cecilia hadn’t been so excited since… Well, since the moment she’d found out her late husband was dying, but this was a more overtly joyous occasion. Her marvelous, wonderful stepdaughter was about to make their friend Grace into a gentlewoman.