“I’m afraid I’ve not spent much time here, not since my youth. Can’t claim to know any except,” he nodded to three men at the end of the bar, “I believe they are tenants.
They all looked to be tenants, or local country folk, with their untidy shirts, open at the neck, waistcoats without overcoats.
Even if she could slip out without attracting notice, she wouldn’t dare leave Summerton now and risk undermining whatever tenuous respect these people held for him. He could ill afford that.
She smiled at a woman across the room, who’d been staring at the duke, startling her so much she stepped back and knocked into a man who spilled his drink.
“Crikey, Edna!” he shouted, revealing just how quiet the lounge had grown.
Feeling like a specimen in a zoological exhibit, she determined to dispel the abnormality of their presence.
“Summerton.” He turned to her. “I’m warm enough now, do you mind if we move to a table?” She rose, shaking out her skirt, addressing the couple on the other side of the nook. “I swear, if there’s a fire nearby, the ash will find me.”
“Oh, ain’t it the truth,” the woman responded, hastily adding, “your grace.”
Caroline wrinkled her nose and leaned in closer. “I’m not used to the title, either. Seems an awful lot of fuss.”
“Does it?” Summerton joined her, pulling out a chair at a table near the fire. “I rather think it suits you.”
“A mouthful.” She winked at the woman as she sat in the chair the duke held out. “But we all have our burdens to bear.” Her dramatic sigh earned a chuckle from both the duke and the couple in the nook.
“Such a lovely place, so warm and welcoming,” she said to the duke.
He looked around, as though surprised by what he saw. “Yes, I rather think you’re right.”
A woman pushed her way through a doorway in the back, tea tray in hand, as the publican brought a glass of ale for the duke.
The woman bumbled up to them, unloading tea and biscuits from the tray. Caroline noticed a man scribbling on some paper, while another appeared to be sketching the duke.
She pretended they weren’t there, took a small bite of biscuit and smiled as she let the sweet buttery confection melt in her mouth. “Oh, Summerton! You really must try one, these are excellent.”
When he did, he suggested, “Perhaps they’ll share this recipe with our cook.”
Caroline slapped his hand, ignoring his stunned expression. “Of course they won’t! If we want these biscuits, we’ll just have to sneak out and come here for them. It’s very bad business to give away your secrets.”
The air lightened, as people nodded and chuckled.
“Well…” The publican rocked back on his heels. “We’re pleased you stopped in.”
The locals relaxed, turned back to their own conversations. The others remained focused on Caroline and Summerton. He leaned over, speaking softly. “I suspect they are reporters, here because of Alice.”
“How would they have heard? To get here so quickly?”
He frowned, and she knew he was wondering the same thing. They were probably reporters, but word of the death would barely have reached the village, let alone town.
They drank their beverages and nibbled on biscuits. The duke covered her hand with his own, offering a reassuring squeeze. Caroline offered a bright smile across the tumble of worries between them, wishing the warmth of his palm were not so welcome.
A week ago, she would have been flabbergasted to see the duke speak to a publican. He was far too high in the instep.
“You’ve changed.” It came out as an accusation.
“Have I?” His eyebrow rose. She knew that look. It meant, go on, tell me more, I’m waiting. She didn’t dare. She’d not meant to say even that.
“Shall we go?” he asked, rising and holding out his hand, ready to leave.
Caroline stood, leaned toward the couple in the inglenook, bidding goodbye, unaware of tension behind her. One minute she was saying, “A pleasure to meet you,” the next Summerton took her arm, tugging her close.
She shot him a warning glance, miffed by his arrogance, and saw them. Stern-faced men, some of them she’d seen this morning, by the tenants’ cottages. All farmers, by their clothing, circling them three deep.
It had been her idea to stop. Summerton warned her it might not be pleasant, but she didn’t believe a gang would confront him.
He shifted, putting her between him and the couple in the inglenook. “Gentlemen.” He bowed to the men. One stepped forward, doffed his cap.
The others followed suit, taking off their caps, bowing their heads slightly, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
“We’d like to thank you,” the front man said.
Caroline released her breath. Summerton’s shoulders relaxed.
The man turned and gestured to the others. “We’d all like to thank you,” he said, “for lowering the rents, giving us a month free.” Determined, but clearly uncomfortable, he stepped back into the mix of the others. A couple of the men bowed their heads, sniffed.
“Ah, yes,” the duke nodded. “Well, raising the rents had been a misguided notion. My apologies for any—” he faltered, “—difficulties it has caused you.”
Another man stepped forward. “And my Nettie says you’re really going to build those cottages.”
Summerton cleared his throat. “We spoke of that this morning. New cottages are the end I’m striving for.” He brought Caroline forward. “Now, if you will excuse us.” Summerton nodded respectfully. “We don’t want to keep the horse standing too long.”
“Sorry about the murdered gal,” one man called from the back. “She was your girl, they say.”
Caroline blinked. “Yes.” She managed, clearing her throat. “Yes, Alice came with me.” Tears pricked, “Thank you for your condolences.”
“Right sorry we are about that, in our woods. Never seen the like before.”
There’d been no mention of Alice as a real person, a young person, whose life was taken from her. A young woman, alone, here at St. Martins, without any of her own here.
“Thank you, all of you,” Caroline told them, sincerely touched. “I will pass your kind words on to her family.”
“Shall we, my dear?” Summerton bent to her, urging her forward.
The men parted, but they held up their glasses and toasted, “To his grace and her grace of Summerton.”
They bowed their heads, receiving the accolades. Caroline was discomfited by the attention. If this is what it means to be a duchess, she did not want the role.
They retraced their steps along that dark beeswax-scented hallway. Only one servant stood in the hall, her back against the wall, head down, waiting for Caroline and Summerton to pass. The rest were probably upstairs, preparing beds for the surge of guests. An unexpected boon, thanks to Alice.
Poor, poor Alice.
An image of her came to mind, all battered and purpled, eyes wide open, horrifically red. Caroline blinked, looked at the maid, pressed against the wall, to distract herself. But she proved a poor distraction. The girl’s very pretty face featured a nose that had been broken more than once, and an odd dip of one eye, swollen out of shape. Just a girl, Caroline fretted, even as that girl fell against her, taking her hand.
Stunned, Caroline tried to pull free, stopping as the corner of a folded note was pressed into her palm. Jeremy had found a way to communicate.
“Lucy!” the publican admonished. “You outstep yourself!”
“No,” Caroline argued, “it was an accident.” Righting the girl, holding her by her shoulders, aware of Summerton watching over her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“She’d best respect your person,” the publican snapped, grabbing for the maid, trying to shove her out of the hallway.
“She’s just done in, is all,” Caroline concluded. “You mustn’t punish her.”
The man sighed. “No, your grace. I think the girl’s seen punishment e
nough in her time.”
Ah, so he wasn’t an abusive employer. She’d wondered, what with the state of the maid. “Good. I’m glad you understand.”
No more was said until the duke helped her up into the carriage.
“That was deliberate,” he said. “The maid, she meant to fall into you. Have you checked your jewelry?”
“You’re wrong.” She opened her reticule, as if to look in there, and managed to get the note inside. She snapped it shut. “She’s no Alice and my jewelry is right here.” She held out her wrist.
“Very well.” He didn’t argue, though she could tell he doubted her.
She couldn’t tell if that was why he went so silent. Falling so deep in his thoughts to be driving by habit, letting the horse take the lead. He didn’t even notice the group of men turn down the drive to St. Martins. He continued straight.
Caroline leaned back to watch them. Reporters trespassing? Or the fellows investigating for the magistrate. She’d heard that he and Summerton had hired men from the village. They’d organized a search party and a few extras to watch the hall and grounds.
The duke neither showed a reaction to her interest, nor asked her to sit back, but tapped a single finger against the side of his leg. Just as he’d done the night before. Caroline took that as a signal that he was not quite comfortable with the affairs of the moment. She’d best remember it.
A horrid business, this murder. Earlier, when they’d waited for the magistrate and Lady Eleanor, Caroline had written a letter to Alice’s family. There was little else she could do now, other than encourage the magistrate to release the body and send the poor girl home. Summerton did push, to that end, when Sir Michael had arrived. Hopefully, it would be done soon.
She thought about chatting to distract him from studying those reins as if they held a world full of answers, but decided against it. He had important matters to deal with, and she’d just added to his problems.
Besides, it was a pretty, twisty little road. Sparkling from a rain that had fallen while they visited The Coachman. Daffodils just budding, crocuses fading along the side of the road.
The estate wall stood strong and tall to their left, while fields with tidy, freshly turned rows encased in smaller stone fences encompassed as far as the eye could see to the right. A musty rich scent hung heavy in the air. She breathed in deep.
“What are they planting?” she asked, regretting it even as the words slipped out. She’d not meant to disturb him.
He looked over at her, eyes focusing. “What was that?”
“It’s not important.”
“No, of course it is. I’m a poor host, to be so lost in thought. Forgive me.”
Ah, that warm, kind smile, so absent when he courted her. He was not fair to turn that table now. He muddied the waters, and she couldn’t think.
“You are forgiven.” She turned away from his smile, looked out over the fields. “You obviously have much on your mind.”
“And you asked a question.” He slowed the mare.
“Merely making conversation, but I forgot your habit to dwell in your own thoughts.”
He stopped altogether, so abruptly she turned to face him again. “I have been remiss,” he said.
“Not at all.”
“Oh, but I have, and for longer than I realized. Let me help you into my thoughts.”
“No.” She panicked. “No, really, that isn’t necessary.” Familiarity was a dangerous thing, at least with him.
“You have a right to know why I failed to attend to you, before the wedding. You deserved better.”
“There is no need, your grace.”
He met her gaze, his eyes keen, focused
“You also have a right to know what you married, and trust me, there is far more to it than the man.” He turned halfway, gesturing to where they were. “The village we just left is called Hillside by virtue of being on the side of the hill.”
She nodded. He kept her waiting as he watched her. She managed to hold his intense gaze.
“Good.” He pulled back, lifted the reins. “Now close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes?”
“Yes, please, trust me.”
“Fine.” She closed her eyes, putting her hands over them, spacing two fingers enough to peek.
“No, no, not fair!” He chuckled. “Firmly closed.”
She did as he asked, felt the gig move forward to, she surmised, where a tall stone wall stopped, a much shorter one carrying on from there. She’d wondered about the end of the wall while they’d driven.
The gig came to a stop. He put an arm around her.
“You may look now.” And she did.
A valley sprawled out below them, the road cutting through a magnificent patchwork of fields, each field framed by stout stone walls. Trees dotted the land, while a river flowed down the hillside, and through another village below. The view went on forever, possibly the whole breadth of England.
“Oh, my!”
He pointed. “And the village below.”
“Yes?”
“Summervale. Because it is in the valley.” He pointed to the high wall that ended abreast of them. “This demarcates the home grounds surrounding the Hall.” He frowned. “St. Martins Hall, home for the Dukes of Summerton, sadly in need of repair, but that is a tour for another day.”
“How did this happen, Summerton? How did everything get in such disrepair?” She’d assumed the money had been frittered away through a hedonistic lifestyle. One gaming debt could topple an empire in an instant.
But this loss was not instantaneous. This was a steady drain.
“Mismanagement,” Summerton admitted. “Or no management. Unlike your father, the dukes of Summerton have not shown good business sense.”
“And you think you are different.”
He shifted, to face her again, when he’d been so studiously looking forward.
“Yes, I think I am. My mother’s family were rather well suited to economics and I do carry her blood.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes, I like to think the affairs of the family would have been vastly different had she lived.”
“It might have done.” If his father had been willing to listen. Men often weren’t. “An abhorrence of trade, business, does not work in your favor.”
“Ah…” He traced her cheek. “This duke is very aware that he is the head of a rather large enterprise. Not so different than your father had been.”
“My father built his, of his own sweat and blood.”
“And I mean to rebuild mine, with whatever it takes.”
“Such as?” Marrying a woman who stinks of trade? She waited, dared him, to say just that.
He mulled that over, his eyes narrowing, until some thought struck him to open them wide. She didn’t like his answering smile. It trapped her. Worse, as he didn’t answer, but shifted his gaze to the lands spread out below them. Acres and acres of fields and pastures.
“What you see, my dear, is Summerton. Named for the farm or ‘ton’ of the land.”
Caroline blinked.
“Rather magnificent, is it not?” he asked.
How could anyone take such a thing for granted?
“The front of the Hall faces the town. The one we just left?”
“This,” his arm swept out, encompassing the entire view before them, “is not the whole of Summerton. If we were to crest the hill in the other direction, and take in that view there, everything before you would also belong to the dukes of Summerton.”
“And the towns?”
He snapped the reins and they started moving again. “A part of Summerton.”
“And revenues?” Asking about money was not done, but she’d been raised to think of such things. She rather thought she had a right to ask, if he thought to bring her into his world.
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “They pay rent, though the villages are far from prosperous.”
“Because your father overcharged them.”
“So the corn laws…”
“How do you know about the corn laws?”
“I read, your grace, and I listen. Food is exorbitant because of those tariffs. They really must be repealed.”
“Stop!” he exclaimed. “Those corn laws are all that’s saving us from penury.”
“Oh?” She sniffed. “I thought I was all that was keeping you from penury.”
His mouth kicked up on one side, as though only half of him saw the humor. “No, my love,” he whispered, with the sort of self-deprecating humor that could have won her over so easily. Far, far too late now.
“You are the key to turning the whole damn lot of it from bloody ruin.”
He didn’t stop to apologize for his word usage. His nostrils flared, the muscles of his jaw worked.
“One cannot teeter on the edge of poverty without eventually toppling in. You have the power to counter that balance and drive us away from the edge. You, Caroline, offer prosperity for every inhabitant of Summerton.”
“How far?” She jutted her chin toward the view, needing to know more.
“All that you see and more. So, so much more, with other estates in other counties, plus hunting lodges and blocks of town.”
“And it is all to let?” She couldn’t believe it. More incompetence than her uncle Robert. “How far, if we’d taken the road in the other direction?”
“The same, north, south, east and west. I will take you to the tower, where you can see from on high.”
The mills needed her. They employed thousands. Vast as Summerton was, it was not populated in the thousands. Or was it?
Once more he stopped the cart, and put his arm around her. “You asked me what I would do, to regain prosperity, for the land, for the people?”
Oh, those eyes of his, clear blue and burning with fierce determination. “You, Caroline, that is what I would do for the land and the people. You. But not just for your funds. I married you because you would understand that this is a vast enterprise. An intricate business.” He took his arm back, adjusted the reins. “And that is why I was inattentive in town. Like your father, I was busy working, sleeves rolled up, pouring over business scribbles, listening to experts on farming, trying to learn all I should have been learning when my father was alive. I was fighting to find a way to regain the Summerton name.”
Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1) Page 8