The Heart of a Duke

by Victoria Morgan

  The man scrutinized Daniel’s features, and his grip on his daughter’s shoulder relaxed. Something flared in his eyes, a recognition. The tension gripping him eased, and his smile was tentative. “Lord Bryant, welcome home.”

  Daniel caught the hint of warmth coloring his tone. He had always been on friendlier terms with the tenants, Edmund keeping his ducal distance. From their polar opposite welcomes, it was clear that some things had not changed.

  “Lady Julia, my brother’s lovely fiancée; her sister, Lady Emily; along with their younger brother, Lord Jonathan, have graciously accompanied me on this visit, because Bedford is in Kent on a hunting trip.” He tried to look apologetic. “I am afraid, my impatience got the better of me, and I could not wait for his return. Is your offer of assistance still open?”

  “Of course.” Worry darkened his eyes. “But my wife be sick. I can’t leave her for long. She—”

  “Please, Mr. . . . ?” Julia interceded, stepping forward, her expression concerned.

  “Mabry, Tim Mabry, and this here is my Beatrice.”

  “I’m just Bea,” his daughter corrected. “’Cause I can sting like a bee,” she proclaimed.

  Having weathered her sting, Daniel’s lips twitched at the apt name.

  “I’m Jonathan ’cause . . . ’cause that’s what my father named me. Can I get down?” He bounced excitedly on Daniel’s shoulders. “I want to climb Just Bea’s tree, scout for Irish eejits, and fire apples at them.”

  Daniel ducked his head to hide his snicker as he lifted Jonathan and set him onto his feet.

  “There will be absolutely no firing apples at anyone,” Julia spoke firmly, not as amused as he. “Not one, Jonathan. But if you stay on the lowest branches, and Bea keeps an eye on you, you may climb the tree,” Julia relented.

  “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, tossing her a mulish look.

  Bea looked to her father, who nodded his permission, and she scampered to the apple tree, Jonathan in close pursuit.

  “Is there still an orchard on the southwest corner of the estate?” Daniel asked.

  Mabry looked surprised. “Yes, sir, there is.”

  “I remember climbing those trees as a boy,” he marveled. The memory lightened his mood. Some things don’t change.

  “Mr. Mabry, you mentioned your wife was ill?” Julia said, her brow furrowed.

  “Yes, my Izzy. She was laid low with a mean sickness. Fever broke, and she is recoverin’ her strength, but it’s been slow goin’.”

  Julia stepped forward. “I am relieved to hear that. Mr. Mabry, one of the reasons we are here is to check up on the tenants in the duke’s absence. Determine if they have any needs with which we can assist. Why don’t you let Emily and me see to your wife? In that manner, you can take some time to catch Lord Bryant up on the years he has missed.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Emily smiled at Julia.

  Daniel agreed. Mabry might hesitate to voice his concerns to Edmund’s fiancée, let alone discuss working conditions with a woman, despite Julia’s accomplishments. Divide and conquer. Deftly done. His admiration for Julia grew.

  Mabry scratched his head, a picture of indecision.

  “Please, let us do this for your wife. It would mean so much to Lord Bryant to travel the grounds with someone who has knowledge of the land.”

  “Well, I don’t know. With my Izzy sick, the house is upside down. I’m not too good a hand at—” A flush darkened his worn features.

  “I understand.” Julia employed a soothing cadence. “I am sure you have done the best you can, but for now let us assist you. That is why we are here.”

  Before Mabry could voice another protest, Julia and Emily smiled reassuringly. Julia gave Daniel a pointed look before they headed to Mabry’s front gate.

  Mr. Mabry stared blankly at the women as they walked up the path to his closed door.

  “She has a way about her once her mind is made up,” Daniel said ruefully.

  Mr. Mabry rubbed a hand over his crown of dark hair, looking a bit lost. “Well, I . . . Well, then.” His wariness had returned. “Did you want to speak to His Grace’s bailiff, I’m sure he could—”

  “I am sure he could, but as I am here now, why don’t I begin with you? I can speak with the bailiff in due course.” It was a half-truth. “Please, will you walk the immediate grounds with me?”

  Mabry appeared torn but after a brief struggle, he gave a curt nod. “I can.”

  “Good. Why don’t you lead the way. I understand my brother is bringing in Irish laborers?” He refrained from explaining where he had received his information, omitting its colorful delivery. “Are there not enough tenants to do the work? You mentioned vacant houses?”

  As they walked, broken panes of glass, loose shutters, and other signs of disrepair on a few houses answered his question. What he did not understand was why they were left in such a state, not to mention vacant, rather than turned over to new tenants. Why hadn’t Edmund overseen their upkeep?

  Mabry thrust his hands into his pockets. He studied the unoccupied houses, and then his focus settled on Daniel, his eyes narrowing. “Are you returned for good, sir? Or just visiting?”

  He understood the underlying question. Did he hold a position of authority in regard to matters of the estate? The short and definitive answer was no. Daniel hadn’t inherited the estates, but he had inherited his father’s love of the land and a sense of responsibility to honor his family’s legacy. He refused to sit by and see Edmund squander it.

  “I am not leaving for a while, and I do plan to speak to my brother about any concerns I have in regard to the estate. Any information you can share provides me with a better understanding of where things stand today and helps me to make a more informed decision.” He spoke the truth.

  Perhaps Julia was right, and Edmund had changed, and he would listen to Daniel. Right. And soon Daniel would be jousting with windmills. He met Mabry’s hard look. “More importantly, I give you my word that anything you share with me will be kept in strict confidence between us. No names will be mentioned. I promise you, you can speak freely.”

  Mabry gave Daniel the same keen scrutiny that he had earlier, and finally replied with a curt nod. He continued walking. “My family has been tenants on this land for nigh on five generations. I grew up here and remember you and your brother ridin’ with the late duke.” He glanced at Daniel and fell quiet for a few strides.

  “Your father liked to visit the tenants, to ride over the land, to speak with the farmers. Sometimes with his bailiff and sometimes without.” They stopped when they came to the edge of one of the fields. He gazed out over the ploughboys, thrusting his hands into his overall pockets. “Your father was a different type of landholder than your brother.”

  “Bedford doesn’t visit too much?”

  “He does not.” He echoed Julia’s account of Bedford’s early years in London, filling in the later years that she could not account for. “Bedford returned about six years ago. First thing he did was to get a new bailiff, firin’ your father’s man. Rents were doubled and household repairs were to come out of our own pockets.” Mabry rubbed his neck. “Tenants left.” He nodded to the empty houses.

  “We got by. A year passed, and Napoleon was defeated. The war with America also ended, and then the soldiers started comin’ home in droves. Millions of discharged veterans seekin’ work. Many willin’ to take lower wages to get it.” Mabry shrugged. “Your brother hired ’em. Cut our wages to match theirs. Then the Irish started comin’.” He nodded to the ploughboys, his expression grim. “An even cheaper labor. Gettin’ by got a bit harder, as many of us were forced off the fields. Not enough work for everyone. More tenants left.” Mabry kicked at a stone in the dirt, sending it skittering across the road. “The end of the wars also meant foreign grain could enter Britain, so our grain prices fell. In response, our wages were further lowered, while the price of bread rose.

  “Last year was a bad harvest. We could have muddled through with what
we reaped the year before, but many of the workers being immigrants and veterans, some have never farmed or worked the land before. They didn’t know to get the corn ricks thatched and covered before the first rain, and we lost half a crop. Rations down, people go hungry.” He faced Daniel. “Hungry people lead to poachin’ and crime. Lost a few cattle and some sheep last winter.

  “Your brother soon started runnin’ through bailiffs. If one listened to our complaints, he was replaced.” He nodded in the direction of Bedford Hall. “Two more families gave notice ’cause ain’t no guarantee of work no more. Pretty soon all the work will go to seasonal laborers. If we resort to doing just seasonal work, we can’t claim relief from the poor rate because you have to work at least a year to be able to make a claim.”

  Mabry spat on the ground and lifted his gaze to Daniel’s, bitterness contorting his features. “Sir, I suggest you have that talk with your brother. I suggest you do so before their ain’t no more of us left. I expect that’s not what you wanted to hear for your homecomin’, but somebody needs to hear it, fore it’s too late.” He clamped his jaw shut, and his brooding gaze moved back to the fields.

  Mabry had said more than enough. Daniel looked out over the lines of ploughed earth, seeing nothing, his thoughts churning.

  Robbie had written of the grumbles over Bedford’s management, and Taunton had warned of the same. Daniel had expected problems, but along the lines of neglected repairs, tenants’ feuds, bad crops, and the fallout of a poor harvest. Not this. A tale of stringent, penny-pinching, parsimonious management.

  The six ducal properties, covering two hundred thousand acres, should bring in an annual income of eighty thousand pounds. It was a small fortune. Thus, it begged the question, why the bloody hell did Edmund need more money? Was he in debt? And what long-term price was he willing to pay to extract it?

  The estate’s profits were reaped through the land. Without reliable, stable, and loyal men to work it, the whole system collapsed. It didn’t take an astute businessman to understand the age-old cycle, or that Edmund’s cost-cutting measures were like shoving a wedge into the spokes of a spinning wheel. If he continued unabated, everything would grind to a stop. Daniel’s words to Taunton echoed. Inadequate wages breeds disgruntled workers, which leads to mutiny or desertion. Not to mention, poaching and crime.

  He scrubbed his hands down his face. Damn Edmund. Damn him for apparently not changing a whit in ten years. For being a cruel, selfish bastard.

  He dropped his arms. Changes had to be made. He didn’t know what or how, but he had to intercede. Things could not continue on as they were. He recalled the letter that had lured him back to England. Claim your destiny. His eyes squinted out over the fields. This was his destiny. He might not be able to claim it, but he could bloody well save it. He’d have Robbie add it to his agenda.

  At least Mabry’s words removed one item from his growing list. He no longer needed to speak to Julia about Edmund. If she was as bright a businesswoman as her father touted her to be, everything that needed to be said was right here.

  If Julia was still bent on marrying Edmund, well, then, she was not the woman Daniel believed her to be. Like Don Quixote, his beautiful warrior would be seeing illusions instead of windmills.

  But Daniel believed otherwise. He had come to know Julia over the past couple of days. She may be idealistic, but she was strong and brave. She would see the truth. And he would be there to help her pick up the pieces once she did.

  That was what faithful squires did.

  Chapter Eight

  JULIA spread a blanket on the ground near the apple tree where Jonathan and Bea scrambled like monkeys. Neatening her skirts, she leaned back against the chipped and peeling picket fence and closed her eyes. She needed to sit for a minute.

  Bea and Jonathan’s bellows drifted to her. She had banned Jonathan’s use of the word eejits, but dared not contemplate what choice language would replace it. She doubted her father would find his son’s expanded lexicon as amusing as Daniel had.

  Thinking of Daniel, she opened her eyes to peer along the stretch of road leading to the fields. He had disappeared well over an hour ago, which was fine, for it had taken her and Emily that long to deal with the disarray in Mabry’s cottage.

  At least Mrs. Mabry was recovering. She had even regained enough strength to deliver a stinging diatribe against Edmund’s bailiff. While Emily shared a small repast with Mrs. Mabry, Julia had escaped outside, having lost her appetite over all she had heard. She had also wanted to check on Jonathan, ensure he hadn’t killed anyone.

  She squinted into the apple tree, locating her brother. He straddled a low branch, a wide-eyed, owlish look crossing his features as he listened to Bea, who no doubt was prattling on about the ills of the Irish. Julia’s lips twitched, for truth be told, she shared Daniel’s amusement toward Bea. She admired her audacity. It reminded her of herself as a girl before she had to pin her hair up.

  Her attention returned to Jonathan. The ton would not approve of the heir to an earldom romping about with Just Bea and her saucy tongue. But nor would they approve of an earl’s daughter shoving up her sleeves and plunging her arms elbow deep into soapsuds and dirty dishwater. But she had done so, and if need be, would do so again. The need to do something to help out that poor, bedridden woman had erased all Julia’s doubts.

  That was why she had never belonged in London. She belonged here, listening to the rewarding sound of Mrs. Mabry’s laughter when Julia had teased her about Bea’s colorful vocabulary. Mrs. Mabry’s pride in her daughter had matched her derision for Edmund’s bailiff.

  Julia’s mood plummeted. She shaded her eyes and squinted down the road, looking for signs of Daniel.

  Where was he? And what had he learned?

  Some squire he was. She gnawed on her lower lip as she recalled his vow to look out for her. It had caught her off guard, for she could not remember the last time someone had offered to help her. Then again, she had never asked for help. However, Daniel’s vow didn’t concern her too much, for where was he now? Nowhere to be found.

  “Now who is looking doubtful?”

  As if he had heard her rebuke, there he was. He stood in a halo of sunlight, like an archangel grinning at her. More like a fallen angel. At the sight of his devilish grin, something fluttered in her chest. He had discarded his jacket, gloves, and hat, and once again rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. The sight of his naked forearms so boldly displayed had her struggling to stand.

  Daniel offered his hand, and after a slight hesitation, she accepted it. Slipping her fingers into his, the heat of his skin seeped through her leather glove. His forearm was hard muscle and strong, and he pulled her up with ease. Her traitorous heart emitted another flutter.

  He was so close, she could smell his masculine scent, sweat mixed with a lingering hint of sandalwood soap. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were as green as the meadows they had ridden past. He was her Beautiful Bedford . . . only he was not.

  A clamp constricted her chest, stifling its flutters. She withdrew her hand and stepped back. “Where have you been? Where is Mr. Mabry?”

  “He stayed at the fields. Did you miss me?”

  Was he serious? Or teasing?

  When she simply looked at him, he laughed. He nodded to Mabry’s house. “What are you doing out here? Have you been sitting here all this time? Where’s Emily?”

  “Sitting out here?” she echoed. “Yes, I have just been whiling away the hour, watching the apples grow and the wind blow because I daren’t get my hands dirty or my riding habit dusty.”

  She had his attention now. His eyes snapped back to her, his gaze roving over her hair, which she imagined looked like a bird’s nest with loose strands and tendrils sticking out in every which way. When she had confronted the disarray comprising Mabry’s house, she had removed her bonnet and riding jacket and rolled up her sleeves. She was well aware that her pristine riding habit was streaked with dust, dirt, and God knew
what else she had collected as she and Emily had swept the place clean.

  His smile vanished. “My apologies. Was it terrible? Will she be all right?”

  His apology stole the wind from the sails of her irritation. “Well, Mrs. Mabry is regaining her strength. She should be on her feet in a week or two. However, with her bedridden so long, the house was in as sorry a state. It needed a thorough cleaning. Mabry had stoked the fire, so we were able to warm a kettle of water and dispense with the dishes. They don’t own many, but of the few they do, I believe Mabry used them all.” She grinned.

  “You did the dishes?”

  She wondered if she had dirt on her face, for he stared at her so strangely. “Well, yes, short of a maid, who else was there?”

  “Who else indeed,” he murmured.

  “We sorted out the clothes strewn everywhere, did a bit of dusting and sweeping. I cleaned one of the windows to get some light into the rooms, and Emily filled their cupboard with some of the loaves of bread and wedges of cheese I brought.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, I will send a maid down to collect the wicker basket of dirty clothes to have them laundered at Taunton Court. There is no other way. I intend to speak to the vicar, make arrangements for someone to check in on them regularly. We will have to assess the situation of the other tenants. I will advise the parish to put together more food supplies for others in need. But on the whole, it was nothing we could not handle.”

  “Except for the laundry.”

  Surprised, she looked at him, but his tone was teasing, and she relaxed. “Yes, but I have taken care of that.”

  “Of course you have.”

  She froze when, light as a feather, his fingers swept something from her hair.

  “Just a cobweb.” He shook his hand, sending the gossamer threads sailing in the wind.

  “If you find anything else in there, don’t tell me, particularly if it lives.” She shuddered.