Chapter 2
One Week Later
Anna whistled softly to herself as she wiped a slightly damp cloth over the spines of the books in the drawing room.
As a duchess, it wasn't something she had to do, but she found a certain peace in the rhythm of the task.
It was the same with gardening or sewing a garment that needed repair; these tasks quieted her mind—simple and undemanding—reminding her of peaceful days at Pembroke House with her father.
Oh, I must remember to speak to Mr. Miller about the garden gate, she mused as she worked. And the chicken coop. That fox shall not get another one of my darlings.
It was one of the troubles of running a grand manor in the countryside: the wildlife.
It was one of the benefits, too, to see badgers and hedgehogs and weasels and foxes and frogs and all manner of birds right outside, among the greenery and woodland.
Nothing could have compelled her to exchange the bother of a few emboldened predators for the altogether more frightening beasts that existed in city society, even if she did worry for her beloved chickens.
She was about to abandon her work and go directly to the butler, Mr. Miller, to discuss the fox problem right then, while it was fresh in her mind, when his sister, Katherine, appeared at the drawing room door.
The pretty young woman looked rather flushed and bewildered, her chest heaving as if she had just sprinted in.
“Katherine?” Anna said, frowning. “Is everything well?”
The young woman had replaced the older maid, Wilma, that Robert had assigned to Anna before his death, though Wilma had not gone far; she now served as the housekeeper.
As for the lady’s maid that Anna had brought with her from her former home, Yvonne had married a year ago, with Anna’s blessing, and was now raising her first child, free of the burden of taking care of a duchess who could take care of herself.
Katherine cleared her throat. “Apologies, Your Grace.” She paused. “Someone has… arrived.”
“Who?” A tug of apprehension straightened Anna’s posture, for she did not care much for visitors. In her position, they worried her.
Just then, a towering figure appeared behind Katherine, so broad in the shoulders that he practically blocked the entire doorway. His greatcoat dripped from the rain pouring outside, the brim of a top hat concealing his face.
Yet, nothing could hide the authority in his deep, rumbling voice as he replied, “The new owner of this manor.”
“I beg your pardon?” Anna bristled as she set down her cloth and brushed her hands on her skirts.
It has happened. I knew it could not last. But the solicitor… Oh, he promised! He swore to me… He said no one could take this from me. How can this be? Her thoughts were a Roman forum, everyone clamoring to be heard at once.
“Do ye have trouble hearing?” the man replied, his accent strange: a hint of English gentleman blended with the rougher brogue of a Scotsman.
Anna narrowed her eyes at the man, who had not yet deigned to show his face, the lowered brim of his top hat and the angle of the rainy afternoon light keeping him mostly in shadow.
“I heard you perfectly well,” she replied curtly. “It is what you said that beggars belief. It simply is not possible. So, what manner of charlatan are you?”
She swallowed down the rising anxiety, for the truth was that this was entirely possible.
No matter how cloistered or unassuming she had tried to be, keeping to herself, hoping that she would simply be left alone and forgotten, she knew that society would never permit a woman to have free rein of such a manor as this.
“I am the new Duke of Stonebridge,” the man replied simply, in that same commanding tone.
“And I shall say again that it is impossible,” she insisted, her heart thundering in her chest, her palms clammy with unease. “There are no living heirs.”
“There’s a very elaborate line of inheritance,” he said, as he slowly reached up to remove his hat. Something a gentleman would have done at the door.
He is no heir to this place; he has no manners. It was a weak argument, but it was all Anna had.
“A solicitor found me,” the man added, and Anna’s heart promptly sank into the pit of her writhing stomach.
After everything Mr. Phipps—the solicitor who had so diligently navigated all the trials and hurdles of inheritance following her husband’s death—had said, it seemed he had betrayed her.
He was the one, while she had been worried about where she would go and how she would survive, who had said, “There is no one more deserving, Your Grace. You are a duchess; you must act as such. This house is yours now.”
A short year and a half of peace inside these walls; that was all she had been allowed, and now the dream would end suddenly and rather harshly.
“Well, you are speaking to the Duchess of Stonebridge,” she said crisply, straightening her posture, raising a defiant look to the man as he finally revealed himself.
A bruised, grazed hand swept through wavy dark hair that reached his shoulders, damp from the rain. His other hand was wrapped in a bandage.
Is he a brawler? His knuckles certainly suggested as much.
Perhaps thirty or so, his strong jaw was unshaven, a shadow of stubble tracing along the sharp line of bone and around a full mouth, now curled in disapproval.
Above, a fine, sloping nose and defined cheekbones, but it was his eyes that momentarily made her forget what she had been about to say next.
Eyes so dark they almost appeared black.
“This is my home,” she continued, pausing to clear her suddenly dry throat. “So, you can take your counterfeit claim and your assertions elsewhere. I do not appreciate the attempt to swindle me, nor the interruption.”
She was surprised by the strength in her voice. Then again, this was a matter that called for determination, for she would not be uprooted from the life that she had worked so hard to cultivate for herself. Certainly not by some usurper who could not even remember to remove his hat at the door.
“Swindle?” The man arched an eyebrow. “I think not, lass. Ye see, I own this home and everything in it, by law. There are deeds and declarations and, as I mentioned, a complicated line of inheritance.”
He moved forward, and Katherine immediately darted out of his path, pressing herself flat against the wall as he passed by.
He stood well over six feet, his broad shoulders made even broader by the coachman’s greatcoat he wore.
Glimpsed between the open sides of his coat, his powerful thighs were barely contained by tight tartan trousers as he strode toward Anna.
Her throat bobbed as she forced herself to hold his gaze; she would not be distracted by those muscular thighs, nor the casually unbuttoned waistcoat, nor the open collar of his shirt that left a deep triangle of sun-browned skin far too exposed for polite company.
The man was not even wearing a cravat! How could he possibly be the Duke of Stonebridge?
“Set yer eyes on that if ye won’t believe what comes out of me mouth,” he said roughly, as he drew folded papers from his greatcoat pocket and tossed them down onto the nearest side table.
Anna glanced at them, half-considering tossing them in the fire and telling this…
rugged interloper to be on his way. But then she saw the signature, looping elegantly at the bottom of the top page: the solicitor’s signature.
One she recognized from all the documents he had signed while helping her keep her home.
She approached the side table and picked up the offending papers, her eyes rapidly skimming the death warrant of her peace and happiness.
Forgeries? No… I do not think they can be.
Her heart dropped further into the roiling depths of her stomach as she fought to keep her breath even, her chest cinching tighter with every word she read.
They were deeds to Stonebridge. They were documents of inheritance, devoid of her name.
And, just as he’d said, there was also the inclusion of the rather complicated line of inheritance that had brought this man to her door.
“Mr. Miller!” Anna shouted, her voice strained.
When the butler didn’t immediately appear, she glanced at Katherine, whose pale and anxious face reflected her own.
“Katherine, might you fetch your brother for me?”
Katherine dipped her head. “Of course, Your Grace. At once, Your Grace.”
The young woman scurried out with her head down, refusing to look at the imposing man who was now wandering around the drawing room as if he really did own it.
“It’s not so drafty as where I came from,” he said in that curious accent of his, reminding her of an acquaintance she had once had from Edinburgh.
Anna settled onto the settee with her arms crossed and her legs neatly tucked, one ankle behind the other. She wouldn’t dignify anything he said with a response, not when he had come to take everything away from her.
I can still fight this. A document is nothing. I, too, have documents that declare this manor mine. They were not as strong, legally, as this man’s, but her willpower was far superior. She was certain of that, for she had so much to lose if she simply sat back and let him take it all.
A few minutes later, the butler, Paul Miller, strode into the room. He was neither as tall nor as broad as this Scottish invader, but they were of similar age, and with the duchess’s future at stake, the butler was clearly more than ready to be the David to this Goliath.
A handsome Goliath… but that was of little consequence. He could have been the King of Scotland, and Anna would still want him gone.
“I hear there is some trouble, Your Grace,” Mr. Miller said, bowing his head to Anna.
She relaxed ever so slightly in her butler’s presence. “Yes, Mr. Miller. I was just wondering if you could answer a question for me.” She paused. “Tell me, were we informed that there was an heir to the Stonebridge title and estate?”