The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (16 page)

“Yes, Your Grace.” The coachman gave a few vigorous nods and touched his hat. “The horses are rested.”

“Fine,” said Sebastian, impatient to depart. “I will wait for you in the carriage.”

“Indeed? You will have plenty of time to sit in it later.”

“I would like to begin the enjoyment.”

Sam nodded. “Do you need luggage?”

Sebastian thought of William. He might have returned to the apartment. He could not imagine meeting him again. What if William attempted to embrace him again? What if William did not try to embrace him? If they simply shifted their feet awkwardly and avoided each other’s eyes as Penelope and Dorothea looked on? The thought was intolerable.

“Grayson already packed some bags for me. You may load those on the coach and whatever you need to bring. Otherwise, I am certain Lewis left some clothes. Grayson can continue packing the rest at his leisure. You can fetch the rest tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Sam gasped.

“Later this week.” Perhaps he was being unrealistic, his eagerness to leave consuming him. “We must go. Now.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Sam. “I’ll inform Grayson.”

Sebastian bristled at how his words shocked Sam. “You’ll need to bring him down later this week too. I will not be respectable without him.”

“He would be pleased at the compliment,” said Sam.

“And Sam? I believe I may have some guests in the apartment. Can you ask Grayson to please make my apologies? I have urgent business in Sussex.”

“Of course.”

Sebastian plodded to the carriage. He had planned to go to Somerset Hall soon, though not like this.

After a short time, Sam hooked the horses to the carriage. Sebastian relaxed against the sumptuous red velvet interior, thankful the tasseled curtains sheltered him, and lulled by the sound of the horses’ hooves.

His mind returned to William. He had made being together seem so easy, as if they might really ever be together. William had given him moments of pure bliss, moments that must never be repeated. Lovemaking had never been as frenzied and joyous as this before, and would, he was sure, never be again.

The carriage jerked, jostling as it wound its way out of the city. He willed himself to fall asleep, to stop reliving the events of the afternoon. Over and over William walked into his chamber, sliding his warm body over Sebastian, and over and over Dorothea’s and Penelope’s voices in the other room interrupted them.

What would Sebastian have done had they not entered? And why had Dorothea and Penelope come to visit then? Traditional calling hours did not begin until noon. His heart clenched at the thought they may have heard him. Dorothea did not deserve his rake-like behavior.

And William. He jolted upright.
What will William think?

He pondered the morning’s events, pondered his life, rethinking his interactions with men and women. Guilt overwhelmed him. He was flawed. What he yearned for was a capital crime. His very being was tainted. And yet, what could he do? Dorothea needed to be remarried, and he could never set up a life with William. If William even desired that. Likely Sebastian was being overly romantic.

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 disappearing . . .”

“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.