Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Whoa, boy,” Milo crooned, when his horse would have continued its plodding path toward the Stapleton stables, where feed, water, and a warm stall awaited the tired beast. He patted the animal fondly and dismounted on the drive before the brightly lit manor house, and glanced behind him down the empty, long drive.
Milo had spent the whole of the day in the saddle, determined to reach Stapleton Manor before his new bride to share his good news with his father, the Duke of Stapleton.
Thankfully, the afternoon weather had been perfect for riding…
and judging by the sound of laughter, it appeared the night was perfect for his father to be hosting a party he’d not known about, as well.
He wasn’t expected tonight and had no invitation to attend this party, so his arrival and news were bound to cause a great stir.
Milo tossed the reins over the horse’s head and led him toward the front steps. At the base, he dropped them and forced a spring to his stride as he climbed flagstone steps to ring the bell beside the great oak doors.
The sound would ring out loud enough to alert a servant to his arrival over the din of the party taking place.
He stepped back, removed his hat, and raked a hand through his hair, nervous, but also glad to have arrived well before his bride.
His news was a delicate matter to be discussed privately, but he was satisfied he’d made the right decision.
Amelia was perfect for him. She would have nothing but honesty from him.
It wasn’t long before the Stapleton butler, Mr. Brown, cracked open the large doors, his eyes wide with surprise in a wrinkled face at seeing Milo standing there.
“My lord, we had no idea to expect you,” Brown whispered, gesturing wildly behind him. A footman immediately slipped outside and rushed to take up the reins of Milo’s tired horse to take him away.
“Well, that was my intention, Brown,” Milo promised, smiling at the shorter man. “I wish to see my father.”
“He will be delighted to see you, of course.” The butler hesitated. “But it has been a difficult week and…”
Milo paused. “Nothing serious, I trust?”
“No, no. We are currently overrun with guests, and other matters demand his attention.”
Intrigued, Milo turned toward the tired horse, removed his saddle bag himself, and then flicked a coin to the footman. “Take him to the stables, if you please, and have him spoiled, sir,” Milo called. “We rode a long way today.”
“Of course, my lord,” the footman promised, rushing away toward the stables with the horse in tow.
Milo strode inside, following the butler into the hall.
Stapleton Manor itself did not appear changed during his absence.
Everything was exactly where he expected it to be, and he liked that.
The new duchess, Gillian, had still not put her stamp on the estate or manor house by moving things around unnecessarily, it seemed.
The entrance hall was exactly how he’d left it after the holiday greenery had been taken out.
He handed off his hat and greatcoat to the butler and straightened his waist coat. “Please let my father know that I’ll be waiting to see him in his study.”
“Of course, my lord. Would you care for refreshments while you wait?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I can find a decanter of something and a glass in the usual places,” he promised.
The butler nodded and scurried off into the nearest servant staircase, while Milo walked down the dark hall to the study. There was a fire burning there, and he reached for the decanter of brandy kept behind the nearest bookshelf to ease the pain of his long ride.
He filled a glass and took a sip, but he was anxious about how his news would be received. Father should be pleased, but he would be surprised by his choice of bride no doubt.
He glanced around, noticing it was rather quiet.
That hadn’t ever been the case when he had lived here as a young man. But at that time, his siblings were roaming the halls at all hours, creating chaos wherever they went, arguing with each other as they played silly games, and making a damn mess.
His siblings had married and moved away now. Stapleton reminded him of his small estate in Devon, a place far enough away from everyone, where the children had nursed their grief…and Milo let his rage simmer for the last few years.
The thought of his first marriage, and how it had ended, made his shoulders rise with renewed tension even now, four years later.
He downed his drink, determined that he would think no more of those difficult days. Not that the marriage had been in trouble at first. He had, of course, been deliriously happy to be newlywed and in love with his beautiful bride.
But the bloom of love and devotion had worn off for his wife quite quickly, and she’d betrayed him with other men soon after his heir was born—and had done so repeatedly in her last years, he’d later learned. He’d spent years trying to forget his first wife’s betrayal.
But he would never forgive her. He couldn’t ever forget, either.
A rush of steps alerted Milo to the return of the butler. He turned toward the door.
“His Grace will see you now upstairs, unless you’d care to freshen up first,” the butler offered, glancing him over.
“I…” he began, looked over his clothing and dusty boots, too.
He didn’t look too bad, and Papa normally didn’t mind if he wasn’t freshly pressed when they met.
But he did run a hand through his hair, striving to neaten it.
After he spoke with his father, he’d request a servant to act as a valet, so he was properly turned out for when he saw his bride again. “I will see him now.”
“Very good, my lord.” Brown gestured toward the main staircase. “His Grace begs you to keep your voice down.”
Milo frowned at the request for lowered voices when there was a party going on. Was the duchess ill? Or was there something wrong with his new brother?
Brown led him quickly and silently into the family wing and scratched at the duke’s door before pushing it open.
Milo walked inside, suddenly struck by the unexpected thought that perhaps it was Papa who might be unwell.
He was standing at the window, dressed in a banyan, barefoot, and his hair tousled horribly.
“Father?”
Papa hurriedly put his finger to his lips as he turned. In his arms was a small wriggling bundle, and by the duke’s gesture, the boy was fighting sleep.
Milo tiptoed the rest of the way to his father and, because of the child, awkwardly embraced him with one arm. Then, when the boy saw him, patted his back with his other hand.
His father looked beyond tired, and as Milo studied his face more closely, he noticed the presence of deep lines around his eyes, far more than there usually were when he laughed. The gray in his hair had increased, too.
“Have I come at a bad time?”
“It’s been a difficult few weeks,” the duke murmured, rocking his youngest son, but an indulgent smile played over his lips as he looked down on the infant. “I should never have been persuaded to host another gathering so soon after the last one.”
The duke continued to regard his youngest with obvious affection and a rueful smile. Milo had seen that look of devotion many times before. They had all tried Papa’s patience at one time or another but still had him wrapped around their fingers.
“Is the child unwell? Are my children in good health?” Milo asked anxiously.
His pair had been staying upstairs in the nursery for the last weeks since Christmas, while he called on Reynolds then went to London to fetch the special license.
He hoped they hadn’t been forgotten in the excitement of the party.
The duke shook his head. “No, and yes. Your children missed you. However, this little one is ill-prepared to sleep when we expect him to and demands attention when we have other things to do.”
“Oh.” Milo exhaled in relief as he looked upon his little brother, but he had no advice to offer his more experienced father.
Papa had raised his first children, largely on his own after Mama had died.
And Milo, caught up in the struggle to understand his late wife’s actions, had left his offspring in the hands of capable and less-emotional servants.
But that was all about to change. “Where is Her Grace?”
“At least she takes a nap when I tell her to,” his father grumbled. “It’s been difficult for both of us. The child suddenly will not sleep unless one of us holds him. Gillian has borne the brunt of it, but there’s only so much holding she can do.”
“Can the servants not be more useful to you?”
The duke shook his head. “We prefer not to involve the servants too much. They have their hands full enough looking after your offspring and our guests. I should have postponed, but Gillian would not hear of it.”
Guilt slashed through him for leaving his children here at such a busy time. Had he known about the party, he would have made other arrangements. But when he’d left his children here, he’d been assured it was no imposition. Papa had wanted them to stay at Stapleton with him.
Milo set his hand on his father’s shoulder and squeezed. “If it’s any consolation, they do grow out of this stage. Eventually.”
“I long for that day to arrive quickly,” the duke said. “Hopefully, I’ll still be alive by then.”
Milo blinked. “Father. What do you mean by that?”
The child stirred and grumbled.
“It means I am feeling my years tonight,” the duke answered, patting the boy’s rear. “This used to be easy for me, but things have changed, or perhaps I have.”
Milo reached for his brother. “Here, give him to me. I remember walking Jessica about when she was like this.”
The duke relinquished the child, exhaled in relief, and rolled his shoulders. “It’s good to have you back home, son.”