The Reluctant Duke (Love's Pride Book 1) (4 page)

If they didn’t pay their rents then merchants and taxes went unpaid. The whole country would fall apart.

He quickly observed some problems with the small farm. The fields should have been planted by now. He didn’t know a lot about farming, but there should have been a crop in the ground, wheat, oats, something.

Where were the farm animals, pigs, chickens, those types of things? The small cottage looked lived in, the shutters were open, and a curtain moved in the breeze. A young woman opened the cottage door and tentatively stepped out, followed by a boy of eight or nine and finally by an older girl of twelve. They were all rather thin with sharp, frightened looks about them.

“Mrs. Rife?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Is Mr. Rife about,” he said as he scanned the distant fields. She looks older than she should, he thought. Appearing to be about twenty-eight, maybe thirty with deep wrinkles about the eyes, worn hands and a hard set to her pale lips.

“My Billy was killed at the Battle of Sourauren three years ago” She said, as she pulled her children closer. “Are you from Brookshire? If you are, I ain’t got your rent. And if you be kicking us out we don’t be having anywhere to go.” Looking him square in the eye, she dared him to ruin her life and all those she held dear.

He looked around the farm yard, confirming his earlier impression, then looking at the woman and her children. Another soldier lost; each death had impacted so much.

The next time you want to whine and complain about doing the books or all the correspondence you have to finish, remember this woman. Trying desperately to keep her family together, unable to properly feed them, let alone make enough for the rents.

So much for being strict about these matters.

“My good lady,” he said with a smile. “Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Bathurst, the new Duke, and no, we are not here for the rents, at least not today.”

A change in plans but a soldier must always be ready to improvise. Her shoulders slumped in relief as a small tear glistening at the corner of her eye.

“It seems the old Duke left instructions in his will that certain of his tenants be given a bag of flour and a smoked ham.”

Her face turned to shock and elation and then looked at him a little skeptically. She knew the old Duke had never given anyone anything. Obviously deciding not to question it, she let him continue with the charade.

He gingerly climbed down, retrieving a twenty-pound bag of flour, he threw it onto his left shoulder trying to avoid the extra weight on his right knee. He then reached in and grabbed the ham. “Should I put them inside?” He asked.

Still in shock, she didn’t seem to hear his question. The young boy, however, being more nimble, and very afraid of losing this food, quickly jumped forward.

“This way Sir, I mean Your Grace,” he said as he led him into the farmhouse. They were followed by the family and Miss Harding, who had jumped down without assistance and introduced herself to the widow Rife.

Looking around the one-room farmhouse he saw a bed on the far side, an old table in the middle of the room, a small fireplace and crude chimney on the opposite side. A stone floor and wood roof, one door and two glassless windows with roughhewn wood shutters to keep out the cold. Is this typical of his tenants he wondered? He tried to remember if he’d ever visited a tenant farmer before.

His stomach tightened as he realized that in a few days the ham would be gone, and these people would be back to scraping by.

As the Lord of the Manor, it was his responsibility to make sure these people could ‘make it’. That they didn’t starve, that they were taken care of. But how do you do that he wondered. It was obvious that to make a farm work, you needed a man for the heavy work; the boy just wasn’t old enough.

They didn’t even have a pony for the plow. Could he have someone else over to prepare the fields he wondered? Who could he get? This is why he needed an agent. Someone to handle these details, someone who knew what was possible.

Were problems like this occurring on all his lands? What was he not dealing with because he wasn’t aware?

Taking one last look around, he realized that he’d gathered all the information he needed.

“Mrs. Rife, it was a pleasure meeting you and your family, but we must be going. You could do me a favor though and spread the word. We are looking to take on additional staff at Brookshire. I know Cook needs a scullery maid, and my stable master could use a strong lad,” he said, looking at the two children and regretting that they would have to start working at such a young age.

“Additionally we will need household maids and footmen, if you know of anyone who might be interested, please send them up to see Miss Harding here.”

The boy’s eyes got very big; he looked pleadingly at his momma but kept quiet.

“Thank you, Your Grace, I will spread the word,” Mrs. Rife said as she curtsied.

Later, sitting in the wagon, Mrs. Harding asked with a slight smile, “Are there any other tenants the old Duke mentioned in his will?”

His Grace just grunted and focused on the road.

Gwen spent the morning organizing the five new maids that had applied for positions, all of them from the village or neighboring farms. Cook had two new assistants, Mrs. Rife and her daughter, helping in the kitchen. Young Billy was now working in the stables. The huge house was becoming a beehive of activity again, drapes being taken down for cleaning, floors being scrubbed, and brass being polished.

Gwen was so busy that she didn’t see the Duke all day. A little bit of her soul missed it. She wished with all of her heart that they could go for another wagon ride.

She was upstairs counting linen when a young maid informed her that a visitor had arrived, and Freddy didn’t know what to do.

Gwen’s heart dropped, were they here for her, had they found her? Her heart began to race, and her breath grew short. Taking a moment, she gathered herself as she wondered if she’d always react this way when someone unknown visited Brookshire.

Mumbling under her breath, she walked downstairs, stopping on the second landing to peek over the railing to get a look.

A large barrel chested man stared down at poor Freddy like he was an ugly bug in need of squashing. The man was completely bald with a large bushy mustache. His black coat was stretched too tightly across wide shoulders and a very stiff back. He looked out of place. Put a fur cap on him and he could be a Cossack, she thought.

Gwen approached and asked if she may be of assistance.

“He keeps asking for the Major, and I keep telling him there ain’t no Major here,” Freddy said.

“Isn’t here,” Gwen corrected absently while looking at the strange man. “Who may I say is calling?” She asked, attempting to sound officious while desperately trying to remember how Mr. Evans did it on those rare occasions they had visitors.

The stranger seemed to relax, finally someone who knew what was what. Drawing himself up, he said, “My apologies, please inform the Ma… I’m sorry, His Grace the Duke, that Sergeant Major Bowen desires an audience.”

Gwen’s finger unclenched from the fists she’d buried in the folds of her dress.

So this was the His Grace’s friend. He was younger than what she’d pictured as a Sergeant Major. She relaxed when she realized he wasn’t here looking for her; now she must worry that he was here to replace her.

Was he to be the new butler? He most definitely looked like he could command a staff of servants. Shuddering inside, she thought about losing control of Brookshire. She loved bringing it to life again, loved managing all the little details. She needed to control the environment around her. It was the only way to remain safe.

Studying the man she saw a twinkle in his eye that spoke of a potential sense of humor. It appeared that he had to fight not to start laughing at the formality of everything.

“Of course, His Grace is expecting you, if you will please follow me,” she said then turned and led the Sergeant Major to the study.

Knocking lightly at the door, she waited for permission then gathered a quick breath before she stepped in and announced the guest. She was shocked at The Duke’s reaction. His face lit up into a huge smile as he jumped from his chair, limping across the room without his walking stick to shake the man’s hand.

“God it’s good to see you,” The Duke said as he continued to pump the visitors hand and slap him on the back. “You can’t believe how much this place resembles Portugal.”

The Sergeant Major winced and said, “Sir, Portugal wasn’t bad, it was just the first time you officers ever lived rough. For the rest of the boys, it was the normal Army Hell.” He smiled, returning the Duke’s back slaps.

Gwen was amazed as she watched the two interact. It was like two little boys finding each other at a new fort in the forest.

Remembering her, His Grace stepped back.

“Miss Harding, this reprobate is Sergeant Major Jack Bowen, the worst singer and second best shot in His Majesties Army. He is to be treated as Royalty and even more importantly, my friend.”

His Grace grabbed his hand and started pumping it again. “Sergeant Major, Please allow me the honor of introducing, Miss Gwen Harding, My housekeeper. She’s in charge of just about everything around here if you have any problems, please let her know and she’ll ensure it is taken care of. Basically, she has your old job.”

The Duke smiled and then walked to one of the stuffed chairs and indicated that the Sergeant Major should join him.

Gwen breathed a silent sigh of relief and watched the Sergeant Major’s eyes grow as big as dish platters when she was introduced as the Housekeeper then look at The Duke with those same questioning eyes. Shaking his head in confusion, he smiled and nodded a hello with a small bow.

Gwen quickly curtsied and informed him that his things would be taken up to his room and to ring when he was ready. Someone would show him the way. She turned to go, disappointed to have to leave. She would have loved to sit in the corner and watched these two catch up on old times.

It was amazing how gorgeous His Grace became when he smiled. The tension left his face, and he seemed at peace with the world. Gwen promised herself to try and make him smile more often.

.o0o.

Jack Bowen looked at his friend and then around the room and marveled where they were and how far they’d come.

“So Your Grace, Housekeeper?” He said with a knowing grin. Teasing his former commander had always been one of his favorite pastimes. It was good for the boy. He was surprised however when The Duke didn’t react with a smile, but a most serious expression.

“That is exactly what I said, and that is all that she is. Understand?” He said using his Major voice.

Sergeant Major Bowen was taken aback and worried that he might have overstepped his boundaries. Maybe things had changed more than he’d thought. It was not like the Major to easily take offense.

“I am sorry sir, of course,” Jack said, sitting a little straighter.

The men spent several minutes reliving old times and catching each other up on what had happened after the last battle. Jack relaxed, glad to see his commander doing so well.

“So Your Grace, how do you like being a ‘Your Grace’?”

The Duke’s smile fell away, and his shoulders hunched as if he’d taken on a heavy load.

“I thought running a battalion of you hellions was tough. Everyone and their brother needs something, immediately. A barn in Overset, a road needs to be fixed in High Wycombe. Tenants who want permission to pay their rents with three geese and a goat while others simply walk away. Taking jobs in the factories that seemed to be sprouting up everywhere. Walking away and leaving fallow fields unplanted. One of my agents up north wants to consolidate and run sheep. To hell with tenants. Another thinks it’s the dumbest idea ever, but he doesn’t have enough men to turn a profit. It’s a mess.”

Before the Sergeant Major could respond a soft knock interrupted them and Miss Harding entered with a silver tray laden with food.

“I assumed you would want to share lunch in here, Your Grace,” Gwen said.

Both men watched her set the tray between them. Jack noticed the smile on the Duke’s face and the way Miss Harding blushed whenever she came close to the Major.

Interesting, he thought. Especially when you thought about how The Duke reacted at the mere mention of something between them. A woman this beautiful was not normally a housekeeper. Even he knew that. And if she had the moxie to run this house it was even more surprising. Beauty and brains were always a deadly combination for the Major. Definitely, most interesting.

.o0o.

Thomas ran his hand through his hair. The past two weeks had been very productive for the Duke of Bathurst. The house was almost fully staffed once again, and Miss Harding had things well under control. They really should hire a butler, but he hadn’t been happy with any of the candidates sent by the agency.

The Sergeant Major was on the road and had already sent back a report on his property in the Lake District.

He was going to have to start visiting all of his extended properties. He would also have to take his seat in Parliament, along with the hundreds of other things that needed to be accomplished immediately.

He entered the dining room to break his fast. He’d changed his eating habits to meet what was expected. But still, he tried to keep things as informal as possible, especially first thing in the morning. He preferred a quiet meal, allowing him time to read the paper only a week out of London and reflect on the coming day.

What's more, it allowed his leg time to adjust to a new day. If he pushed it too fast, he’d pay for it later.

Walking to the sideboard, he lifted the lid for what was supposed to be a serving dish of bacon and sausage. The pan was empty. He lifted several more lids, they were all empty. Confused, he stepped outside the room. He asked one of the new footmen; - he didn’t even know his name - Jenkins possibly, to tell Miss Harding, that he would like to see her at her earliest convenience.

Returning to the head of the table, he settled down and opened last week’s London Newspaper. Within minutes, Miss Harding entered the dining room. As always her presence made his heart hitch for a second. She looked as wonderful as always.

He could tell immediately that her day was not going well. Her face was flush with exertion and forehead narrowed in concern. Coming to a stop with her hands behind her, she waited to see what the Duke wanted.

“Miss Harding, is our butcher bill behind again?” He asked.

Her brows furrowed even more in confusion. “No Your Grace, I don’t believe that it is.”

“Then can you please explain why I am without bacon for my breakfast?”

She glanced at the sideboard and saw all of the trays were empty. Her face blanched and then her shoulders slumped. “I am sorry Your Grace, I will take care of it immediately.”

He could see that she was bothered about something; it was more that the missing bacon, that was but a symptom of what the real problem was.

“Is everything all right in the kitchen?” He asked. “Is the new staff working out?”

The young woman looked worried. She hesitated and dropped her head for a moment. Coming to a decision, she looked up.

“It’s Cook, Your Grace; she’s received troubling news and it’s made her a little forgetful.”

To forget my bacon, it must be more than merely troubling, he thought. He looked at her waiting for more information.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to let the matter rest, she continued.

“It’s her daughter Your Grace, she has recently obtained a position as a teacher at the school she attended. Her mother was so proud.”

The Duke sat back and folded his arms. A young girl he had never heard of in a distant location was the reason he had to go without bacon for breakfast. Will matters never stop being amazing he thought, waiting for more.

“It seems that she is being pursued rather vigorously by the headmaster, a pursuit that is not to her liking. And I believe that the pursuit has become physically intimidating,” Gwen said, looking at the Duke, trying to judge his reactions. “Cook has been rather absent-minded of late, worried about her daughter.”

He sat forward unfolding his arms as a scowl crossed his face.

“You mean a daughter of one of my most trusted employees is in difficulty, and I am just now learning about it?” He said, obviously very upset. “Where is this school?”

“It is located in a small village, Stokenchurch, near Wycombe, Your Grace,” Gwen answered.

Thomas looked off into the distance for a moment, then seemed to come back to the current reality. He was a man of the world and knew full well how a man in a position of power could manipulate and intimidate a young woman. He’d seen it quite often. Suddenly he looked up.

“How is it that a Cook can afford to send her daughter to school?” He asked.

“I don’t know, Your Grace. I never asked,” Miss Harding answered, folding her hands in front of her.

“Please ask Mrs. Morgan to step in when she has a moment,” he said, leaning back in his chair once again.

Miss Harding curtsied and gave him a curious look, obviously worried that he was going to admonish the cook, leaving her to deal with the fallout. He shook his head at the girl’s lack of trust in him.

His curiosity was getting the better of him. Who was this woman, his housekeeper, and what was she doing here in his house. Her capabilities at such a young age were truly remarkable. Her speech marked her as no farmer’s daughter. Such composure for someone so young was truly unusual and so unlike the typical young chits of the ton.

Maybe it was time to start pressing some limits. Time to shake things up.

She returned a few minutes later with the large cook in tow. Mrs. Morgan entered, sheepishly looking at the floor, her eyes swollen from recent crying and her face flushed. She quickly curtsied.

“I am sorry about breakfast Your Grace, I really can’t explain it, Your Grace.”

“That’s quite all right Mrs. Morgan. I asked you in to find out if there is anything I can do to help. Would your daughter wish to come here to Brookshire?” The Duke asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Miss Harding giving a sigh of relief. The girl must think him an ogre. The thought bothered him all out of proportion.