The Duchess's Next Husband. Terri Brisbin

No, he would rather face his future, limited though it might be, with a clear head and a calm stomach.

      It would be a few hours until supper even with the earlier country hours, so Adrian decided to walk down to the lake. He mentioned his intent to the butler as he picked up his hat and made his way through the house. Using a side door in the blue drawing room, Adrian followed the path that led away from the house to the larger of the two lakes in Windmere Park.

      The sun beat strongly and its heat could be felt, in spite of the cool breezes that moved through the trees surrounding the lake. Seeking refuge from the strongest of its rays, he found a well-spread chestnut and sat down next to it, leaning against its stout trunk. The irony of facing his own impending death, even as every living thing was moving toward bloom and maturity, was not lost on him.

      As was his custom, he reviewed the list of unaccomplished tasks left to him on this trip and realized that in his haste to leave the city, he’d not had the latest concoctions made up. The crumpled papers were most likely still in the pocket of his coat, where he’d shoved them the next morning. There was an apothecary of some experience whom he usually frequented some miles away in Newcastle, but also a woman in his own village who had gained some measure of good repute as a healer. Perhaps he would visit her.

      Adding it to his mental list, he moved on to the next item. The estate and his personal papers were in order. Everything would be ready for his…demise. Adrian pulled off his hat and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes.

      How did one approach this? Never an overly spiritual or religious man, he did not feel compelled to seek out a religious advisor. He trusted that the rector would perform the necessary rites with the solemnity Adrian deserved. When his symptoms worsened and he was convinced the end was nearing, he would speak to the rector about it. But not now.

      The matters of the entailed estate were handled, those of his own properties and will would be, and the only ones left were…his family. His mother and his wife.

      His mother and his wife.

      Shaking his head, he knew there would be no way of avoiding those subjects once his solicitor arrived. Although the estate documents included arrangements for both of them, he would verify the specifics and clarify what each woman could expect for an income and home after his death.

      What would become of each of them? The strange thought formed in his mind and he knew that it was the thing that bothered him the most.

      His distant, twice-removed cousin Robert would inherit the lands and titles and, since he already had the prerequisite heir-and-a-spare, the dukedom would go on. A pang of regret pierced Adrian then and he tried to discover its cause.

      Never meant to inherit, he had come almost reluctantly to the titles and the powers and the responsibilities of being Duke of Windmere. And the primary responsibility after taking control was to produce an heir. In that, he and Miranda had failed. Perhaps that was the source of his discontent? No son of his own to inherit? Not even a daughter to convey everything entailed to a son of her own?

      Racking his brains would make no difference in this. He picked up his hat and stood, dusting off his clothes as he did. Tugging the hat into place, Adrian began the walk back to the house. He suspected that once his solicitor arrived and everything was in order, his mind would cease struggling with the questions and ramifications of his death, and he could seek out ways to spend the time he had left.

      Dinner and the rest of the evening were spent in quiet reflection as he examined his life. When sleep would not come, he walked the halls of Windmere House. He visited rooms he’d not seen since his childhood and was surprised to find that some of his toys were still stored in the nursery, waiting for small hands to find them. From the window of the bedchamber where he’d spent his visits home from the university, he spied the tree that had been the site of many adventures for him and his brother.

      Dawn found him as restless as the night before, so he called for a horse and rode over the lands that had been his for such a short time. Only when the sun reached high in the midday sky and the loud protestations of his stomach could no longer be ignored, did he return to the house for rest and food.

      The butler woke him to inform him that a coach had arrived from London. No instructions need be given about the hospitality required for guests at Windmere Park, so Adrian sent word that he would see Anderson at dinner. Spending time in the country had its advantages, the foremost in Adrian’s mind being that of earlier and less formal meals. His household knew his clear preferences, and that, coupled with the fact that most of his neighbors were in London, assured him of uninterrupted time with his solicitor.

      Now, drinking a glass of claret in the drawing room, he awaited the man’s arrival. A clamoring outside the door drew his attention and he turned as the footman opened it, admitting not his solicitor, but his best friend.

      “Parker! What are you doing here?” Adrian stood and strode over to his unexpected guest.

      “Your cryptic note about your sudden departure did more to inflame my curiosity than to appease it, so I am here.” Parker accepted a glass of claret from the butler. “Is it nearly time to eat? We did not stop for a noon meal.”

      Adrian looked to the corridor but saw no one else. Had Parker traveled with the solicitor then?

      “As soon as Anderson arrives, we will go in to dinner. I’ll have them set a place for you.”

      “Anderson?” Parker shook his head. “The man sent word that he is delayed in London and will not arrive until tomorrow. Surely we need not wait that long?”

      At Parker’s dry wit, Adrian shook his head. “I received no such word.”

      “I am, I fear, the messenger in this, Windmere. I ran into him at your house in London and have now delivered the message to you.” Parker held out his glass and watched as it was filled again. “Where the devil is she?” Walking to the door, he peered out.

      “She?” Alarmed, Adrian turned to the door. “Who did you bring here?” Surely not. Surely, Parker would not have brought….

      “Here now! If your thirst is not overwhelming, we can go right in,” his friend was saying.

      “Good evening, Windmere. My apologies for holding you up from your meal.”

      Miranda.

      She stood in the doorway, with an anxious frown on her brow as though waiting for his anger. Relieved that Parker had not brought Caro as he’d suspected, Adrian walked to greet his wife.

      “I did not expect you, madam,” he said, lifting her hand and touching his lips to it. “I said there was no need to accompany me here.”

      He felt her shiver at the sharpness in his voice. He needed time alone to deal with his fate and did not want the complications that a wife presented. However, he could ascertain her reasons over dinner and send her back to the city on the morrow. Before he could say more, Parker pushed Adrian aside and offered Miranda his arm.

      “He said the same thing to me, Your Grace, and you can see how much weight I gave his words. Come, the butler has assured me that dinner is ready.”

      After a glance at him and a moment’s hesitation, his wife laid her hand on his friend’s arm and off they walked down the hall, following the butler to the private dining room. Indeed, his staff knew of the changes to his plans, for three places were set at the oval table, all to one end, as he’d requested for the two originally planned. He watched as Parker escorted Miranda to one of the side chairs and then took a place opposite her. Adrian then sat in the chair at the end, with his wife on his right and his friend on the left.

      At his nod, the butler and his assistant began serving the meal. Parker shoveled food into his mouth at an alarming rate. Without stopping for more than a breath or a swallow of his wine, he devoured two bowls of cream of lobster soup along with a small loaf of bread. When there was a slight delay in serving the next course, he continued to tear a slice of bread into pieces and push them in his mouth.

      “Are you certain you only missed one