The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

Now it did not matter what rumors were being bandied around the shire about him. Perhaps he could track down Miss Bates and let her know her efforts on his behalf were no longer necessary—or at least not so urgent. He wasn’t after an heiress anymore. And . . . he would not mind seeing Imogen again.

In fact, he would enjoy the sight of her and the sound of her voice . . . the sensation of her skin. He shook his head at his presumption. He was perhaps getting ahead of himself. There was no guarantee she ever wanted him to touch her again. She was the honorable vicar’s daughter. She was not the manner of female open to dalliances, and yet he had dallied with her.

And he longed to do so again.

Perry emerged from the tavern into the sunlight, blinking his eyes several times to acclimate to the decidedly brighter afternoon. It had been overcast and slightly drizzling when he entered earlier in the day.

“Ah, Your Grace. Good day to you.”

Perry turned at the greeting to find Mr. Gupta approaching down the sidewalk.

Mr. Gupta was smartly dressed as usual, swinging a fine mahogany silver-headed cane. He’d moved to Shropshire a few years ago and opened a bathhouse that was an instant sensation. It serviced both ladies and gentlemen of the shire, with divided parts for each. Most prized were his soaps and shampoos. He had a steady stream of customers who entered his bathhouse for his alkali products alone. Perry’s own mother was very fond of his almond shampoo.

He doffed his hat. “Mr. Gupta. Good day to you. And please,” he corrected, “it’s Mr. Butler now.”

“Ah, yes!” He waved his hand in unnecessary apology. “I had heard of that, of course. I fear I will never commit it to memory. I shall try though.”

“I’m certain when the new Duke of Penning arrives, you will be able to keep it properly straight.”

“Oh, is your predecessor soon to arrive then? Have you heard?”

“No, and I am not exactly being kept apprised of such matters,” he confessed, which was perhaps more than he should admit, but Mr. Gupta had such a genial manner about him that it invited confidences. Perry suspected it was because Mr. Gupta was in the business of making customers feel so welcome. Hospitality was his specialty.

Mr. Gupta turned and glanced up at the dilapidated tavern sign. “And how was The Hare and The Basket today? Was Mr. Compton up and about?”

“No, I did not see him.” Now that he thought about it, that was unusual. Old Mr. Compton commonly stood before the counter directing his servers and calling out greetings to patrons—occasionally carrying out platters of food himself.

“That is a shame,” Mr. Gupta mused with a sad shake of his head.

“Is something amiss with Mr. Compton?”

“Ah, have you not heard?” Mr. Gupta continued to shake his head. “He is not well. Took a fall and has not left his bed in days. Such a pity. I’ve heard that his daughter has started looking for someone to buy the business. She wishes to take her father and move them to live with her aunt in the south. Claims the cold and damp of our winters aggravate his joints.”

Perry nodded and eyed the tavern with fresh appraisal. Perhaps that’s why the inside of the tavern seemed shoddier than usual. Without Mr. Compton’s attentions, his daughter would likely struggle with the upkeep. It would fall into even greater shabbiness.

“I hope someone will soon take it off their hands,” Mr. Gupta was saying. “A tavern is the center and heart of a village. It would do well with a fresh coat of paint and a little love to revive it.”

Perry looked back at him and smiled, wondering if the man could see into his mind and the thoughts that had been circulating there of late. “Some people would argue that the heart is the church.”

Mr. Gupta chuckled. “Do not tell our dear vicar I said that. Or Miss Bates.”

“You secret is safe,” he assured.

Mr. Gupta snapped his fingers. “You should take it over.”

Perry attempted to school his features in equanimity. Clearly the man was a mind reader.

Mr. Gupta continued, “You could breathe life back into the place . . . refashion it as one of your most excellent gentlemen’s clubs in Town with fine food, drink, cigars . . . a place for cards and games.” His dark eyes glowed in animation. “You would know how it should be. With your charm and your knowledge of high society and culture, you would be natural at it.”

Perry did not reply immediately. His mind rushed and turned over the notion of entering into business, of taking an industrious idea and making it a reality.

Was it too coincidental that Mr. Gupta should suggest such a thing? That he should give voice to the very thoughts Perry had been harboring? And immediately on the heels of Perry reaching the realization that he should do something with his life other than marry an heiress? If he had been seeking encouragement, he had found it through no effort of his own.

“I am no businessman,” he replied cautiously, almost afraid to let himself hope.

“Perhaps today you are not. But you could be.” Mr. Gupta shrugged. “You could be one tomorrow. As a lad in my village, I had no notion I would live in England and manage my own business.”

“A very prosperous business,” Perry complimented.

Mr. Gupta inclined his head in modest acknowledgment and pointed at Perry. “You never know where life may take you, but you must be open to opportunities as they present themselves. You must be ready to take the leap, or else you will go nowhere.”