Читать книгу The Duchess's Next Husband - Terri Brisbin - Страница 13

Adrian watched out the window of his study as work on the estate continued as usual. His breathing had eased now, but he’d suffered two attacks during his travel here. Usually, the air felt easier to breathe in the country than in London, where the ash and dust and fog could make it rather uncomfortable. So long as he stayed away from the stables and the gardens, he remained free of those attacks the physicians and apothecaries called “hay fever.” It was the others, the more virulent, breath-stealing ones, that seemed to be on the increase.

The last seven days had been grueling for him—first traveling north to Windmere Park and then the extensive review of all his estate and family documents. If his steward here thought it strange that he should appear and demand to see all the records, he would never say so. They’d ridden to outlying farms, visited the rector in the village that lay on his property, and spoken to many of his tenants. Repairs and some changes to the summer and autumn crops were planned where needed. A larger selection of books was ordered for use by the rector’s wife to teach the children of the village.

The most difficult task yet lay ahead of him. His solicitor should be arriving either this day or the next, and Adrian would review and update his will. Although his title and most of the accompanying estates were entailed, he still had some discretionary properties and funds. He would feel better once those decisions and arrangements were made for everyone who depended on him for support or a living.

Turning from the window, Adrian picked up the glass of wine and drank from it. He’d learned the hard lesson of overimbibing the night he’d discovered his fate. His stomach had remained unsettled for days, and he’d had to stop several times on the road north to empty it rather forcefully. No, he would rather face his future, limited though it might be, with a clear head and a calm stomach.

It would be a few hours until supper even with the earlier country hours, so Adrian decided to walk down to the lake. He mentioned his intent to the butler as he picked up his hat and made his way through the house. Using a side door in the blue drawing room, Adrian followed the path that led away from the house to the larger of the two lakes in Windmere Park.

The sun beat strongly and its heat could be felt, in spite of the cool breezes that moved through the trees surrounding the lake. Seeking refuge from the strongest of its rays, he found a well-spread chestnut and sat down next to it, leaning against its stout trunk. The irony of facing his own impending death, even as every living thing was moving toward bloom and maturity, was not lost on him.

As was his custom, he reviewed the list of unaccomplished tasks left to him on this trip and realized that in his haste to leave the city, he’d not had the latest concoctions made up. The crumpled papers were most likely still in the pocket of his coat, where he’d shoved them the next morning. There was an apothecary of some experience whom he usually frequented some miles away in Newcastle, but also a woman in his own village who had gained some measure of good repute as a healer. Perhaps he would visit her.

Adding it to his mental list, he moved on to the next item. The estate and his personal papers were in order. Everything would be ready for his…demise. Adrian pulled off his hat and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes.

How did one approach this? Never an overly spiritual or religious man, he did not feel compelled to seek out a religious advisor. He trusted that the rector would perform the necessary rites with the solemnity Adrian deserved. When his symptoms worsened and he was convinced the end was nearing, he would speak to the rector about it. But not now.

The matters of the entailed estate were handled, those of his own properties and will would be, and the only ones left were…his family. His mother and his wife.

His mother and his wife.

Shaking his head, he knew there would be no way of avoiding those subjects once his solicitor arrived. Although the estate documents included arrangements for both of them, he would verify the specifics and clarify what each woman could expect for an income and home after his death.

What would become of each of them? The strange thought formed in his mind and he knew that it was the thing that bothered him the most.

His distant, twice-removed cousin Robert would inherit the lands and titles and, since he already had the prerequisite heir-and-a-spare, the dukedom would go on. A pang of regret pierced Adrian then and he tried to discover its cause.

Never meant to inherit, he had come almost reluctantly to the titles and the powers and the responsibilities of being Duke of Windmere. And the primary responsibility after taking control was to produce an heir. In that, he and Miranda had failed. Perhaps that was the source of his discontent? No son of his own to inherit? Not even a daughter to convey everything entailed to a son of her own?

Racking his brains would make no difference in this. He picked up his hat and stood, dusting off his clothes as he did. Tugging the hat into place, Adrian began the walk back to the house. He suspected that once his solicitor arrived and everything was in order, his mind would cease struggling with the questions and ramifications of his death, and he could seek out ways to spend the time he had left.

Dinner and the rest of the evening were spent in quiet reflection as he examined his life. When sleep would not come, he walked the halls of Windmere House. He visited rooms he’d not seen since his childhood and was surprised to find that some of his toys were still stored in the nursery, waiting for small hands to find them. From the window of the bedchamber where he’d spent his visits home from the university, he spied the tree that had been the site of many adventures for him and his brother.

Dawn found him as restless as the night before, so he called for a horse and rode over the lands that had been his for such a short time. Only when the sun reached high in the midday sky and the loud protestations of his stomach could no longer be ignored, did he return to the house for rest and food.

The butler woke him to inform him that a coach had arrived from London. No instructions need be given about the hospitality required for guests at Windmere Park, so Adrian sent word that he would see Anderson at dinner. Spending time in the country had its advantages, the foremost in Adrian’s mind being that of earlier and less formal meals. His household knew his clear preferences, and that, coupled with the fact that most of his neighbors were in London, assured him of uninterrupted time with his solicitor.

Now, drinking a glass of claret in the drawing room, he awaited the man’s arrival. A clamoring outside the door drew his attention and he turned as the footman opened it, admitting not his solicitor, but his best friend.

“Parker! What are you doing here?” Adrian stood and strode over to his unexpected guest.

“Your cryptic note about your sudden departure did more to inflame my curiosity than to appease it, so I am here.” Parker accepted a glass of claret from the butler. “Is it nearly time to eat? We did not stop for a noon meal.”

Adrian looked to the corridor but saw no one else. Had Parker traveled with the solicitor then?

“As soon as Anderson arrives, we will go in to dinner. I’ll have them set a place for you.”

“Anderson?” Parker shook his head. “The man sent word that he is delayed in London and will not arrive until tomorrow. Surely we need not wait that long?”

At Parker’s dry wit, Adrian shook his head. “I received no such word.”

“I am, I fear, the messenger in this, Windmere. I ran into him at your house in London and have now delivered the message to you.” Parker held out his glass and watched as it was filled again. “Where the devil is she?” Walking to the door, he peered out.

“She?” Alarmed, Adrian turned to the door. “Who did you bring here?” Surely not. Surely, Parker would not have brought….

“Here now! If your thirst is not overwhelming, we can go right in,” his friend was saying.

“Good evening, Windmere. My apologies for holding you up from your meal.”

Miranda.

She stood in the doorway, with an anxious frown on her brow as though waiting for his anger. Relieved that Parker had not brought Caro as he’d suspected, Adrian walked to greet his wife.

“I did not expect you, madam,” he said, lifting her hand and touching his lips to it. “I said there was no need to accompany me here.”

He felt her shiver at the sharpness in his voice. He needed time alone to deal with his fate and did not want the complications that a wife presented. However, he could ascertain her reasons over dinner and send her back to the city on the morrow. Before he could say more, Parker pushed Adrian aside and offered Miranda his arm.

“He said the same thing to me, Your Grace, and you can see how much weight I gave his words. Come, the butler has assured me that dinner is ready.”

After a glance at him and a moment’s hesitation, his wife laid her hand on his friend’s arm and off they walked down the hall, following the butler to the private dining room. Indeed, his staff knew of the changes to his plans, for three places were set at the oval table, all to one end, as he’d requested for the two originally planned. He watched as Parker escorted Miranda to one of the side chairs and then took a place opposite her. Adrian then sat in the chair at the end, with his wife on his right and his friend on the left.

At his nod, the butler and his assistant began serving the meal. Parker shoveled food into his mouth at an alarming rate. Without stopping for more than a breath or a swallow of his wine, he devoured two bowls of cream of lobster soup along with a small loaf of bread. When there was a slight delay in serving the next course, he continued to tear a slice of bread into pieces and push them in his mouth.

“Are you certain you only missed one meal?” Adrian asked. Parker did not even have the decency to look embarrassed at his behavior.

“Traveling the long roads here over these last… How many days did it take us, madam? Four?” Parker mumbled the rest as he finished chewing.

“It did take four days, although we arrived a bit earlier today than I had thought possible,” Miranda replied softly.

Irritated by their friendly manner and the very fact that they were here, Adrian snapped out what he’d wanted to ask from the first moment.

“Why are you here, Miranda? I told you that this trip was simply to handle some family business. There is no entertainment here. No parties or luncheons to attend. No balls to dance at. I would think that the amusements of the city would have held your attention longer.”

The room grew silent and even the servants paused in their actions at his tone. It was only the briefest of pauses, but he marked it. Parker choked as he chewed, and then swallowed loudly and washed his food down with another mouthful of wine. When he cleared his throat, Adrian got the message. For Miranda’s part, the only reaction to his rude words was a slight fluttering of her eyelashes and her refusal to meet his gaze.

Any response was interrupted by the arrival of the next course. Plates of roast venison and leg of lamb were placed on the table, as well as boiled turnips and sauces for all the dishes. Adrian took up the carving knife and cut slices of the meats for each of them. At Parker’s glare, he added a few to his plate. It was as he cut into his own food that Miranda answered his question.

“I have felt a bit overwhelmed by the demands of the Season, Windmere. I thought a short respite to the country might do me well.”

“Overwhelmed by the dowager’s demands, more likely,” Parker interrupted. Pointing at her with his fork, he continued, “And now that she is sponsoring that chit in her first season, I would guess she’s dragging you from one end of town to the other.”

“That chit? What do you know of my mother’s social activities?” Adrian felt the odd man out in this discussion.

“She cornered me ever so politely at Lord Hanson’s soiree and made it clear that as your friend and close associate, I had a duty to help bring out the chit—excuse me, Miss Stevenson.”

“And your reply?” Adrian asked. It wasn’t often that someone got the better of Parker. Of course, his mother was, candidly, quite formidable when she desired to be so. And she’d made no secret of her desire for a successful launching of her goddaughter into polite society.

Parker blinked several times and frowned at him. “What do you think I told Her Grace? I agreed, of course.”

Not to be deterred from his original question, Adrian turned back to Miranda. “Are you well?”

A hint of a blush tinged her cheeks and the corners of her mouth rose in a slight smile as though she was intrigued at some private thought. Then she met his gaze and shook her head. “I am well, Windmere. It is just that your mention of the country reminded me that, at times, I find it so much less tiring than the tedium and closeness of town.”

Adrian winced at the formality of her address. He sensed that the one expressed was not her only answer. But, in company, even just Parker, he decided he would not press her for more. To articulate more concern than necessary would make her presence into an issue. And it would make it seem more important than the inconvenience it was. It was a simple case of not having the solitude he’d anticipated when he’d journeyed north.

He turned back to his food and silence filled the room, interrupted by Parker’s occasional chomping noises. How had the man made his way in polite company? A few minutes later, filled from the hearty and flavorful food, Adrian pushed back and suggested that they proceed to the billiard room. Although Parker looked as though he would argue, he swallowed the mouthful of food he had just forked in and nodded.