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The Duke slipped into the estate, the door shutting behind him.

Cordelia staggered backwards, her legs hitting the lounging chair and forcing her to fall into it. The moment she landed on the seat, there was a loud cracking sound. She winced, reaching beneath her to pull out the fractured and bent canvas she had been working on before he arrived. Silas, her loyal terrier, lept onto her lap, curling into a small ball against her stomach. Cordelia ran her hand over his face, hoping the motion could sooth her racing heart.

A few droplets of rain splattered against the broken canvas. She raised her head, letting the cold drops hit her cheeks and streak down to her chin. A cool and chilling breeze was carried off from the nearby lake, swiping by Cordelia’s loose hair. She glanced towards the estate, imagining all the things the Duke would complain about that she had changed over the past few years.

But, nevertheless, the Duke could complain as much as he pleased. Cordelia was quite proud of her work, and had no intentions of succumbing to his disrespect.

“Come along, Silas,” she murmured, patting the small dog on the rear end to get him off her lap. The terrier jumped off, immediately skidding towards the door as the afternoon shower began to fall a bit heavier.

She smirked as she took her time back towards the estate. All the things the Duke would complain about suddenly felt more amusing than she expected it to be.

“He can tell me to prepare all he wants,” Cordelia mused. “As long asheis ready to prepare forme.”

CHAPTER4

“How can this be the same home I grew up in?”

Michael only stood within the foyer, surrounded by servants and staff he could not recognize, and quickly grew overwhelmed with the strange place he found himself in. If not for the building itself remaining quite the same, Michael would have assumed he wandered into the wrong home, stepped into a different family. The portraits, which spanned across generations of Rayson’s, remained the same, much to his surprise. Their surroundings, however, were nothing like he had ever seen before.

The curtains he once remembered his mother picking out no longer graced the windows. The rugs he ran barefoot on as a careless child were rolled up, perhaps stored away somewhere. Faces of newly hired and appointed staff passed him by with a curious eye, stealing an inappropriate glance or two at the Duke they never once saw. He glowered at them, determined to grasp a hold of the pride he once had when walking those dark halls.

“Your Grace,” Hunters said from his right, “Might we take a walk through the estate?”

“Why,” Michael muttered, “Am I frightening your new staff?”

Hunters sighed, crossing his arms behind his back. “Dare I say, your Grace, that we needed more staff hired?”

“Nevermind that,” he mumbled, knowing fully well that, when he left the estate, there were many things needing to be done that couldn’t due to a lack of able bodied hands. For the longest time, the staff within the estate grew older alongside Michael, and by the time he was finally wed, most of the servants were far too old for the required tasks. “I want to see my chambers, Hunters.”

The butler gave him an odd look. “Very well, your Grace.”

“What?”

Hunters raised a brow.

“Is there something wrong with my chambers, Hunters?”

Throughout all the years Michael had known the butler, which was most of his life, he never once considered him to be a humorous man. He was stern and to the point, a stickler for rules and unafraid to share his opinions. It was what Michael cherished about the butler, why he considered the man to be more familial rather than a hired hand. Even then, when Michael never once graced him with his presence, Hunters never once failed to remain loyal and forthcoming.

Hunters had the slightest bit of a smile perking up. “No, your Grace,” he replied. “In fact, the chambers are more than ready to be lived in.”

Michael, feeling a hint of sarcasm in the butler’s words, held his tongue as they marched towards his chambers. “Might you tell me all that the Duchess has done to the estate, Hunters?”

“Everything, your Grace?”

“You make it sound like a mountain of things.”

Hunters raised his shoulders. “Many things required Her Grace’s attention.”

“Truly required her attention, Hunters, or was she just doing whatever she pleased?”

As they walked up the stairs, Michael suddenly became very aware of the fact that the butler was no longer following close behind him. He paused near the top, looking down to see Hunters in the middle of the staircase, looking up at Michael with a hesitant smile.

“Might I be free of restraints when saying these next things, your Grace?”

Michael took a few steps down to get closer to him. “You may.”

“Unfortunately,” Hunters began, “For quite some time now, there have been things left to disarray at the estate. The staff, for instance.”