Page 16 of Starlight and the Duke (Cherish and the Duke #5)

Molly’s cautionary words this morning came back to haunt her. Was it truly Rob’s decision alone to make about whom to marry? Did she not have a say in it, too?

And was it not also a Crown matter? The Durham dukedom, a historic title and bastion of power in England for almost a thousand years, was at stake. Would Rob be permitted to throw it away?

Everyone else seemed to think it was not of major concern. How easy it would be if she simply went along. Unfortunately, she could not, for along with the benefits of their status in Society came responsibility.

Fiona’s sense of duty had been ingrained in her since childhood, and she knew that she had to do the right thing. Was she not obligated to steer Rob correctly, especially if he was inclined to make the wrong choice?

She diverted her attention to her own affairs when the farm, which comprised a vital part of her wealth, came into view. It was only a twenty-minute ride from Shoreham Manor, and was a profitable enterprise that gave her a steady income. It also provided employment for numerous local families.

She looked upon the farm as her child in many ways, for she was responsible for the welfare of everyone who depended upon it for their livelihoods.

Shoreham had given it to her as a bride gift upon their marriage and left the running of it entirely to her and his competent estate manager, Mr. Sykes, an amiable man in his early fifties with a full shock of white hair.

“Good morning, m’lady,” Mr. Sykes said, hurrying out of the barn to greet her upon hearing the rattle and rumble of her rig.

“Good morning,” she replied, smiling at the older man who had run the Shoreham holdings for almost thirty years, and her own bride gift for these past twenty years.

She introduced the man to Rob, who offered his hand in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said with sincerity. “Lady Shoreham speaks of you with tremendous respect.”

“Well earned,” Fiona added.

The estate manager gave a humble smile. “Well, I do my best, Your Grace. And it has always been a pleasure to work for Lady Shoreham.”

He then led them on a tour of the farm. Of course, Fiona knew it well.

But she was curious about what Rob thought of the operation.

In all the years she had owned the place, she had never brought her guests here.

Mostly because those who came to her house parties were all about having fun, not stomping about in muck or watching sheep being sheared.

But Rob was avidly interested in all aspects.

Soon, he and Mr. Sykes were engrossed in conversation as they walked across the fields, their heads bent toward each other, unaware she had slowed her step and lingered by the sheep pens to allow the pair to talk at length about livestock and arable land.

Since she was so familiar with the place, any problems were easy for her to spot and assess without the need for her estate manager to point them out. Fortunately, there appeared to be nothing major to address at the moment.

However, this did not mean she could sit back and not concern herself with the farm.

Constant vigilance was required, and constant maintenance as well.

She took note of the wood beginning to rot along the sheep pens, but that repair could be delayed until next spring.

She would ask Mr. Sykes for his opinion.

The odor of chickens wafted from the coop as the light breeze shifted and sent their pungent aroma her way. She heard their clucks and squawks, and the low bellows of her milking cows as they were led out of the barn by one of the farmhands into the lower pasture.

Being so close to Brighton was an advantage, especially as the town became more popular with summer visitors.

There was always a need for eggs and milk, and their prices held up well due to this demand.

The farm also had an apple orchard that provided apples in the autumn and cider throughout the winter.

Fiona was quite proud of this property.

She also did not regret having married Shoreham, for he had been kind and generous with her, and was this not enough of a blessing in one’s life?

Plus a week of delicious sin with Rob? Her nights with him had felt particularly decadent because he was so adept in the bedchamber. And she did not hold back in her responses.

Perhaps she would have felt less sinful had she not known him since childhood. Yet, at this point in their lives, the six-year difference in their ages did not seem quite so impossible.

It would have been nothing had Rob been the one who was six years older.

But he was certainly old enough now, no longer the little boy who used to follow her every step, or greet her at the door like an adorably excited puppy whenever she came to visit with her mother.

Dear heaven. He had grown so impossibly handsome and completely dangerous to her heart.

She shook out of her thoughts when the men strode back from the pasture to join her. The three of them walked to Mr. Sykes’s office, where they reviewed the ledgers and made decisions on what to repair next.

One entry made her frown. “Is Mr. Holland no longer purchasing his eggs and milk from us?”

Mr. Sykes nodded. “He claims our prices are too high and he went elsewhere.”

“That is ridiculous. Our prices are set at market rates. What is going on with him?”

“I don’t know. His son was the one who approached me and instructed me to stop deliveries to his father’s bake shop.”

“ That weasel? He’s going to stint on quality and destroy his father’s business before the year is out. I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

Rob glanced at her with his eyebrows arched. “Does this mean you want to take a trip into Brighton next?”

He knew her so well. “Yes. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I am entirely at your service.”

Mr. Sykes laughed as he turned to Fiona. “You are going to box the son’s ears, aren’t you? Be careful. The man is a no-account and will not behave like a gentleman.”

Fiona tipped her chin up. “I’ll flay him alive if he tries anything. More important, I must talk sense into Mr. Holland. He cannot let that worthless son of his run the bakery into the ground.”

“Is it not the baker’s business what he wishes to do about his son and his shop?” Rob asked.

“No, it is mine because he is a customer of ours and his son will have him bankrupt and begging on the streets if someone does not step in to stop the damage.”

“Is his son merely a wastrel, or is he dangerous?”

“Merely a wastrel, I’m sure. He’s too lazy to get off his rump and actually do anything.”

But Rob noticed the small hitch of hesitation in her voice. “Perhaps you ought not—”

“I’m going. Will you come with me, or shall I have Mr. Sykes hitch his own rig and take you back to Shoreham Manor?”

“I’m going with you, of course. You know I am not letting you walk into trouble on your own.”

“Shall I come with you as well, Lady Shoreham?”

Rob stepped in and answered for her. “No, Mr. Sykes. I am fully able to protect her, and she will need someone trustworthy to run the farm when I am proved wrong and the son takes a shotgun to us.”

“He’s a conniving weasel, not a murderer,” Fiona assured him, although this did not seem to mollify him very much as they climbed back in her rig, bade her estate manager a good day, and proceeded to Brighton and Mr. Holland’s bake shop.

“You could have left the matter to Mr. Sykes,” Rob mentioned as they turned onto the main road leading to Brighton.

“No, the responsibility is mine. Besides, the son will not respond to a commoner, but he will not dare cross a countess.” She glanced at him. “And he will cower when he learns you are a duke.”

“We could go back to Shoreham Manor and use my carriage.”

“No, you do not need your lion crest emblazoned on the door to show your authority. You carry it just fine on your person alone. You really are wonderfully daunting and authoritative.”

He laughed and gave a shrug. “All right, but I want you to stay behind me when we walk into Mr. Holland’s establishment.”

“Why? It isn’t an army garrison, just a bakery. The only powder floating around will be the flour one uses to bake. However, I do appreciate your desire to protect me.”

“Oh, I don’t think you do,” he said with a note of seriousness. “I can already see that you plan to leap out of the rig and barge into the store the moment we arrive. But you must wait for me to go in first, Fiona. You are little and slight, and will be the first one hurt in a brawl.”

“There isn’t going to be a brawl. Good grief, do you think this is how I deal with my wayward customers?

” Although she did have to calm down and approach the situation with more circumspection and less bellowing.

“I cannot talk to him if I am cowering behind you. But I do promise to stand close by you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They said nothing more to each other, but Rob’s silence was worrying her. He could not be overset about this unexpected trip to Brighton, nor seriously worried about a wastrel son who was probably purchasing inferior ingredients for cakes and pies, could he?

This ran deeper, and was likely about them. Of course. Did he think she was not taking him seriously?

Goodness. He was all she thought about. If only she could dismiss him from her thoughts. But he was constantly in them, filling her heart and her every waking moment to the point of obsession.

She wanted him so desperately. Giving him up would be the hardest thing she would ever have to do in her life.

“Did you notice I am wearing the necklace you gave me?” She forced a cheerful smile.

He let out a breath and chuckled. “I notice everything about you.”

Oh.

He was bringing the conversation around to them again. She needed to divert him. “I wonder if Mr. Holland has taken ill. His son would never be able to take control otherwise.”

“Sounds probable.”

“Shall we stop for ices after we’ve addressed the baker problem?”

“If you wish.”