What if the boy had some condition her children could inherit? It was well-known that certain conditions tended to recur in families. If she was to have his child—she hastily turned her mind away from what making a child entailed; she didn’t want to get involved in those particular dreams—then she needed to know.
The manor house turned out to be a tidy building on the small side. The exterior was blackened from years of smoke fires and, in places, the masonry was crumbling. Gerald nudged Annie, who nodded. In places, the facade of the honey-colored stone had sheared away, leaving the rough surface beneath, prey to the weather. While they couldn’t see the roof, hidden behind the parapet, Dorcas would wager there were a few slates missing.
The uneven drive made the carriage bounce, despite it being the latest model with new suspension. The driver slowed, no doubt taking care to miss any holes.
“The duke said his great-aunt was eccentric,” Dorcas ventured.
“Yes, I recall that,” Gerald said, gazing out of the window at the overgrown trees. While she didn’t agree with severe pollarding, if something wasn’t done soon, the trees would be beyond saving. Elms were supposed to be elegant, not straggling, their branches intertwining, stick-thin and brittle. Several large crow’s nests thickened the branches, threatening to bring them down. The lawns were overgrown, although nearer to the house a few grazing sheep attested to the fact that somebody was finally dealing with the problem.
The carriage drew up outside the front door, and the footman let down the steps. Paint was peeling off the door and the window frames. Not a good start.
The crows roosting in the chimneys cawed a welcome as they descended, Gerald and Annie first. By the time Dorcas came to alight, Grant was there, waiting for her. He smiled broadly as he helped her down and tucked her hand firmly by his side. “As you can see, the house needs some attention, but I’m setting it in order.”
He’d returned to his proper, precise accent. Dorcas missed the warm Scottish lilt. But it would never have done for a duke to have a regional accent. Unthinkable.
The hall smelled of damp wood. Stairs ran up either side of it to a landing above, the elaborate carving on the rails and newels softened by time. Someone had cared for this house once. Paintings blackened with age hung on the walls, shadowy faces attesting to the presence of ancestors. The whole place gave off an atmosphere of gloom.
“My great-aunt lived here alone for twenty years,” Grant said cheerfully. But his bright words sounded forced, and didn’t penetrate to the back of the hall.
“Let me show you around,” he suggested.
After viewing a series of dark rooms, all wood-paneled, they went upstairs. Every tread creaked alarmingly, and all were worn in the center from centuries of use. “This could be a very neat residence,” Gerald said.
They went into a drawing room. Again, oak-paneled, with Tudor roses carved into the upper level. A plaster ceiling showed an effort to join the eighteenth century, but it was halfhearted, as if the maker had lost interest halfway through. The edge was elaborately done, but the center was plain. And it sagged. A large, round table between two sofas held a tea set and a selection of bread and cakes.
A dilemma ensued. She was not the mistress of this establishment, but somebody had to pour the tea.
Grant forestalled Dorcas’ awkwardness. “Would you care to pour?”
With relief, Dorcas did just that, furnishing everyone with tea. “What did they do before tea?” she wondered.
“They drank beer and wine and were drunk before dinner,” Gerald said promptly, raising a much needed laugh, which lightened the atmosphere.
Dorcas thought about what she’d seen. True, the rooms were worn and damp, but underneath the neglect, the house was lovely. Her heart went out to it.
“Is this house timber framed?” Annie asked.
“Yes it is,” Gerald said, leading Dorcas to a sofa. She sat, arranging her wide skirts to leave room for him. He accepted, once Annie had taken a seat in a matching sofa opposite. The pieces were heavily carved, and the dark green fabric worn and a little patchy. “Some of it was built with green wood, so it warped as it dried. That explains some twists. I’m tempted to have it demolished and rebuilt.”
“No!” her response was immediate and heartfelt. “It has good bones. It’s old, seen many things. If you destroy all that, you’ll get rid of all the history.”
He raised a brow. “An interesting point of view. But the place will take a lot of renovation.”
He regarded her, a soft expression in his eyes. “For you, my lady, I’ll reconsider. But if the mine proves profitable, I’ll be spending more time here. Not to mention its proximity to your family. Scotland is far from here, a week’s journey at the very least. Even if we take my yacht, the journey isn’t a speedy one. This is the only property I own in this part of the world, sadly. So I plan to renew it. Would you like to take it on?”
“Yes!” Enthusiasm blossomed. “I can see that it needs a great deal of work, but the house is a pretty one and the rooms spacious. I particularly liked the long room downstairs with the niches.”
“I liked those,” Annie put in. “I can see settling there with a book on a sunny day would be a delightful way to spend some time. But the decision must be yours.”
“I’ve made it.” He hadn’t taken his gaze off her face. “Dorcas shall have her renovated house. Although I insist she plans it exactly as she wishes. My great-aunt let the place fall apart. She only cared for her personal living quarters. Her ancestors built it. She was my great-aunt on my mother’s side, so their history is different. Not Scottish,” he added with a grin.
“Why did she estrange herself from your family?” Dorcas blurted, in lieu of the question she really wanted to ask; the one about his brother. But perhaps the questions were connected. Or perhaps not. Annie was right, the only way she would discover the answer was by asking.
He sighed and shook his head. “She refused to marry. She barely escaped being locked up in an asylum when she refused every suitor her father put before her. But she was the only person who could manage her nephew when he was young.” He paused. “He used to have fits.”
“Oh my goodness!”
“And he was the heir. Fortunately, he grew out of them,” he added hastily.
Was that connected to his brother? “Are you afraid the condition might manifest again?” Did it run in the family?
Annie and Gerald fell silent. Dorcas recognized that stillness. They were waiting for the answer, afraid, as she was, that the family had an affliction they refused to acknowledge.
Grant sipped his tea and put the dish aside. “No, I don’t think so. The boy grew up to be the Earl of Mackay. A man of few words and a short temper. My uncle on my mother’s side.”
“Oh.” She’d heard of the earl, but never met him in person. From what she’d learned, she was rather glad of that. “So I would meet him?”
“Briefly. Don’t worry, he’s far less formidable in the family. He finds his reputation useful rather than uncontrollable.”
Rather like he did. Only in Grant’s case, he was distant and, well, tall. He could look over a person if he wasn’t interested in speaking with them. She drew a breath and, without trying to out-think herself, spoke. “You said your brother was in ill health. What’s wrong with him?”
He sighed, his mouth grim. He said nothing. Perhaps he considered her question impertinent, which it was, but she wanted to know. Eventually he spoke. “Nothing that is hereditary.”
She tried not to let her relief show.
Annie made bustling noises, smoothing her skirts and putting her tea dish back in the saucer with a hard clink.
From Dorcas’ pocket came the chimes of her watch, striking the half-hour. Half-past two already. He wasn’t going to answer. She had better change the subject. “Shall we see the rest of the house?” she said, disappointment creating a pit in her stomach. He didn’t trust her enough to tell her. Or perhaps it was Annie and Gerald
he didn’t trust.
“He can’t walk,” Grant said harshly. “He had an accident when he was nine years old. Fell off his horse. The animal rolled on him.”
She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh!” Lowering her hand, she said, “How terrible! I’m so sorry!”
“Such a tragedy!” Gerald murmured. “Indeed, the poor young man is to be pitied. Can he travel? Will he come to the wedding?”
“He can travel. I have sent for my mother and brother.” When he turned to look at her, Dorcas saw nothing in his eyes. He was masking his reaction from her. She couldn’t deny that hurt.
Grant spoke again. “They are on their way. They’ll stay here, of course, so I have people busy preparing rooms.” His voice was harsh and terse, the Duke of Blackridge to the letter. Either he was hiding his true feelings or he really thought nothing of it at all. She would try to find out which.
Footsteps sounded above their heads, as if the people concerned were proving his point for him. Annie got to her feet. “I would appreciate seeing the rest of the house,” she said. “All of it,” she added firmly.
With a quirk of a smile, Grant got to his feet and held out his hand to help Dorcas, as if she were some helpless individual. She accepted his hand, and let him draw her to his side. Just as if he really wanted her. In recent days, she’d begun to doubt, and now she knew why.
Seeing Grant in his ducal glory only reminded her of the Scot who slept in a tent and communed with other men as an equal, not a superior.
Having seen far too many people who thought their births conferred privilege recently, Dorcas appreciated the way Grant could move in any company.
Today, he wore an understated, but fine coat of dark blue, with a matching waistcoat and breeches, a far cry from the worn, threadbare garments he’d worn with such aplomb in the camp.
She missed his natural hair. Of course, today, he wore the fashionable wig, gray hair drawn back into a neat queue.
“Have you told the men at the mine who you are?”
His smile broadened. “No need. If they see me like this, they probably won’t recognize me. If they do, they won’t cause any trouble. I was a steward, someone annoying sent to disrupt their day. Now I’m the owner. They don’t care, there’s no difference as far as many of them are concerned.”
After leaving the room, Grant showed them a succession of chambers. Some held no furniture at all. Without the veneer of furnishing or warmth, the rooms were neglected, needed loving care lavished on them.
In one room, a bedchamber with the remains of a four-poster standing forlornly in the center of the floor, Dorcas went to the window. From here, the wisp of smoke that marked the mine threaded up to the sky in the middle of her vision. But like her brother’s house, the view was obscured by hedges. “They’re still working,” she said.
“Every day.”
Grant’s breath heated her ear. He was standing remarkably close to her. Startled, she made to move, but he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “Your brother and sister-in-law have moved on,” he murmured. “Kiss me, sweetheart. I’ve been longing for it all day.”
Yes. In this part, at least she was sure. He excited her, filled her with desire. Willingly, she turned in his arms and lifted her head. He bent his, and their lips met. Relief and an emotion she couldn’t define, but enjoyed.
After a brief, but heartfelt embrace, he smiled down at her. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
With heat washing over her, Dorcas nodded.
He pressed a kiss to the end of her nose. “You will never bore me, Dorcas.”
“Oh.” She gazed up at him, enjoying what she was seeing and allowing herself to luxuriate in the knowledge that they would soon be one. Should she ask him about his brother? But she knew all she needed to satisfy her that his condition wasn’t hereditary.
The moment between them was so precious she didn’t want to spoil it. Didn’t want his expression of warm devotion to change to one of dislike. For fear of that, she wouldn’t talk about his brother now.
She turned away from him, led the way out of the room. “My orangery must be moved.”
“I will build you new ones. Wherever we live, you will have somewhere for your flowers and plants. I will ensure it.”
The man supported her. She had never expected that anyone outside the family would understand her passion.
He followed her out of the room, towards where the murmur of voices told them her brother and sister-in-law were. The stink of damp and wood followed them. It would remain in his nostrils forever. His mother would hate this place. He’d done his best to prepare rooms for them in the least affected part of the house but, already, he was bracing himself for her disapproval.
He coped with it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. No doubt, she wouldn’t entirely approve of his choice of bride, but that wouldn’t prevent him from taking Dorcas. She was the one he wanted.
A rumble from above interrupted his thoughts, and a crash made him release Dorcas and move into a sprint. A scream echoed up the corridor, and Lady Carbrooke appeared, running around the corner, her skirts lifted to her knees.
“Don’t go any further,” she gasped, reaching them.
“Where is your husband? Is he hurt?” Alarm streaked through him.
She shook her head. “The plaster ceiling in one of the rooms just fell down.”
“What?” He paused only long enough to warn Dorcas, “Go back to the drawing room,” before he raced down the corridor and around the corner.
Smoke was emerging from one of the rooms, or rather, a gust of powder from the plaster.
Carbrooke stood in the doorway, his wig gone, revealing close-cut dark hair, which was liberally sprinkled with white powder. He was staring into the room. “It’s only the plaster,” he said. “It might have been badly attached.”
Grant joined him and surveyed the mess.
“What on earth has happened?” Not a little relief was revealed as Dorcas approached them at a more sedate pace.
Grant sighed. So much for obedience. “You should go back,” he warned them. “The structure here might not be safe.”
Dorcas regarded him calmly, her lovely eyes pools of peace. “It seems enough to hold us now. But yes, I fear the damp has penetrated further on this side of the house than we imagined. The back part faces the north. It’s more exposed.”
“How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “The movement of the sun.” She gestured out of the window. “Follow its path.”
She was right. He wasn’t as aware as she, but yes, this house faced the wrong way, by the standards of most people. The back of a house usually faced south to catch the sun, but this one didn’t. “We’ll have to keep to the front of the house.”
“I can’t like Dorcas living here,” Lady Carbrooke said. “Not until the damage has been surveyed and dealt with. Surely, you must see that.”
Grant, the owner of half a dozen estates, understood her only too well. “Yes, I do,” he said heavily. “Perhaps we should postpone the wedding.” Even the thought of that depressed his spirits. He wanted Dorcas in his bed as soon as possible. If he had his way, she’d already be there.
He’d never desired a woman more. If he had to wait until he rebuilt his house, he’d go mad. His imagination ran away with him, and he could see no end to the delays. Plus, of course, his need to take care of her. With this new threat, he had to keep her close. Had to.
The dust was still settling from the collapse. This place would have to be completely rebuilt. “It’s a wonder the old lady lived here for so long without dying in her bed.”
Her ladyship tugged on her husband’s arm. “Come away now, Gerald. I don’t have a great deal of confidence that this part of the house will stay intact very much longer.”
“The roof leaks in this part of the house,” Grant confessed. “I need to get builders here quickly.”
“It’s old,” Dorcas said slowly. “Very old. That’s w
hy I love it. But if you need to demolish parts of it, I suppose you must. Did your great-aunt care nothing for it?”
They walked back down the way they came, treading very lightly this time. Just in case.
“I doubt it. She left the family in high dudgeon, and this was the only place she could call her own. She said she was determined to outlive my father, so he could never get his hands on it. And she was as good as her word.”
“Why did she leave?” Dorcas asked.
Grant didn’t know what to say.
To answer her honestly would be to expose all his family’s secrets, to discuss things he’d never talked about before. But she was to be his wife. Part of his family. But where to start?
“It was a saga,” he said. “That is, the disputes went on for years. She disagreed with every decision my father took, because he was who he was. She always resented not being born a man, and so was not the heir. That resentment colored everything else.”
He suspected that his great-aunt felt akin to him, which was why she had left him the house. But their cases were entirely different. And he would never have allowed the estate to fall to pieces as it had.
“She ruined her life because she was determined to get her revenge on my parents.”
“For what?” Dorcas asked. Quite reasonably in Grant’s opinion.
“Any number of things.” He looked at her and smiled. She made him smile a lot, even when he wasn’t feeling like it. “The fact that she wasn’t born a boy, that they didn’t defer to her all the time, that she never found the husband she wanted.”
“So she sat in this house and festered?”
He laughed, short and without humor. “Yes. That puts it in a nutshell.”
“No need for that,” Lady Carbrooke said briskly. She had followed Dorcas back to the room. “You may stay with us. It’s not as if we’re short of space, is it?”
He hadn’t thought of that.
Dorcas took his arm and hugged it. “What a marvelous idea!”
A Trace of Roses Page 16