The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

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      ‘I don’t want to play billiards.’ Had it come to this? Talking out loud to himself. ‘Brody, my man you are in deep mire.’

      In more ways than one.

      Once Bonaparte was behind bars and at last there had been no reason not to return to England, he’d made his way home. His brothers and sisters were euphoric because, as his youngest sibling told him earnestly, they were lost without someone to steer the family in the right direction.

      ‘Mama…’ his youngest sister – Murren – declared grandly, ‘… demands, not asks, and that puts people’s backs up. Especially mine.’ Rudderless, so to speak, they were adrift. Now they expected him to give them direction and help them make their way in the world. Which was all well and good except it was many years since he’d faced the ton, and really those memories didn’t tempt him to repeat the experience. At least his mama had understood he needed time to come to terms with his new status and had taken his siblings on a lengthy tour of her family. He hoped that was her intention anyway, when she’d said she was giving him breathing space before the assault on him and his single status began in earnest. With her, one didn’t always know.

      Brody opened the billiards room door and walked past the table to unlock the door onto the terrace, and take several deep breaths. He couldn’t go on like this, purposeless and aimless.

      Being alone at Welland, Brody had discovered he was at a loose end and with no hope of tying said end up to anything at all. He wondered if that had been what his mama aimed for, thinking he would then head to London and take his place in the ton once more.

      If she had, her plot had backfired, spectacularly, because one thing he did know was that he had no inclination to head to the capital. The Season hadn’t started, Parliament was not in session and he had no intention to be pushed into the arena of husband-hungry debs and their mamas who had returned early to the city, or never left. Some things needed a wide birth, so at Welland he stayed.

      He could understand why his parent doubted his intention to take over the dukedom, and run it in the proper manner, she had no reason to think he’d changed his attitude. Brody accepted he’d not been in the best of fettle when he returned, exhausted, heartsick and grieving, but even so, she hadn’t let him show her who he now was. Surely she could give him the benefit of the doubt? Just a little.

      Get some air. Brody made his way across the terrace and headed for the paddock behind the stables. A groom nodded and doffed his hat as he passed him, but nothing was said. The new Duke it seemed was an unknown quantity who no one wanted to test.

      ‘Are you wantin’ your horse, Your Grace?’ Evidently the groom decided something had to be asked by way of acknowledgement.

      Brody shook his head, relieved to at least have some normal interaction with someone. ‘No thank you, just some air.’ What was the man’s name? Not to know, was a crime.

      ‘I’m sorry, and this is appalling, I cannot remember your name.’

      The man blushed. ‘No reason why you should Your Grace. I was nobbut a youngster when you left. I’m Peters.’

      The admission from Peters that he didn’t expect Brody to know him did nothing to dispel the black dog riding on Brody’s shoulder. As Brody understood only too well, his dark mood was of his own making. He dipped his head. ‘Allow me to disagree, Peters. I should, and will, know everyone before the week’s end.’ A rash statement perhaps, but he’d do his damnedest to make it true. That black dog needed burying and life on the estate needed altering

      How to change things, though? Brody accepted his factors and stewards were wary. After all, they had managed all the ducal estates – with his mother’s help – ever since his father fell ill several years earlier. Brody assured Peters he was fine, left the stable yard and made his way to the paddock. He leaned on the rails to stare at the scene in front of him. It made him smile wryly.

      Even his cattle were wary. His favourite stallion, Fleet, took one look at him, stood in front of his harem of mares and snorted his displeasure at Brody’s long overdue return. A carrot he’d filched from the stables as he passed didn’t appease the horse. Nor did Brody’s murmured assurances that all was well. Fleet reared up and pawed the air. Brody smiled and shook his head.

      ‘Even you don’t know if I can do as needed eh? Ah well, I’ll show you all. Somehow.’ Brody turned his back on Fleet, who whinnied.

      ‘Too late, you’ve lost your chance.’ And he had lost his mind, talking to a horse in such a manner. With a self-deprecating smile and a shrug, which rippled his muscles under the serviceable hacking jacket he wore, he continued to ignore the stallion. Instead, Brody swung onto Jason, the gelding who had carried him across the continent, and who stood patiently at the gate, swishing his tail at the ever-present flies.

      ‘Come on boy; let’s gallop away the fidgets. Yours and mine.’ He wheeled around to point Jason in the direction of the paddock fence, put the horse to it and sailed effortlessly over. Then he spent an hour riding some of the restlessness out of both of them.

      Not all of it though. He still had time to think and find himself falling short of what he should be. By the time he returned to the stables and waved the groom away, so he could rub Jason down himself, Brody had accepted he was now an unknown quantity and had to re-earn the respect he’d always taken for granted.

      It was a bitter pill to swallow. The way he was deemed unnecessary to the estate. To know that no one had thought to tell him of his father’s illness, or call him back earlier. Oh he now understood their reasoning over his papa’s death. It was too late to speak to him then. But earlier? Had they thought he didn’t care? They were wrong, so very, very wrong. Hidden on the continent, away from anyone to confide in, speaking languages other than his mother tongue, Brody had mourned long and hard. His father and he had been very close, even though neither of them showed it openly.

      As he remembered those days, red-hot rage consumed him. Why had no one told him how ill his parent was? That question had teased him, annoyed him, and irritated him on and off ever since his papa passed away. It was only later he understood his papa had chosen not to speak out and therefore not worry him. A decision Brody thought wrong, but it had been his father’s decision and nothing could change that now.

      ‘What cannot be changed, must be endured and forgiven, eh Jason?’ He gave the horse a pat and left the stables. He might not agree with what had happened, but it was over and he needed to move on.

       So do they.

      To his loyal-to-the-crown family, evidently the defeat of Napoleon was more important than having the heir at home, learning the ropes. Thus his return to home shores was delayed. Therefore, to his estate managers – most of whom were chosen by his father after he, Brody, had left home – he was as much an unknown factor to them as they to he. That two-sided name made him laugh. Factor be damned. He had no input, no influence and now, sadly, no inclination to be involved.

      Brody re-entered the house without seeing a soul, washed and changed and mooched around the ground floor with a brandy in one hand and a scowl on his face. That was not true. They had no inclination to allow him to be involved. It seemed their inclination was to think everything had run smoothly without him so why upset the apple cart?

      Because I want to be involved. I am not the callow youth who left here all those years ago. This is my land, my heritage and my chance to protect the future. Brody swallowed his brandy in one long gulp, hiccupped behind his palm and scowled at his majordomo who appeared silently as СКАЧАТЬ