Page 1 of In Need of a Duke
PROLOGUE
Stonehurst Estate
Cumbria
June 1803
Ian never cared for fishing.He much preferred riding across the vast Stonehurst estate during his mornings home, now that he had returned from Eton.
But his father, the seventh Duke of Dandridge, loved little else besides fly fishing in the river cutting through the property. And Father, who was rarely in residence at all, was the only person he needed to speak to this morning.
Unfortunately.
He swished a large stick through the tall grass cresting the small hill that overlooked the meadow. It was brilliant this time of day, all golden light. Certainly, it was much more tolerable than the halls of Eton.
Ian slowly approached the hunched figure of hisfather, who stood by the riverbank casting his line into the water. He waited a moment, bracing himself for what he knew was about to happen.
“I know you’re there,” his father growled. He adjusted the line of the pole, then glared over his shoulder. “There’s a reason I can’t take you stalking. You walk like you want the world to shake.”
It’s nice to see you, too, Father.
Instead, Ian set down his stick and slowly approached, afraid to let his father fully see what he was likely to hear about soon. If he stuck around, that is.
“I arrived home yesterday. It’s nice to be back.”
His father grunted, focusing on the river. With a flick of his wrist, the line tightened into a loop before extending and rolling across the surface.
Ian was quiet for a moment, unsure of what to do with his hands. Fold them perhaps, clutch them behind his back. He couldn’t push back the nerves grating at him. He peeked over at his father, shocked to discover his stern features were drawn, and there was more white at his temples. Ian was nearly taller than him now. At least he had that advantage.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” his father snapped. “Now that you are home.”
Ian’s heart sank. It was always this way, always a day or a few hours here and there. Over the years, he saw his father in patches, a brief glimpse of what could have been.
His father was tall and often wore a scowl, his brows pinched as if he were distracted. He was kind toward Ian’s mother, civil at the very least, just as he was with Ian and Nathaniel. But at times, it felt his relationship with them was nothing more than a business transaction, there to establish and prepare him for the inevitable role of one day being the Duke of Dandridge, a role his father barely tolerated.
“Leaving? I wanted to learn how to fish,” he lied. “You’ve taught Nathaniel.”
“My business is exactly that. It is not your concern.”
He spun, fully facing his father. “I’m your heir.”
His father slowly studied the state of him, disgust curling at his lip. “Yes, and look at you. Another fight? You’ll be a disgrace to the title like my own father. Soft and too pig-headed.Entitled.”
True, he had a black eye and another split lip, but the older boys at school were cruel. He wouldn’t allow them to pick on the younger boys, even if it meant he was beaten in the process. When he was the duke, they’d beg forgiveness all the same.
Ian bit back his reply. Flaring tempers never prevailed with his father. It was best to keep a steady head, to rule with logic and skip the excuses.
“You could write a letter then. Mother would love?—”
“Your mother is leaving for Italy once you return to Eton. She’s tired of England and wants to be with the rest of her family.”
Ian was family, though. He swallowed hard. It was not news that his parents shared a loveless marriage, but he expected his mother to remain, even if his father couldn’t be bothered.
“And Nathaniel?”
“I’ve arranged for a tutor.”
His younger brother was only nine. That hardly seemed fair.
