Page 4 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Four

T he following morning, Rosalind rode out with the new duke, determined to show him the estate she loved so very dearly and ensure repairs for the tenant farmers got underway. He seemed an affable man, the sort of gentleman who would take care of the land and the people working it. Not a small task, considering the estate was vast, with extensive grounds, hundreds of acres of forest, perfect for deer and game to thrive. A hunting lodge that her grandfather had built and used often—though her father had barely used it.

By the time they reached the stables, the horses were ready.

"I've settled Breeze for you, Your Grace," the stable hand said. "Thought you may want to try one of the estate horses today. He should do well enough for you around the grounds."

"Very well, thank you," the duke said, before mounting his horse with effortless grace, his strong thighs flexing as he settled in the saddle. The horse was at least seventeen hands high, but it seemed to make no difference to him.

Rosalind watched him, impressed despite herself. Then, with a nod to the stable hand, she used his assistance to mount—though today she had no intention of riding side saddle.

The duke raised a brow at her choice but said nothing. Instead, he turned his horse toward the stable yard gates.

"This way, Your Grace. We’ll head west first and check in on Mr. Arthur before he gets too busy for the day."

"Of course. I’ll follow your lead."

They set off, Rosalind considering what to say. The duke wasn’t one for idle chatter, but he was kind. The fact he’d agreed to come out and see the issues her father had left behind said a lot about his character.

"We have deer and pheasant on the grounds, Your Grace. You're welcome to invite guests to stay and hunt. The rooms are always ready. My father never made much use of the estate, but the staff keeps everything prepared, just in case."

"Good to know," he said. "Do you hunt, Lady Rosalind?"

She turned to look at him as they rode along a well-worn path through the forest, dappled sunlight filtering through the branches. The air still held a lingering chill from winter, but the scent of spring was beginning to stir.

"I do, Your Grace. I've ridden since I was a child. Before my mother died, she insisted that all her daughters learn. Though three of my sisters loathe the sport, I’ve always believed that as long as the animal doesn’t suffer and nothing goes to waste, then hunting is acceptable. People must eat, after all."

"A practical view."

She nodded, unsure if he approved or merely found her stance interesting or was completely bored by the conversation they were having. It was hard to tell with the man.

"I met your father once in London," he added. "I wouldn't claim to have known him well, but one might have assumed he had no home at all for the time he spent at his clubs."

Rosalind mulled over his words. It confirmed what she'd long suspected—her father had barely spent any time at home. And if the rumors were true, he had kept a mistress in his final years. Had her father’s mistress been left with anything when he passed? She doubted it. He wasn’t the sort of man to part with money easily, not even for those closest to him. The fact that her own dowry had remained intact was an amazement.

"I'm surprised he never mentioned you would inherit, Your Grace. When you met him in London," she said. "Surely he must have known our cousin had passed by then. He’s been gone several years."

"If he did, he never said a word. Then again, he never had much to say to me—I was only an earl, after all."

Rosalind chuckled. "That does sound like my father. He was an elitist through and through."

They rode in companionable silence for a while until they reached a small clearing, where a thatched-roof cottage came into view. It was a pretty-enough house, two stories with glistening windows and a thin stream of smoke curling from the chimney.

"This is Mr. Arthur’s cottage," Rosalind said. "He’s one of the gamekeepers. Papa made him pay rent, even though he’s an old man, and barely capable of a full day’s work.” She shook her head at the thought. Her father had made the old man continue to pay, despite his decades of loyalty and his failing health.

"Is he still currently paying it?” the duke asked.

"Yes, Your Grace. His income isn’t what it once was, though, so…perhaps that could be amended." She didn’t press the issue, but she could see the duke was already considering it. Had it been her choice, she would have stopped the requirement from Mr. Arthur. But the estate, wh ile her home, did not belong to her, nor the running of it.

"I’ll look over the ledgers and see what can be done. I haven’t yet reviewed the estate’s accounts, but you have my word—I’ll take care of it."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

They pulled up in front of the cottage, and Mr. Arthur bustled outside, his weathered face breaking into a wide smile.

"Good morning, Lady Rosalind!" he called.

Rosalind dismounted and went to clasp his hands. "Mr. Arthur, I hope we find you well on this beautiful morning."

"Oh, well enough," he said. "Just put the kettle on—you're welcome to join me for a cup."

"Oh, that would be lovely, but first, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Ravensmere? He’s inherited the estate from Father."

Mr. Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he hurried to bow, though his old bones protested and he groaned. "Your Grace, an honor."

“How do you do, Mr. Arthur,” the duke said politely.

"There's no need for that, Mr. Arthur," Rosalind said quickly, helping him back upright. "The duke is here to see the damage to the roof and thatch from the last storm. Perhaps we could look at the upstairs room?"

Mr. Arthur nodded eagerly. "Oh, that would be a great help. Last night, I swear there was a rat in the house, scratching about in the empty room. I’ve had to move out of it, you know. And when it rains, the water just pours in! No matter how much I’ve tried to patch it, I cannot keep the vermin out."

"We’ll take a look," the duke said. "If the roof’s salvageable, we’ll repair it. If not, we’ll replace the structure entirely."

The old man blinked in surprise. "Oh, Your Grace…that’s more than I dared hope."

“It is as it should be, Mr. Arthur.”

Once inside, as promised, Mr. Arthur poured them tea. He sighed contentedly as he settled into his chair, his bones creaking loud enough that Rosalind heard them.

"I do cherish this house. My children were raised here. My dear wife… We were married in the local church, spent our whole lives here together before she passed last year."

"I can understand the sentiment," the duke said, his gaze drifting around the room before landing on Rosalind.

She held his gaze, trying to read his thoughts. Did he feel burdened by everything her father had left him? Or was he so wealthy that the cost of repairs meant nothing?

She would never know for sure. But the fact that he was here, listening, and willing to act—told her she’d been right to trust him .

After finishing their tea, they followed Mr. Arthur upstairs to assess the damage. The sight of the missing roof was worse than Rosalind remembered.

The duke shook his head. "How long has it been like this?" he asked, testing one of the rafters.

"Since last winter, Your Grace. The storm before the first snows took the roof clear off. I tried to gather the thatch and wood, but most were too scattered and broken to use."

"Very well. I’ll send my steward with workers tomorrow. If the roof can’t be salvaged, we’ll replace it outright."

Mr. Arthur clutched Rosalind’s hand, his eyes welling with tears. "Lady Rosalind? You are the best of them. Thank you for bringing the duke here today. I have hope, finally."

She squeezed his hand, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I’m sorry you had to live this way for so long."

Mr. Arthur sighed before leading them back downstairs. “As am I, my lady. But I do not hold you responsible, so enough of that.”

They stepped outside, and Rosalind retrieved a wrapped bundle of food from her saddlebag. "Cook sent biscuits for you."

Mr. Arthur grinned, lifting the cloth parcel to his nose and breathing deep. "A new roof, my favorite biscuits, and I’ve met the Duke of Ravensmere—what a grand day!"

The duke chuckled, and for the first time, Rosalind saw him smile. A real, unguarded smile. And blast it all to Hades, he was a handsome gentleman when he did so.

Something fluttered low in her stomach. She swallowed hard and turned to her horse, trying to ignore the sensation.

"Come, Your Grace," she said, swinging into the saddle. "We’ve another tenant to visit."

And, if she wasn’t careful, another problem to deal with—her sudden physical awareness of the Duke of Ravensmere.