Page 11 of The Homecoming (The De Montforte Brothers #6)

Chapter Eight

T rue to his word, Ruaidri rose before dawn, quietly shaved and dressed, and leaving his wife still asleep in the great curtained bed, slipped out of the room. He did not want to keep Lucien waiting.

The long corridor stretched before him, portraits of ancestors lining the walls, the staircase at the end.

He was overwhelmed by the opulence, the sheer and brazen magnificence of it all.

Hard to believe that Nerissa, who had uncomplainingly adapted to a much simpler life across the sea, had grown up in such a grand old pile of rock, where no expenses were spared when it came to luxuries both small and large, where servants answered every need both real and imagined, where the family’s history, interwoven through the fabric of England’s itself, was proudly displayed in art, sculpture, and even those hideous suits of armor in the Great Hall.

The place was a far cry from the tiny cottage in Connemara that his own family had called home.

But Ruaidri was a self-made man, and as he passed by the flickering sconces that lit the corridor, he speculated that somewhere far back in the de Montforte ancestry, there was probably some enterprising old devil much like himself, a nobody whose ambition ended up bringing him great fortune, accolades, the attention of those who were in charge of doling out things like castles and titles, and eventually, this virtual kingdom.

He smiled. The resentment and scorn he’d once had for Lucien de Montforte and all he represented were well behind him now, and he was able to absorb the grandeur and opulence of Blackheath Castle with detachment, even faint amusement at its rather ridiculous extravagance.

But this place had fashioned Nerissa. It had been her home, and she had left it all for him.

The very thought sobered him and made him appreciate—and love—her all the more.

That brother of hers, though... Ruaidri wasn’t quite sure how to navigate the situation with Charles.

His strategy had been to hold his temper, stay cool, and remain polite in the hopes the man would accept, if not like him.

For the sake of both his wife and his relations with her family, he didn’t want to get into a fight with him or take any bait thrown his way, but God almighty, it was growing harder and harder to pretend indifference.

He made his way down the wide stone staircase and caught a whiff of food. Coffee. Where was that blasted dining room? A footman stood some distance down the hall, outside a set of doors. He noted Ruaidri’s confusion and quietly motioned him forward.

“Are you looking for the dining room, sir?”

“Aye,” Ruaidri said, relieved.

“His Grace is inside. He is expecting you.”

“Don’t know how a body doesn’t get lost in this place,” Ruaidri murmured as the man, bewigged and liveried, opened the doors for him, a task, Ruaidri thought wryly, he was well able to perform himself. “I need a damned map to find my way around.”

The man did not respond, probably finding such conversation too familiar. He obviously knew his place.

Unlike me, a lowly rogue who dared to kidnap a noblewoman and ended up falling in love with and marrying her.

He grinned and entered the room.

The duke sat alone at the head of the table, a newspaper and a cup of tea before him, a footman waiting dutifully in the shadows to attend to his any and every need. “Good morning, Ruaidri,” he murmured, looking up. “I was hoping you’d be joining me. Some breakfast, perhaps?”

“I’m happy to wait ’til we get back.”

Lucien nodded, drained the tea, and put the newspaper down. He got to his feet. “Very well then. Off we go.”

No need to hire a guide to find his way around or out of this bloody place with its owner himself as his guide, Ruaidri thought wryly.

He had dressed in a simple coat of dark grey broadcloth open to show a satin waistcoat of plum satin and silver buttons, his breeches linen, his boots carefully polished.

The duke, he was relieved to note, had foregone the velvet and jewels he’d worn for an absurdly late dinner the night before and was also dressed for a morning walk.

A footman handed him a walking stick as they left the great castle, two gundogs joined them and soon they were moving briskly across the graveled drive and out over the moat, veiled in mist in the pre-dawn twilight.

“A fine morning to be out and about,” the duke remarked affably. “My favorite time of day, really. If we’re quick, we’ll catch the sunrise from the top of one of the highest downs. The views there are quite spectacular, and well worth the climb.”

The dogs raced ahead, and they walked in silence.

The duke’s stride was long and purposeful, and Ruaidri was glad of the exercise after so much lavish food.

A slight breeze began to stir the grasses beneath their feet, carrying the scent of pastures, wildflowers, and earth.

England might not hold his heart or offer the same rugged beauty as Connemara, but there were worse places he could be in these pre-dawn moments.

To the east, the sky was lightening, the dim glow of the coming sun coloring up now in shades of orange and pink.

“We must hurry,” Lucien said, and they trekked up the grassy hill before them, their pace increasing. The dogs flushed a rabbit and gave chase, coming obediently back as the duke put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

“They mind a damned sight better than that puppy,” Ruaidri remarked.

Lucien just grinned. The strengthening light, salmon and gold, began to touch his face, the noble brow and patrician nose, and Ruaidri realized in that moment that his brother-in-law was far more at home here, high up in the downs with a new day about to dawn, than he was back in the castle.

And now the duke raised the walking stick and pointed to the crown of the hill, just a hundred feet away, beginning to glow with light. “Up for a run to the top, Ruaidri?”

“If it means we’ll miss it otherwise, aye.”

“Race you, then!”

The two sprinted the rest of the way and reached the blunted crest of the ancient hill just in time.

There they stood, trying to catch their breath after the hard run.

Neither spoke. There to the east, bars of golden light shot heavenward from the horizon, piercing the hazy clouds, sending light up, up, up into the zenith.

For a moment, expectant silence. Hushed waiting.

A reverence for the new day. And suddenly there it was, the ruddy, vibrant crown of the rising sun just emerging, glowing orange, growing in size, now swelling and taking shape as it soared up over the vista of checkered pastures, farmland and field, the rolling grasses and distant hedgerows spread out into forever before them.

The land was suddenly aglow in orange and gold, and though he’d seen thousands of sunrises during his many years at sea, Ruaidri felt strangely moved.

“That was well worth getting up for,” he murmured.

“And no two are ever the same.” The duke leaned his head back and breathed deeply of the morning air. “It’s a sight I try not to miss.”

“Aye, there’s somethin’ magical about the birth of a new day, whether one sees it from land or sea.”

Lucien nodded, and they began the long walk back down the hill, the duke marking his strides with the walking stick.

“I wish to thank you, Ruaidri,” he said at length.

“Massachusetts to England ... it’s a long journey, fraught with danger and the risk of capture.

We have missed our little sister dearly, and I speak for all of us when I express my gratitude to you for undertaking this trip to bring her home.

Especially,” he added meaningfully, “given the ... challenges this visit itself is presenting you.”

Ruaidri shrugged. “It’s only been a couple o’ days. The good lord willing, things can only get better.”

“Let us hope. Even so, I commend you for your restraint. It is admirable.”

“Not easy, I’ll admit.”

“I cannot imagine that it is. But things would be far worse if you abandoned that restraint. You know it and I know it. I just wanted you to know that I recognize, and am grateful, for it.”

Ruaidri nodded. “I’ll do anythin’ for Nerissa. The last thing I’d want to do is get into it with her brother.”

“I would intervene, but I daresay that would make matters worse.”

“If you intervene, ’twill injure his pride and make him feel like he’s a child bein’ scolded. And he’ll resent me all the more for it.”

“Yes, he will.” Lucien smiled, his dark eyes thoughtful. “But I must admit that it is very difficult for me not to intervene. Not really in my character to just let things take their natural course, you know.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing we’re both showing restraint, eh?”

The duke laughed. “Indeed, Ruaidri. Indeed.”

“In any case, he can despise me all he likes. I’ve no mind to care. But it’s hard on Nerissa. She loves her brother, she does, and she loves me, and she doesn’t know how to smooth things.”

“Time usually has a way of accomplishing that.”

“Aye, it does.”

They walked in companionable silence, the dogs trotting ahead. A kestrel hovered over a nearby field, swooped down on something, and rose with breakfast in its talons. Butterflies danced on the light breeze, and ahead, the long drive that led to the castle came into view.

Lucien poked at the grass with his walking stick. “So, what’s next for you, once this infernal war is finally over?”

“I’ll see what the Navy offers me. I’m always open to advancements, the bigger the better. I’ve also been eyein’ some business opportunities in both Newburyport and Boston in partnership with my cousin.”

“And Nerissa? Do you believe she’s happy there?”

“Took her a while to settle in, but she’s made friends, got herself involved in the Mariners Wives Committee—don’t ask me what they do, they don’t tell and I don’t ask—and enjoys quite a high status given who she is.”

“The wife of an American hero?”

Ruaidri laughed. “Hell no, the brother of a famous duke. Bunch of snobs, the lot of those twitterin’ biddies.

But she sees them for what they are, separates the real folk from the sycophants and chooses her friends wisely.

Strangely enough, she’s become close to my cousin’s wife, Mira.

Chalk and cheese they are, but they get on well. ”

“Ah, Mira,” the duke said wryly. “A most ... memorable young woman.”

“She’s also grown close with me cousin, Eveleen, and has taken up watercolors. Eveleen’s helpin’ her hone her painting skills.”

“I’m glad of it,” Lucien said. “We all miss her dearly, but her happiness means more to me, and I daresay, to all of us—even Charles, though he has yet to admit it— than her proximity to us. The next visit will be ours to make, I think.”

“We’d love that. The new house is built, the wallpaper and furnishings all chosen by Nerissa, and I can promise ye I’ll be a damned sight more hospitable than the last time ye set foot in Newburyport.”

“If I recall, it was I who made things ... impossible.”

“Damned right ye did.”

The duke caught the gleam in Ruaidri’s eye and laughed. Ruaidri guffawed, remembering. The two of them had begun their acquaintance in animosity that had grown to wary respect and now, a friendship.

Charles be damned. Lucien and Andrew, and the fun-loving Gareth were family enough for him.

The castle was ahead, the roses nodding in the breeze as they passed through the gatehouse and over the moat, now glinting with sunlight.

“Fancy some breakfast now?” Lucien asked.

“I’ve worked up an appetite, I have. Stomach’s growlin’ like a caged lion.”

They climbed the steps to the iron-banded great doors, entered the castle—and found it in an uproar.