Page 3 of Daisy and the Duke
“Ha.” Jack wheezed out the laugh. “You’re an idiot. Women love a tortured hero. They’ll be flinging themselves at your feet.”
“God, I hope not. And anyway, I’m sure that any flinging will be solely the result of wanting to land a duke. I swear, Jack, I should have changed my name in the field hospital and let Tristan Brooks be dead, like all my relatives.”
“Brooding again,” Jack warned. Then he straightened up in the seat. “I say, I think we may be getting close. Those gateposts have lions on them.”
Tris twisted in his seat and caught sight of a large stone lion perched on top of a brick pedestal the size of a horse cart. Iron fencing met it and stretched into the distance. He saw a mirror image out the other window of the carriage.
“We must be here,” he said, suddenly nervous. Tristan had heard of Lyondale, the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Lyon, but he had no idea what the estate actually looked like. Pastures and woods and distant hills swept past him, and then he heard Jack sigh in relief.
“That’s the house,” Jack said, pointing.
The carriage followed the curve of the drive as it passed by a pond, and suddenly Tristan could see his new home.
It was unimaginable. The size of the house was massive, larger than some palaces. Rows upon rows of windows glittered in the sun, and the white stone walls practically glowed.
“Sweet Christ,” he muttered.
Jack was impressed. “You may want to think twice about giving this up, Tris. As duke, you could do a lot of good with the influence you’ll have.”
“What influence? I’m an imposter. I fell into this title by sheer bad luck.”
“Luck is what you make it. Practicing law taught me that.”
Just then, the carriage came to a halt, pulling up smoothly at the very center of the wide stone steps. An army of servants stood in lines outside, ready for inspection.
Tristan stepped out of the carriage, hiding the arcs of pain through his body after sitting in cramped quarters for so long.
A man stepped up to him and bowed. “Welcome home, your grace. I am Mr. Wynston, majordomo of Lyondale.”
Tristan nodded, then looked over the sea of eyes, the many black-and-white-clad servants who were all staring at him without seeming to do so. He was at a loss for what to do next, and briefly considered heading back to the carriage and fleeing to London.
A woman stepped forward. By her outfit and her manner, she was no servant. Her hair was bound up simply and her features were pleasant, though her whole attitude was faded, as if she’d been left in a closet and long forgotten. She curtseyed to Tristan. “Your grace, I am Miss Wallis. We corresponded these past months, and I have worked to ensure that everything you need is ready for your arrival.”
“Miss Wallis,” he said politely. She was related to him in some distant, tangled fashion. All he knew for certain was that she’d been living at Lyondale at the behest of the old duke. “How good to meet you at last.”
“You and your guest must be quite fatigued, your grace,” the majordomo said smoothly. “Allow me to show you to your rooms. A tour of the house can wait until you are fed and rested.”
Tristan nodded. “The first order of business must be to get Mr. Kemble to his bed. Don’t fight me on this, Jack,” he warned in a lower voice. “You look like you’ve got one foot already in.”
Jack nodded in silent agreement, which was the most alarming thing he could have done.
Everything moved quickly from there. Tristan was swept along on a tide of servitude. Footmen carried bags, maids hurried ahead to open windows and doors. Jack was suddenly supported on both sides by two hulking footmen, helping him to walk.
As they all advanced into the house, the majordomo kept up a running commentary, explaining where such and such room was, and how so-and-so in the portrait was the second duke, and when this and that piece of furniture was brought back from a Roman ruin.
Tris didn’t register a word of it. He cared only that his friend could be made comfortable as soon as possible.
“I sent word ahead that a doctor—” Tris began to say.
“He’s here, your grace,” the majordomo assured him. “Dr. Stelton, the best in the county. Edinburgh man.” That fact eased Tristan’s mind. As he had cause to know from his lengthy recovery, Edinburgh was renowned for its medical schools.
Dr. Stelton was actually in the room where Jack would stay, and he proved to be a large, confident, genial bear of a figure.
“Ah, patient’s here at last,” he boomed out. “Excellent! Let’s get the poor creature to bed so I can take a proper look. With your pardon, your grace, I’ll get to work now.”
Tristan nodded, pleased that the doctor didn’t waste time on small talk.
“See you soon…your grace,” Jack said in farewell, as the footmen worked to follow the doctor’s orders.
