Page 9 of A Duke Changes Everything
The coachman had arrived, departed, and left his luggage lying in an unceremonious heap at the front doors.
Bloody hell.
“What brings you to Enderley, sir?” A gruff voice sounded at Nick’s back, and a figure cast a giant’s shadow across the path at his feet.
“Duty.” Nick turned to find an individual as large as his silhouette. A tall, broad, bearded beast of a man who was too young to have been in service when Nick was a child. A groundskeeper, Nick guessed, or perhaps the stable master. “And you are?”
“Tobias, sir. I tend the horses and carriages at Enderley.” The man scrutinized him from his rumpled clothes to his dirt-smeared boots. “Who are you seeking?”
“Wilder.” The name came unbidden. “Is he still in service?” He was old and gray-haired in Nick’s memories. He’d be ancient now.
“Who may I say’s come to call?”
“Nicholas Lyon.” He still couldn’t bring himself to use his blasted title aloud. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to embrace that inheritance.
“Lyon? Heavens, you’re the man himself.” Tobias scraped his cap from his head and offered Nick a stiff bow. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
“Is he still alive?” Nick asked, brushing off the man’s obsequiousness.
“He is. Shall I take you to him?”
“I’ll find him.” Nick nodded at Tobias before starting toward the front door. The stable master noticed his bags and heaved a trunk onto his massive shoulders.
Inside the entry hall, the house was eerily quiet, but Nick heard sounds belowstairs.
He descended to find a busy staff, everyone occupied at cleaning some part of the enormous, high-ceilinged kitchen. One girl stood atop a rickety lean-to ladder, swiping at invisible dust on the ceiling. Another had her head buried inside a great blackened oven. A young man swept so fiercely, bits of twig flew up to join a cloud of dust above his head.
“And who might you be, then?” A familiar voice, roughened by the passing of time, called from the kitchen corner. “If you’re one of those men coming around to politic or sell your wares, you’ll have to talk to the steward.”
“Scribb, isn’t it?” The moment Nick turned to face her, the old woman feinted back. Her face drained of blood, except for two crimson stains high on her cheeks.
“Mercy, take me.” The housekeeper gaped at him.
Nick wasn’t sure if she recognized him or was reacting as others did to his eyes and scarred face.
“We didn’t expect you today, Your Grace.”
“But here I am. Don’t let me disturb your work.” The anger Nick expected to feel for whatever part she’d played in assisting his father’s machinations didn’t come. Now he saw only that she was an old woman, one who’d had the grit to stay in this godforsaken place after he’d gone. “I came down to find Mr. Wilder.”
She pointed, and Nick noticed that her hands were shaking.
He didn’t have to go far in the direction she indicated. The shuffle of footsteps sounded from inside the butler’s pantry and Wilder emerged, his gray hair now snow white.
“Master Nicholas.” Rather than bow as the others had, he came forward and stood stiffly, his hands behind him. “You’ve come back.”
There was a question in the old man’s gravelly voice. Nick was still wondering too. Why had he returned? “If there was any other way, I would have taken it.”
“You must be tired after your journey.” Mrs. Scribb moved like an agitated bird, fluttering in his periphery. “We’ll see to your bags and finish preparing the ducal suite for you, Your Grace.”
“No.” Nick’s bark was loud enough to make the old woman jump. “Prepare a guest chamber for me.” The notion of setting foot in any room used by his father or brother turned his stomach.
After exchanging confused glances, all the other servants filed out of the kitchen.
“There will be much to do.” Wilder remained in his stolid butler stance. Chest puffed out. Eyes straight ahead. The stiffness of his posture didn’t match the emotion in his voice. “You may rely on me, Your Grace, as long as I am able to serve you.”
“I know that much.” For the briefest moment, Nick considered what job he might offer the old man at Lyon’s, and then immediately rejected the notion. What Wilder deserved for his long years of service was a nice cottage in the country. A bit of rest in his dotage. He would reward the man in that small way, at least. “You may start by never calling meYour Graceagain. Of all the staff, you must understand how I loathe those words.”
Wilder responded with one dip of his square chin. “But you are Tremayne now. Others will call you such.”
