Page 8 of A Duke Changes Everything
“Not unless you count a few scratches.” Emma smiled again. “It’s Lady Millicent. She’s up a tree and clawed Tobias when he tried to get her down.”
The barn cat. Fat and furry and feisty as a mongoose. Especially now that she was in a delicate way.
“Where is she?”
“Up the tall oak at the edge of the copse. He’s gone out twice and she’s put him off. The poor thing can’t jump down in the state she’s in.” Emma wore a fretful frown. “How will you get her, miss? Tobias is bleeding something fierce.”
“She just needs a bit of patience.” The stable master was an enormous man of good humor, but his brusque style didn’t help when a bit of delicacy was needed.
Mina glanced toward the doorway to make sure none of the other servants were in view, quickly unfastened her belt and skirt, and slipped the fabric down her trouser-clad legs.
Emma, who was used to Mina’s preferred fashion, didn’t blink an eye. In fact, she lifted her arms to take the skirt. “I’ll put it away for you.”
“Thanks, Em.” Mina squared her shoulders and started toward the stable yard. She thought of Milly and of retrieving the ladder they kept in the kitchen. The awkward meeting with the village elders began to fade from her mind.
Solving Enderley’s problems was where she excelled. It was her purpose, at least for a little while longer.
Chapter Three
“Stop!” Nick banged the wall of the carriage hard with the flat of his hand before the coachman heard his shout over the rattle of the traces.
Admittedly, it was an odd place to ask the driver to stop. A mile, maybe two, from their destination. But he’d had enough.
Enough of being trapped in the dark, cramped space. Enough of being jostled on unforgiving squabs as the coach navigated Sussex’s rutted country roads. Enough of the agonizing wait to be delivered to the hellish place he would have been content to never see again.
The closer they drew to Enderley, the more determined he became not to arrive confined within the walls of a carriage. Whatever demons of his past lay ahead, he’d damn well face them on his own two feet.
“Here, my lord?” the coachman shouted.
“Here.” Nick jumped out before the driver could climb down. “Deliver my luggage to the estate. Someone will take the bags when you arrive.”
At least, he hoped the staff would do their duty. He suspected some would dread his arrival. The longtime staff who’d served his father would recall him as nothing more than the duke’s despised second son.
Now he’d proved himself negligent by ignoring his inheritance for months. His early arrival would earn him ire too, by upending the daily routine of Enderley’s staff. But it would be nothing to how much they’d soon come to loathe him.
He hoped his plan would take no longer than a fortnight. A neat entry and exit. Clear out the furnishings, see to a thorough cleaning, and dismiss some of the staff so that a future tenant could hire whom he wished. Nick had asked his solicitor to look into every possible means of abdicating a dukedom or breaking an entail. All to no avail. With no means of achieving either prospect, he’d settled on what was possible—putting the estate in a trust and leasing the property in the meantime.
The carriage rolled on toward Enderley, and Nick yanked up the collar of his overcoat against a brisk wind. The air carried a bone-chilling bite and the salty tang of the sea. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the scent.
Shock jolted through him. He hadn’t expected to find anything about Sussex appealing.
Even now, he glanced over his shoulder, pondering the fork in the road. Behind him lay London and Lyon’s and the life he’d made for himself. Ahead lay only pain. All the ugliness of his past and all of the fresh misery he was about to inflict.
He started forward, abandoning the muck of the road and trudging through tall field grass in a straight path toward the estate. With every step, his chest tightened a bit more, as if he was being slowly flattened beneath a millstone. Steeling himself, he ignored the pain. This place had tried to kill him once and failed. It wouldn’t break him now. He wasn’t a child anymore.
Lord help him, he was the bloody Duke of Tremayne.
By the time the battlements of Enderley’s towers came into view, he looked more like a muddy marauder. If not for a letter from the estate steward, Thomas Thorne, tucked in his waistcoat pocket, he doubted few would believe he was heir to any estate. Unless some of the old staff remained and recognized him.
He was looking forward to facing down every single one of them who’d abetted his father’s villainy.
As he started up the carriage drive, the lane turned drier, coated with pebbles that crunched under his boots. There were so many damn windows in the house, all glinting proudly in the sunlight. The entire house glowed, its gray bricks lit by the steady gleam of the November sun.
He could almost convince himself the sunny-faced facade wasn’t Enderley’s at all.
Every memory he possessed of the place was shrouded in murk and gloom. And always with one blot of darkness that colored every recollection. The old ruined tower. The structure still stood, more decrepit but still menacing, at the house’s western edge.
He cast his gaze ahead as he strode toward the house, refusing to give the vile old tower his attention. Instead, he focused on the cluttered front steps.
