Page 9 of Masquerading with the Duke
Man and dog found Gregson awaiting them in the entrance vestibule. Impeccably attired, with highly polished shoes and not a hair out of place, Jared briefly wondered if he had slept and if so, how early he had been required to rise in order to present a picture of such sartorial elegance.
‘Morning, Gregson,’ Jared said, feeling shabby and underdressed in comparison.
‘Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well and found everything to your satisfaction.’
‘I did indeed, Gregson. Slept like a baby. Not used to fresh air, it knocks a man out. Anyway, this chap and I shall take a turn outside. I will break my fast in an hour. Oh, and Gregson, lay out breakfast in the morning room. No need to go to the trouble of setting the large dining room up just for me.’
‘As you wish, sir. Some letters have arrived for you.’
Jared didn’t doubt it. He had a fair idea whom at least one of them must be from and somehow resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His family didn’t believe in letting the grass grow beneath their feet and were too thick skinned to accept defeat, graciously or otherwise.
‘Thank you, Gregson. Leave them on the desk in the library. I will get to them later.’
Jared wandered outside with no intention of spoiling his first morning as a man free of governmental responsibility by fending off his relations’ appeals for financial help. Not that they would be crass enough to make the demand outright. Guilt and inuendo was more their way.
Thor scuttled ahead of him, his body parting the overgrown shrubs as he sniffed out interesting messages left by the nocturnal creatures that had so offended Ramsay’s sensibilities. Jared hadn’t had the time to examine the gardens on his only previous visit but could see now that they would be spectacular when restored. They’d be a talking point. He was fond of gardens artfully arranged to make them look as though they had happened by accident and was impatient to see his grounds subjected to that treatment.
His stroll took him to the doors of the cottage set aside for the steward. The key was attached to a small bunch in his pocket, which he produced. He managed to open the swollen door by applying his shoulder to it and giving it a hefty shove. It gave way reluctantly, the sound of protesting wood scraping against the flagstoned floor. Releasing the trapped dust, fetid air and the smell of something that had been dead for some time, Jared stood back and fanned his face with his hand. Not similarly deterred, Thor scampered inside and returned almost immediately with a dead pigeon, presumably responsible in part for the smell, clenched between his jaws. He seemed disappointed when Jared ordered him to drop his prize, but he did so and looked up, wagging his tail expectantly.
Jared wandered through the house. Apart from the warped front door, the windows and roof appeared sound. He would have Ramsay arrange for men to fix up what needed fixing and then have his maids give it a good clean. He was enthusiastic now to get a steward in place so that they could plan a strategy to bring his acres back to profitability. There was no reason, he thought, why he shouldn’t do that and attempt to discover the identity of the traitor at the same time. If the man lived locally and suspected that Jared knew his identity, he would be keen to silence him before he could take his suspicions to a higher authority. That being the case, Jared knew there was every chance of another attempt being made on his life.
With such gloomy speculations percolating through his brain, he wandered back outside, relocked the door and continued with his perambulation. It was only nine in the morning but already hot and humid, the sun majestic in a clear blue sky. He walked beyond the old vegetable garden to the start of the fields that he hoped to see under crop by this time next year, then turned his mind to thoughts of livestock. A steward who knew his business would be able to advise him on a subject that he admittedly knew little about, but was more than ready to learn.
He thought of going on to the tenants’ cottages but decided against it. Once a steward was in place, it would be his responsibility to oversee the restorations and find suitable occupants for the dwellings.
Jared threw back his head and breathed in the clean, fresh country air, telling himself that he was content, that he had done the right thing. His walk drew him towards a tributary of the river Itchen that ran through his property. Today it was a half-hearted trickle, but Jared had been told that there was good fishing to be had when the river was fuller. It flowed westerly over a chalky bed through water meadows and provided an abundant supply of brown trout. It continued on past Jared’s land to flow almost beneath the shadow of Winchester Cathedral and out into open country, supplying a livelihood in various guises for locals and poachers alike.
Thor had no respect for the fishing rights or the preserve of locals and splashed enthusiastically in the shallows, making Jared smile. Once it rained and the river was in full flow again, Jared suspected that instead of fishing, he would indulge his love of swimming, assured of privacy on his own land. It was an appealing idea, and one of the deciding factors that he’d taken into account when buying the estate
He whistled to Thor, who had already emerged from the river, shaken himself off and turned his attention to chasing down yet another interesting aroma. The young dog’s energy was near-inexhaustible, even in this heat. Together they returned to the house. Jared breakfasted in a leisurely fashion, and then retired to his library.
‘I am expecting Braithwaite in an hour,’ he told Gregson. ‘Let me know as soon as he arrives.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Jared threw open the library windows. An overgrown hollyhock in full bloom flopped its heavy head through the opening, as though demanding to know who the devil he thought he was. Thor, who had been fed in the kitchens, followed Jared into the room still smacking his lips together and flopped down in front of the window, presumably in the hope of catching a breeze. He was likely to be disappointed, Jared knew, since there wasn’t a breath of wind to be had.
Sighing, Jared turned his attention to the correspondence that awaited him. A couple of legal documents pursuant to the purchase of this property and something official from the foreign office regarding the termination of his employment were set aside for the attention of a solicitor. He would ask Braithwaite to recommend someone local. The letter he had both expected and dreaded sat at the bottom of the small pile. He slit open the seal, recognising his older brother’s hand, and knew it would contain a mild threat of some kind.
He discovered upon reading it that his mother’s health was much improved. Since she had the constitution of an ox and to the best of his knowledge was never unwell—she looked upon illness as a weakness of which she did not approve—Jared saw through the veiled criticism and refused to feel guilty. His brother Arthur had inherited the family home in central London and responsibility for their mother along with it. She lived permanently with Arthur and his family, interfering at every turn and generally throwing her weight around.
Jared hadn’t expected to benefit from his father’s estate and preferred to disassociate himself from a man of such questionable loyalties anyway, which was just as well since no provision had been made for him. Now the tables had been reversed. Jared, using a small legacy and his own wits, had increased his fortune exponentially. He wondered sometimes if his substantial and unexplained wealth could be the reason why suspicion always fell upon him whenever secrets leaked out. He could explain how he amassed his fortune and perhaps he would, if anyone bothered to ask him. And if he decided it was any of their damned business. But nobody had asked, so the cloud of suspicion continued to hover over Jared’s loyalties.
Arthur, in contrast, had taken bad advice, had developed a yen for gambling for high stakes, and was in dun territory as a consequence. Suddenly, the younger son of whom the rest of the family had never approved because he was his father’s most outspoken critic could do no wrong. Jared had felt obliged to pay a duty call to Charterhouse Square upon his return to England. Arthur’s wife Camilla and his mother, both of whom he disliked, descended upon him like vultures and paraded him in front of just about every eligible young woman they could coerce him into being polite to, most especially a rather formidable Miss Elliott.
Their intentions were as transparent as their lack of finesse. Miss Elliott was a little long in the tooth and her wealthy father was becoming increasingly desperate to marry her off. Presumably her massive dowry made her an attractive proposition, regardless of her plain looks, grim countenance and opinionated character, but it seemed the lady had a mind of her own and had adamantly refused all offers that came her way. But Jared, it seemed, had met with her approval and he suspected that her father had promised Arthur a handsome handout if he brought the match about.
Sadly for his brother, Jared had no intention of obliging him.
Jared leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly and letting out a string of soft curses when Arthur’s letter informed him that he, Camilla and their mother had a yen to see his estate; an estate that Arthur had advised Jared most forcibly not to purchase. It was, he knew, a rather blatant attempt to extract funds from Jared in return for not inflicting him with their unwanted company.
Jared penned a curt reply. Without mincing his words, he made it clear that he would not be entertaining in the foreseeable future since the house was not habitable; nor would he help Arthur to keep the bailiffs from his door. He had brought his problems upon himself. His family were, of course, welcome to visit but they would have to put up at the village tavern. He chuckled as he sealed his letter, knowing that his words would cause offence and that they wouldn’t lower themselves to such a degree. They might have pockets to let but they still maintained standards.
When Gregson appeared to inform Jared of Braithwaite’s arrival, he took the opportunity to tell his butler that he would not be at home to callers.
‘There are likely to be a few,’ he said. ‘No doubt the locals will be curious to know who’s taken the place on. For now, let them leave their cards; nothing more.’
‘I understand completely, sir. Shall I show Mr Braithwaite in?’
