Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T he person the duke had summoned to instruct Evangeline in the ways of running a castle was his aunt, Lady Margaret Harrowfield, a stern lady with steel-gray hair and sharp, clever eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said as the duke introduced them. "I have been curious about you ever since Hugh told me he had chosen a bride."

Hugh . Evangeline glanced at the duke curiously, but his face never changed. She had often wondered how he felt about his given name, and whether he would ever allow her to use it, but the subject had never come up, and considering he seemed to like her society so very little, she thought it unlikely he would welcome its use from her.

Still, he clearly had no issues with his aunt addressing him so informally.

"Please," Evangeline said, holding out her hand, "call me Evangeline."

"Well, that was prettily done," his aunt approved. "And I suppose you ought to call me Margaret if we're going to be spending so much time together. After all, we are family."

Family . Evangeline couldn't feel as though this woman was her family yet, but she appreciated the sentiment.

"Now, my dear," Margaret said as she led Evangeline through to the drawing room—a much cozier space than the staterooms. "Tell me, what do you know of Northumberland and our life here?"

"Very little," Evangeline confessed. "Except that I should know more."

"Well, don't be too hard on yourself. After all, if you grew up in London and the south, there's hardly any reason you should know."

"The duke wishes me to know. So I don't embarrass him."

Margaret gave her a shrewd look. "Is that the reason he gave you for your education?"

"What other reason would there be?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it." She sat gracefully and fluffed out her skirts. "I think there might be something about his wanting you to fully embody the role of duchess here."

"Is it a difficult one?"

"No, not at all. But the Eldermoors are proud. They've been here for generations, and they own half of the county. They are responsible for the livelihood of hundreds of families, and Hugh's reputation is very heavily based on how well he provides for his tenants."

Evangeline thought about the rude men she had met before. "So, if he fails to provide for them, they will lose respect for him?"

"Precisely. A good landowner is one who engages himself in the trials of his tenants, who resolves conflicts and repairs the houses he owns, and addresses his people's needs."

"And what about his wife?"

"Ah, his wife." Margaret hesitated. "Well, his wife has a different sort of duty. She must show she loves the land. Give to the poor, preside over the local festivals. Remember, they must respect the duke—they must honor him—but they should love you."

Her mother had explained none of this before she married. But no matter. She would learn. She squared her shoulders. "Very well. What must I know about our tenants? How can I serve them?"

Surprise glinted in Margaret's eyes, but she merely said, "I have asked for maps to be brought in so you may see where Hugh's land lies, and where the notable villages are. Then we may delve into the subject matter more deeply."

Evangeline nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself as she poured over the maps that had been brought through from her husband's study.

There was a lot of land attached to the estates, and she did her best to memorize it, practicing the names of the towns in her head until she could remember them. This was not a land where a duchess would be expected to stay in her castle and speak to no one; she was expected to take an active role here.

The thought relieved her.

If she had been expected to do nothing but look pretty and wear dresses for no one, she thought she might have gone mad.

But Margaret was patient, explaining all the major families in the area, the barons whom they would be kind enough to invite often to lunch because their estates bordered.

"And you must not notice the difference in rank," Margaret explained. "Of course, I'm sure you must have been taught this in London, but good breeding is to pay no heed to the breeding of others."

Quietly, Evangeline reflected on how little she had been taught as a girl. They had hired governess after governess, not seeming to mind about the quality of their education but reluctant to send her to a finishing school; they might have come across unsavory people there.

And so, Evangeline and Clara had been left mostly to themselves, to learn as much or as little as it pleased them, and so long as they could play the harp and pianoforte tolerably, and so long as they could speak a little French, there was nothing more that either parent expected from their children.

She understood now that her parents, for all their titles and former wealth, were not well-bred in the way they treated others, always making the distinction in rank evident.

The thought made Evangeline a little sad, but she refused to give in to the feeling, throwing herself instead into the things she was learning. One day, she swore to herself, the duke would sit back and notice how right she was to be his duchess—how much she matched him and was his equal, not his inferior.

* * *

Hugh stretched as he exited the carriage in York's cobbled streets. The journey from the north of Northumberland to the city was a considerable one, taken over the course of two days, and although he was accustomed to hours in the saddle, he was less accustomed to sitting in a carriage as someone else drove the horses.

Beside him, Duncan rolled his shoulders and looked around appreciatively. "Fancy a drink?" he asked.

"We're not here for ale, Duncan." Hugh was already striding for the narrow street his carriage had been too wide to enter.

"Aye, but there's no reason we can't make the most of our trip," he argued, following behind.

Hugh rolled his eyes, ignoring the curious looks of the beggars and other men and women staring at him from along the alleyway or from behind shuttered windows. It was probably a rare sight for them to see a lord making his way down this way—but then, if his information was correct, it was perhaps not as rare as one might believe.

The creditors lived in a salubrious building that seemed wholly out of character for the area of York in which it was situated. No doubt because the bulk of their income came from the merchants and businessmen of the city, rather than the members of the gentry who lived in the more well-to-do streets.

Not this time, however.

Hugh rapped sharply on the door. It creaked open, revealing a pale face with straggling sideburns and a heavy brow. "Yes?" he demanded.

"I'm here for Mr. Shaw."

"And who are you?"

Duncan muscled up beside him, but Hugh held out a hand. "Tell Mr. Shaw it's on behalf of Lord Sandhurst."

The man's eyes widened, and he disappeared. There was the rattle of a chair, and then the door opened fully, revealing the man in a greasy uniform that had seen better days. Even so, Hugh noted the richness of the furnishings. Mr. Shaw was doing very well for himself, it seemed.

"Right this way, sir," the man said. "Lord Sandhurst is a valuable client, and we would be happy to do anything to assist." He led the way up a large, imposing stairway to a grand doorway, a small plaque mounted in brass announcing it was Mr. Shaw's study. "I'll just announce you."

"Please do," Hugh said.

Duncan glanced at him, but if his friend thought now was the time to display strength, then he was mistaken. He would do so when he had all the facts and not before. And he had no intention of revealing his identity until that moment.

The man slipped inside Mr. Shaw's office, and seconds later reappeared with an obsequious smile.

"Please, sirs," he said, gesturing to the door. "Mr. Shaw is happy to receive you."

Without waiting for further instruction, Hugh strode to the door and opened it, entering the room and closing it again behind Duncan.

Mr. Shaw sat behind a desk of mammoth proportions, the shutters half closed to shut out the May sunlight. As a result, what might have been a bright and airy room felt stuffy and gloomy. And Mr. Shaw rose from his chair like a king from a throne—or perhaps, given the lanky length of him, like a spider emerging from its web.

"Welcome," Mr. Shaw said. "I understand you're here on behalf of Lord Sandhurst. One of our more distinguished clients."

Hugh threw himself into the available seat, disinterested in power games. He knew his worth, and he also knew he would never be intimidated by a man such as Mr. Shaw, who could not have ruined him if he tried.

"I understand Lord Sandhurst has collected a number of debts with you," he said.

"That's right."

"Precisely to what number?"

"Are you unaware, sir?" Mr. Shaw stroked his chin, finally sitting on his throne once again. "I thought if you had come on his behalf then you would know the figure you were dealing with."

"Aye, and so I do. But I would like to know if your figures match mine."

Mr. Shaw hesitated, and Hugh had the impression that had he thought they were lesser men, he might have pushed the matter further.

As it was, he merely sighed and reached inside his desk for a sheath of paper. "Very well, sir. Let me find the details here. The total was a little over sixty thousand. He has paid near thirty of that."

Through mortgaging his estates, no doubt—Duncan had said they were mortgaged to the hilt.

"But," Mr. Shaw continued, "I have received no further communication about the remaining debt."

"I see." Hugh crossed his legs. "Then might I recommend you allow me to take on the remainder of the debts?"

"You?" Mr. Shaw raised one brow. "And you presume to have the means to do so? I have dealt with several northerners in the past, and they hardly have a penny to rub together."

Duncan lurched forward, fists clenched. "You won't speak to him like that if you value your life."

Mr. Shaw withdrew his hand from his desk and was holding a gun. "I would advise not trying anything stupid," he said. "I have no compunction about pulling the trigger."

Hugh merely leaned one elbow against the arm of his chair, slanting his body to the side.

"Peace, Duncan. As for you, sir. You would do well to have some compunction about the prospect of shooting the Duke of Eldermoor."

Mr. Shaw's fingers clenched around the gun, but not near the trigger, Hugh noted. Evidently, the name was a recognizable one even here, in the middle of York.

"If you need proof, take a glance at my signet ring." He removed his ring and held it up for inspection. "This belonged to my father and to his father before him. Now, may we have a conversation without the gun?"

Mr. Shaw glanced between them, his gaze lingering on the ring. Hugh did not often have to prove his identity, but he had been prepared, and eventually, Mr. Shaw replaced the gun.

"Good," Hugh said, and rose. "I have written to my bank to expect a note from you and to pay the full amount, and thus I would like your full cooperation. Sign the debts over to me and you will have your money, plus whatever ridiculous interest you have chosen to apply, and I will have ownership of the debts, and you will never have to see me again."

He strolled to the desk and put his palms on the wood, leaning across it to place his face close to Mr. Shaw's.

"If you do not, believe me when I say I have the connections to force you to yield. My hand is in the pockets of every magistrate and law enforcement official miles around, and if I so choose, I have the ear of the King Regent and his advisors themselves. I could purchase this entire sorry building from underneath you, debts and all, and leave you with nothing but the clothes you stand up in. Do you understand me?"

To his credit, Mr. Shaw's voice was as unctuous as it had been when they'd first entered the room. "Of course, sir. And you shall have Lord Sandhurst's debts, that is to be no problem. We should be happy to accept your generous offer."

"Excellent." Hugh gave an urbane smile and leaned away again.

Duncan always tried to attack problems with his fists, but the true way—the best way—was to apply pressure. Everyone had a weakness, and Hugh knew how to make a grown man crack without once resorting to violence.

"Shall I stay and make the arrangements?" Duncan asked, viewing the unfortunate Mr. Shaw with distinct pleasure.

"By all means," Hugh said, strolling now for the door. "I shall wait for you in a nearby establishment, partaking, I think, of an ale."