Page 40 of Courting the Duke (Reimagined Regency #2)

The sanctuary was noisy with the chatter of birds. While the sound might prove abrasive to others, to Hoxton, the light and natural quality of their chatter was a blessing after the cacophony of the battlefields. Craven sensed his unease and watched Hoxton from a tall perch.

Mulligan approached him, his hands on his hips. “The phaeton is ready whenever you wish to leave.”

After Hoxton had asked him to come to London with him, Mulligan had exchanged his leather apron and rough work clothing for a more formal brown coat and breeches.

With a nod, Hoxton followed the other man outside, neither speaking as they traversed the path to the stables.

They had been friends since first meeting almost a decade ago, and Hoxton often found a wise ear to help him work through his troubles.

Settling the argument with Serena wasn’t possible, she had told him she didn’t wish to speak with him.

Nor could he say anything that would placate her; his own uncertainty was still in play.

“Good morning, Captain,” the stable master said, patting one of the two black horses that would be pulling the carriage.

“Good morning,” Hoxton repeated the greeting, although his morning hadn’t been good by any stretch of the imagination.

Mulligan hopped onto the bench seat and grabbed the reins before seeming to catch himself. Hoxton waved his hand, willing to let the other man drive.

Sunshine warmed his face, but nothing could erase the chill in his heart.

The phaeton jolted as Mulligan flicked the reins, putting the conveyance into motion.

Hoxton settled his gloved hands on his knees, the leather tight against his knuckles. His temples had begun to throb, and he inhaled a much-needed breath. A flock of distant wrens flew in formation, riding the slight breeze that bent the grass.

Hands on the reins, Mulligan’s eyes were fixed on the horizon. He had always been a man of few words, which suited Hoxton just fine. It was better than the insipid conversation and gossip that he often found in social circles. He had found a kindred spirit in Serena in that regard.

Hoxton shifted uneasily, his foot flexing on the floorboard.

The quarrel they had earlier that morning still plagued him.

She had called him out for his cowardice, and he deserved her censure.

Yet he still carried a niggling doubt. She simply wanted him to trust her, but he wasn’t able to give her the assurance she needed.

Until he could believe her without any doubt, nothing he could say would placate her.

“Would you care to talk about it?” Mulligan asked, not taking his eyes off the road that wound up a small hill where a copse of trees blocked the horizon from view.

“I assume you heard what happened.” No doubt the entire household was aware of his grandmother’s ill-advised confrontation with Serena. The memory fired his temper. Without proof, and having only the words of a mean-spirited gossip, she had no right to accuse Serena of something so vile.

“Yes.” Mulligan guided the horses around a bend, their full manes lifting and falling with every hoof clop.

Fingers flexing, Hoxton moved his legs, stretching out a cramp in his ankle. Every sharp word and nuance of hurt that Serena had expressed rolled inside his head, and he had difficulty formulating his response. “There is no explanation that leaves me in a positive light.”

Mulligan turned to him, a slow, deliberate motion, his dark eyes calculating. His expression was guarded as always, but a flicker of curiosity appeared in his friend’s gaze. “Then you didn’t side with Lady Serena against your grandmother?”

“Grandmother had no right to make such an insulting comment to Serena without knowing all the facts.” Hoxton evaded answering the question and looked away, unable to hold Mulligan’s regard. Exhaling, he spied a hawk on a post, the red feathers ruffling in the breeze that blew like a warm breath.

“That was a very diplomatic way of avoiding my question.” Mulligan moved his attention back to the horses, leaving a heavy silence to hang between them.

Shame coursed through Hoxton, and he squeezed his fingers on his knees, his face flaming.

“I want to believe Serena, she is my wife. The incident at the castle happened so fast that I never questioned it until my grandmother put the thought into my head. Since then, I haven’t been able to stop wondering whether it could be true. ”

“Did you ask Lady Serena outright if the rumors were true?” Mulligan asked, his voice low and firm.

“I know it has been a while since you courted a woman, but if I asked her outright if she tricked me into marriage, she’d be even more insulted than she already is.” Hoxton shook his head at the sheer folly of such a notion. Serena wasn’t one for histrionics, but he’d hurt her deeply.

Unexpected laughter rumbled from Mulligan’s chest. “That’s the very reason you should ask. She can’t be any madder at you than she is right now, so why not take the chance?”

Hoxton scoffed, although it sounded hollow to his own ears. “I am not a man of words, and apparently, I am more of a coward than I thought.”

“You have never been a coward in life or on the battlefield.” Mulligan’s sharp words cut the air. “You might have made some mistakes, but a coward you are not.”

“I know how to command troops, but the situation with Serena is beyond my scope of expertise.” Hoxton’s throat tightened, and he waited a breath before speaking, “I…well, she has seen me at my worst. The thunderstorms…” He trailed off, instantly regretting the comment.

Mulligan knew of his past and every dirty secret he carried from his time at Waterloo.

“She doesn’t seem the sort to easily pass judgment.

” Mulligan studied him closely, the horses moving at a steady clip-clop down the rutted lane without any guidance.

A creek ran along the side of the road with several ducks swimming lazily on the slowly moving water.

“What you are facing is not a war to be won, but a wound to be healed for Lady Serena and perhaps for yourself as well.”

Hoxton rubbed at his temple, the fresh air helping a bit with the ongoing pain. “You are correct. I should simply have asked her outright. She might have been furious with me, but at least I would have had my answer.”

“You don’t believe her?” Mulligan turned his attention back to driving.

“I want to.” With all his being, he wanted to. “She said a few things that were suspicious at the time but in hindsight weren’t truly untoward and I—well, I should have believed her.”

“You should give her the benefit of the doubt, but blind trust isn’t always the best course. Did she deny it?” Mulligan waved to some men who stared at Hoxton.

With a nod in the farmers’ direction, Hoxton adjusted the brim of his hat to block the sun from shining in his eyes. “She insisted that while in London, I pay a call on Blackstone and gain his perspective on the rumors.”

“You will be stepping into a sticky situation in that.” Mulligan flicked the reins, and the horses responded, lengthening their stride as the road opened up. “If the man is less than scrupulous, he might lie to simply spite you.”

“There is that. He was vying for Lady Roxanne’s hand during his stay here.

She has yet to choose a husband, therefore, if he was indeed in league with Serena, he gained nothing by tricking me into marrying her.

” Hoxton held onto the side of the phaeton as the vehicle hit a series of bumps.

“If Blackstone had ill intentions, they haven’t come to fruition. ”

“You seem happy with Lady Serena.”

“I am happy with her.” While Blackstone might not have gained anything, Hoxton had. “She, however, isn’t happy with me.”

Mulligan’s hand moved to his shoulder, a gesture of solidarity. “You are not the first man to make his wife angry, and you will not be the last man to insult a woman, whether you wish to or not. You are not alone in this, no matter how much it may feel like it.”

“When did you become so wise?” Hoxton grinned at him, nudging him with his elbow. Talking to his friend removed some of the burden. He still must figure out what, if anything, he would do were he to discover that Blackstone and Serena had conspired to trick him into proposing.

“Since I began stepping out with a lady friend.” Mulligan’s color rose, his profile to Hoxton’s. “And before you ask, I would rather not reveal her identity yet. She’s like a young bird, unsure if she should leave the nest.”

Like him, Mulligan kept his cards close to his chest. Until meeting Serena, Hoxton hadn’t truly felt anything other than numbness. “I understand, and I will not press you further,” Hoxton said, although he was curious.

The tall, white steeple of the village church appeared in the near distance.

Mulligan maneuvered the horse to the side of the lane to allow another carriage to pass in the opposite direction.

The post road to London was past the village, and the quickest route was through the village proper, with its many two-story shops.

“As for your dilemma, I have no sage words of advice. If you love her, then you owe her the benefit of the doubt. From what I have observed and been told by the children, she seems a very pleasant woman, and Blackstone is a boorish prat.”

Laughing at the description, Hoxton nodded, his gaze moving to an oncoming wagon.

A local farmer and his son waved excitedly at them.

“They appear to want our attention,” Hoxton said.

He tried to be available to all of his tenants, even if it was merely to stop and say hello.

Being a duke was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

“Let us speak with them, then we can be on our way.”

“If that is your wish.” Mulligan pulled the horses to a stop and waited for the farm wagon to pull abreast.

The farmer removed his hat and pointed to the bundle on his son’s lap. “We found an injured bird, your grace, and thought to bring it to Hoxton House.”

“That was very kind of you.” Hoxton hopped down from the phaeton and approached the wagon.

Everyone on the estate and in the village knew of his love of birds and his dedication to seeing to their welfare.

Often, the birds were slightly injured and easily rehabilitated.

Some were past saving, which saddened him each and every time.

He reached for the bundle wrapped in a dirty cloth and spied the downy head of a young owl.

Excitement rushed into him, along with concern.

“What is it?” Mulligan asked from the perch.

“It is a little owl,” Hoxton inspected the tiny face, the yellow eyes reminiscent of Serena’s, staring at him. The bird made no attempt to struggle, which wasn’t a good sign. “He appears to be rather weak.”

“Me boy found him in the stream. We thought he was dead, but the little tyke seems to be holding on,” the farmer said.

“Thank you for rescuing him. If you would be obliged, I would like you to take Mr. Mulligan to the estate so he can see to the owlet.” Hoxton turned back to look at Mulligan, who tied off the reins of the phaeton and jumped down.

“Yes, your grace. I would be honored,” the farmer said, staring at him with respect in his gaze.

Hoxton wished he were deserving of such praise. While he could cut his trip to London short or send someone else to fetch his cousins, he needed time to think.

“Are you certain?” Mulligan asked.

“Climb up and I will hand the bird to you,” Hoxton said.

The boy scrambled to the back of the wagon, and Mulligan took his place.

Hoxton handed the bird to his friend. His gaze meeting Mulligan’s, understanding passed between them.

His conversation with Mulligan had been productive and well-needed.

He’d given Hoxton much to think about. Hoxton had never shirked his duties to his men or to those he loved.

He owed it to himself and all involved to discover the truth about the rumors surrounding Blackstone, no matter how painful it was to his own future.