Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston
Chapter Six
Wildwood
Miles gazed out the window at the passing landscape, not recognizing any of it as the unmarked carriage took him from London to Wildwood. This would be the last time he would be anonymous as he traveled, knowing in the future he would journey from place to place in the Winslow ducal carriage, with its imposing crest on the doors. Even if he rode on horseback, he would be dressed far differently than he was at the present moment.
He glanced to the trunk on the floor of the vehicle. Mr. Fillmore had seen that Miles was fitted for an entire new wardrobe during his brief stay in London. The exclusive tailor’s shop had catered to everything he needed and finished three coats and waistcoats, along with four sets of trousers. They would create the rest of his wardrobe and deliver it soon. The trunk also contained a dozen lawn shirts and cravats from London’s best shirt maker, as well as a silk banyan and an extra pair of boots. More of the same would be coming, as well. It seems a duke was expected to have an expansive, lavish wardrobe.
Still, he had donned his captain’s uniform for the last time before leaving London, wanting to arrive at Wildwood wearing it. He didn’t know if he would recognize any of the servants since he had been away from the estate for fourteen years. If any remained from his childhood, he wanted them to know that he had made something of himself in the years of his exile.
Miles chuckled. He was probably the only duke in Great Britain who would think to care about a servant’s opinion. In fact, he would wager he was the only duke in the land reluctant to claim his dukedom. Dukes didn’t grow on trees. They were few and far between and most men in England would give their right arm to become one of those few. He only wished he weren’t one and still back in the army, preparing for the next assault on Bonaparte’s men.
The carriage slowed slightly and he saw they entered a village. Something about it seemed familiar and he realized it must be Woodmorrow, which lay approximately three miles from Wildwood. He used to walk to the village when he was a boy and wondered if the bakery still sold the sticky buns he enjoyed.
Then the coach passed the local church. Next to it stood the graveyard.
Where Tony was buried.
Miles turned away, not ready to think about his younger brother lying in the ground there all these years. He promised himself that once he settled in at Wildwood, he would make the journey to Tony’s gravesite and mourn in private for the boy.
It struck him that both his father and Ralph would now be buried alongside Tony in the Notley family plot.
And that his mother might still be at Wildwood.
She had spent very little time with her three boys, though she had favored Tony of the three since he looked the most like her. Miles recalled she was very vain and seemed to criticize everything around her. Had she remained at Wildwood after Ralph’s death? She usually spent most of the year in London, or least she had when he was a boy. Naturally, she would have come back for the funeral of her husband, only to be followed by that of her eldest son. Would she have fled the country and returned to the city? Or would she have remained in mourning? Either way, he would have to see her at some point.
The thought sickened him.
Somewhere still buried within him was that little boy who had wanted her to act as a true mother might. To nurture and comfort him after Tony’s death. To stand up to Winslow and demand that he not ship Miles off for good. That had been wishful thinking on his part. She had never paid a whit of attention to him before and had taken to her bed when Tony was killed, so bereft that she didn’t even attend Tony’s funeral. The same might have occurred with Ralph’s sudden, accidental death. He would need to prepare himself for their eventual encounter.
Miles only hoped it would be later rather than sooner.
He began breathing deeply, something he had been taught to do at Turner Academy when he became anxious. It had served him well during his time in the military and he had encouraged the men under him to take deep, calming breaths and clear their minds before they went into battle. He missed those soldiers and the camaraderie he’d felt with his fellow officers. Most of all, he missed his fellow Terrors.
“No sense to become maudlin,” he murmured to himself, believing sentimentality made a man weak. He needed to prepare himself for what was about to take place.
The carriage turned from the road and began traveling up the lane leading to Wildwood. It had the air of familiarity and yet seemed different at the same time. He supposed because the trees and shrubbery had grown over the years, slightly changing the feel of the place. Then he saw the house and servants scrambling out the door, lining up to greet the new Duke of Winslow. He now played a more important role in the family tree and would need to wed and provide an heir to the dukedom.
That thought overwhelmed him.
Miles shoved it away and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs as the carriage came to a halt. Moments later, the stairs were set in place and the footman opened the door, allowing Miles to descend. He reached the ground and stood erect, hands behind his back, as he studied the two lines of servants. He recognized Cook and Tom, a footman who had always been kind to him.
Then Sevill stepped forward. Miles’ gut twisted at the sight of the butler. This would be the first change he made, getting rid of his father’s right hand. Sevill would never be loyal to Miles and he would be uncomfortable keeping the longtime butler in a position of power.
“Your Grace,” the butler said.
Miles noticed Sevill didn’t truly greet him. Didn’t express that he was happy to see the new duke. It reassured him that getting rid of Sevill would be a wise decision.
“Good day, Sevill,” he said brusquely.
“Allow me to introduce you to your servants, Your Grace.”
They moved along the first line, composed of all men. It included his father’s valet, who looked frail and would need to be pensioned off, as well as Ralph’s valet, a man named Crowder.
Coming to Thomas, Miles smiled. “Good day to you, Thomas. It has been a while.”
The footman smiled broadly. “It is very good to see you again, Your Grace. I am head footman now.”
Not for long. He decided this would be the man who would replace Sevill.
They moved on and he was glad to see Harris, the head groom, still remained.
“It’s right nice to see you again, Your Grace,” Harris said. “I hope you will take the time to come to the stables and see the horseflesh you own.”
“Count on it, Harris. I had thought to buy a mount in London and decided I would wait and see what was available at Wildwood.”
The groom grinned. “I think you’ll find several to your liking, Your Grace.”
They came to the end of the line and Miles turned to meet his female servants.
A handsome woman with kind eyes stepped forward. “I am your housekeeper, Your Grace. Mrs. Jenson. Let me introduce you to the rest of your staff.”
He felt Sevill stiffen beside him and bit back a smile. He already liked this Mrs. Jenson, asserting herself over the snobbish butler.
She led him down the line, introducing each servant by name. When they reached the end, he turned and surveyed the group.
“Thank you for coming out and greeting me,” he told them. “I look forward to getting to know each of you better, just as I did the soldiers under me.”
“Would you like to go to your rooms and freshen up, Your Grace?” Mrs. Jenson asked.
“Yes. Please, walk with me, if you will.”
The housekeeper accompanied him inside and up the stairs, saying, “Hot water is on its way, Your Grace.”
Miles felt Sevill on their heels and glanced over his shoulder, seeing both the butler and Ralph’s valet there.
“How long have you been at Wildwood, Mrs. Jenson?”
“Ten years, Your Grace. If you would like, I would be happy to show you about the house and answer any questions you might have regarding how it is run. In addition, I need to ask your food preferences. I plan the weekly menus with Cook and want to make certain she is preparing things to your liking.”
He laughed. “I will be happy with whatever you select, Mrs. Jenson. After years of army rations, everything has to taste better.” He paused. “I will need to speak with my estate manager as soon as possible.”
“My husband, Mr. Jenson, is your steward, Your Grace,” she informed him. “If you would like, I can have tea prepared and you could meet with him in the drawing room as soon as you are settled.”
They reached the door to his father’s quarters and Miles said, “Yes. I’ll be downstairs in half an hour. Please join us, Mrs. Jenson. I may have additional questions for you by then.”
“Would you mind if I included our daughter in this meeting? She assists both my husband and me in our duties. She also nursed your father and might be able to share with you about His Grace’s final days.”
Hearing about Winslow on his deathbed was the last thing Miles wanted to listen to but he said, “Yes, please include her, Mrs. Jenson. I will see you shortly.”
He opened the door and entered the sitting room. He had only been in this room a handful of times, usually when he returned from school on holiday and his father quizzed him about what he had recently learned.
Looking to the valet, he said, “Please unpack the things in my trunk.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The valet went through the next door.
Sevill asked, “Might I be included in your meeting with the Jensons, Your Grace? I feel there are things you should know.”
“Yes, I expect you there. And Thomas, the head footman. Have him in attendance, as well.”
The butler’s mouth twitched in disapproval. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Miles entered the bedchamber and found the valet already at work.
“More of my wardrobe will be arriving in the next few weeks. I had nothing but my uniforms and had some clothes made up in London.”
“Would you care to change from your uniform, Your Grace?”
“No. I will remain in it for now. You may press the clothes in the trunk and have them ready for tomorrow.”
The hot water arrived and he did discard his uniform’s jacket and roll his sleeves up in order to thoroughly wash his hands and face. After drying them, Crowder assisted him back into the jacket.
Miles decided to speak to the valet now and ascertain whether he wanted this man working for him or not.
“Were you valet to the previous Duke of Winslow for very long?”
“No, Your Grace. I was with him six weeks when he . . . passed.”
Always a good judge of character, Miles felt the valet had more to say. “What happened to the duke’s previous valet?”
Crowder composed himself and succinctly replied, “He left.”
“Why?” he pressed.
“His Grace was very . . . particular.”
“Are you saying Winslow was difficult?”
The valet looked horrified. “No. No, I would never make such a claim, Your Grace.”
“Would you have stayed on as his valet had he lived?”
Crowder’s gaze fell to the ground. “It is a privilege to serve a duke. Not many men can claim that honor.”
“I will assume my brother went through valets—and other servants—often?”
Crowder’s cheeks pinkened. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“You won’t have that problem with me, Crowder. If I become difficult, I expect you to tell me so. If I treat you unkindly, speak up. I will do my best to be a decent employer to you.”
The valet’s jaw dropped. Then he smiled broadly. “Yes, Your Grace. If that is all, I will finish unpacking for you.”
“I think we’ll do well together, Crowder,” Miles predicted.
He moved around the bedchamber, noting that everything that seemingly belonged to his father or brother had been disposed of. The one item he would see removed was a portrait of Ralph that hung in the room.
“Crowder, have that portrait sent to the attics.”
The valet nodded and returned to his work, unsuccessful in hiding his smile.
Miles left his new rooms and made his way downstairs to the drawing room. When he entered, he saw Mrs. Jenson already present, arranging items on a teacart. Sevill and Thomas stood nearby.
Then his gaze fell to an older man and young woman in conversation near the window. The woman was uncommonly pretty, quite tall and willowy, with raven hair. She was pointing to something out the window and the man nodded. He assumed them to be the Wildwood steward and the daughter Mrs. Jenson had spoken of.
The girl slipped her arm through her father’s and steered him back to the center of the room where Miles stood.
She dipped into a curtsey. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I am Miss Jenson. This is my father, Mr. Jenson, who has managed Wildwood for the past ten years.”
“It is good to meet you both,” he replied, thinking Mr. Jenson looked a bit uncomfortable.
Miles would have to get used to it. Any time he was introduced and people found out he was a duke, they would most likely react as Mr. Jenson. Wary. Wondering how to behave around him.
“Shall we sit?” he suggested, waving his hand to indicate a grouping of seats near the teacart.
As the Jenson family situated themselves, he turned to Sevill.
“Your service will no longer be required at any of my estates, Sevill,” he said bluntly. “I know you served my father a good number of years and I am happy to write a reference that speaks to your abilities. If you would prefer to retire from service, I can arrange a pension for you.”
The butler’s face darkened with rage. “You think to replace me? After all I have done for this family?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying,” Miles said calmly.
“How dare you—”
“I can dare all I like, Sevill,” he interrupted. “I am the Duke of Winslow now.”
Sevill’s eyes narrowed. “If he could have, His Grace would have disinherited you,” he spat out. “You ruined this family. Things between His Grace and Her Grace were never the same afterward. The marquess ran wild and did as he pleased.”
“Ralph always did,” Miles pointed out. “It matters not whether my father is rolling in his grave. I am the duke—and I am replacing you. With Thomas,” he added.
“Then give me a pension,” growled Sevill. “I don’t want a cottage on this estate. If I never see your face again, it would be too soon.”
“Leave your forwarding address with Mr. Jenson. I will see you receive the desired funds,” he said brusquely. “You are dismissed.”
Sevill stormed from the room.
Miles turned to Thomas. “You were always capable, Thomas. I am certain with Sevill gone that you can step into his shoes and perform the required duties with ease.”
Thomas nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I am happy to be of service, Your Grace, in whatever capacity you see fit.”
He thought a moment. “What is your surname, Thomas? I don’t know if I have ever heard it.”
“Trottmann.”
“Very well, Mr. Trottmann. See that your things are moved into Sevill’s bedchamber. Make his office yours. I hope you and Mrs. Jenson will work well together.” He glanced to the housekeeper, who wore an approving smile.
“Mr. Trottmann and I will do quite nicely together,” she said. “Mr. Sevill and I clashed on more than one occasion. Working with Mr. Trottmann will be a pleasure, Your Grace.”
“That is good to hear. You may leave, Trottmann. In the meantime, I want to hear all about Wildwood.” He turned to his steward. “It has been many years since I have been home, Mr. Jenson. I am eager to hear about the estate.”
“The best way to learn about the estate is to see it, Your Grace,” Miss Jenson said. “I would be happy to show it to you.”