Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston
Chapter Eight
Miles urged Ares on, wanting to catch up to Miss Jenson, who had taken off faster than lightning. As he chased her down across pastureland, he couldn’t help but be impressed by her tremendous riding skills. She had been correct in telling him that Zeus was an incredible horse. Miles itched to ride the beast himself.
He also knew that Ralph had been insane to climb into Zeus’ saddle. His brother had only been an adequate rider and had never shown any true interest in horseflesh, unlike Miles who lived for horses. He hadn’t seen Ralph in many years but he couldn’t imagine the boy of thirteen with little interest in horses had matured into a man who found them fascinating, much less one who could control a mount such as Zeus. No wonder he had been thrown.
He had guessed that Ralph had been drinking. It was something Miles had caught his brother doing several times during that final summer at Wildwood. Ralph, always arrogant, had proven to be unbearable with drink in him. After Ralph shot and killed Tony, Miles always wondered if his brother had been drinking that day. It would explain why he had ventured into their father’s study and dared to take the pistol from the desk drawer. Ralph had been defiant, threatening his brothers. Though a good shot, if Ralph had been under the influence of strong drink, it would explain why he had acted so careless and cavalier.
Miss Jenson slowed Zeus, allowing Miles to catch up to her. She wheeled the horse to face him. Color flooded her cheeks and excitement sparkled in her unusual eyes, deep brown ones rimmed in amber. They drew him in and he wished he could sink into their depths, straight to her soul. He blinked, trying to break the spell she seemed to cast upon him. He was here to see his estate, not wax poetic about a woman’s eyes.
“What do you think of Zeus?” she asked, patting the horse and bending to plant a kiss between its ears.
Damnation. He wished he was the object of her interest and wondered what it would be like to place his lips upon her rosy, plump ones.
“He is very spirited. He does have beautiful lines. Is he sixteen hands?”
“Seventeen,” she replied. “Zeus is the most outstanding mount in your stables. You’ll see that when you view the other horses tomorrow.” She stroked the horse fondly.
“How did you come to ride him?”
“Your father purchased him shortly before he had to give up riding. He loved the horse, though, and wanted to be sure Zeus received exercise daily. His Grace knew I went out often—usually daily—upon the estate and asked me to ride Zeus when I did so.”
“It takes an adept rider to handle a horse of that temperament,” he noted.
“I’ve ridden from a young age,” she explained. “Papa and Mama both thought it important. Mama was a doctor’s daughter and had herself ridden from a young age. Papa’s father was a viscount who taught his four sons to ride. As a steward, he knows he must be out often on the estate.”
She paused a moment. “Papa is getting older now. I take his place sometimes in riding out, acting as his eyes and ears while he toils away in his office.”
“I see.”
Miss Jenson was proving to be a most interesting woman.
“Well, you ride like my friend, Wyatt. Which is to say you are an expert who may take a few chances here and there.”
She laughed and the sound of it warmed his blood.
“Shall we go see some of the fields?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She kept Zeus to a canter and as they went from one area to another, she schooled him on crops.
“We have used a seed drill for several years now instead of haphazardly tossing seeds about. It allows for a more even distribution of the seeds and places them deep enough in the ground to firmly take root.”
“What is grown here? I seem to remember rye. Or perhaps barley.”
“Wheat is the largest crop. Rye was grown at Wildwood when we first arrived but it is a low-yield crop. Wheat and barley are much higher in yield and, therefore, more profitable.”
She explained to him about the balance of arable and permanent pasture land and how the estate grew turnips and clover in recent years. She went into great detail about why this had been done and how the area of fallow land could be reduced. He lost track of her explanation somewhere between how to clear the land of weeds by ploughing versus how turnips sown in rows could have weeds removed by hoes while they grew. He didn’t quite follow everything but understood that the turnips and clover could be used as animal fodder.
“We also have worked into getting more nitrogen into the soil. That increases the yield of grains. We’ve done so by not only planting clover but legumes, such as peas and beans, which help enrich the soil with nitrogen.”
He laughed. “Enough, Miss Jenson. You are showing off now,” he teased.
Her cheeks flushed. “I apologize, Your Grace.”
“No, don’t,” he said. “This is all information I need to master.” He smiled. “It’s just too much of it at the moment because it’s so unfamiliar to me. You are a good teacher, Miss Jenson. You will merely need to be patient with me as I plod along.”
She studied him. “Something tells me you were an excellent student in school, Your Grace.”
“I did well in my courses. Especially languages and history.” He laughed. “Neither one being very helpful in managing an estate.”
“It will come to you in time,” she promised. “As for history, I also have an interest in it, everything from ancient to modern history. I have learned quite a bit about this area from exploring the graveyard in Woodmorrow.”
His gut tightened at the mention of that. Brusquely, he said, “What else do I need to view this afternoon?”
“Would you like to see the area where your tenants live?”
“Very much so. And meet some of them if I can.”
They had been out several hours and he thought she might need to get out of the saddle for a bit. Then again, if she rode frequently, she might be used to this.
Within ten minutes, they arrived at a large group of cottages. Thankfully, they weren’t bunched together. Miss Jenson pointed out how most of the tenants had small gardens planted beside or behind their cottages and how they were allowed to harvest what they grew there for personal use or to sell the produce in the nearby village.
“Would you like to walk, Your Grace? I see workers who will be eager to meet you.”
“Yes. I would like that very much.”
He quickly dismounted and then went to aid her from Zeus’ back. His hands went to her waist and he swung her to the ground. For a moment, he gazed into those luminous eyes. Neither of them said anything. Reluctantly, he released her.
Miles stepped away, hearing the cries of children nearby. He turned and saw a group running toward them. When the dozen or so arrived, they paid him no mind at all. Instead, they all wanted Miss Jenson’s attention. She hugged several of them, asking questions and praising them for little things. Observing her, he thought she would one day make for a good mother, much better than his own had ever been. She seemed genuinely interested in hearing what these children had to say and he could tell they worshipped her.
Finally, she shushed them. “Children, I would like to introduce you to His Grace, the Duke of Winslow.”
Immediately, they quieted, studying him with large eyes.
“Are you going to die like the last one? He wasn’t duke very long,” one boy of about seven asked.
Miss Jenson scolded the boy. “That was very rude, Billy. Please apologize to His Grace.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the boy said, his bottom lip trembling.
Miles looked across the sea of children and saw they all were afraid. He realized it was fear of him. He wanted respect from those on his land, not fear. He had known officers in the army who liked to command using fear but he had never thought it particularly effective.
Placing a hand on young Billy’s shoulder, he said, “I don’t plan to die anytime soon, Billy. I hope to live a long and fruitful life.” Miles offered his hand. “Here, let us shake to show there are no hard feelings.”
Billy thrust his hand out and placed it in Miles’ hand and they shook.
“My father always says the same thing. That if you are angry with your friend, you should shake and get over it.”
A thought occurred to him as he looked more carefully at this boy. “Might your father be Kit Munson?”
“You know him?” Billy asked, his eyes widening.
“Very well. Is he around? I would like to shake his hand, too.”
“Come on.” Billy tugged on Miles’ hand. “We live over here.”
Like the Pied Piper, the others followed them. They stopped at a white cottage with gray shutters.
“Wait here,” the boy instructed, rushing through the open door.
Almost immediately, a tall, lanky man appeared. A smile broke out on his face.
“Miles!” he cried, stepping forward. Then he stopped short. “I mean . . . I am sorry, Your Grace.”
He threw his arms around Kit. “I have missed you,” he declared, pounding his old friend on the back and then pulling away to look at him. “You haven’t changed much. Billy resembles you.”
“He’s more his mother than me,” Kit said. “So, you are back for good?”
“Yes. With Ralph’s death, I am now the duke.”
“I wondered,” Kit said. “If that would come to pass.”
He shrugged. “Ralph should have wed and had a son. I expect he and Winslow are both turning in their graves at the prospect of me becoming the family’s duke.” Miles turned and gestured for Miss Jenson to join them. “Miss Jenson has been taking me across the estate. I arrived earlier today.”
“You were friends once?” she asked.
Miles nodded. “Kit and I were as thick as thieves when we were boys. He was two years older than I was but a fine companion.” He looked to his friend. “If you have a boy, you must have a wife.”
Kit looked toward the cottage and Miles saw a woman standing in the doorway. She held the hand of a little girl who was the spitting image of her mother.
“Come on, Ann. Say hello to His Grace.”
She came forward slowly, her daughter accompanying her.
Again, Miles offered his hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Munson. And sorry you are stuck with this ugly one.”
Kit’s wife looked thunderstruck—and then she burst out in laughter.
“I do my best to keep him in line, Your Grace. It isn’t easy,” she proclaimed.
“And who is this little lady?” he asked.
“Becky,” the girl said and then buried her face in her mother’s skirts.
“You have a fine family, Kit,” he told his friend. “Perhaps you can ask me to dinner some night and we can catch up.”
Kit, who had slipped an arm about his wife’s waist, froze. Miles realized he had breached an invisible line drawn between them—and found he didn’t care.
“I plan to be a much different Duke of Winslow than my father,” he explained.
He glanced around and saw quite a crowd had gathered as he had talked with his childhood friend. Miles decided to address them now.
“I am Miles Notley, the new Duke of Winslow. Some of you know me. Or have heard of me. Whatever you know—or think you know—I hope you will put it aside. I plan to be an active landowner and wish to get to know each of my tenants and their families. I never thought to be a duke and will undoubtedly make mistakes. I promise to learn from them and be a good landlord to you.”
He looked out and saw everything from puzzlement to fear on the faces in the crowd. These people weren’t used to a duke speaking plainly to them.
It was time for a change.
“I have already asked myself to dinner at Kit Munson’s house. I hope over the next several months that I can share a meal with each of you and your families and come to know you and your needs.”
No one spoke for a moment and Miles believed he had already shot himself in the foot. What duke went about eating with farmers?
Then a cheer erupted and he saw some tide had been turned. Kit took him by the arm and led him about, introducing him to people left and right. By the time they finished, his head swirled with too many names to remember.
“I must get back,” he told Kit and Ann. “If you are willing to have me to dinner, send word. I will be happy to come.”
“Can Miss Jenson come, too?” Billy asked.
Miles looked to the woman who had introduced him to his land and stood to the side as he had met his people.
“Yes. Miss Jenson would be happy to come,” he announced. “We will see you later.”
They waved goodbye to those still gathered and returned to their horses.
As Miles lifted her into the saddle, the subtle scent of lilac drifted from her skin and he said, “I hope you don’t mind that I spoke for you. You don’t have to come if you don’t wish to.”
“No, I would be happy to accompany you,” she said. “I often stop and visit with your tenants and even share a meal with them. For me, it is nothing out of the ordinary.” Her gaze pinned his. “But for the Duke of Winslow to do so? That is indeed extraordinary.”
Miles mounted Ares. “Perhaps I plan to be an extraordinary duke.”