Page 2 of Good Duke Gone Cold

“Dainty?!” Gregory scoffed. “Is that what you call it? Responsibility? Ownership? To hell with you.”

“What are you so riled up about? You know me, I’m always joking around.”

“Not everything is always a joke.”

“Well, this surely is.”

“Right now, your life surely is.”

And then, the ever unflappable Jonathan, gave his half smile again, saluted Gregory, and walked out the door.

He walked right out the door, enlisted in the army, and never walked through the doors again. All this, on the anniversary of Gregory’s father’s death.

“Gregory!” pulled him out of his trance. “My brother, the prodigal in the flesh, has returned! I can’t believe you are here. It has been far too long.”

“Yes, Margaret. It has been.” Margaret, Lady Campbell and her turquoise almond shaped eyes was always sporting a coquettish grin.

She flung her arms around his neck. In fact, come to think of it, Margaret flung many things around, including convention and clothing. His younger sister was overly cheerful, albeit spoiled and somewhat meddling. But her love was always genuine. If not a tad dramatic at times. Women.

Gregory had two rules for women. Keep them happy. And keep them at arm’s length.

“–and that is the best part! I’m so happy!” Rule one. Check.

“Wonderful. Well, it’s good to be home.” He turned his head to look back at the door. The distressing memory was like a drain, pulling him in. He didn’t even hear the footsteps and further chatter from Margaret until he felt a light thwump against his chest. Immediately his hands reached down encircling the most perfectly sized-waist. He inhaled a familiar but exotic scent of cinnamon and vanilla. The lithe body in his hands was warm and soft, everything he stole his heart against. He felt two pert breasts nuzzled against his chest and then two timid tawny eyes met his.

This was Mary. Margaret’s little friend who was not so little anymore. She was a hot blooded grown woman pliable in his hands. He had met Mary when she was ten years old and she and Margaret had followed him and Jonathan around like lost puppies, until they all became friends of a sort. He recalled teaching her how to fish, ride a horse, and parry a blade. They had always been respectful of each other and had always had innocent fun together. So as his hands melted into her waist after three years of not seeing her, it was uncomfortable to have thoughts about what he might teach her as an adult enter his mind.

What was he thinking? He didn’t need this distraction. He came home with a purpose. Everything had to be about the dukedom now. He’d spent enough years, what was it two? three? Wasting his life away on gambling, women, and alcohol. Now it was time to at least have a semblance of control. If not in direct pursuit of cleaning up his reputation, at least to take on responsibilities and not squander the inheritance his ancestors had carefully built and maintained over the last few hundred years.

Hell, this was Chatsworth House accommodating 154 bedrooms, 2000 acres, and hundreds of tenants. There was plenty of work that needed his attention here. His father would be proud that he had finally returned to take his place and start behaving how his father had trained him to act. His father was his greatest ally and staunchest supporter. He knew how far to push Gregory. He knew when to hold back and when to unleash. And then in an instant, at sixteen, he was gone. No more strong, unwavering voice reassuring him of his abilities and pushing him to rise to new challenges.

Gregory had always been a confident boy with focus and exactitude made for being a duke. When his father died, he pushed down the hurt, pushed down the uncertainty, and faced his responsibilities with dignity.

Then when Jonathan went missing at five-and-twenty, Gregory hadn’t held it together as well. In fact, he hadn’t held it together at all. Now it had been three years since he’d been back, and it was time to come back. It was time to build a home. He had a three step plan: reassess the estates, throw himself into a hobby to avoid close relationships, and secure a wife. Perfectly sound.

Home… Yes, this was the house he grew up in, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. He wasn’t sure what home was. He knew he needed a roof over his head to protect his body, he knew he needed a hobby for his time and to fill his mind, and he knew he eventually needed an heir for the dukedom to gain his title.

But right here in his hands was someone who used to feel like home. All the memories they shared together threatened to flood his mind, but then, barely beyond a whisper, he heard “Your Grace.”

Mary slowly lifted her delicate hands to Gregory’s chest to push herself back. It felt like he wasn’t letting her go, but that must have been her imagination. Of course he wasn’t holding on to her. Of course he wasn’t holding his breath.

“Isn’t that so like me?” Margaret effused. “Here I go attempting the dramatic entrance by twirling our dear, dear friend, and I accidentally overshoot.” Margaret chuckled. Her blonde hair glittered in the light, and her shimmering eyes matched the glow. She was effervescence personified. She was the sparkle to Mary’s life. They couldn’t be more opposite. Where Margaret would run through fields playing pranks on her brother, Mary had been woolgathering lost in the shapes of the clouds. Once the two met, they were inseparable, and Margaret called to the depths of Mary’s soul. Margaret knew immediately of Mary’s depth and how her creative soul just needed to be prompted out.

That’s when the plays began. Mary started writing and couldn’t stop. Every few months the girls would be reenacting a new play and dragging Gregory and Jonathan into them, only when the boys were home from Eton that is. And only when they could be cajoled, threatened, or bribed with baked goods, into participating. When not enacting one of Mary’s plays, the girls would follow the older two boys, spying on them to see what mischief they could cause.

Of course this led the girls into learning quite a few things otherwise unbeknownst to girls: how to swim, fish, fence, ride horses, and even shoot. Summers especially, held the most memories for the girls. It all changed drastically a few years ago when Jonathan went missing. There was one less person laughing.

At this moment though, there was only one person chuckling about her clumsy introduction, Margaret. But she didn’t notice.

Mary noticed. She noticed everything at that moment including the solid chest, broad shoulders, and the faint scent of bay rum with a hint of whiskey.

This was a solid chest, even more solid than the last time she was plastered against it. That pesky memory fought its way back to her mind again.

“Alright, we're both dressed now. You can stand up and open your eyes.” Mary lay still on the ground with her eyes pressed into her forearm.

“You’ve shocked the poor girl,” a second voice cheerfully said. “Here. Let me.” The voice belonging to Jonathan approached Mary and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Come now. Everything is fine. We’ll go find your friend and you two can scamper off and continue whatever other shenanigans you had planned for the day.”

Mary didn’t feel compelled to correct Jonathan that in fact Margaret wasn’t her friend, that she never scampered, and she most definitely never engaged in shenanigans. Instead, she thought maybe joining Margaret was the safer bet.

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