Page 4 of Valentine Nook
He tuts loudly. He knows exactly why I’m boiling with rage, and it dawns on me that my mother’s absence is purposeful. James is waiting for me as the voice of reason because after our father died, that was the role he took. The five of us children were nothing compared to the thousands of troops he commanded as a former army brigadier.
“I was going to say you can’t do anything about it.”
“Like hell, I can’t.” I sprint up the stairs, only for James to follow.
“Lando, I know you’re pissed off, but you can’t kick her out. The lease has been signed, and she’s here until the end of the year.”
She.Her.It’s the only part of James’s sentence that has my jaw clenching.
“I didn’t okay it. This ismyland. It’smycottage.Iam the duke.Iam in charge.Notmy mother.”
James sighs but says nothing more. I know he agrees with me, but I also know he’ll do anything my mother asks of him.
“I know exactly what’s going on here,” I retort. “And don’t pretend you don’t either. I thought at the very least you’d have my back in this dating agency she seems to be running.”
“Of course, I have your back, Lando. But you haven’t exactly beenyouthe past six months. Ever since . . .”
“Ever since I walked in on Caroline fucking Jeremy?” I snap.
“Yes.”
“And how exactly do you want me to be?”
“Well . . .” He waves at my face—more precisely, the beard, which has grown thick and fast.
“Yes?”
“You look like a yeti, for one. When was the last time you shaved?”
I scratch through the thick bush. I haven’t been clean-shaven since what was supposed to be my wedding day, and beyond a couple of necessary trims, I haven’t touched it. What’s more, I like it.
“Six months ago. Caroline hated me with a beard, so I’m bloody well keeping it like this.”
James remains silent, only raising an eyebrow.
“What’s the second?”
“Your short temper,” he replies without hesitation. “It’s not like you, Lando. I know what happened was shit?—”
“That’s not the problem.” I carry on up the stairs because I do not want to get into another conversation about Caroline.
When there’s no response to my statement, I turn around and find James still where he was.
“What?”
“Then what?”
I sit down with a heavy sigh of defeat, twisting the gold signet ring on my pinkie. “I have a business to run here, a huge multibillion-pound business. We do good, important work. But all anyone seems to care about—and by anyone, I mean Mum—is finding me a wife. I don’t know who’s worse, her or that dreadful love guru.”
James chuckles and joins me on the step. A wet Hamish waddles up the stairs and drops down on the one below us, dripping everywhere.
“So . . . are you going to tell me who I’ve rented Bluebell Cottage to, or do I have to guess? And why’s Clementine acting like it’s Christmas morning?”
James reaches out and strokes Hamish’s ears. “I don’t know much about her. Her representatives managed it.”
“Representatives? What does that mean?”
“It was her agent, I believe.” He’s waving his hands about while he tries to find the correct wording. “Perhaps a manager? I’m not sure which is which. Gerard, from the estate team, brought her credentials over, and the duchess approved it.”
