Page 42 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

The massive black thoroughbred stallion cut through the mist with ease, eating up the ground beneath his hooves and propelling them across the countryside in great strides.

Dorian Blackwood, Duke of Ravenshire was right at home on the horse's back with the feeling of the cold air lashing him in the face.

It made him feel alive like nothing else did these days. Beside him was his friend, Viscount William Hawthorne, keeping pace. Though slightly smaller, the chestnut stallion he was riding matched the black’s stride almost step for step.

As they neared the edge of Ravenshire estate, his home, Dorian reined in his horse.

This was as good a place to take a break as any.

He needed the small reprieve before he returned to the solitude of the estate.

On the back of his horse, hidden from sight by the misty air around them, he could feel free—if only for a moment.

He turned the massive stallion in a few circles before he quieted the horse completely.

William’s own horse settled with less enthusiasm, ignoring the other completely.

Instead, he merely displayed its irritation at their interlude with aggressive flips of its head, and an attempt to pull the reins from his rider’s hands and continue the sprint.

“Quit. Behave yourself, you brute.” Dorian scolded his horse as it swung its hip toward William’s horse sharply.

He had raised the stallion and was familiar with its antics.

It did not enjoy having to share its space.

Ears flickering, it danced a moment longer.

Finally accepting the request to stand still with a snort. “That’s better.”

“Still running away from it all, old friend?” William asked with a smirk, his blue eyes glimmering with good humor, blonde hair tousled by the wind from their ride.

“You cannot run from everything and everyone you know. It’s simply not possible.

Everything will catch you eventually. You won’t be able to hide out here forever either, your father won’t allow it. ”

“I’m not running, or hiding for that matter,” Dorian replied, impassively.

Not looking to rehash this conversation once again.

As irritated as it made him, it inevitably came up each time they met.

He went on matter-of-factly, “I’ve never been running, don’t paint me a coward.

I’m simply protecting myself. You would do the same if our roles were reversed. ”

That is as true today as it was yesterday and the day before, he reaffirmed to himself.

Reassuring himself—for perhaps the millionth time—that he was not wrong to stay secreted away at his estate.

The accusations of ‘running’ or worse ‘hiding’ had never sat well with him.

It was bad enough he got it from his father, he didn’t need to hear it from his closest friend as well.

Truly he felt that neither of them understood his plight.

Hiding would be crawling into a dark hole and never leaving. Here I have the freedom to move about, without judgement or fear. Without having to deal with people. I stay here because it’s peaceful… far away from gawking stares and prying people.

William was his closest friend, and had been since well before his current state had come to fruition.

Sure, he would jab at him here and there about his reclusive tendencies; but he didn't mean any harm in his words. He understood Dorian’s reasons, even if he did feel they were a bit over the top.

No matter how much William willed it he could no more change Dorian’s mind than he himself could change the reasons for his solidarity.

His father had sent him to the top doctors in the country and none of them had been able to help him with his condition.

After several years of trying, he had tired of the constant poking and prodding, as well as the pitying stares.

He had given up any hope of recovery and made the decision to withdraw to the countryside on a permanent basis.

Spending much of the time since trying to dissuade others from being concerned about him and his lack of societal inclusion, now he just stayed indifferent to the discussion altogether. Otherwise, it would try his patience and set off his temper.

After all, it was nice to have someone around every now and again, to have someone remaining who cared if he lived or died. Even though he preferred seclusion he did like some amount of human contact and losing his only remaining friend would certainly put a damper on his meager social life.

“Ah, is that what we are calling it these days? Protection? From whom exactly? The opinions of others? Since when did that ever stop you from partaking in things in the past?” William chuckled with light exacerbation, shaking his head, his blonde locks ruffling back to their normal fall.

“That was before, when I still believed there was a chance of recovery. This is now. I know that there is no hope and no solution. Things changed, you know that.” he said firmly, “The seclusion is worth not being gawked at constantly. Making babies cry and what not.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic my friend, don’t you think? In all honesty, how long do you intend to go on this way? How long are you going to exclude yourself from the rest of the world? For one, your father will not put up with it indefinitely” William argued, “and for another it’s not healthy.”

“Since I realized that people are worthless, cruel, judgmental animals. That medicine is clearly not advanced enough and that my only remaining worth to my father is to be married off in some business arrangement for pure alliance.

With or without my approval I may add, the next debutante that shows up on my doorstep will be the last straw.

He goes too far,” he insisted with an exhale, his jaw tight.

“And I will stay like this for as long as it takes. This world, especially not the soft social world of England, is not ready for my kind yet. As a matter of fact, there is a good chance that it may never be.”

By ‘my kind’ he meant the bruised, the broken, the less than perfect.

The Ton was full of beautiful women, lavishly dressed men with brilliant features.

No, the society he had grown up a part of was made up of the brilliantly glowing diamonds of the English upper class.

Individuals such as him were kept apart from those at its center, cast away to the edges where they were spoken of like whispers and rarely if ever seen.

William did not respond for a long minute.

Silently contemplating his words, the look on his face told Dorian that he was undergoing an internal debate on whether it was of any value continuing the argument at that time.

Then with a hearty laugh and a second shake of his head he chose to drop the subject.

Dorian was thankful. They’d had this very same discussion on numerous occasions over the past few years, and there were plenty more to come.

For now. He’ll find a way to bring the conversation back around before the day's end, he always does, Dorian scoffed internally. It’s a wonder Father and he have not joined forces to dissuade me from this path. Sometimes it surely felt as if they already had.

William was not the only person close to him that disagreed with his choice to stay in solitude at this country estate.

His father had been after him for months to return to London, return to his duties as befitting his status in the family.

To hunker down and choose a debutante to betroth, to provide heirs, and so on and so forth.

The truth was that he wasn’t ready to return, to face the Ton and its cruel nature.

He hadn’t yet resigned himself to settling with some beautiful debutante that would never want to be seen with him.

That wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him.

He wasn’t ready to live under such bleak circumstances.

Not giving them a chance to break the reprieve from that particular conversation, he turned his horse toward the manor and signaled it back into a full gallop.

It didn’t take long for William to follow suit beside him.

A smile on his face as they raced back to the manor, one last spurt of freedom for the morning.

The chestnut horse tried hard to surpass the black over the last stretch of their journey, but its legs were just too short, and in the end the black still led by several yards.

Foam was present on both horses from the exercise and the men handed them off to the waiting stable hands with instructions to hand walk them extensively before rinsing and stabling them.

With a pat on his horse's powerful shoulder, Dorian stepped off toward the house, confident his instructions would be followed. Glancing briefly at William who was giving his horse a treat out of his saddle bag Dorian grunted, waving a hand dismissively, he’ll catch up.

“We almost had you,” William gloated with laughter, trotting to match pace with Dorian as he headed toward the main door. “One of these days, I tell you, one of these days, we will win.”

Dorian chuckled at his enthusiasm. Not even close, he thought. Then unable to resist teasing him a little, he said “Sure you will, when horses can fly. The chestnut wings may still be growing, though I didn’t see a trace of them today.”

“We will be in the drawing room, George, have someone bring tea and something to eat.” Dorian alerted the butler as he met them. Taking their riding whips and coats from them as they reached the top of the short entry stairway and entered the front room.

“Yes, Your Grace.” George replied with a quick bow before rushing off down the hallway to the right of the main staircase to do as he was bid.