Chapter Sixteen

J ames couldn’t remember the last time he had gone for a ride without having a purpose, just simply to enjoy the outing.

He liked to make sure that everything he did had a purpose, and simple enjoyment was never really enough to spend an afternoon on.

But she had asked him. And somehow, he found her peculiarly hard to say no to.

They trotted gently through the woods, with the lady on an older, more stable mare. Perhaps she had not had much experience riding before, he thought – but she did not sit like someone who didn’t know how to ride a horse.

Sunlight had broken through the clouds, and the air was warm and full of birdsong. The woods really were beautiful, with shafts of light filtering through, and he found himself noticing things he didn’t normally when he came this way, like a tree with a bough perfect for climbing, and a birds’ nest high up in another.

"Is this something you do often?" he asked, before realising that she wouldn’t know. "I mean, do you think it is?"

She turned to him and frowned. "What, riding?"

"Riding aimlessly…"

"I walk–" she began, then corrected herself. "I seem to remember that I like walking more. But yes, without purpose. Can the purpose not be simply to enjoy nature?"

"I suppose," James said. "But when there is so much to be done in a day… It seems rather wasteful to spend time without purpose."

"One cannot work all day, every day," she said in her sing-song voice. "You have a beautiful estate, Your Grace. You should enjoy it, not just work to preserve it endlessly."

They reached a clearing, and she turned to him with a smile. "Can we sit, for a moment? Cook was just getting some shortbread from the oven before we left, so I brought some with me."

"I suppose," he said, wishing he knew how much time had passed. He really ought to be getting back. He needed to approve the plans for the new homes before the end of the day, for the building was due to begin by the end of the week.

But he dismounted and helped her off her horse, trying not to notice how pleasant it was to hold her close to him, just for a moment. She would be leaving very shortly, and that was a good thing indeed. He didn’t want to be distracted, or tempted into doing something he would later regret.

She sat upon a moss-covered log, not seeming concerned over her dress – which was the one she had arrived in, washed and looking none the worse for wear for its adventure. From her pocket, she pulled out a bundle tied up with string, and unwrapped it. She held it to him first, offering him the biscuits, and he took one with a word of thanks.

"You can sit down, you know," she said with a smile on her lips.

He sat beside her, feeling it would be rude not to, but the log was small enough that he had to sit closer than he would have liked. Not because it was unpleasant to sit next to the lady with no name, but because it was rather too pleasant. He shouldn’t be noticing the warmth of her body beside his, or the smell of lavender he could detect, which he presumed came from the soap she had been using.

◆◆◆

She could feel the tension rolling off him, sat so close, but she presumed it was because he was worried about wasting time out here with her, eating delicious fresh shortbread in the woods. She wanted to tell him that she spent as much time as she could wandering aimlessly, exploring and enjoying nature – but that would be admitting too much of a memory.

She also wasn’t sure it was the sort of trait men really liked in a woman. Would he just think she was frivolous, as he clearly did his sisters?

She knew, when she was one day wed, she would have a home to run and children to tend to. But up until that day arrived, she only had her needlework, her piano practice, and whatever social events her parents dragged her to.

That left her with plenty of spare time to enjoy the beautiful county she lived in. She knew the Duke had many more responsibilities than she did. But even so, she did not think it was healthy to spend every moment of one’s day focused on duty. Even when you were a duke. Especially when you were a duke, and could easily pay enough staff to help you. Surely, as well as responsibility, such privilege bought freedom?

"Why do you prefer to stay here at Dunloch Castle, instead of venturing south for the Season?" she asked as they ate.

"There is always much to be done here," he replied instantly.

"Yes…but most estates require regular upkeep," she began. "Or so I understand," she hurriedly added. "And yet don’t most titled gentlemen manage to go to London for the Season, or at least to another of their estates for the hunting?"

"Not every titled gentleman is as dedicated to their estate as I am," he said irritably. "Besides, London is busy and noisy and generally unpleasant. I have no wish to gamble, or to attend balls, so what would be the point in going?"

"Well, if one does not enjoy the entertainments, the aim I believe is usually to find a spouse," Penelope countered. She herself did not enjoy London, but she went every year – partly because her parents insisted, and partly because it seemed everyone thought it was the only place where she would find a suitable husband.

But perhaps they were wrong…

"As you must not remember what London is like, you cannot understand," he said, brushing errant biscuit crumbs from his jacket. "But it is not a place I would choose to frequent. Perhaps, when it is time for me to take a wife, I will have to go to meet an appropriate woman – but I do nothing without good reason, as I believe you understand."

He stood abruptly, and it was clear that he was signalling the end of their little outing.

She didn’t like London herself, but she could not tell him that. And neither did now seem the right time to tell him that she thought sometimes, it was good to do things without having any reason at all.

"We must return," he said, offering his hand to help her onto the horse. "I have much to attend to, and tomorrow I shall call for the doctor, and that will be another day lost."

Feeling like a burden, Penelope took his hand and allowed him to help her onto the horse. She would have to remember who she was before he had time to call for the doctor, and it was not a conversation she was looking forward to.

◆◆◆

Having wasted much of the afternoon in the woods, James was irritated when there was a knock on his study door, not long after they had returned. He needed to scrutinise the plans carefully, before he approved them – and to do that he needed some peace and quiet.

But apparently, some peace and quiet was not something he was going to get.

"I have some information to share, Your Grace," his man of business, Thomas, said upon entering his study.

James looked up from the plans before him. "Oh?"

Thomas closed the door and gingerly walked towards him. "It is of a rather delicate nature," he said, not meeting James’s eye.

"Just tell me, man. I haven’t got all day," James said, wishing his staff were not so cautious around him. Whatever it was, he was a man of the world – he doubted it would shock him greatly.

"It is regarding Mrs Simmons," Thomas said.

James frowned. "If it is regarding the blackmail and the topic of the blackmail, then no further discussion is needed. What happened is in the past, and I believe it is better for all concerned if we forget about it."

"Of course, Your Grace. Understood. However…"

James pressed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to remain patient. Clearly, he was going to hear this information whether he wanted to or not. Was his man of business as prudish as his butler? Did they truly believe such sins could not be forgotten or forgiven, even after thirty years?

"I believe you know that Mrs Simmons had a child out of wedlock and was permitted to remain in service here when she returned, having left the child with her brother in France."

James had not known the details of where the child had gone, but the rest was information the butler had already shared with him.

"Yes, I am aware."

"Well, the information I have uncovered, while ensuring this matter did not come to light and impact the reputation of Dunloch Castle, concerns the father of the child."

James was not sure this was information he wanted. It felt uncomfortably close to gossip, which he detested. Mrs Simmons had made a mistake many years earlier, and she had surely paid for it. What good could come of dredging up the past now?

"Is it essential I know this, Thomas?" he asked, giving his man of business one last chance to walk away and keep this private.

Thomas, clearly sensing irritation, gripped the sheaf of parchment tightly, his hands shaking slightly. "I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I think you do."

"Very well," James said with a sigh.

"There is rather a lot of evidence to suggest that the man who fathered the child was the former Duke of Dunloch."

James struggled to process the words being spoken to him.

"Excuse me?"

"It seems the father of Mrs Simmons’s son was your father, Your Grace – the sixth Duke of Dunloch."

The words seemed to knock the breath clean out of his lungs, and all of a sudden, the room felt airless.

His father… His father had an illegitimate child? He had fathered a son with their housekeeper – or, James supposed, back then she was probably just a housemaid.

He had no words he could express to Thomas, who stood there awkwardly, clutching the parchment, which James presumed held evidence of this new information which had come to light.

"Thank you, Thomas. That will be all." It took a great deal of effort to force the words from his lips.

"Shall I–" Thomas began, holding out the parchment.

"I said that will be all," James repeated, raising his voice a little, needing to be alone.

Thankfully, he got the message. He darted from the room, leaving the parchment on the desk, and when the door closed, James gripped the desk tightly and tried to take deep breaths.

He had no idea what to say to Thomas about such a development, just as he had no idea why it was effecting him so deeply.

Although it was growing dark outside, he needed to get out. He threw open the study door and stormed from the room, thankfully not meeting anyone as he made his way down the corridor, out of the main door, and into the grounds. The air was fresh, and yet still, he did not feel he was fully breathing.

Thomas and Richards had both said the scandal was over thirty years ago, presumably before James was even born. Was it after his father had married his mother? Of course, having affairs was not uncommon amongst the ton , and James would not have judged his father particularly for doing so. He had not felt that the marriage between his parents had been some great love match, but rather a sensible combining of names, fortunes, and estates.

But having a discreet affair with another married lady of the same rank, or a widow, was one thing; an affair with a maid that resulted in a child – a boy! That was something else altogether.

James walked until he was confident he was out of sight of the house, not wanting to be disturbed. Then he sat down on a stone bench and held his head in his hands. For his entire life, James had been raised to know that he was the next Duke of Dunloch, and all the responsibility that entailed. He had taken his father’s words seriously – and yet now he found out that his father had not held himself to any higher standard at all. No, he had apparently fulfilled his basest desires without concern.

And the worst thing was that he’d had a son. A son who was older than James. A son who, had he been born to the Duchess of Dunloch, would have been the next Duke and entitled to everything that was James’s. Everything that defined him.

His whole world felt as though it was being turned on its head. How had he been raised to think something was so important when a quirk of fate could have meant it belonged to someone else entirely? Yes, he believed he was a good Duke of Dunloch – but what was to say this half-brother of his would not have been equally good, had he had the opportunity?

Instead, he had apparently been raised in France, away from his mother, away from his biological father, away from his country.

And now this information was known – at least by Thomas. Who else knew? And who else would find out? He trusted his staff, even after Mrs Simmons’s latest transgression, which he supposed was rather more understandable if the secret she had been hiding was the illegitimate child of the former Duke of Dunloch.

But if his men could uncover this information, then surely others could too. And the good name he had been raised to hold higher than anything else could be sullied by rumours of unfaithfulness and illegitimacy. What if, off the back of this information, people questioned James’s own legitimacy? People did love to gossip.

An owl hooted in the distance, and James stood up. He could not go to pieces over this information. It was in the past – and the child, the man, was far away in France. He could pretend he knew nothing about him, and his life would continue just as it was.

Could he look at his title in the same way again? That he was not sure of, but it was a struggle for him to deal with internally; no one else needed to know about it.

He needed to rid himself of his mysterious guest, first and foremost. That had been his foolish mistake, just as it seemed Mrs Simmons was his father’s. The girl’s presence here could certainly cause rumour and scandal, and even an unwanted marriage. The doctor needed to be called, and she needed to leave. And then, in the solitude that would follow, he would decide what he was going to do about Mrs Simmons’s son. Whether any action needed to be taken to keep the information secret. And whether, just perhaps, he might wish to meet the man who was his own flesh and blood.