The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

  The carriage had ceased rattling. In fact, it had halted altogether. His neck ached and his back throbbed with stiffness. He drew open the dark curtains of the carriage. Lights flickered, and he spotted Sam with the horses near a small public house. He stifled a yawn and opened the carriage door to step outside and join his coachman.

  “Where are we?” Sebastian asked Sam.

  “Sussex.” Sam beamed. “They say this is the sunniest part of England.”

  “Well, it’s dark now,” Sebastian grumbled. He straightened and rubbed his hands against his swollen eyes. He hoped his cheeks did not appear red and blotchy.

  If Sam noticed anything unusual about Sebastian’s face in the dim light, he did not say so, and he returned to feeding the horses.

  “This seems to be a pretty county,” Sam said. “We only have a few miles left. I’ll see if I can arrange a private room for you.”

  “A private room?”

  “Well,” Sam gazed at the ground, “now that you are a duke, Your Grace, you wouldn’t want to eat with everyone. I think quite common people might be there.”

  “Oh.”

  Sebastian looked longingly at the tavern. His self-imposed isolation following the deaths of his family in Yorkshire would continue. Laughter drifted from the half-timbered building. The last time he visited a proper pub had been when he was with William. Sam was right. Pleasures others enjoyed would not be for him. He had responsibilities and an image to maintain. Others might find it scandalous to learn that the duke had consorted with plebeians.

  Sebastian shook his head. “Let’s go on to Somerset Hall.”

  When they left the establishment, Sebastian opened the curtains to view his new home. The tops of the trees leaned across the lane, touching one another. It was, he supposed, romantic. The area would also be a brilliant place for thieves to ambush carriages. The Sussex coast was renowned for its smugglers, and the channel lay nearby.

  All was quiet now. A full moon loomed overhead. Thatched cottages and shops dotted the landscape, the clusters growing larger. This must be the village that belonged with the estate. He would meet the villagers later; now was not the time. He leaned against his seat, anxious to remove himself from prying eyes. He did not detect anyone though. No children shouted, and the shutters were closed on all the buildings.

  The carriage swept through an imposing gate. Stone lions loomed on either side of the entrance. Sebastian shivered at the opulence and the responsibility he had acquired. The carriage tilted as the horses plodded uphill, winding their way on the path. The manor house would sit at the top, overlooking the best view of the countryside. Perhaps in the old days, a defensive castle had stood in its place, guarding against any enemies. He hoped his new home might protect him from the demons running wild in his imagination, ensconcing him securely in its grand halls.

  The top of the hill was large and flat. Perfect for an estate. The carriage drove by a lake filled with ducks and swans. A stone bridge crossed over the water, leading to the manor house itself. Moonlight shone over the columns and statues that embellished the facade.

  Everything was beautiful, everything was idyllic. He would lead his life in a place of perfection, and he would strive to emulate it.

  Sam pulled the carriage up in front of the main door. “We’re here, Your Grace.”

  “Excellent, Sam.” Sebastian opened the door, alighting on the carriage steps to the dirt path. He would be happy to rest soon and tend to his aching back. Perhaps he might enjoy a brandy in the late duke’s library. His library.

  Sam unloaded the luggage, pulling the square trunks from the carriage. “I can help,” he said.

  “That’s not necessary, Your Grace.”

  “Nonsense. I’m happy to be of assistance, and no one else is about.” Sebastian swung the last bag out of the carriage, conscious of the unexpected tranquility around them.

  Not that Sebastian expected the servants to come greet him; he had not told them to expect him that day. Still, it would be nice if somebody came out. Surely they would have heard the carriage? The horses stomped their feet, eager to be unharnessed. One of the horses neighed, arching its back. They could not be accused of being overly quiet.

  Sussex was even more remote than he imagined. At least he would be unlikely to wander into William’s presence anytime soon.

  Sebastian took a bag in his hand and ascended the steps. “Sam, you stay with the horses.”

  Sam nodded.

  Sebastian clasped the large door knocker, making his presence known. He paused, waiting for the pitter-patter of feet rushing to open it. Silence greeted him. He rapped again, this time with more force. He looked to Sam, who shrugged. Sebastian crept to the window and peered in. Or at least he tried to peer in: lace curtains obscured the view, though he managed to make out the shapes of the furniture. Ivory sheets draped over the furniture, and only the slanting curves of the Queen Anne legs indicated their purpose.

  He circled the back of the home, rapping on the windows, regretting arriving unexpectedly. Still, this was supposed to be his home, and servants should be living here. He paid them to do so, and the silence puzzled him.

  Nobody was home. He would need to break in.

  “Do you think that wise?” Sam asked.

  “Not in particular,” said Sebastian. “But I am eager to enter.”

  He picked up one of the stones by the entrance, walked to the window to the side of the door, and threw the rock through. “There,” he said triumphantly as the glass cracked, spilling on the ground. He poked his arm through the opening, avoiding the jagged panes of glass, and turned the lock. He pulled out his arm and turned the handle. The door opened.

  Sebastian stepped into the house, gripped by uncertainty. Sam followed closely behind.

  “Hello?” Sebastian moved through the ground floor, and the wooden floorboards creaked below him. He avoided the dust-covered sheets meant to protect the furniture, reminded of giant, misshapen ghosts.

  He should have warned the servants of his arrival. This was not the way to make a good impression on them.

  He exited the room, entering the main part of the home. His home. He gazed around, stepping on marble tiled floor. To the left, facing the main door, a long staircase led up two flights of stairs. He marveled at the height of the ceiling. Townhouses in London used space more efficiently, and his Yorkshire home was built earlier, before high ceilings became popularized outside of cathedrals and churches.

  “Hello?” he called again.

  A loud bang shattered the silence.

  “Who goes there?” A booming, bass voice rang out. “You are trespassing on the Duke of Lansdowne’s property.”

  On the landing, a small, round, elderly man brandished a poker.

  “The magistrate has been sent for,” the man said. “Please give yourselves up now, before he arrives.”

  Sebastian smiled, not believing the man had sent for the magistrate. The place was empty. They would have noticed a horse galloping away. Still, he liked that the man defended the property so fiercely.

  “Are you the butler?” Sebastian asked, approaching him. “Mr. Crowley, I believe?”

  “What is that to you?” the man replied. He seemed less confident than before.

  “I am Sebastian Lewis, Duke of Lansdowne.” Sebastian used his most authoritative voice. He did not like trifling with a man with a poker, no matter how elderly he might seem.

  The man paled. “Your Grace! Pray forgive me. I am Mr. Crowley, your butler.”

  “Why didn’t you answer the door? Surely you must have heard us.” Even though the man did have gray hair, he didn’t seem hard of hearing, and Sebastian had pounded the door with vigor, and the horses’ loud neighs should have been noticeable.

  “I did,” said Mr. Crowley, lowering his poker. “I am most apologetic. Cook and I have been hearing strange noises lately. I am afraid your banging on windows was not the most reassuring sound. What with threats of Bonaparte invading and things disap
pearing . . .”

  “Things disappearing?” Sebastian asked.

  “Yes. Small things. Food.”

  “Likely rats,” said Sam, joining the conversation. “Had them at my parents’ house. Nasty things.”

  “I can assure you they were not rats.” Mr. Crowley’s jaw clenched. “We do not have rats in this household. Who is this man?”

  “I do apologize,” said Sebastian. “This is my coachman, Sam. If you could find someone to show him to the stables and designate a room for him . . .”

  “I will show him myself,” said Mr. Crowley. “I am afraid most of the other servants have gone. It was a bit eerie here, and we were not expecting you.”

  Heat rose to Sebastian’s face. “I left in rushed circumstances, but I must admit a relief at coming here and finally seeing the place. It is stunning.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Crowley.

  Sebastian supposed he could say little else. Complaining in Sebastian’s presence might not be appropriate. And he did seem happier at the compliment.

  “About the rats though—there are no rats. We keep a tidy household. Immaculate.”

  “I am sure,” said Sebastian, not wishing to insult Mr. Crowley so soon after having met him. He looked around. If one overlooked the dust, the place did seem tidy. Perhaps something else was going on.

  “And some clothes have vanished. Rats do not like clothing.”

  “No,” agreed Sam. “I never noticed an inclination for clothing from them.”

  Mr. Crowley smiled.

  “What sort of clothing?” Sebastian asked.

  “It is most improper,” said Crowley. “But some of the clothes of the late duke’s son have disappeared.”

  “Lewis’s?” Sebastian asked. “And nothing else?”

  Oriental vases and oil paintings dotted the room. Some of these things, many of these things, must be valuable. Were he a thief, he would not risk going upstairs to a bedroom to steal some clothes.

  “The thief’s come five times now,” Crowley continued. “Most unpleasant experiences.”

  “Well,” Sebastian said. “I am happy to be here now. You could use some proper inhabitants.”

  Crowley showed Sebastian to his room while Sam waited outside with the horses.

  They ascended the stairs. Sebastian admired the wooden carving of flowers and butterflies on the steps.

  “The staircase was created when His Majesty announced plans to visit the house,” Crowley said.

  “He must have found it striking,” Sebastian said.

  Crowley shrugged. “He never appeared.”

  “The king’s health is not the best. Still, the staircase is magnificent.” Sebastian followed Crowley down the hallway, stepping on black and white tiles. Chandelier sconces decorated the walls, illuminating the room. The place seemed infinitely more impressive than his home in Yorkshire.

  “Miss Carlisle sometimes stayed in this bedroom,” said Crowley, indicating a room on the right.

  Sebastian glimpsed a pink room, with a four-poster canopy bed next to a feminine dressing table.

  “And these are your quarters.” Crowley pointed to the next room.

  Sebastian stepped into an enormous room. Heavy velvet fabric swathed the four-poster bed, and a fireplace dominated one wall. Painted bottle green, the room exuded opulence and masculinity. Lewis had been a masculine man.

  “Will this suffice?” asked Crowley.

  “It will be most satisfactory.”

  “I only hope no more thefts from the room will occur.”

  Sebastian shivered. He had little desire for an intruder to break in while he occupied the room. “I am confident I will deal with any intruder,” said Sebastian.

  As they spoke, the horses neighed again, stomping their feet on the dirt path. Sebastian and Crowley turned to each other as the unmistakable sound of glass crunching and footsteps startled them.

  “The intruder.” Sebastian rushed into the hall, Crowley following closely behind. He scampered down the steps. “Where’s the poker?”

  “In my hand, Your Grace,” said Crowley.

  “Good man.”

  They rushed down the stairs and scurried across the living room before opening the door to their fate.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sebastian gasped.

  Penelope stood in front of him, wearing a heavy topaz pelisse and a straw bonnet. Creases lined her attire, and strands of her hair poked out of her bonnet in a less than artful manner, but there she was, standing before him: it was undeniable.

  Sebastian shuffled back a few steps. “What are you doing here?”

  “I am your cousin.” Penelope brushed past him. “I have every right to be here.”

  She sauntered through the tiled hallway, barely glancing at the impressive staircase, and entered the drawing room. She surveyed the surroundings, nodding to the butler, whose mouth gaped. “You’ll need to take the furniture coverings off, Crowley. And clean that shattered glass. We intend to be at home here.”

  “Are you not satisfied with London?” Sebastian hurried after her, puzzled at her presence. “The season will not last forever. Should you not enjoy it?”

  “Perhaps.” Penelope untied her bonnet, the satin ribbons dangling over her shoulders. “But your sudden departure startled me. I do worry about you.”

  “You must have left directly after I did.”

  Penelope shrugged. “I was planning on visiting friends in the countryside anyway. After your coachman informed your manservant of your sudden departure, I decided to visit you instead.”

  “How impulsive.”

  She smiled. “Marcus says I will be the death of him.”

  “Is he here?” Sebastian viewed the carriage from the sash windows, half expecting his burly cousin-in-law to exit, his dark hair ruffled from the journey.

  “No, no. Though he is on his way. I sent word to him.”

  “Right.” Sebastian inhaled. He had not really escaped from London at all. “Well, you are quite welcome here.”

  He must not forget that Somerset Hall was once her own, and that the only reason it was now Sebastian’s was because her brother had died. Coming here was natural for her, and who was he to deny her that?

  “So I can stay?” Penelope squealed and clapped her gloved hands together. “How wonderful. I will write Dorothea that she can arrive as well.”

  “Dorothea? Would that not be inappropriate?” After his unconventional behavior with her brother, he was not eager to see her.

  “Well, perhaps somewhat inappropriate. Most women do not move into their fiancés’ homes until married. I will need to chaperone the two of you. Though,” Penelope’s eyes gleamed, “I rather think I might be a somewhat negligent chaperone.” She laughed. “I will consider it my duty as a good guest.”

  “Penelope,” Sebastian strove to sound stern. His heart clenched at the thought of Dorothea arriving at the manor, having already failed her so spectacularly. “That is most improper. I assure you Dorothea and I have no intention of sneaking around the house. There will be no need for you to turn a blind eye to anything.”

  Penelope pouted. “You always were respectable, Sebastian. Even with all those girls throwing themselves at you. I do not know how you managed.”

  Sebastian stayed silent, thinking about those minutes with William. He had hardly acted chivalrous then. Though, for that matter, neither had William. Why was it, that even after hours of solitude to contemplate his poor behavior, he could not be sure he even regretted the morning? Should he not feel repulsed? And why did he worry about how William might take his hasty departure?

  “I will write Dorothea at once to invite her,” Penelope said. “I am sure she will be happy to come. Not stuck in London, telling people she is engaged, but the gentleman to whom she is engaged vanished to Sussex. Of all places. We were most startled when we found out. You must have left right before we arrived to call on her. Dorothea seemed quite upset, poor thing. You must have made her very fond of you
. You and your blond curls.”

  Penelope laughed and dropped her bonnet on one of the sofas. Sebastian picked it up, anxious to occupy his hands.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her why you left.”

  Sebastian’s heart stopped. Had she heard something when William visited his bedroom? They had tried to be quiet leaving it, but . . .

  Penelope had seen him around William. Perhaps his desire had been obvious. And perhaps she heard something when William visited his bedroom.

  “Don’t look so startled.” Penelope laughed. “The world has not ended. The Last Judgment is not upon us.”

  Sebastian swallowed, his heart hammering an uneasy rhythm, as if aware no pattern existed for dishonoring his family. “Forgive me, Penelope. I—I never intended to upset you. My emotions, maybe I have lacked a wife for too long, perhaps I got carried away . . .”

  He was speaking nonsense. Utter nonsense.

  Penelope tilted her head, observing him. “Well, clearly you did get carried away.”

  “Oh?” The air thickened, and sweat gathered at the back of Sebastian’s neck.

  “I think it’s sweet though.”

  “You do?” Sebastian stared at his cousin in puzzlement. For a moment he allowed himself to grow hopeful. Perhaps William was right. Perhaps he worried too much. Perhaps he could have a life with William in it.”

  “Of course. You want to prepare the estate for Dorothea’s arrival. It’s very romantic. Though you didn’t need to rush here so quickly.”

  “Well, you know me.” Sebastian forced himself to laugh, wondering how he had imagined Penelope might know. If she knew, she would not be speaking to him now. His behavior would repulse her, and she would be furious at him for putting his reputation and that of his family in danger.

  I would never see her again.

  “Do you not know Bonaparte is planning to invade here?” Penelope asked, oblivious to his distress. “It can be at any moment. Any moment at all. I find it most exciting.”