Page 1 of The Duke and his Muse
Chapter One
April 1818, Exeter
Graham Bartlett, Duke of Exeter, blinked at the frowning woman, Mrs. Blight, holding the hand of a dark-haired young boy. “What did you just say?”
“This is your son.” Mrs. Blight sniffed, raising her chin. “He’s two years of age and has no living relative that cares about him, poor mite.”
“Excuse me,madam.” He kept his voice even as the red eyes and wet cheeks of the child revealed the tot had cried recently. “If this is indeed my son, I had no idea of his existence until this very moment.”
The paragon of indignation, his wife’s nursemaid when she was a child, pursed her lips. “The duchess wrote to you about him several times.”
“She most decidedly did not,” he replied forcefully. “I would have come straight away if I’d known of his birth.”
Graham became aware of others being witness to their heated conversation: his housekeeper, Mrs. Deals, and his butler. Both were relics from his father’s time as duke and looked skeptical of the validity of his words as well they might.
He had not visited his family seat for nearly three years, leaving his new bride to her own devices until he’d received a letter from his housekeeper to notify him of Caroline’s death from influenza.
“Did no one think to write to my mother about the child?” he asked into the silence.
The housekeeper and butler exchanged a glance while Mrs. Blight continued to frown at him.
“We thought it better not to after being informed of your mother’s condition,” his housekeeper replied hesitantly.
He raised a brow, afraid to ask whatconditionshe referred to. If he spoke again at the moment, his anger might boil over and scare the young child.
Taking a breath, Graham smiled down at the boy before him. “Hello, Daniel. It is nice to meet you.”
The boy wedged himself closer to his minder, turning his face away from his father.
“Perhaps later we might become better acquainted,” he said kindly before directing his attention to the boys’ nurse. “That will be all for now, Mrs. Blight. You’re dismissed.”
The woman gently grasped one of Daniel’s hands and with soothing words, coaxed the boy from her skirts and out of the entry hall.
“Let us speak in my study, Mrs. Deals. An ambush in the entry was not what I expected upon my arrival home.” He nodded to the butler. “See that we are not disturbed, Albert.”
Graham turned on his heal without waiting for a response and walked from the entry hall down a corridor to his study. The slumping of the housekeeper’s sturdy shoes could be heard on the hardwood floor behind him.
Once in the study, he waved a hand to one of the leather chairs in front of his grandfather’s oak desk. Once the housekeeper was seated, Graham closed the door to the room and took his own seat behind the desk. A brief glance around the study assured him little had changed in the time he had been gone.
“It seems there have been quite a lot of misunderstandings amongst the staff at Bartlett House,” he said grimly, careful to keep his expression neutral. “What pray tell do you believe is my mother’s currentcondition?”
“The duchess informedthe staff the dowager suffers from dementia,” the woman replied without preamble. “And that she resides in the Norfolk dower house with her maid and a nurse.”
“And I suppose the duchess assured you I had written her about my mother’s condition?” he asked. It was growing increasingly harder for him to hold his temper in check.
“She did, your Grace. The duchess often mentioned that sheand the estate manager were corresponding with you.” She paused. “I and the staff were led to believe you weren’t to be bothered with troubles here.”
He’d known this woman since he was a child. Had thought she at least respected him. On the other hand, what decent man would have left his wife in a new home all by herself?
One who had been hoodwinked into a loveless marriage.
“That is all for now, Mrs. Deals. Now I should like to seek out my estate manager and ascertain why he did not apprise me of certain events here in Exeter.” He rose to his feet, full of energy despite his long journey from London.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Deals stood up, her expression changing to one of embarrassment.
“Yes?”
“Your estate manager, Mr. Binns, had a tendre for the late duchess, I believe. I would normally not speak out of turn, but it might explain your not being notified of certain events at the estate.”
