The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

will roll.’ He paused and forced himself to calm down. ‘Well, not unless they deserve to. So for the love of god, tell me, who chose what to concentrate on?’

      Boleyn sighed. ‘Once your papa could no longer concentrate, a lot of it fell to your mama, who of course took advice from each estate manager. Whom, I suppose, all had the areas they favoured. For instance, Graham up in Scotland concentrated on the grouse and Oliver in Leicestershire the coverts and the hunting.’

      ‘Hmm. And here?’

      ‘Here I endeavoured to drop hints to your mama so at least the crops were rotated and harvested, the animals well tended, and the castle and cottages kept in good condition. Henning, your factor here, was the one with the least room to manoeuvre.’

      Brody began to wonder if the reiterations that all his estates were in proper order and well kept were wishful thinking on his mother’s part and fudging on his employees’. ‘I think you better tell me the all.’

      Boleyn fidgeted. ‘I’m your majordomo, Your Grace, not the person who is au fait with the workings of the Dukedom.’

      ‘I’m not so sure about that; I think your role may just have changed. Now share what you do know with me.’ Brody sat back and played with his pen. ‘Consider yourself my right-hand man. We’ll sort out a proper title and remuneration later.’

      Boleyn opened his eyes wide, and the pleasure in them was there for Brody to see. ‘Then, Your Grace, I’ll endeavour not to let you down.’ Boleyn sighed. ‘I think they are all earnest in their belief they do what’s right and needed, but sometimes things get missed or passed over because it’s not important to them, personally, or to your mother.’

      Brody sat back in his chair. It was as he thought. ‘Like the back drive to the stables?’

      Boleyn relaxed. ‘Exactly so.’

      ‘Then it looks like we have work on our hands. I’ll need to meet each manager in turn and then, I suspect, visit my estates and see first-hand what I deem important and they don’t. Consider yourself promoted to my secretary-cum-majordomo, how does that sound?’

      Boleyn looked alarmed. ‘Thank you, it sounds more than I ever thought possible. I will endeavour not to let you down. Your visits would be perfect. They will put the fear of god into each and every manager, Your Grace. Your mama very much let them get on with things.’

       Evidently.

      ‘I,’ Brody said implacably, ‘am not my mama.’

      That thought was uppermost in Brody’s mind, as he dismissed Boleyn. He sat for a moment and then picked up the ledgers pertaining to the castle and its surrounding lands and walked to the door. As he reached it and put his hand on the latch, Brody paused and retraced his steps. For a moment he hesitated, deep in thought, and then took a bottle of brandy from the cabinet that held his supply of spirits. With it in one hand and the ledgers in the other, he made his way out of the house and across the courtyard to the estate offices. It was as good a time as any to start showing he was back and intending to take up the reins of responsibility.

      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