The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

not lets you down. And ten minutes is enough.’ He left the room at a run and was soon seen rapidly disappearing across the kitchen garden in the direction of the stables and the rooms above, where several male members of staff lived.

      Brody snagged another bun and grinned. ‘Do you think he’ll work as a groom? He’s a bit tall for a tiger.’

      He was pleased to see both Mrs Loveage and Boleyn consider his question carefully.

      ‘Well…’ Mrs Loveage said at last. ‘He’s horse mad that I do know, always has been. He’s helped around the few horses left here since your papa died and Compton… his head groom…’ she added as Brody raised his eyebrows in a silent question. There was no need to own up to his complete ignorance of what went on when he was away.

      ‘He left when your mama decided only to keep your horses, and those which were hers and the children’s, and get rid of the rest. She said, and I must say it made sense, that those who didn’t belong to them or you wouldn’t be used, so it was best to let them go somewhere they’d at least be exercised. I think, mind this is tittle-tattle so no telling others, Compton wasn’t best pleased.’ Mrs Loveage sniffed. ‘His job here was a bit of a walk in the park so to speak and he was loath to see that lost. Anyroads, this past year or so, young Ronnie there has taken a more active part and aided Belton, the new man, while he got settled. Stop that.’ She smacked Brody’s hand as he tried to help himself to a third bun. ‘There’ll be none left for tea if you don’t give over. Now shoo. Out of my kitchen.’ Brody turned to the back door; he knew when he was beaten. After all, he would get some at teatime. He hadn’t taken three paces before Mrs Loveage called after him.

      ‘The basket’

      He turned back. ‘I need my head examined.’

      ‘No, you need your brain to have more to do.’

      As ever, his housekeeper had the last word. Brody sketched her a salute and made his way outside. Whatever shortfalls there had been on the estate, and it beggared belief to assume there would be none, the kitchen garden wasn’t one of them. Vegetables and herbs were there in abundance, not long off being ready to be picked, and then dried, salted, or pickled. He snapped a pea pod from the stem and shucked out the peas inside to toss them into his mouth and savour their unique flavour and aroma. Fresh vegetables such as this, and the broad bean he replaced it with in his mouth, were something he sorely missed when abroad. It wasn’t that they weren’t cultivated, more he had been unable to avail himself of them.

      Now he sniffed the herb and vegetable scents that filled the air and thanked the lord he was home once more, and determined the ducal estate would again flourish under the Duke’s direction – not just on the Duke’s behalf. It was, he repeated to himself, his private avowal.

      He arrived at the stables as Ronald was checking the harness on the horses. The young lad looked to all intents and purposes the tidy and proper groom of a prosperous country estate. The jacket was slightly too big, and Brody rather thought the boots pinched the youth, but the grin on his face showed he did not care. If he was as good with the horses as intimated, then Brody knew whom his new groom would be. For now though, he said nothing, just nodded his thanks and waited until Ronald stood back.

      ‘All’s well, m’lord.’

      ‘Let’s go then, you get up with me, take the reins and we’ll get these parcels delivered.’

      It was pleasant tootling along the lanes with someone well versed in local affairs next to you. Once Ronald accepted that Brody meant what he said, did genuinely want to know all that was going on around them, and was interested in every last detail of affairs pertaining to the castle and its surroundings, he spoke freely. With a competence Brody understood and respected, Ronald took the vehicle, the matched chestnuts and the passengers safely along the narrow lanes, chatting all the while. He interspersed his narrative with asides about the state of hedges belonging to neighbours, the chance of a good pheasant-shooting season, and one Miss Susan Foulkes whom, Brody understood, Ronald had his eye on. Although not out of his teens the young man had his head screwed on properly and Brody made a mental note to find out what he could with regards to the young lady.

      They approached the lane that snaked from the top of the steep escarpment where the castle perched – a perfect position to check out invaders in its less than peaceful past – to the valley bottom. A scant half a mile later it reached the village, which took its name from both the castle and the river that meandered around its boundaries.

      They paused at the crossroads and Ronald held out the reins in Brody’s direction. ‘You best take ‘em now, m’lord, I mean Your Grace.’

      Brody thought for a second and shook his head. ‘You take ‘em down. You seem to remember their mouths are soft and you’ll know the incline is sharp. Use the brakes with caution but remember they’re there.’ He grinned. ‘So am I, if you need me, though I doubt you will.’

      Ronald flushed with pleasure and took a long indrawn breath. ‘Well if you’re sure. I’ve taken the wagon to church every week for them that need to get back sharpish-like, and driven the gig down often enough but never sommat as bang up as this.’

      ‘There’s a first time for everything and as my groom-cum-country coachman – you’ll have to get used to driving anything I ask. On you go, I have all faith in your abilities or I’d not have offered.’

      Brody sat back, arms folded and satisfied, and watched the myriad of expressions chase over the youth’s face. If all went well Ronald could in time work his way even higher but for now, Brody decided he’d overwhelmed the lad enough and sat back with an air of unconcern, even though he was primed to take over if needed to.

      There was no need. Once, the nearside horse pecked at a rabbit, which had a death wish and ran between the horses’ legs, but Ronald soothed and steadied him without the animals missing a stride. Brody was pleased that Mrs Loveage’s encouragement was working out.

      Nothing else happened to upset animals or humans and within a few minutes, they reached the bottom of the hill and the first few houses of the village. On one side of the lane, the sturdy Norman church with its unusual elegant spire sat in a slightly elevated position, its lychgate tucked safely away from the lane’s edge. Next to it was the school, where several children waved from the grounds as the curricle went by.

      ‘Ho, Ronnie there’s a prime pair.’ One young girl waved and shouted and then danced around in a circle. ‘Yes, yes, yes, cake day.’ An elegant lady, possibly in her early twenties, hushed the child even as she looked covertly at the vehicle and its occupants.

      It’s her. Brody got an impression of a fine bosom under plain and serviceable dark blue cotton, and dark brown hair in a riot of curls. He wished he were close enough to see what colour her eyes were. He was as certain as could be it was the lady he’d seen all those weeks before on his return to the area. The lady he’d deliberately not asked questions about. After all, a brief glance of a shapely rear and breasts you wanted to bury your head between didn’t give enough information to use to discover an identity. At first he’d thought he’d find out soon enough, and then he’d had too many other things on his mind to give thought to the question. His skin tingled as he thought he might now be one step nearer to discovering who she was, what she was, and if there was any point in approaching her.

      Ronald waved back, as the prancing child whistled loudly, to be, it seemed, reprimanded by the lady with the fine bosom. Brody decided he’d need to learn the unknown lady’s name sooner rather than later. He couldn’t continue to think of her in such a way. What if, when he eventually met her, he let that sobriquet slip? It didn’t bear thinking about.

      ‘Time for them to run off some of their energy,’ Ronald said. ‘That noisy one, in the red apron, is my youngest sister. She’s intent on learning and become a teacher herself. Miss Mary, that’s her there, encourages her and our ma is happy for it. Cissy is bright, not like the rest of us.’

      ‘Miss Mary?’ He committed the title to memory. Not the schoolmarm then? Now at least he had a name for her. ‘Miss Mary who?’