Raven McAllan - The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M

He opened the door to the office without knocking.

The man who sat with a ledger in his hands didn’t look up.

‘It’s polite to knock,’ he said shortly.

‘It’s polite to see who has entered,’ Brody replied equably, although he let a hint of authority enter his tone. He pushed the door shut with enough force to make it slam loudly.

Henning, his factor, looked up and his mouth dropped open. ‘M…my Lord, I mean, Your Grace, I didn’t realise it was you.’ “And what are you doing here,” his tone implied.

‘Why would you?’ Brody asked cheerfully as he put his parcel onto the desk with a clink and a thud. He thought it might be a good idea to make sure every employee knew he was happy still to be called ‘my lord’. This double naming made him dizzy. ‘After all, I’ve been conspicuous in my absence.’ He picked up a chair from the side of the room and put it down in front of the desk. ‘Worry no more. I’m ready to take the helm.’

Henning looked aghast. ‘Your Grace?’

‘I’ve slacked long enough,” Brody continued in the same breezy and insouciant tone of voice, and hoped the expression “if looks could kill” was just that – an expression, and not a statement of fact.

‘Ah well, we all knew you needed time to recover, Your Grace, and it was my pleasure to run the estate as your parents wished.’

That was as may be but…

‘And now, Henning you can run it as I wish,’ Brody said quietly, but emphatically. ‘Plus tell me of the things you wanted to do and did not, and the things you personally think do not need doing. I’m sure there must be both.’ His tone invited confidences. ‘Even after you have run the estate to the such high standards you have achieved, there must still be areas you want to work on, or choose not to. I’m sure you had your reasons, but as I don’t know them, some decisions make no sense to me.’ He paused. ‘The back drive for instance?’

Henning blanched and swallowed several times. ‘Ah, yes,’ he sighed. ‘The back drive.’ The factor shook his head and firmed his lips.

‘Well?’ Brody waited. He wouldn’t push until he had to, but he would find out how the man worked. ‘The back drive.’

Henning fiddled with the quill on his inkstand, lined up three ledgers level with the edge of the desk and finally stood up to go to the shelves, which ran the length of the wall opposite the window. He lifted one red leather-bound tome and moved it from hand to hand.

‘My lord, do you know the finer details of your father’s illness?’ Henning asked just before the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. ‘It is relevant, I assure you.’

Whatever Brody thought the man might say, it wasn’t that. ‘Originally, pneumonia, though how I have no idea,’ he replied. ‘I was told he had always been less than robust, though I can’t say I’d ever noticed. Then he died several years later after once more succumbing to the illness from riding in a storm.’

Henning sighed. He looked so concerned Brody passed the parcel with the brandy over to him. ‘Pour us a glass each, for, if it’s as worrying as your demeanour suggests, I feel it is likely we will need it.’

His factor nodded, produced two glasses – clean and reasonably shiny – poured two generous measures out and handed one to Brody, before he himself took good mouthful and swallowed appreciatively.

‘Thank you, Your Grace. It is, I hesitate to say, worrying – but definitely not something I felt should be kept from you. Your mother, however, was adamant you need not be informed. That telling you the details would upset you and not help you at all. I had assumed now you were home and, er, improving health wise, she would have imparted it all to you.’

‘No.’ Improving health wise? I wonder what ailed me? ‘Oh and Henning? For the record, there was nothing wrong with me other than having to think and speak in a foreign language for many years, and learn how to once more behave in polite society once I returned to these shores.’ And mourn my love. ‘I was tired, true, but oh so pleased to be home,’ Brody continued. ‘Especially when I fled London, and believe me, fled is not too strong a word for how I got away. Hounded until I was scared to relieve myself in case a debutante hid behind the commode, jumped out and said I compromised her.’ Brody shuddered as he remembered that and other close shaves. ‘Then I arrived here to be shown by my mama and my employees that my input was not needed. Well, I’m sorry, but needed or not, now you have it. All of you.’ He lifted his glass and drank deeply. For once the smooth as silk cognac failed to do the trick and calm him.

Henning put his glass down on the desk in front of him. ‘If you mean that, Your Grace, then I am truly grateful. I do need your input, but we were all told in no uncertain terms not to bother you.’

‘Now you know differently. Therefore let’s start with my father’s illness and subsequent demise.’

‘Be prepared to be annoyed,’ Henning said and Brody grinned. The man was unbending by the minute, and now looked around Brody’s age, not ten years older.

‘Not amazed or unhappy?’

Henning raised his shoulders. ‘I don’t know to be honest.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What I do know is this. As was his usual routine, the duke rode out one day and was caught in a vicious hailstorm. We all thought he recovered well, but he wasn’t strong after that and the second time it proved fatal. He… oh dear, I don’t like to say this, it seems disloyal.’ The man blushed. ‘Oh my, I mean,’ he stopped speaking and lapsed into an agitated silence.

Brody took pity on him. ‘I understand your feelings but I need to know. My father is dead, my mother will not talk about it, and my staff seem to think me uninterested in my heritage. None of which is helping my return to head the house of Welland. Therefore, Henning, I throw myself at your mercy and beg you to tell me what you know.’

Henning dipped his head. ‘Sadly little more than that, Your Grace. He returned from that ride and succumbed to the fever. No one thought he would take such a risk again, but he did. That was…’ his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

‘But he did? And that was the ride that killed him?’ Brody asked.

‘So it seems, your grace. As before, it was a lowering sky and snow was hinted. Even so, his lordship insisted on going out alone. He’d been in to see me earlier and was his normal self, and made no mention of having to go anywhere. However, it seems he told your mother he needed to ride – no explanation why or to where, although she did say to the coroner she asked him and he replied it was just a ride to shake the cobwebs away. As he often did that, although not usually in such weather, she had no reason to argue with him. This is, you understand, hearsay?’

Brody nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘He made his way to the stables, dismissed the groom who went to attend him, saddled a young and green stallion, and rode away. It wasn’t until he failed to return for dinner that the alarm was raised and a search instigated.’ Henning took another sip of brandy.

‘We found him around midnight, crawling along the back drive. It was assumed his horse had caught its foot in a rabbit hole and he was thrown. After a subsequent hunt we found the horse next to one such hole, already dead. Your father was brought home on a hurdle, but died three days later from an inflammation of the lungs without any explanation for his ride. After that we carried on much as normal until, well, now.’

‘Which will be the new normal.’ Brody paused to formulate his thoughts. Henning might think his father wouldn’t take silly risks but Brody knew his parent had been wild in his younger days, To try out a young horse in less than perfect weather would be something he’d do without thinking twice. ‘Is that why the gates on the back drive are shut and that route unused?’