Page 7

The next day

Shackerley Place

M iles could see the turrets peeking over the tree line.

He was on horseback today but staying close to the carriage to see his cousins’ reaction to their new home.

In less than a month, he was already wondering how he would fare without Lady Graywood and Graham.

The marchioness was a maternal soul, and he enjoyed being mothered.

Graham had become a friend. One he could laugh with, throw back a brandy with, and talk to.

He felt… content when he was with his cousin.

As if they had always meant to be friends, to be together.

I sound like a ridiculous poet. But it was true. He hadn’t felt such a bond with anyone, though he had a variety of friends. A few close companions from university who still corresponded, his steward, several men at the clubs in London.

Miles would have a family to spend the holidays with.

Christmastide would be something to look forward to again.

These last weeks had made him consider taking a wife, adding his own children to the family events he was planning in his mind.

He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until these cousins burst into his life.

“Mama,” cried Shackerley from the carriage window, “it’s magnificent.”

He grinned because Graham was correct. A fifteenth-century castle on a hill with stone battlements connecting four turrets on each corner.

The drawbridge had been replaced with a permanent bridge, but the heavy oak and steel gate remained.

The inner courtyard was a massive front lawn where he’d played lawn bowls as a child.

Behind the castle was a garden with a huge maze.

He remembered hiding from Alice and making her cry when she thought he was lost. His sweet sister, trying to take their mother’s place, had always looked after him.

Miles blinked, his eyes wet. I’m turning into a sentimental old sap , he thought.

Yet he didn’t feel sorrow, rather eagerness to see what the future would hold.

Where last month, his hopes had been limited, now the horizon seemed to spread out before him.

He could almost feel his father’s presence, his eyes on Miles’s back, smiling with pride and happiness for his son.

“It’s been a long time coming, Father,” he said to the clouds above. “But I think a full and content life may lie ahead.”

He relaxed in the saddle and listened to his cousins ramble on about their castle, enjoying Graham’s youthful excitement.

Miles wondered if he’d ever been that young, that na?ve.

Yet there was intelligence in the duke’s conversations.

He would brook no fools, and Miles would be by his side to be sure of it.

The carriage rattled over the stone bridge, and as it passed beneath the portcullis, Graham cried from the window, “My horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse!” Laughter followed, and Miles’s heart was light when they entered the courtyard.

Mr. Garner was already standing on the portico to greet them.

He had resumed his usual exterior of the sedate and proper butler, his gray hair neatly combed back, his black coat, waistcoat, and trousers a sharp contrast to his pristine white cravat.

“Welcome, your ladyship, Your Grace, my lord,” he said with a bow. “Welcome to Shackerley Place.”

Miles enjoyed the reaction on his cousins’ faces at their first glimpses of the estate, taking their rightful places after so long. “For the love of Hercules,” whispered Shackerley, then whistled. “Were you here before, Mama?”

She nodded, blinking rapidly. “Once, when Harry told his father of our marriage. I was shown to the parlor—there to your right. I have not seen the rest of the house.”

Miles hadn’t realized Lady Greywood had visited the castle. It must be a bittersweet memory, remembering the beginning of her loving marriage, then the rude reception of her father-in-law.

“Once you are settled, I will give you a tour at your convenience,” said Mr. Garner. “Your bedchambers have been prepared.”

Before them, the wide entry hall held several portraits of past generations, some medieval weapons, and at the far end, guarding the double staircase, were two suits of armor.

Several footmen passed them, hauling trunks to their rooms. They followed the butler in the wake of their luggage.

Stopping on the second step, Shackerley knocked on the helmet of a suit of armor.

“Hello in there,” he said with a guffaw.

Mr. Garner frowned over his shoulder, then continued his climb. The duke wagged his brows at Miles and his mother, his dimple showing with a wide grin. “This will be an adventure. I feel like I’m in a gothic novel.”

“Wait till I take you up to the battlements,” said Miles. “My sister and I used to shoot arrows from the top, pretending to be knights defending the castle from attack.”

“Could you teach me archery?” asked Shackerley. “I’ve always wanted to play Robin Hood.”

Miles snorted. “As long as I’m not supposed to be Maid Marian.”

* * *

Gwen hugged herself once she was alone in her chambers. The duke’s chamber was large and decidedly masculine with the counterpane, carpet, and curtains in dark blues and golds. The tester bed was huge, and the tall windows were all open, letting in a cool breeze off the fields behind the castle.

There was a rug outside the bedroom door, and she’d asked Mr. Garner what it was for.

“For His Grace’s bloodhound. He was quite devoted to his pack and especially the bloodhound,” he’d answered.

“The dog was trained to sleep there and guard his master. I tried to keep him in the stable at night, but he only howled for hours. So I let him in before I retire and let him out when I get up.”

A dog! Gwen had always wanted a dog. “What is its name?”

“Harry,” the butler had answered.

Harry was her father’s name. Had her grandfather given the dog his son’s name out of affection or as a cruel joke?

Yet Mr. Garner had said the old duke was devoted to the bloodhound, so perhaps…

Perhaps her grandfather had loved his son after all.

Men and their emotions were such a conundrum.

Women didn’t need such pretenses. They laughed when amused, frowned when angry, and cried when sad.

No silly mask to hide their feelings. She was suddenly thankful she only had to be a man temporarily.

Her mother knocked on the door. “May I come in?”

“Of course, Mama,” she said, running to open it. “Can you believe we will be living here?”

Her mother gave Gwen a weak smile. “It is a lovely place.”

“But your memories here are not happy.”

“Non, I’m afraid not. But I believe you will be. You have taken to this country like you are completely English and not half French.” She kissed Gwen on the cheek. “You’ve done an admirable job so far.”

“With your help. Giving me the look when I forget my voice, binding my chest every morning, tying my cravat. I’ll never become adept at those pesky neckcloths.” She hugged Mama. “I do hope you get used to living here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“My options are staying or going back on one of those dreaded ships. At this moment, I’m not sure which would be worse.”

Gwen walked to the window and leaned over the sill, breathing in the warm air and gazing out over the landscape.

Below was a side yard leading to the stable, and beyond that a patchwork of green pastures and fields of hay, ending with a tree line.

All this space where Boston had been so crowded.

She would begin her riding lessons tomorrow.

“Dear, we need to discuss dinner. We’ve been rather informal, what with all the hotels and coaching inns, but there is etiquette to be followed at the table.”

Gwen walked across the room and flopped on the mattress, letting out a groan before bolting upright. “Do you think he died here, on this mattress?”

Her mother shook her head and laughed. “We do think alike. Non , Mr. Garner said the top mattress was thrown away and replaced with a new one. You should be quite comfortable.”

Falling back again on the soft bed, she closed her eyes. “So tell me how horrible my American manners are. What do I need to remember tonight?”

“First, I’ve already taught you not to reach across anyone at the table.

As a man, if we have guests, you must offer to plate any dishes nearby for the female next to you.

Only take one of anything when we are entertaining.

Tonight, when the soup and fish are served, I will serve the soup, and you will slice the fish.

For the second course, you will slice the beef, but we will help ourselves to those side dishes already set out.

” Her mother tapped her chin in thought.

“Oh, and you will ask Wickton if he would like to have a brandy afterwards, then join us in the drawing room.”

“Us?”

“Well, any female guests. When it is only our family, we do not have to leave over the brandy. Wickton might not drink it after every meal. For men, it’s more of a social activity.

” She sat on the bed next to Gwen. “I’ll give you more tidbits as they come to me.

It’s been awhile since I’ve had to follow such etiquette.

Boston society has its proprieties, but the circles in which we traveled were not so rigid. ”

The strict conventions kept by the English would be an annoyance, but she would adjust. “A bath, a tour, and a decadent meal should be the end of a perfect week.”

“I will admit I haven’t had one pang of hunger since we left Boston,” her mother agreed. “I am having qualms about our plan. Though you and Graham are twins, you are still obviously male and female. Miles will see the difference between you and your brother.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” she admitted, fiddling with her cravat. “We need to find a way to tell him before Graham is knocking at our door. I’m feeling terribly guilty, and it’s not fair to blindside the poor man.”

“He rescued us, and in turn, we’ve deceived him.” Her mother rose from the bed and walked to the door. “We will have to find a way to tell him.”

Without him hating me. That would break her heart.

At the end of the evening, she met Harry.

He was mostly a chestnut brown—liver and tan, Mr. Garner had called his coloring—with the longest ears Gwen had ever seen.

His eyes sagged a bit, as if he were sad or tired, and he had jowls that occasionally dripped drool.

His tail was long and his skin loose, aiding his ability to track a scent she was told. Gwen was smitten.

After dressing in her night rail, Gwen studied the signet ring with intertwining W’s that Miles had given her at dinner.

He had received it from her grandfather when he had thought to become the duke, some token that represented an elite group of peers.

Her neighbor, the Duke of Cranbrook, would explain more, Miles had said.

She would pass the signet ring on to Graham.

For now, she left it in the porcelain box that held Graham’s cufflinks since it was much too heavy and large for her finger.

When melancholy hit her, lying alone in a strange bed, she wondered if she was falling in love with a viscount who might hate her in the near future.

All the talk of deception with Mama made her heart heavy with guilt.

Her brother’s image danced before her closed eyelids, sending a knot to her gut.

What if he didn’t want to be a duke, and she had sealed his fate?

Panic ripped through her at the thought, tears pricking her eyes, and she let out a soft sob.

She missed him so. Gwen was still certain he was alive, but lately, some imperceptible worry had been niggling in her chest. Something was wrong, though she had no idea what it could be or how she could find out.

A scratch at the door stopped her in mid sob.

Then a whine. She rose and walked to the door, to find Harry scratching at it.

Had he heard her? She dropped to her knees and stroked his ears.

He looked up at her with those droopy eyes and licked the tears off her cheek.

The unspoken sympathy and comfort stirred another round of tears, and Gwen threw her arms around the hound’s neck.

When the tears subsided, Harry licked them away again, leaving a slimy mess on her cheeks and sending her into a round of giggles. “You’re a silly dog, Harry. And tonight, you are sleeping with me. Come.”

The bloodhound padded behind her, jumping upon the mattress when she invited him with a pat. “I think you’ve done this before, sir,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you, I feel somewhat cleansed.”

A rumbling woof echoed through the room as the hound’s long tail thumped the counterpane. Drifting off to sleep, her fingers sinking in the smooth, loose skin of the dog, her last thought was, I must tell him soon.