The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

surmised. She had too much elegance to be a lower servant, and not enough to be gentry. The gown was a mark of that.

       Damn.

      He cast his mind over his surroundings. As far as he knew the Grange, a tidy house a mile or so from the village, had been unoccupied for years with just a skeleton staff to keep it from falling into disrepair. He’d have to do his best to forget about the woman. Even though she didn’t work for him, he couldn’t be seen to consort locally. More was the pity, that bosom begged for attention. So did the rest of her.

      ‘I wouldn’t say you were unintelligent,’ Brody answered Ronald’s last statement regarding himself, as the school and church were left behind them and the lane widened to become the village street, thence to split into two and circle a pretty green with a duck pond and a set of old stocks nearby. ‘You know these animals and their quirks inside out. You have a practical bent, not one inclined to book learning perhaps.’

      Ronald chuckled. ‘I’m wise in some ways m’lord but not in all. I don’t have the same sort of nosy mind as our Cissy. I like horses and country life. To know at the end of a day that a good job’s over and I’ve left nowt undone. I love working with the horses and if you’re happy for me to serve you here, well, I’m a happy man. Then mebbes in a year or so I can convince Susan’s pa that I’m the right husband for her and my life is sorted out.’ His accent was a mixture of how he’d spoken as a youngster, and presumably how he’d been told to speak in the employ of a duke. Rather than pull him up for his slips, Brody let it be. It was rather endearing, and the longer Ronald mixed with the upper servants the more polished his voice would become.

      Brody wished his own life could be so simple. He laughed. ‘You’ve got your head in the right place. Carry on as you are, and in a year or so I’ll put in a good word with your sweetheart’s father, and there’ll be a cottage for you. It’s on my list to build some more. I’ll make sure you get one. Woah! Hold em!’ His words had made Ronald drop his hands and, unchecked, the horses surged forward.

      Ronald recovered in a second. ‘Oh my, oh grief, oh…’

      ‘Oh, well, no harm done,’ Brody said firmly. ‘Ah here we are. Tie them up, and you go to see your mother if you wish. I assume she’ll be at home?’

      ‘Yes, m’lord she does out sewing for the castle, whilst the youngsters are at school. Are you sure?’

      ‘I never say anything I don’t mean.’ Not unless needed to by the crown. ‘I’ll pay my visits here and walk up to the school and meet you there after my visit. To be there for two?’

      He waited until Ronald made uncertain noises and finally acquiesced. Then Brody jumped down, grabbed the basket, and made his way to the first house, shamefully eager to get these visits over and reach the school.

      It was no good, the dark haired woman had caught his attention and he had to meet her, decide she wasn’t for him, and move on.

      If he couldn’t do that he was deep in the mire.

       Chapter Two

      ‘Ohh, Miss Mary did you see that? Bang up pair. Eh, and fancy that, me brother with the reins. Who’d’y reckon that was with him? Some toff a visitin’? Coo er, me ma won’t ‘alf be pleased. Me brother and a prime ‘un. But she’ll be wonderin’ who ‘e is, eh?’

      ‘Try not to drop your letters, Cissy. You’ll need them as a teacher.’ Lady Mary McCoy smiled at young Cissy Meadows who jigged from one foot to another, making her blonde curls dance and her apron and skirts fly out around her sturdy legs.

      ‘Yes Miss.’ Cissy grinned. ‘I’ll put them in me pocket. But who is he?’

      Mary shook her head at the smart retort. ‘I don’t know.’ She would like to know the answer to that question as well. Even the short sharp look he’d given her had felt as if he’d stripped her naked and liked what he saw. That glance was not the sort of perusal a gentleman, or an aristocrat, would give someone unknown, of his own class. It was one reserved for a woman he intended to amuse himself with. If he decided to make his admiration known to her, she’d have a hard time not to slap him down and give him a piece of her mind. But slap she’d have to. There was no way she’d let on who she really was – and no way, as Miss Mary Lynch, would she be anything but someone to dally with for an aristocrat. And the so-called toff was definitely that, there was no mistaking it. Having been married to an elderly peer for several years Mary knew a title when she saw one and she had no inclination to know one close up and personal again, whatever the reason. Hence her use of her godmother’s surname.

      A figure in the door of the school caught her eye and she beckoned to the dozen or so schoolchildren still running around in the late summer sunshine. ‘Miss Grey is about to ring the bell. Time to go in.’

      ‘And cakes,’ the irrepressible Cissy sang as she rushed to the door, slowed down and straightened herself to walk decorously inside.

      Mary chuckled.

      Peggy Grey shook her head in mock disapproval. ‘That young lady will end up being the power behind the throne or being transported… and then she’d only end up running the colonies!’

      Mary had to agree. ‘She’s lively and enthusiastic. She’ll make a good teacher.’

      ‘So would you.’

      Mary laughed and shook her head. ‘Not me, I’m happy with my few hours. It… it grounds me, I think. And on that note, I better carry on before they get their cakes. I need to be away before then, I have several things to do when I leave.’ She didn’t, unless you counted weeding her lettuces yet again and deciding on which novel to read next.

      Good grief, has my life come to this? Where’s the excitement, the gaiety? The most excitement she had was her weekly visit to the ladies who taught her to tat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to a man other than the baker, the vicar or her servants, let alone a man of her own class. It was her own choice, she accepted that. Nevertheless, she was uneasily aware that her year of grace given to her by her brother before he insisted she rejoined her rightful place in the ton was half over and she still hadn’t decided how to go about that. It was a simple choice, she thought. Return to the ton as the widow of Lord Horace McCoy and all the inherent problems that brought – rakes who saw her as easy prey, impoverished peers with an eye on her fortune – or return to the ton under the aegis of her brother and his wife. Who would still expect her to use her title and marry, but hopefully scare the worst of the suitors away.

      Nether options appealed.

      Mary wasn’t sure she wanted to marry again. She’d loved her husband and married him in the face of family objections almost as soon as she was out, and never lived to regret it. Their marriage had been unusual, she accepted that. Most marriages in the ton were not love matches but made for what each could person bring to the union. Generally a dowry and heirs.

      It had not been like that for her. But Horry – Horace – had died after only five years of marriage, and here she was, only just two and twenty years of age, and a wealthy widow. It was not, she decided, an enviable situation.

      ‘Miss Mary?’ It was Cissy who tugged on her sleeve. ‘Are you ready? Cos it’ll be cake time soon and we wants to show you how much we’ve got better at our letters.’

      Mary mentally shook herself. She loved the way the children had called her, ‘Miss’, and this had filtered into the community. Miss Mary, widow, she was known as, and as that she was happy to stay, even if it was a muddled title. ‘Of course, let’s get on.’

      Once she was seated on a ladder back chair with two dozen children in front of her – she’d listened to the others before their break – Mary forgot all about her life, the mystery man and the un-weeded lettuces. These hours were precious. She became engrossed, and when Miss Grey entered the room and cleared her throat it took several seconds for the person next to her to register. Mary looked