Duke's Folly

by Melinda Hammond

  'It is some time since I saw the gardens at Cullenmore,' remarked Lady Honoria. 'Have you done much to them since your father died?'

  'Nothing,' he said. 'Although I am thinking of making changes. I noticed recently that the kitchen gardens are in need of improvement. I shall talk to the gardener about it.'

  'A herb garden is essential and can be very decorative,' she replied comfortably, 'As for the growing of food―your grace will hardly concern yourself with such matters.'

  They had reached the centre of the rose garden, where a little bench had been set beneath a bower of the most fragrant blooms. The air was balmy, the summer sun shone down upon them as Lady Honoria released his arm and stepped into the shady arbour, collapsing her parasol and placing it beside her.

  There was plenty of room for Perry to sit down beside her but he remained standing, looking down at the lady.

  'Have you never visited your own kitchen gardens, Honoria?'

  She looked up at him, her dark brows raised. 'Why on earth would I do that? My father employs a very good gardener and an excellent French chef who tells him what is required.'

  'And the stables,' he said suddenly. 'Do you go there?'

  'Goodness, no. The horses or carriages are always brought to the door. Where are these questions leading, Peregrine? If you are trying to satisfy yourself that I can run a large household then pray put your mind at rest. I shall not disgrace you by interfering in the kitchens or lowering myself to undertake tasks better suited to a housekeeper. Mama has taught me very well what is required when one is mistress of a great house, and no servant will ever get the better of me.'

  'I do not doubt it.'

  Perry clasped his hands behind his back, a slight frown creasing his brow. Honoria looked serene, but Perry's thoughts were troubled. His grandfather had been a stickler for ceremony and duty, but he had taken a close interest in the affairs of his people, as he called them. Perry's father had been very different. He had cared for nothing but his horses and his gambling and had allowed his inheritance to slip perilously close to ruin while he travelled around the country, his duchess beside him, and enjoyed a life of leisure and indulgence. Perry had been raised in a nursery, but he had been fortunate to be in the care of loving family retainers. He was determined that his stewardship of Cullenmore and all its estates would be somewhere in between. He knew what was due to his name and had no intention of ignoring his duty as his father had done, but he was damned if he would go back to the rigid formality of the past.

  Honoria shifted slightly on the seat and Perry's thoughts jerked back to the present. She was waiting for him to propose. To say the words that would seal their fate for ever, but for the life of him he could not do it. She was sitting very upright, her slender hands clasped lightly in her lap, gazing with satisfaction upon the pink roses nodding in the gentle breeze. It was the perfect setting for a proposal and he thought now that she had anticipated this very scene, for her blush-coloured gown was a perfect match for the blooms that surrounded the arbour.

  What was holding him back? He had known Honoria all his life, she understood what was expected of her, she would run his houses with expert efficiency and would never disgrace him in public or give him cause for complaint. Every rational thought told him she would make the perfect duchess.

  But I don't love her.

  He had fallen in love in his youth, several times, and they had all been highly unsuitable women, and he had as quickly fallen out of love again in a very short time. But he was eight-and-twenty and those foolish days were behind him. Love had nothing to do with marriage. Perry gave his head a tiny shake.

  'Is anything wrong, Peregrine?'

  'No, no, nothing, Honoria. A touch too much sun, perhaps.'

  'Or perhaps a little too much wine last night.'

  Her voice was amused, her smile understanding and he thought again that she was demonstrating what a perfect wife she would be for him.

  'Yes, perhaps.' As if to reinforce his darker mood, at that moment a cloud decided to cover the sun and he shivered a little. 'It looks like rain. Perhaps we should return to the house.

  Honoria looked surprised, and not best pleased, but she inclined her head and said graciously, 'If that is what you wish.'

  She rose and took his arm and as they left the rose garden Perry said, 'Forgive me, Honoria. You might have been expecting more from me today.'

  'I confess I was,' she said complacently, 'but I perfectly understand and I commend you for your thoughtfulness.'

  He blinked. 'You do?'

  'But of course. It would be the height of incivility to offer for me whilst intoxicated.'

  When they returned to the house he did not miss the enquiring look that Lady Flintley immediately threw at her daughter, nor Honoria's tiny shake of the head. The countess came towards Perry, all graciousness.

  'You will stay and dine with us, will you not, your grace?

  'I regret that is not possible.' Suddenly he had to get away. To think. 'I, um, I have urgent business that will take me away from Cullenmore for a while. Perhaps when I return…'

  He took his leave, but instead of ringing for the servant, Lady Flintley declared she would show him out. The drawing room door closed behind them and she led him across the marbled hall. There was only one servant standing beside the main door, and she sent him running to fetch the duke's curricle. It was just the two of them, alone in the hall. Lady Flintley cleared her throat.

  'I have known you since you were a boy, Peregrine, and I hope you will forgive me if I speak plainly, but I fear you have been playing fast and loose with my daughter.'

  'That has not been my intention, my lady.'

  'No, no, I am sure.' She paused for a moment, then, 'Perhaps it was wrong of us, but we―that is, your father, Lord Flintley and myself―hatched the plan for the two of you to make a match of it, and I cannot deny Honoria has always considered herself promised to you. Why, her whole education has been tailored towards becoming a duchess. She draws and paints, sings, knows how to manage a large household and is never at a loss in society.'

  'I am aware of it, Lady Flintley,' Perry replied. 'She is in every way an ideal partner.'

  'Tell me truthfully.' She fixed him with a gimlet stare. 'Do you wish to cry off from this arrangement?'

  He wanted to ask, what arrangement? No one had discussed this with him, he had never committed himself to a marriage, whatever his parents had agreed. But in his heart he could not deny that he had allowed the assumption to carry on unchallenged. It was too late, he could not in honour withdraw now.

  He said, 'No, madam. I do not.'

  'Very well.' She folded her hands together. 'How long is this business of yours likely to take?'

  Forever!

  'I cannot say. A few weeks, four, perhaps.'

  'Four weeks!' She frowned. 'You cannot have forgotten that our September Ball is set for the fourteenth. That is almost a month to the day. You will be back before then, I hope?'

  'I shall make sure of it, ma'am.'

  'Very well. We expect all our neighbours to be in attendance and it would be an ideal time to announce the engagement. Yes, I think that will be an excellent solution. If you cannot be persuaded to offer for Honoria today, then it must be before the ball. Are we agreed, your grace?'

  Perry looked into the iron hard eyes, so like her daughter's, and felt the noose tightening around his neck. He bowed.

  'Yes, Lady Flintley. We are agreed.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two days later, Perry emerged from the steward's office, Rafford following close behind as he crossed the hall. Ahead of him, through the open door, he could see his curricle waiting on the drive, with Wragg standing at the horses' heads.

  'You know what you have to do,' he said over his shoulder. 'You will write to Grieves and tell him to expect me on the first of September.'

  'Very good your grace. Do you wish me to bespeak rooms for you at the Greyhound again, sir?'

  'No. My
valet formed a very poor opinion of that establishment when he saw the hash they had made of cleaning my coat and boots at the last visit. Besides, I wish to put up at the Greyhound as plain Mr Wyre before I make my official arrival in Hyndmarsh on the first of the month.'

  A dark cloud settled over his spirits at the thought of it. The end of the month marked the end of his time as Mr Wyre. From September he would be known as the duke, and he had to ensure Monsieur Coutras and his family were aware of his true identity before then.

  'Your grandfather built the Beaucliffe Arms in Hyndmarsh, your grace, and 'twas only natural that's where he'd put up,' remarked his steward. 'Of course, I have no idea what it is like these days.'

  Perry recalled passing it on his previous visit. It had looked respectable enough, and he thought it was the obvious place for the new Duke of Cullenmore to stay.

  'Very well, that will do for me,' he decided. 'Reserve me a suite of rooms there. And book the night before, too. Holby will go down in the travelling chariot and puff off my consequence for a day before I get there.'

  He grinned at Rafford, who saw nothing amusing or ridiculous in the idea. Perry stifled a sigh.

  'You will not reconsider and take Holby with you now?' asked the steward as they reached the door. 'He is most put out that you are going away for two whole weeks without him.'

  'I refuse to be dependent upon my valet, Rafford, however much that may offend Holby's finer feelings. I am driving my greys with Wragg to attend me and there's an end to it. '

  'Yes your grace, but―'

  'No buts, if you please. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and besides, I want to make myself familiar with the area before I meet up with Grieves, and people are likely to talk much more freely to Mr Wyre than to a duke.' He stepped outside into the bright sunshine and paused to pull on his gloves. 'Tell Holby I shall join him at the Beaucliffe Arms on the first. If you need to reach me before that, send word to the Greyhound.'

  With that he climbed into the curricle and took up the reins. Then, with a word to Wragg he set the pair in motion. The greys sprang into their collars and bowled off along the drive, leaving the groom to scramble up behind.

  *

  The summer days rolled into one another, the same as any other year. Sophie helped her father with his history of France and with tutoring Armand, she weeded the garden, harvested the peas and beans and made the first of the jams and chutneys, ready for the winter. Much as she had done in other years, but somehow this was different. She was different. And that was because she could not forget the stranger who had come into their life in early summer.

  Peregrine Wyre haunted her dreams, his dark eyes alight with laughter, his tall figure riding towards the house on that bay hunter, and then riding away again, disappearing into the trees without a backward look. It was useless trying to tell herself the pleasant interlude was over, that Mr Wyre was gone and would not return. She could not forget him, even though there was a more pressing worry that now occupied her waking hours.

  Mr Grieves had written to Papa to say he would be calling today. That was unusual enough, because the agent rarely called at Duke's Folly. Sophie sometimes saw him in Hyndmarsh, but the last time he had visited Papa had been about a year ago, to inform him of the old duke's death. Now Papa said Mr Grieves wanted to discuss rents. This was something she had never thought of in the past, but her father had explained that the agreement made years ago with the seventh duke, that they might live at Hyndmarsh rent-free, had been a verbal one. Nothing had changed for many years but now there was another new duke, the ninth, and he might well wish to challenge that arrangement.

  Sophie had taken her sewing to one of the high tower rooms that she might look out for the agent and when she saw his stocky figure riding towards the bridge she went to find Papa and they made their way to the small parlour to await their guest. Once Mr Grieves had been shown in, Sophie went off for refreshments.

  'Three glasses,' observed the agent, when she returned. 'I hope that means you are going to remain with us, Miss Coutras?'

  He smiled at Sophie, but there was nothing pleasant about it. She thought he had a predatory look, as if he was sizing her up for the cooking pot. She tried to dismiss the feeling, telling herself that the poor man could not help his heavy jowls, nor his small eyes. Nevertheless, she could not like him.

  'My daughter keeps house for me and looks after the accounts,' explained Papa in his mild way. 'She understands as much as I do about these things, and possibly more. If you please, Mr Grieves, do take a seat and tell us what all this is about.'

  Sophie chose to sit in the window seat, which was only large enough for one, and at a distance from the other chairs in the room. For some reason her instinct was to keep as far away as possible from Claud Grieves.

  The agent took the proffered glass of wine from her father and tasted it before speaking.

  'As you know, Monsieur, we now have a new Duke of Cullenmore.'

  'Yes, this we had heard,' replied her father, putting his own glass down untouched.

  'The new duke is much more interested in his properties than his father, who, as you know, left everything very much as it was in his father's day. However, the new duke has been setting matters to rights on his country estates, updating farms and increasing rents.'

  Sophie felt a little flutter of anxiety in her stomach. What would the new duke consider a fair rent for Hyndmarsh?

  'It is possible that he will include Hyndmarsh in his review,' Mr Grieves continued. 'That is why I came to warn you, to give you notice that you might make preparation.'

  Papa rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'We have very little to spare, Mister Grieves. How much do you think the new duke will want for this property?'

  Mr Grieves emptied his glass. He said slowly, 'It is possible he will wish to claim arrears.'

  Sophie sat up straighter. 'Can he do that?' she demanded. 'My father has done much to restore this house, it was a ruin when he moved in.'

  'I know that, Miss Coutras, but I am not sure how much the new duke understands about the current arrangements. I am expecting to hear from his steward any day. We cannot do anything until then, but once I have news from Mr Rafford I shall be able to put your case to him.' He rose. 'I pray you will try not to be anxious, Monsieur Coutras, I am sure we shall be able to come to some agreement with the duke about your situation.'

  After he had gone Sophie looked at her father.

  'Is it possible we could lose our home?' she asked him, clasping her hands together.

  'Very possible,' he told her. 'We have lived here very comfortably for twenty years.'

  'Comfortably!' she marched up to him, too angry to be silent any longer. 'Papa, the castle walls might be sound but the house itself was a mere shell when you came here. You spent a great deal restoring this place, most of the pension your friends settled upon you. By your hard work you have made it a home for us. How dare the duke expect you to pay arrears after all the money you have invested in his house?'

  'Hush, child, I pray you will not upset yourself. At present this is nothing more than conjecture. Mr Grieves merely called to warn us of what might happen. But it might not, the new duke may be happy for us to continue exactly as we are. Tiens, Hyndmarsh is such a small part of his inheritance, he may not even be aware of it. However, we must be prepared. We shall need to make sure the accounts are up to date, but there is no reason for us to worry until we know a little more.'

  And with that Sophie had to be content. Her father went back to the tower, to lose himself amongst his books, and Sophie went out to spend an hour in the sunshine, hoeing the weeds.

  She was picking strawberries when something made her look up and she saw an open carriage bowling along the lakeside road. She rose and went to the water's edge. The driver turned his head and saw her. He raised his whip and she waved back, her heart hammering against her ribs. It was Mr Wyre! With a little gasp of happiness, she sped into the castle and across the courtyard
, calling out to Owen as she went. Between them they managed to swing the big gates open just as he reached the bridge.

  She stood aside as the curricle swept into the yard, scattering the hens, but once she had closed the gates again she ran up to the carriage

  'You are come back.' She scolded herself for such an obvious statement, and her smile was far too wide to be polite as she watched him climb down, but she could not help it. She wanted to reach out and touch his coat, to prove he was real and not a dream.

  'Yes, I arrived in Hyndmarsh yesterday evening.'

  He was smiling at her and with an effort she dragged her eyes away.

  'Would you like to step indoors, that is, if you mean to stay a while?'

  'I should like to do so, if I am not inconveniencing you or your father.'

  'No, not at all.' Did she sound too eager? Sophie stepped back. 'Hugh and Armand have gone into Hyndmarsh to post a letter for Papa, but they should be back soon. I will fetch Owen―'

  'Pray do not trouble him, Wragg can look after my horses.'

  'Thank you, that would be helpful, and please, once you have done that, do go to the kitchens where Joan will find you something to drink.' She smiled at the groom before turning to accompany her guest to the house, happiness bubbling inside her.

  She said, 'We did not think to see you again, Mr Wyre.'

  'No, I had not intended to come back, but I have business in the area. I thought I should call to pay my respects to your father as soon as I arrived, I would not wish to appear uncivil.'

  'And will you be staying longer this time?'

  'Oh, a couple of weeks, perhaps.'

  The happiness bubbled even higher. Sophie led him into the parlour and bade him take a seat while she went off to tell Papa. She hurried to the tower, her feet barely touching the ground. She steadied herself at the stairs and by the time she opened the door to her father's book-room she was able to speak with at least the appearance of calm.

  'Papa, Mr Wyre has arrived. Will you see him?'

  Her father raised his head, a faraway look in his eyes that told Sophie he had been deep in his writing. What if he decided he was too busy for visitors? She could hardly entertain Perry alone. A huge wave of relief washed over her when a smile of recognition spread over his face.