Chapter Three

J ames pushed his horse, Gideon, into a canter as they passed the lake and headed for the edges of the Dunloch Castle estate.

He’d been preoccupied over the summer, he knew that. With all three of his sisters home, demanding his attention and help with any number of trivial issues, he felt like he hadn’t had a second to think straight.

But the estate was his most important responsibility. He had been raised to understand that from a young age, long before he became the duke. Indeed, his parents had thought it more important for him to develop the sensibility, focus, and decorum to be a good duke than anything else. More important than spending time together as a family or playing with local lads in the fields. Those boys were far beneath his station, as his parents regularly reminded him – although their games had always looked rather fun.

His three younger sisters, he felt, had been largely forgotten as his parents focused all their efforts on raising the next Duke of Dunloch. Had they been blessed with another boy, perhaps his education would have matched James’s own, for that boy would have been next in line. But no boy came, and when his parents were swept off to their graves in a terrible sea accident eleven years earlier, James was left with the solemn duty to care for the estate, to uphold the family name, and to be guardian to his three younger sisters at the tender age of nineteen.

He reached the beginning of the farmland he owned and noted with dismay that several fences were broken. They would need to be repaired before the animals could be moved there to graze – something he wished he had organised earlier. If the weather turned early this year, it would be far harder to complete, and harder still to find labour.

But soon, his sisters would be out of his hair once more, back in London, and he could focus on the tasks at hand. The estate was large, and many people relied on him for their homes and livelihoods. It needed constant attention – and he hadn’t even begun to think about the fact that one day, he would need to find a wife and produce heirs to ensure Dunloch Castle stayed within the family.

Whenever he had played a game too roughly or ridden too far or too fast, his parents had reminded him that he was the sole heir to the dukedom. If something happened to him, the title would fall to some far-off male relative of his father’s, someone who had not been raised for the task and was not suitable.

And so James had always been careful. Even now, as he pushed Gideon into a gallop, enjoying the wind in his hair, he was acutely aware of any possible dangers that might befall him. He supposed he should think about an heir – and a spare – sooner rather than later, in case he met an early end as his parents had done.

"I can’t believe he hid this from us," a voice said in the parlour as he re-entered the castle.

"It’s so very dull here. And the one thing that could have livened it up…"

They had clearly heard his return, for the next voice was his youngest sister, Francesca, calling out his name. "James?"

With a heartfelt sigh, he followed the sound of their voices, knowing that if he tried to escape and hide, they would only come and find him.

"You screeched, dear sister," he said sardonically, raising his dark eyebrows in irritation.

Antonia, his middle sister who had just turned eighteen, thrust a piece of card at him. "We found this invitation – the Duke of Coldingham’s ball last night. Why didn’t we attend?"

James plucked the card from her fingers. "Because Coldingham’s castle is in England, and it’s a decent ride from here. We would have had to stay overnight. And, Antonia, you are not out in society yet and so would have had to stay here. Hardly a loss."

In truth, he simply hadn’t wished to attend. He did not enjoy balls, and although he occasionally attended those nearby, the thought of staying away, however hospitable Blackthorne Castle surely was, made him send his regrets immediately. When he wanted a bride, he would go to London and find one – not waste time in provincial ballrooms. He needed someone properly bred, who would know how to be a duchess, who would know her place and not expect more from him than he was willing to give.

"But we could have gone," Cecily said, while Francesca pouted at the thought of being left out.

"Well, we didn’t," James said, scrunching the invitation in his hand and throwing it into the fireplace. "So that’s the end of the discussion. You are all to return to London in two days – surely you have things to arrange before you leave? Cecily, you know our aunt will expect you to be ready for the Season, so do not disappoint her. And Antonia, there must be things you need to do to ready yourself for your presentation at court."

"Yes, brother," Cecily said, and the three of them traipsed out of the room, looking rather downcast.

James took a seat by the fire and sighed. His sisters were considerably younger than him, with eight years between him and Cecily, and fourteen between him and Francesca. He loved them, of course he did – they were family. But he couldn’t help being irritated by their general silliness. They didn’t seem to take anything seriously and had little understanding of the way the world worked. He only hoped that their time in finishing school – and Cecily’s Season with their aunt in London – would teach them to be more sensible. Or at least find them husbands who were sensible and would remove them from James’s care.

He had plenty to occupy him once they finally left him in peace and quiet.

He called for his whiskey and enjoyed a glass by the fire. He loved Dunloch Castle, but it was always draughty, even in the height of summer.

His mind wandered to Blackthorne Castle, the site of the ball his sisters were so disappointed to have missed. It overlooked the beach and stood right on the ocean. He had visited once or twice when his parents were alive. He imagined it was rather cold there all year round. For a long time after James inherited the title, the Duke of Coldingham had not entertained. James was vaguely aware of rumours surrounding him and the death of his father, although he didn’t tend to pay attention to gossip. However, the Duke had started entertaining again in recent years, and James wasn’t sure why.

Perhaps the Duke was on the lookout for a wife. Or perhaps he had already found one. Undoubtedly his sisters would know, if he asked them – but his interest in the topic faded quickly.

He settled in front of the fire and made a mental list of the tasks that needed to be completed that week. The work of a duke was never done – especially for one who made it his business to be involved in every aspect of running the estate, no matter how small.

He had been raised to know how important his role was, and he never forgot that, even for a moment.