Chapter 28

“Istill cannot fathom why she said nothing to us,” Max grumbled, as the carriage rattled through rolling countryside, and the bright light of afternoon slowly softened into early evening.

Dickie chuckled. “I thought you would be thrilled, considering you did not want her to join us in the first place.”

“Did she give a reason?” Max looked at Percy, frowning.

Percy shrugged. “I believe seeing Lord Luminport again put her in something of an ill mood. The kind of mood that demands that one be with one’s friends.”

He had hoped he would not have to tell Anna’s brothers where she was until they were at Granville House and realized that the second carriage was not there. But Max had asked for the carriage to stop about an hour into the journey, and when the second was nowhere to be seen, he had flown into a panic.

“Highwaymen! It must be highwaymen! We need to turn around immediately!” he had cried, much to Percy’s dismay.

It was not a comfortable thing for him to lie to his dearest friend, but in order to protect his own heart and that of Anna, he had done so.

“She did not tell you?” he had said, feigning shock. “She informed me that she intended to remain behind at Westyork, for she had lost her enthusiasm for visiting my ruin.”

Max had not seemed entirely convinced, and still did not, but Dickie had managed to placate him enough so that they could proceed. After all, Anna was safe at Westyork. She would always be safe at Westyork, and after an hour or so on the road, Dickie had pointed out that it was a waste of time to return, only to be told that she was staying there anyway.

“What is all the fuss about Lady Caroline?” Max said, shaking his head. “I know I am somewhat biased because Anna is my sister, but surely she has more substance than a mere girl who has just entered society? Of course, a pretty face is a fine thing, but it cannot be everything.”

Dickie raised an eyebrow. “There is much more to Lady Caroline than a pretty face. She is well-read, well-educated; she is amusing, she holds a conversation well, and she is beautiful and comes from one of the wealthiest families in England. I might be mistaken, but I think that has something to do with the mountain of interest.”

“Yet, all of that was not enough to tempt you,” Max pointed out. “Or to hold your interest, Sinclair.”

Percy sank back into the squabs. “My perception of my needs and wants changed somewhat. I daresay she is a fine lady, but I realized my list of requirements was a rather shallow one.”

“And I know myself,” Dickie added. “It sounds cruel, perhaps, but I would be bored of her in a month. A year at most.”

Exhaling slowly, Max smiled. “This marriage business is much more difficult than anyone warned us it would be, is it not? Everyone says that it is simple—you find someone, propose marriage, get married, have children. But it is not simple at all. Indeed, how does one even begin?”

“Does this mean you are considering a search for a duchess?” Dickie seemed delighted in his irreverent sort of way.

Max snorted. “Not at all. I was referring to the two of you, and to Anna. And to the likes of Lady Caroline, too.”

“You know what should have been done, Max, to make it simpler for both Anna and Percy,” Dickie said with a knowing smile. “Father should have insisted on a betrothal when they were younger, so they would not have to endure the rigmarole at all. Your best friend and your sister, bound together in holy matrimony. That is no bad thing.”

A prickle of unease ran the length of Percy’s spine, making him sit a little straighter in his seat. Did Dickie know something? Did he suspect that Percy was harboring feelings for Anna, or was he just being his usual, agitating self?

Max pulled a face. “You might not think so. I, however, cannot imagine an unhappier household.” He laughed. “Is that not right, Sinclair?”

“Quite right,” Percy replied, forcing a laugh of his own.

They fell into a companionable silence, Dickie quickly falling asleep, while Max also began to doze. But as time ticked on and the carriage drew ever closer to Granville House, Percy had never been more awake.

* * *

Percy sensed, rather than saw, the moment the carriage began to make the final stretch of the journey. The world seemed too quiet, the golden sunset tinged with red, the beautiful hedgerows and immaculate fields transforming into tangles of briars, overgrown boxwoods, and twisted oaks, so large they resembled ancient giants.

The road changed too, the carriage struggling as it bounced and juddered over ditches and furrows. The last time he had been here, he had come by horse; he should have known that it was unfit for a carriage.

He knocked on the interior, and the driver slowed to a standstill.

“It is worse, the closer you get to the manor,” he called out. “Leave us here, and I will send for someone to fill these holes.”

The driver sounded relieved as he replied, “Aye, Your Grace.”

“What is going on?” Dickie sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“We have arrived, but we shall have to walk the rest of the way,” Percy replied.

Max echoed his younger brother, yawning as he stretched out. “What of all the things we brought?”

“There are servants at the house. I will send them to fetch everything,” Percy answered, his heart in his throat. He did not want to be there. He did not want to be anywhere near that wretched manor. If it had not been for his cursed inheritance, he would have done everything within his power to never return there again.

Max shrugged and opened the door. “I could use a walk to stretch out my legs.”

Beneath the bronzed glow of sunset that cast hazy shafts of light through the dense canopies of the oak trees, the three men trudged their way down the driveway, toward the looming structure in the distance. It was not like Harewood Court or Greenfield House, where there were always candles and lanterns aglow of an evening, to welcome visitors. Ever since Percy’s stepmother had arrived, and long after her departure, it remained a hostile place indeed.

“Has anything been done to it?” Dickie remarked.

Percy could see what he meant, for the bleak structure of dark gray stone continued to appear somewhat lopsided. The eastern wing was crumbling even when he was a boy, but as his stepmother had preferred to spend her husband’s money on finery and frippery, and the most expensive education for Norman that coin could buy, it had been allowed to fall into utter disrepair. Indeed, his intention was to remove it entirely, but not before the other three wings had been made livable once more.

“The laborers are utilizing the stone and materials from the eastern wing,” he explained. “It is less costly that way.”

Max nodded. “Very wise.”

“If you want a quarter less of a manor, I suppose,” Dickie muttered.

Percy glanced at him. “We cannot all be in possession of two pristine residences, Dickie. Some of us must make do with what we have and make something new out of the old.”

“You had best marry quickly, that is all I shall say.” Dickie flashed a pointed grin.

Percy returned an equally sardonic smile. “Or not at all. Perhaps, I shall rent it to whomever wants it, and seek a quieter life somewhere else. A small residence in a peaceful corner of England.” He frowned up at Granville House, the windows dark, no sign of life to be seen. “It was always too large—that is part of its struggle, I fear.”

“A duke abandoning his dukedom?” Max did not seem to like the sound of that. “If it is funds you require, all you need do is ask.”

Dickie smiled. “Then, I should like one hundred pounds.”

“To do what with?” Max replied, cocking his head.

“Whatever I please.” Dickie laughed, and though Percy loathed the grim driveway and the bleakness of the manor ahead, he was grateful to have the brothers with him. Although, he doubted anyone or anything could bring any light and cheer to that dreadful place.

Not even you, Anna.

They were almost at the overgrown, circular expanse of dirt and sparse gravel that lay in front of the porticoed porch, when Percy spotted another carriage. It was half tipped into a particularly deep ditch, marks in the road suggesting it had veered off course and ended up that way. There was no telling how long it had been there, though he was certain he had not seen it when he departed for Harewood Court, what felt like forever ago.

“How peculiar,” he mumbled, continuing on to the front doors.

He did not bother to knock, but let himself in. The faint aroma of mold and damp greeted his nostrils, but there were definite signs of improvement. The main staircase gleamed with new, varnished wood. The walls had been freshly papered, and most of the old furniture had been removed, which gave the entrance hall a rather stark, but altogether more pleasant appearance.

Gone were the portraits of his father and stepmother. Gone were all the trinkets and ornaments and unnecessary clutter that she had filled the manor with. Gone was her mark on this wretched place.

“Your Grace!” A man appeared from the shadows of the left-hand hallway, bowing so low that Percy feared for the fellow’s spine. “Goodness, we did not know you would be returning so soon! We have nothing prepared!”

Percy relaxed a little. “I do not need a parade, Mr. Foxcroft. However, we had to abandon the carriage halfway down the drive. Might you send some of the strongest men to fetch our belongings? And if there is a way to fill the holes on the driveway, so the carriage can continue on, that might also be a notion.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The butler, Mr. Foxcroft, pulled an apologetic face. “I should have warned your brother of the driveway’s condition, but he too arrived without sending word ahead.”

Percy stiffened. “Pardon?”

“I believe he meant to continue on to visit you at Harewood Court, but his betrothed was not feeling very well, so they have been here for a few days while she recuperates,” the butler replied, his tone suddenly anxious. “You were aware of this, Your Grace, were you not?”

“No, he was not,” another voice interjected, as a vaguely familiar figure stepped out of the nearby drawing room. “But as he has not answered a single one of my letters, I had no choice but to take drastic measures.”

It had been at least ten years since Percy had last seen his half-brother. He had still been a boy then, but the Norman standing in front of him now was most assuredly a gentleman. He had his father’s light brown hair and his mother’s brown eyes, but there was barely a hint of Percy’s stepmother in Norman’s features. Standing side by side, there would have been no doubt that the two men were brothers.

“You should not be here,” Percy said gruffly.

Norman straightened his posture. “You gave me no alternative.”

“Was my silence not enough of an answer for you?”

Norman smiled sadly. “No, it was not.” He paused. “Did you read any of my letters over the past few months?”

“Very few.” The moment Percy had seen Norman’s handwriting, the majority of the letters had gone straight into the fireplace. The brothers had not talked in years, and Percy had preferred to keep it that way, for there was no telling what long-conjured schemes Norman might attempt to fulfil on his mother’s behalf.

Norman nodded slowly. “All I want is one conversation with you, Percival. It is the most important conversation of my life, and time is running out.” His throat bobbed, his eyes gleaming with desperation. “Please, Percival. Grant me that.”

“Whatever it is you want from me, you will not get it,” Percy warned. “You have been well cared for. You have an allowance. You have a residence. I will not give you more than that.”

Norman flinched as if he had been struck. “Do you think I want material things from you, Percival? When have I ever asked for such?”

“I… cannot recall, but your mother often did. And you should know that she never gained what she wanted, either,” Percy replied, realizing that his brother was right; he had never asked for anything more than was already given.

Norman took a hesitant step forward. “I am not my mother, Percival. I have tried to tell you that for years. Please, just grant me a moment of your time, and I will take Victoria and go.”

“Who?” Percy frowned, jolting as Dickie elbowed him in the ribs.

“I believe that must be the sickly betrothed,” he said.

Max hemmed Percy in his other side. “He is your brother, Sinclair. He is family. I do not like to interfere or intrude in business that is not my own, but… what harm can it do to hear what he has to say?”

Untold harm, Percy wanted to reply, but even he knew that it would be petty and beneath him to refuse to at least have a conversation with Norman. He must have been traveling for days to get to Granville House from the east coast of Scotland, and though he did not want to, that sort of determination had to be respected.

“Five minutes,” Percy said sternly. “And you two can stay out here.”

He marched toward the drawing room, his sensibilities jarred as he saw that nothing in that room had yet been changed. It was like walking directly into the past, into countless memories of him being scolded and caned and shrieked at for things he had not done.

Steeling himself, he sat down in the armchair where his father used to sit, doing nothing as his stepmother berated him, and waited for Norman to settle into the chair opposite.

“Your five minutes have begun,” Percy said, gesturing to the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. “I am listening.”