Page 1 of A Wicked Duke's Redemption
Chapter 1
Essex, 1818
The carriage pulled to a halt, and Leopold Parish, Duke of Farnham, drew in a shuddering breath. He raked his hands through his blond hair, in case it had become disheveled during the long trip. Then he fixed his blue-gray eyes into a stern, even expression. The carriage door opened, and the coachman bowed deeply. “We have arrived, Your Grace.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
He had not been away for so long that he had forgotten what his own country estate looked like. Leo swallowed hard. Lydia, the lively and beautiful Duchess of Farnham, was dead, and yet Groveswood Estate was as green and beautiful as ever.
Leo, Lydia’s husband, fixed his gaze on the rolling green fields, the lush trees, and the carefully manicured gardens. His country estate bore not a single fingerprint of grief, and it seemed somehow to be a cruel injustice. Lydia was gone from the world, and nature had forgotten her the moment her body was placed in the ground.
She had loved Groveswood best, and that was why Leo had waited five years before returning. He had thought that the wounds of Lydia’s death had healed enough. He had imagined himself stoically and bravely approaching his estate, the place where his beloved wife had run like a wild thing through the trees and past the pond. It hurt more than he expected.
The house was unchanged, too.
As Leo climbed the stairs towards the entryway, he saw a flutter of faces and fingers peering at him from behind the house’s curtains. They were gone a second later. Leo clenched his jaw. He had not informed the household that his arrival was to be expected, and he was certain they were gossiping about him.
They would have gossiped anyway. Everyone had their theories about Lydia’s death, and Leo found himself figuring in many of them. As if his wife’s death was not a great enough wound, he also had to endure the indignity and sorrow of being thought hermurderer.
The door opened, and the butler bowed deeply. “Your Grace, it is an honor to greet you. We were unaware that we ought to expect you, but the staff are preparing supper and your rooms for you. You have my sincerest apologies for not being ready for your arrival.”
The butler was familiar. Nathanial Jones had served Leo’s family for two generations. None of the maids hurrying about looked familiar, though. Leo grimaced. How many of the staff had abandoned their posts because of the rumors? How many had remained anyway and thought him a killer?
“May I take your coat, Your Grace?”
Leo surrendered the garment, eyes searching for anything different. The entryway was entirely unchanged, though. There was the familiar Persian rug and the portrait of his great-great-grandfather. The busts on the mantle of the fireplace were unchanged.
“As long as everything is prepared quickly,” Leo said curtly. “Is my study in order, at least?”
“We need to light a fire to warm the room,” Nathanial replied, “and I imagine that you would like—”
“See to it,” Leo interrupted. “I will remain there until supper is prepared for me.”
Leo set his course toward his study, noting with displeasure that a few maids stepped out of his path. They looked like frightened hares, their eyes wide as they watched him. He did not recognize either of them, which meant they were hired after Lydia’s death. It was clear howtheythought the late duchess had died.
“Have brandy sent to me,” Leo called over his shoulder. “My journey from London has been long, and I would like to rest in my own home.”
“At once, Your Grace!” the butler replied.
Leo reached the second floor, passing several servants. They bowed to him, as expected, but Leo knew it was surely feigned respect. He left whispers in his wake. Leo drew his shoulders back and clenched his jaw. His study was blissfully empty and clean. The air was still and stale.
Scowling, Leo seated himself behind his desk and fixed his attention on the dead fireplace across from him. At least, this room was not one he associated with Lydia. She had seldom come here. This room was too small and dark for her. She preferred the open spaces of the estate grounds and the sunlight pouring through the windows of the drawing room and parlor.
A polite knock cut through Leo’s thoughts. “Enter!” he said, trying to assert every ounce of ducal authority that he could into his voice.
The door opened, and a woman entered. She was tall and broad with thick, white hair pulled sternly back. Wrinkles lined her face like the bark of a tree, a testament to her decades of life, but her green eyes were alight with mischief and youthful enthusiasm. For a heartbeat, Leo simply stared at her.
Everything within him softened, his ill temper and melancholy melting away like frost before the spring.
She curtsied. “Your Grace.”
“Mrs. Gunderson,” he said, standing. “You look well.”
Mrs. Gunderson, the housekeeper, approached him with a small, wry smile. “And you are a sight for my tired, old eyes, Your Grace. Are you all right?”
“As well as I can be,” Leo replied. “Worse than I ought to be.”
There was only a moment of hesitation. Then Mrs. Gunderson pulled him into a tight embrace. He tensed. Ordinarily, the impropriety of the gesture would not have vexed him. Leo had not always been a man who was terribly concerned with such expectations.
