Page 1 of Debating with the Duke (Second Sons of London 2)

Chapter One

Stoneridge, Kent—August 1813

Everett climbed fromthe farmer’s cart and thanked him.

“No, Major,” said the farmer, “I must thank you for your service to king and country. It’s fine men such as you that keep our hopes alive and keep our country from falling under the hands of Bonaparte and the French.”

The farmer gazed at him questioningly. “Are you sure I can’t take you the rest of the way?”

He shook his head. “No, I think I will enjoy stretching my legs. Thank you again for your kindness in taking me this far.”

Everett gave a wave and the farmer clucked his tongue, the cart horse starting up again. He watched the cart roll away for a moment and then turned to start up the drive to Spence’s house.

England was in all its glory at this time of year. The lane leading up to Stoneridge was lined with full, mature trees and Everett could see the main house in the distance. He wondered what Spencer would think with Everett turning up unannounced this way. He had missed his friend, one he had made on their first day of school almost twenty years ago. Along with Owen, the three of them had been a tightknit brotherhood during those school years. They had added to that brotherhood at Cambridge when they met Percy and Win. Everett wasn’t bothered by leaving the war behind but he did hate walking away from his men and his other three friends. At least he would now be back with Spence for company.

His old friend had settled in at Stoneridge. Hopefully, he would be able to help Everett understand more about his responsibilities as a peer. He had still been a bit muddleheaded when he reached England and met with Mr. Scofield. Everett knew he should have gone directly to his country seat at Cliffside but he was terrified to do so.

He had no idea how to be a duke.

Since Spencer was now the Earl of Middlefield and had held the title for almost a year, Everett hoped his friend would be able to show him the ropes. His head still spun at the number of properties he held and the vast amount of wealth that accompanied them. Mr. Scofield had told him there were only a handful of dukes in all of England—and that Everett was among the wealthiest of that select group of peers. He wanted to do right by his people on his many estates.

He also knew he must provide an heir.

He vowed to himself once that heir did arrive that he would teach the boy everything he needed to know to be a good duke.

The idea of marriage, however, terrified him. He was not simply reserved, as Spence and Percy. Everett was incredibly shy. Owen had been the one who had drawn him out from himself but Everett still felt uncomfortable around people, especially in a social situation.

It struck him as he walked briskly toward the house that Spence might not even be in residence. If his friend had ideas of fathering an heir of his own, he most likely would have attended the London Season. All Everett knew was that it started immediately after Easter but he had no clue as to when it ended. Spence might still be in London. He should have thought of that before he left town and came directly to Stoneridge.

He slowed his pace, uncertainty filling him. If Spence wasn’t here, he supposed his friendship would be enough to have the butler grant him a night’s respite. Hopefully, the stablemaster might even lend him a horse in order for him to travel to Cliffside, his country seat fifteen miles away.

Anxiety filled him as he approached the front door and knocked. It was answered by a butler who looked at Everett’s uniform and smiled.

“Welcome, Major,” the butler greeted. “I am Callender. Might you be a friend of Lord Middlefield’s?”

Everett nodded. “I am, Callender. Is Lord Middlefield at home or is he still in London for the Season?”

“His lordship is at Stoneridge and I am certain he will be pleased to see you, Major. Shall I take you to him?”

“I would like that very much, Callender.”

“Follow me, Sir,” the butler said, leading him to a side parlor. “If you will wait a few minutes, Major, I will tell Lord Middlefield you are here. Might I give him your name?”

Everett said, “Please tell him the Duke of Camden is here to see him.”

Callender’s brows rose a good inch. “Of course, Your Grace. Please excuse me.”

The butler vanished and Everett paced about the small room, wondering if he should have used his title. It was the first time he had done so. He knew servants always announced a visitor by his or her title and name. He had resigned his commission so, strictly speaking, he was no longer Major Wayland. If he was going to be the duke he wanted to be, he must start thinking of himself as one.

Then he realized that Spence would think it was Mervyn who had come to call upon him. Unless Spence had heard of Mervyn’s ghastly murder. Either way, Everett was looking forward to seeing the look on his friend’s face.

The butler returned and said, “Lord Middlefield will see you now, Your Grace. Please come with me.”

Instead of leading Everett up the stairs, the butler went down a corridor and entered a room which looked to be Spence’s study. Callender went to the French doors and said, “His lordship is taking tea outside, Your Grace. I will bring another cup.”

Everett moved toward the door and the butler opened it for him. He grinned, eager to see how Spence reacted, and stepped through the doors.

As expected, his friend’s face was wary to start. Then he realized it wasn’t Mervyn at all. Spence leaped to his feet, closing the short distance between them, throwing his arms about Everett.

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