Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

" I assure you, Your Grace, the potential for profit is considerable," Lord Farrell said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "With your estate's resources and my connections in London, we could corner the market in no time."

Edmund leaned back in his chair, considering the man before him. Lord Farrell's proposal was tempting, he had to admit. The influx of capital would certainly help with Holbrook's mounting debts and much-needed improvements.

"Your proposal is intriguing, Lord Farrell," he acknowledged, his tone carefully neutral. "I'd like to review the projected figures in more detail before deciding."

Lord Farrell's smile faltered slightly. "Of course, Your Grace. But I must stress the time-sensitive nature of this venture. Other investors are chomping at the bit, you see."

Edmund's eyes narrowed. He recognized the tactic for what it was—a clumsy attempt to pressure him into a hasty decision.

"I'm sure they are," he replied coolly. "However, I prefer to make informed choices, not rash ones."

A tense silence fell between them. Lord Farrell shifted in his seat, his earlier confidence evaporating under Edmund's steady gaze. Finally, the man cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I feel I must speak plainly," he said, his voice low. "There are… concerns among certain circles about entering into business arrangements with Holbrook."

Edmund felt his jaw clench. "Concerns?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "And what, pray tell, are the nature of these concerns?"

Lord Farrell had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Well, you see… your father's reputation… His, ah, proclivities… they've cast a long shadow, I'm afraid."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees. Edmund rose slowly to his feet, his imposing figure looming over the seated man.

"I am not my father, Lord Farrell," he reminded him, each word precise and cold as ice. "My management of Holbrook has been beyond reproach. Or do you find fault with my stewardship?"

"N-no, of course not, Your Grace," Lord Farrell stammered, shrinking back in his chair. "Your innovations in agriculture are most impressive. And your military service speaks volumes about your character. It's just…"

"Just what?" Edmund pressed, his voice low and commanding.

Lord Farrell swallowed hard. "The gentlemen of London… they need more assurance. Your military service is commendable, certainly, but in matters of business… well, they need to see that you're one of them. That you can be trusted."

Edmund's eyes flashed dangerously. "And how, precisely, am I to prove myself to these ‘gentlemen'?"

"Engage with the ton ," Lord Farrell replied quickly. "Attend events, show interest in the Season. Perhaps even… consider marriage? A duchess would lend stability to your image—show that you're committed to Holbrook's future."

For a moment, Edmund was too angry to speak. The sheer audacity of it all—to be judged not on his merits, but on the ghosts of his father's misdeeds and his lack of a wife. It was infuriating.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled, but vibrating with barely suppressed rage. "Lord Farrell, let me make something clear. I do not require the approval of London's dandies to run my estate. Holbrook has thrived under my stewardship, and it will continue to do so, with or without your investment."

He stepped closer to the man, his presence overwhelming in the small study. "I suggest you take a good, hard look at the figures I've provided. You'll find that Holbrook's productivity has increased threefold since I took over. Our tenants' satisfaction is at an all-time high, and our projected growth over the next five years is nothing short of remarkable."

Lord Farrell nodded frantically, his face pale. "Y-yes, Your Grace. Of course. I didn't mean to imply?—"

"I believe this meeting is concluded," Edmund cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. "Good day, my lord."

As the flustered lord scrambled to gather his papers and beat a hasty retreat, Edmund turned to stare out the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

The gardens of Holbrook stretched out before him, a testament to generations of care and cultivation. And now, it all rested on his shoulders.

The door clicked shut behind Lord Farrell, leaving Edmund alone with his thoughts. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but now it was tinged with a weary frustration. How long would he have to fight against his father's shadow? How many times would he have to prove himself, not just as a competent duke, but as a man worthy of trust and respect?

Unbidden, his mind drifted once more to the masquerade ball, to the mysterious woman who had captured his attention so thoroughly. For one brief, shining moment, he had been just a man—not a duke, not his father's son, just Edmund.

He shook his head, annoyed with himself. This was no time for fantasy. He had real problems to solve, an estate to run. And yet…

A knock at the door interrupted his musings.

"Come," he called, turning away from the window.

Daniel sauntered in, his usual grin faltering as he took in Edmund's thunderous expression. "I take it the meeting didn't go well?"

Edmund snorted. "That, my friend, is the understatement of the century."

"Come now," Daniel said, dropping into a nearby chair. "Surely it couldn't have been that bad. What happened?"

Edmund paced the length of the study, his frustration evident in every step. "What happened? I'll tell you what happened. Lord Farrell had the gall to suggest that I'm untrustworthy in business matters because of my father's… indiscretions."

Daniel winced. "Ah. I see. And I assume you took that suggestion with your usual grace and equanimity?"

Edmund shot his friend a withering glare. "I informed him, in no uncertain terms, that my father's actions have no bearing on my ability to manage Holbrook."

"And how did that go?"

Edmund's scowl deepened. "About as well as you'd expect. I ended the meeting."

Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Edmund, my friend, you can't keep alienating every potential investor who walks through your door. Holbrook needs allies, not enemies."

"What would you have me do?" Edmund snapped. "Simper and bow to every lord with a fat purse and outdated notions of propriety?"

"Of course not," Daniel replied, his tone placating. "But perhaps a bit of… diplomacy wouldn't go amiss?"

Edmund dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk. "Diplomacy," he muttered. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did Lord Farrell say?"

Edmund's jaw clenched. "He had the gall to suggest that I need to engage more with the ton to prove my trustworthiness. As if my management of Holbrook isn't enough!" He let out a bitter laugh. "And the cherry on top? He implied I should consider marriage to ‘lend stability to my image.' The nerve of the man!"

Daniel's eyes widened at this revelation. After a moment, he leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I know you hate this sort of thing, but maybe it's time to consider what Lord Farrell said. Not about your father," he added hastily, seeing Edmund's thunderous expression, "but about engaging more with the ton ."

"Not you too," Edmund groaned. "I've had enough of balls and soirées to last a lifetime."

"I'm not suggesting you become a social butterfly," Daniel said with a chuckle. "But making a few appearances, showing that you're willing to be part of their world… it could go a long way towards changing their perception of you."

Edmund was silent for a long moment, staring out the window at the grounds of Holbrook. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. You have a point."

Daniel's face split into a grin. "Was that an admission that I'm right? Quick, someone mark the date!"

Despite himself, Edmund felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Don't let it go to your head. I said you might have a point, not that you're right."

"Close enough for me." Daniel laughed. "So, what do you say? Shall we brave London Society?"

Edmund grimaced. "I suppose we must. Though I warn you, if I have to endure one more vapid conversation about the latest fashions or gossip, I may be forced to flee to the Continent."

"Noted," Daniel said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'll be sure to keep a close eye on you. Wouldn't want you causing a scandal before we've even begun our social campaign."

As they continued to banter, Edmund felt some of the tension from earlier begin to ease. The prospect of re-entering Society still filled him with dread, but with Daniel by his side, perhaps it wouldn't be a complete disaster.

A week later, Edmund found himself standing in the opulent foyer of Lady Windhurst's townhouse, wondering for the thousandth time how he'd let himself be talked into this.

"Stop scowling, darling," his grandmother, Lady Alderton, chided gently. "You look as though you're facing a firing squad rather than a soirée."

Edmund forced his features into a more neutral expression. "Shall I attempt a joyous grin? Perhaps a merry jig as we enter? I wouldn't want to disappoint the esteemed members of the ton with my lack of enthusiasm for an evening of mindless chatter and thinly veiled matchmaking attempts."

Lady Alderton's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "There's no need for theatrics, my dear. A simple absence of your thunderous scowl will suffice. Though I must say, your skill for dramatic declarations is quite impressive. Perhaps you missed your calling on the stage?"

Edmund arched an eyebrow. "I assure you, Grandmother, my talents are better suited to managing estates than entertaining the masses. Now, shall we get this over with?"

Lady Alderton patted his arm. "That's the spirit. And who knows? You might even enjoy yourself. There are some lovely young ladies in attendance tonight."

"Grandmother," Edmund warned, his tone low.

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm merely making an observation, my dear. Though I wouldn't object to bouncing a great-grandchild or two on my knee before I'm laid to rest in the family crypt."

Before Edmund could respond, they were announced to the room. As they made their entrance, he could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him. The constant hum of conversation faltered for a moment before resuming with increased vigor. No doubt his presence would be the talk of the ton by morning.

They had barely made it ten steps into the ballroom when a whirlwind of pastel gowns and fluttering fans descended upon them.

"Your Grace!" a shrill voice called out. "How wonderful to see you in town! We had quite despaired of ever having the pleasure."

Edmund turned to find himself face to face with a group of young ladies, their mamas hovering nearby like birds of prey. He recognized the speaker as Miss Amelia Carstairs, a debutante known more for her family's wealth than her wit.

He inclined his head politely. "Miss Carstairs, ladies. I trust you're all enjoying the evening?"

"Oh, immensely!" Miss Carstairs gushed. "But tell us, Your Grace, how do you find London after so long away? Has it changed much?"

Before Edmund could respond, another young lady chimed in, "Will you be staying for the entire Season, Your Grace? There are so many delightful events planned!"

"Indeed," added a third lady, batting her eyelashes. "I do hope you'll honor us with a dance this evening. You must be an excellent dancer, being so tall and handsome."

Edmund felt his jaw tighten as he forced a polite smile. "London is just as I remember it, ladies. As for my plans?—"

"Oh, but you must tell us about your estate, Your Grace!" Miss Carstairs interrupted. "I've heard Holbrook is simply magnificent. Perhaps you might host a house party? I'm sure we'd all be delighted to visit."

As the barrage of questions and simpering comments continued, Edmund found himself longing for the relative peace of his study at Holbrook.

He searched desperately for an escape, his patience wearing thinner with each passing moment.

"Your Grace, you simply must tell us about your heroic exploits during the war. I'm sure they're absolutely thrilling!"

Edmund suppressed a groan as he turned to face yet another group of simpering debutantes and their eager mamas. He'd lost count of how many such encounters he'd endured over the course of the evening, each one chipping away at his already fragile patience.

"I'm afraid there's little to tell, ladies," he replied, his tone clipped. "War is hardly a suitable topic for polite conversation."

One of the mamas, a woman whose name he couldn't recall, pressed on, undeterred. "Oh, but surely you must have some exciting stories! And to think, you've come back a duke! How utterly fortunate."

Edmund's jaw clenched. There was nothing fortunate about war, nothing glamorous about watching good men die in muddy fields far from home. But before he could formulate a suitably polite response, a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

"Well, well. If it isn't the prodigal Duke himself."

Edmund stiffened, his blood running cold as he turned to face the speaker.

Joanna stood before him, resplendent in a gown of deep crimson, her smile as sharp and dangerous as a blade.

"Lady Strathmore," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I did not expect to see you."

Joanna's laugh was like cut glass, beautiful and potentially lethal. "Oh come now, Edmund. Surely, we're beyond such formalities? After all, we were once so close."

The surrounding ladies tittered, their eyes wide with curiosity at this fresh development. Edmund could practically see the gossip spreading through the room like wildfire.

"If you'll excuse me, ladies," he said, bowing stiffly. "I find I'm in need of some fresh air."

He turned on his heel, not waiting for a response. He could feel Joanna's eyes boring into his back as he strode away.

"Don't be a stranger, Your Grace! We have so much catching up to do!" she called after him.

Edmund's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he made for the nearest exit. He needed to get out, to escape the suffocating press of bodies and expectations before he did something truly regrettable.

"Edmund? Edmund, where are you going?"

He turned to see his grandmother hurrying after him, concern etched on her features.

"To get some peace," he growled, not slowing his pace.

Lady Alderton caught up to him, placing a restraining hand on his arm. "Now, dear, I know this isn't your favorite pastime, but do try to be sociable. For the sake of the duchy, if nothing else."

Something in Edmund snapped. "I've done plenty for today, Grandmother. I've smiled, I've chatted, I've endured countless inane conversations and thinly veiled attempts at matchmaking. I'm done."

"Edmund—"

But he was already moving, pushing through the French doors and out into the cool night air of the garden. He heard his grandmother call after him once more, but he didn't turn back. He couldn't bear another moment in that glittering, false world.

As he strode deeper into the garden, the sounds of the soirée faded, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of water. Edmund felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as he breathed in the fragrant night air.

He was just considering finding a secluded bench to collect his thoughts when an unusual sight caught his eye.

There, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, was a figure attempting to scale the garden wall.

Edmund blinked, sure he was imagining things. But no, there was definitely someone—a woman, judging by the voluminous skirts—trying to climb the wall. And making a rather poor job of it, at that.

As he watched, the woman's dress caught in one of the decorative spikes atop the wall. She tugged at it frantically, her movements becoming increasingly desperate.

Intrigued despite himself, Edmund moved closer. He couldn't fathom what would drive a lady to attempt such an undignified escape. Was she in some sort of trouble? Or was she merely seeking a thrill?

He was nearly upon her when she tugged hard at her dress. The sound of tearing fabric rent the air, followed immediately by a most unladylike curse.

"Blast it all to Hades!"

Edmund couldn't help himself. He laughed. "Are you quite all right up there?"

The woman whirled around, nearly losing her balance on the narrow ledge she'd managed to reach. As she steadied herself, her face caught the moonlight, and Edmund felt his breath catch in his throat.

Green eyes, flashing with fear and defiance, met his.