Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
H astings impatiently jumped down from his horse. His new horse. The duke had sent it with his summons this morning. It was a beautiful horse—big and strong, and feisty, with a glossy brown hide and thick, black mane and tail. Hastings had to hold tight to the reins to get him to behave on the way over, but not overly much. He enjoyed the horse’s prancing and obvious relish at being on the road. He was by far the grandest horse Hastings’s had ever ridden.
He pulled the duke’s note from his pocket and reread it as a groom came and took the horse away.
Hastings—present yourself at the Park this morning at 10 o’clock. There are official steps that must be taken before I indulge my duchess in this harebrained scheme. I’ve sent the horse for your indefinite use, as the new sheriff must have a reliable means of transport. I shall see you this morning without Stephen .
Ashland
He'd underlined that last part, “without Stephen.” As if Hastings couldn’t put one foot in front of the other without the parson in tow. Overall, it was a very highhanded missive and Hastings had every intention of telling Ashland that, duke or not. He’d had quite enough of that sort of ordering around from Sir Barnabas. He was damn tired of everyone ordering him around.
He ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach as he stared at what had to be the grandest house he’d ever seen. Ashton Park was more like a palace. It was certainly grander than Hampton Court, and a sight statelier than St. James, to be sure. Italian marble gleamed a soft peach in the morning sun. The entrance door was massive, an imposing black monstrosity that reminded Hastings of descending into Hell from Heaven. He cast away that gloomy image with a blown-out breath, then resettled his hat on his head and walked to the door with determination. He’d beard this lion in his den. He grinned slyly. If things didn’t go well, he could always kill the duke. Although Sir Barnabas would probably be rather unhappy if it came to that. So, first he’d have to see how this meeting went.
He felt a little trepidation meeting the duke without Stephen. He hadn’t had much interaction with people around the Park without the buffering presence of Reverend Matthews. Hastings was under no illusions about his own company. He wasn’t well versed in the social niceties, despite Sir Barnabas’s attempts to train him. He was impatient, rude, and insubordinate to his betters, mostly because he didn’t think any of them were better than he was, a belief Sir Barnabas told him was damn near revolutionary and might cost him his head one day. Today was not going to be that day.
A butler opened the door. Hastings recognized the type. They were often loftier than their employers.
“I’ve got an appointment with the duke,” Hastings said without preamble. The butler didn’t blink an eye.
“Of, course, sir. Please come in.” He stepped out of the way, and his deference made Hastings suspicious.
“You know who I am?” he asked.
“Of course, sir. You are Mr. Hastings.” He reached out for Hastings’s hat.
“Just Hastings,” he replied, handing over his headgear.
“And I am just Reeves,” the butler said. “Follow me, sir. The duke is waiting for you in the library.”
The entryway was an oval surrounded by fancy marble columns that matched the flooring. The lower walls had a Greek key design going all around them. This wasn’t a home, it was a bloody museum. The butler, Reeves, bypassed the rooms and hallways that opened off the entryway and instead led him over to a grand staircase that took up half of the back wall. It started out wide and narrowed as it ended at a landing and a small door. As they ascended the stairs, it seemed an odd juxtaposition to have all that grandeur leading to a small door.
“They hide the family quarters behind that door, don’t they?” Hastings asked, analyzing the dimensions.
“Indeed,” Reeves said.
Once through the door, Reeves led him down several narrow passageways until they emerged at a long gallery that stretched the length of the rear of the house. One side was all windows looking out on a spectacular garden. Hastings saw the duchess in the garden playing chase with the children. He could almost hear their shrieking laughter. Brett Haversham sat off to the side at a small dining table littered with what looked like the remains of breakfast. He was shouting encouragement, but Hastings wasn’t sure to whom. Most likely the duchess, who everyone in the vicinity knew was his mistress, just as the duke was his lover. Hastings was relatively sure at least two of the grand couple’s children were Haversham’s, but it didn’t seem to bother the duke. He doted on them all.
“This way, sir,” Reeves indicated, moving down the gallery. Opposite the windows were a steady procession of gloomy portraits, dukes and duchesses past, no doubt. But even though the gallery was imposing it was also bright and looked well lived in. There were books set down on tables and chairs as if someone had just walked away in the middle of reading them, and scuffs on the floor from running feet. Reeves finally arrived at a closed door and knocked.
“Come in.” Hastings recognized the duke’s voice, friendly as always, calling out to them from behind the closed door.
The library walls were lined with a deep gold, oriental paper and floor to ceiling bookshelves. There was another bank of windows here, placed advantageously to catch the morning sun. In front of them were sofas and couches and tables, comfortably lined up. The furniture was well used, bright and airy, upholstered in a light floral pattern and deeply cushioned, and the floor had bright, thick rugs covering it. The tables and sofas were once again littered with books and papers, and Hastings could see childish drawings on some of them. He got the impression the family spent a great deal of time in here.
One corner of the room was recessed, and the books there were behind cages, kept in the dark. Hastings would bet money those were the ones worth something. Although the porcelain vases displayed on shelves to either side of the fireplace looked like they’d fetch a pretty penny, too. He inwardly sighed. Only the aristocracy would treat a collection like that as ornaments in a family room.
His Grace, Frederick, The Duke of Ashland, Freddy to his friends—of which Stephen was one—was sitting in front of the windows, watching his family. He was a tall man, lanky but handsome and well built. His bright red hair was almost shocking. As usual, he was dressed in the most fashionable style, looking perfectly turned out even as he sat alone in his library. Hastings was continually surprised by how young he was, only just in his thirties. He wore the mantle of responsibility easily, but then Hastings supposed he shared it with the duchess and Haversham, which made the burden lighter.
“Looking for escape routes?” the duke asked, amusement in his voice. Hastings wasn’t sure how the other man knew he’d been closely examining the room.
“Don’t need one,” Hastings replied. “I can usually kill my way out.”
“I’m sure you can,” the duke agreed, not the least perturbed by Hastings violent tendencies. “Reeves should offer very little resistance, I think. And I don’t hire my footmen for their physical prowess.”
“What do you hire them for?” Hastings asked, wandering over to one of the sofas and moving a few books out of the way before he sat down opposite the duke.
“Their loyalty and discretion, of course,” he replied. “That is more valuable than physicality.” He looked at Hastings then, his bright blue eyes sharp, revealing the intelligence that lurked there, his expression clearly indicating he expected some response.
“I think that’s the lesson I’m supposed to be learning,” Hasting said, cocking his head to the side as he grinned at the duke. “It’s why I’ve been banished to the country.”
“Are you disloyal?” the duke asked with a frown.
“No, quite loyal,” Hastings said. “I’m like a damned retriever, I’m so loyal. But discretion? That seems to be my sticking point.”
The duke’s face cleared, and he laughed with what appeared to be genuine mirth. “Yes, Anne has regaled me with tales of your…lack of discretion. Poor Stephen.”
“He’s not complaining,” Hastings said, leaning back with a sigh. This interview was going to take longer than he’d thought.
“Yes, well, he never does, does he?” the duke asked. The way he said it made Hastings look at him.
“No, I don’t suppose he does,” he agreed, and saw a flicker of disappointment in the duke’s eyes, as if he’d failed some test. It was the duke’s turn to sigh.
“So, you want to be sheriff,” the duke said, readjusting himself in his seat and sitting up straighter. It was as if he was shaking off the lethargy of family and privacy and putting on the mantle of his station.
“No,” Hastings told him. That made the duke stop his restless movements for a moment. Then he leaned back and seemed to relax again. Hastings idly wondered if the duke knew his body language gave him away so easily.
“That’s right,” the duke said. “The duchess wants you to be sheriff.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Hastings said. “Not sure why.”
“I believe she said you can’t continue going through life drunk,” the duke said thoughtfully. “Oh, and naked.”
“Don’t see why not,” Hastings said. “At least for now.”
“Because you are staying with Stephen, and the village—I dare say the county—is judging him by your actions.”
“What?” Hastings blurted. He leaned toward the duke. “The parson has done everything to straighten me out besides stand on his head. This is nothing to do with him.”
“Isn’t it? That’s a shame,” the duke said with a moue of disappointment. Hastings was beginning to understand his power lay in that disconcerting disappointment. “Well, what has it got to do with?”
“I thought this was a meeting about being the sheriff, not my motivation or lack thereof.”
The duke waved a hand airily. “It’s all one and the same, isn’t it? Why are you here?”
“I was summoned. By you.” Hastings could hear his voice growing curt and tried to curb his impatience.
“I mean here, in Ashton on the Green. I realize Simon Gantry dumped you on Stephen, but that was weeks ago. You could have left at any time. And yet, here you are. Why?”
“Fair question,” Hastings conceded. “I was told to stay put. I do have a job, you know. And my employer ordered me to stay here.”
“Sir Barnabas James?” the duke asked thoughtfully. He clearly didn’t expect an answer. “Why do you suppose he did that? I’m quite certain there is nothing going on here that would jeopardize King or country.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Hastings said with feeling. “There is nothing going on here. I have no idea why he wants me here. But stay I shall until he releases me.” He shrugged. “To be honest, I think I’m being punished. Again.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting. For what?” the duke leaned forward conspiratorially.
“I’m not really sure,” Hastings admitted. “I didn’t kill anyone I wasn’t supposed to on our last mission, God’s truth. He’s cured me of that.”
The duke blinked slowly several times. “I see. Well, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps your sojourn here is meant to teach you discretion. And patience. There is much to learn from rusticating in the country.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Hastings said. Something the duke had said was still gnawing at him. “So you think this sheriff business will help Stephen? I mean, the parson? I can’t have people blaming him for my shortcomings.”
“Indeed,” the duke said, sounding like his butler. “It certainly won’t hurt. After all, the sheriff is generally highly respected.”
“Well, that would be a first,” Hastings said under his breath.
“Brett thinks you’d be good at it. He said despite your shortcomings, as you call them, people seem to like you.”
“They do?” Hastings said, not trying to hide his shock.
“Hmm, really,” the duke assured him. “I was surprised too. But Brett seems to believe that they find it easy to talk to you, and they empathize with your situation and station.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that, but Haversham is a good man, according to Stephen, so I’ll take it in a positive way.” Did he mean because Hastings was born poor, the villagers could relate? That was true, although everyone he’d met in the village was far richer than he’d been as a child.
“He is a good man,” the duke said with a wide smile. “And so I shall take his advice, and follow my dear Anne’s lead, and appoint you sheriff.”
“You will?” Hastings was beyond shocked.
“Yes.” The duke stood up and Hastings rose as well, following the duke’s lead. “I shall draw up the proper paperwork and have it sent round to the parsonage. Do you need other lodging?” He had narrowed his eyes and was watching Hastings closely as he asked, but his smile didn’t waver.
“No. Why? Do I have to move?” Hastings asked in alarm. He liked the parsonage. Mrs. Tulane took care of all his needs and, damn it, he liked Stephen’s company.
“No, not at all,” the duke assured him, and Hastings got the impression this time he’d passed the test.