Philip Edward Christian Farnsworth, the ninth Duke of Newbridge, stood in front of the large windows of his private study, scowling down at the lush gardens of his country seat. The window provided him with a clear view of the rolling countryside, impossibly green at this time of the year, and strangely devoid of human life— something that he found most annoying indeed. He hated the country and much preferred the bustle and noise of London to this desolate wasteland of boorish people. He cursed and turned away as a surge of cold fury surged through him. He was not in Millcote to stand around admiring the fields but to deal with a particular nuisance in the form of a certain Mr. Edward Inglewood. If his informant was correct and the fool was indeed making love to his betrothed, then he would make sure the insipid pup was silenced as quickly as possible so he could return to London and resume his duties to the Regent.
His lips quirked sardonically, and he felt a rush of excitement at the thought of a duel. Ah yes, it had been a while since his fighting skills had been called into play, and he relished the thought of soundly whipping this said Mr. Inglewood.
He picked up the slim file on his writing desk and scrutinized it once more. As usual, his secretary, George, had been very thorough in discovering all he could about the Inglewoods: an impoverished family barely clinging to a barony, consisting of an absentee father, Sir Edward Inglewood, one son, and two daughters, none of whom were married. He snorted in derision and placed the dossier back on the desk.
The fact that the son of a mere baron of no particular importance could even deign to so much as look in Miss Rosebury’s direction filled him with a cold rage that just begged to give the idiot a sound thrashing. He certainly could not fathom why the lad’s father had not put an end to his son’s frolicking, although it was possible he was not aware of it yet, or perhaps, he was in support of his son and hoped to secure the lady’s dowry to restore his impoverished accounts. At any rate, Philip did not care for the reasons but simply wanted to put a stop to such plans.
His first order of business would be to call on the Viscount and speak to his errant fiancée. He would deal with Edward Inglewood after that. Ringing the bell to summon his butler, he flipped through the dossier once more, this time paying attention to the two Misses Inglewood.
The eldest Miss Inglewood was twenty-six and clearly on the shelf. Phillip couldn’t help wondering if the girl was too plain to attract the attentions of a beau or most likely one of those bluestockings with far more interest in books than men. He dismissed her from his thoughts and focused on the younger sister. Miss Lucy was but eighteen and described as quite the beauty, with good marriage prospects. His lips twisted into a sneer. Those so-called prospects would flee for their lives by the time he was done with this family.
A discreet knock sounded at the door, and he tossed the papers
aside.
“Enter!” he called out.
His butler, Graves, entered and bowed smartly, carrying his master’s overcoat. “Your horse is ready, Your Grace.”
Philip glared at the man, a scathing retort hovering on his lips. He had requested a fresh mount a half-hour ago. “What the devil took you so
long? I may have well walked to Brushwood and back in the time it took you to fetch me a horse.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. The stable lads were not—”
“Be quiet and hand me my coat,” Philip cut in briskly. He snatched the garment and strode out the study. “I ought to terminate your services at once. You should count yourself fortunate I have no time to find myself another butler.”
Graves trembled slightly as he hurried after the Duke. He silently prayed for the Duke's business in Millcote to be concluded so the man could return to London and leave him in peace.
***
Philip dismounted at the end of the carriageway of the Rosebury’s country home, his eyes taking in his surroundings at a glance. A stable lad came up and took the reins of his mount, leading his magnificent Grey towards the stables.
Turning back in the direction he had come from, Phillip noticed the small woman he passed at the gates walking slowly toward him, favoring her right leg with each step. She was probably a maid—a lady’s maid by the looks of her drab but still slightly fashionable black dress and matching hat, indicating she was well-paid or something of the sort.
“You there, is your mistress at home?” he called out to her as she neared him.
She looked startled and turned back, apparently wondering if she was the one he addressed.
Servants! Philip groused, They are the same everywhere, nothing but incompetent fools.
“I beg your pardon?” the girl replied, her voice coming out so smooth and cultured that it took Phillip by surprise. She stopped a few feet away from him and drew herself up to her full height, still barely coming to his shoulders; she was that small.
“I asked if Miss Rosebury is home. You work here, do you not?” Philip repeated, his cold eyes sweeping over the girl. She was rather pretty—he noted in surprise—with a pair of large green eyes set in a
delicate oval face with full, supple lips. He felt a stirring in his groin as he continued looking at her and frowned. Lusting after a mere servant was not acceptable, regardless of how charming said servant looked.
“I have no idea,” the girl replied haughtily, her face flushed from his rude scrutiny of her person. “I suggest you apply yourself to the front door and discover for yourself if the lady you seek is home, or are you handicapped in some way?”
He felt a wave of anger roll through him at her words, as well as intrigue. The mocking tone with which she’d delivered them indicated that she thought him to be an imbecile of some sort. No servant or even a peer of the realm had ever used that tone on him, so was this slip of female that dared address him in such a manner?
He glowered at her, intending to put a healthy fear of him within her, but she merely sighed and limped past him without a word, leaving him confounded that he’d failed to intimidate a mere slip of a girl. He swore loudly and turned to deliver scathing words, but she had already lifted the brass knocker on the front door and was applying it with determination.
Wait a minute. Why would a servant be knocking at the front door when there should be a perfectly serviceable servant’s entrance behind? Unless…
Phillip’s sudden suspicions were confirmed when the door was opened by the Roseburys’ butler, and the man bowed respectfully upon seeing the girl.
“Good day, Miss Inglewood.”
“Good day, Snell,” Miss Inglewood replied, turning slightly to cast a brief glance at where surprised Philip stood, an unreadable look in her eyes.
“Is Miss Rosebury home? I wish to have a word with her.” “Please come in. I will inform her of your presence.” The butler
then noticed Lord Philip for the first time and bowed deeply. “Good even, Your Grace.”
Miss Inglewood stiffened, and Philip heard her shocked gasp, but she did not turn around, merely lifted her skirts and hurried into the house as though wild dogs were after her.
“So that is Miss Inglewood,” Philip mused out loud, completely ignoring the butler’s greeting. It struck him that his earlier assessment of the girl as being too plain to catch a husband was wrong. It definitely had to be the bluestocking thing then. Still, he was somewhat pleased that she was there. It would save him a trip to Inglewood Farm when he could just deliver his message to the girl.
He stepped into the large hallway of the manor just as another thought occurred to him. Why was Miss Inglewood even here? Was it possible the minx was somehow in cahoots with her brother and had come here to ensure that Jane was firmly and surely caught in their web of deceit?
“Your Grace?” Snell asked, a confused look on his wrinkled face as he shut the door behind him, perplexed as to why the Duke had stopped in the middle of the hallway.
Philip waved the question away, taking long strides in the direction of the Viscount’s study. He’d been here several times over the years that the layout of the house was familiar. His eyes fell on Miss Inglewood standing at the end of the hallway, her arms clenched tightly by her sides. She refused to look at him, simply falling into step beside Snell moving towards the drawing room reserved for guests.
Snell paused at the doorway and turned to Miss Inglewood. “If you will wait here, Miss Inglewood. I will have tea sent in shortly.”
Miss Inglewood scrambled past him into the room, and Philip chuckled. He would certainly not pass up the opportunity to interview the sister of his rival. He turned to enter the room as well.
“Would Your Grace like to wait in Lord Rosebury’s study? I shall inform him you are here.”
“There’s no need for that, Snell. I will be perfectly content to await Lord Rosebury here as well.” His tone brooked no arguments, and the butler merely nodded and walked away.
Philip entered the room, careful to avoid colliding with the furniture that seemed to fill the entire room. Miss Inglewood stood at the far end of the room close to the fireplace, her arms wrapped around her waist. She looked up as he entered and stiffened, a look of apprehension visible in those rather charming green eyes of hers.
Phillip crossed the room to stand close to her, and she looked panic-stricken.
Good, he thought in satisfaction as he watched her move ever so subtly away from him to stand by the window, making a pretext of staring outside, probably hoping to get as far away from him as possible. She must have something to hide if she was so uncomfortable in his presence.
“I was gravely mistaken in assuming you a maid, Miss Inglewood. My apologies for my ignorance.”
She let out a small sigh and nodded, finally turning to face him with a resigned look. “It was an honest mistake. I should have corrected the impression at once, however. So I am as much to blame for the error.” He clasped his hands behind his back and continued to regard her until she blushed and looked away again. “Why are you here, Miss
Inglewood?”
She bristled and clenched her small hands into fists, those huge green eyes shooting sparks of indignation his way. “I believe that is none of your business, Your Grace.”
Philip scowled at the woman. No one ever addressed him in such an impertinent manner, least of all a mere slip of a girl who by all rights should be grovelling at his feet. “You will answer my question at once, woman, or I will not be responsible for my actions,” he snarled, taking a menacing step toward her.
To his chagrin, she did not cower as he had hoped, merely tossed back her head to be able to stare up at him, a defiant look on her delicate features. For the second time in the span of a few minutes, her defiance took him by surprise.
“How dare you insult me and then threaten me all in the span of a few minutes?” she shot back angrily, clearly striving to keep her voice
down. “I do not wish to continue this discussion with you. My business is with Miss Rosebury, but perhaps I will come some other time, preferably when you are not present. Good day, Your Grace.”
She made to walk past him, but he caught her arm and jerked her to a halt.
He leaned down to her, a dangerous glint in his icy blue eyes. “Any business you have with Jane is my business as well, for you see, my dear Miss Inglewood, she is my future wife. I am very much aware of your brother sniffing where he is not welcome. Matter of fact, I am quite pleased to have this encounter with you, for you will carry my message to your brother. Tell that insolent pup if he values his life and that of your miserable family, he will keep away from Jane, or I will not hesitate to destroy him and all he holds dear, including you. I am not the man to cross, Miss Inglewood. Be warned.”
A look of pure terror crossed her pale face, and she whimpered, the sound strangely evoking some form of sympathy within him. He released her arm abruptly, and she darted past, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor of the hallway.
Philip cursed and raked his hand through his dark hair, feeling strangely like the worst sort of cad for frightening the woman, even if she deserved it.
“Your Grace?” a soft feminine voice said hesitantly from the door Miss Inglewood had just exited. He turned and saw Jane Rosebury looking at him in something akin to fright on her beautiful perfectly formed face, looking elegant as usual in an emerald green gown that somehow reminded him of the frightened woman who had just left the room. “W–what are you doing here? I thought you were still in London?”
He moved towards her, never taking his eyes off hers, and so he saw the brief flash of guilt in their blue depths. Stopping close to her, he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. “I heard something rather disconcerting from my agent last night, so I felt it pertinent to come and sort this out for myself.”
A troubled frown marred the perfection of her loveliness. “Oh. What d–disconcerting news?”
He turned her hand over and lightly traced a finger over the palms, noting the way she seemed to shrink away from his touch as though she found it unpleasant.
He frowned and dropped her hand, taking a step back and crossing to the lit fireplace. “Do not play games with me, Jane. I know everything. And you will stop this nonsense at once, or the consequences will be dire indeed. You will not want your father to find himself suddenly overrun by his creditors.”
Her face drained of every drop of colour, and she swayed precariously. “I–I–I swear to you, he means nothing to me, nothing at all. My affections for you have not changed, Your Grace. I give you my word.”
“See that you don’t. Now, go fetch your father. I wish to have a word with him.”
“Of course.” She turned and hurried away, her mind in turmoil as she wondered how on earth he had come to find out about Edward. She must warn Edward somehow, tell him to keep away until hopefully, Philip returned to London.
“He’s a beast, a horrible, cold, hard-hearted beast,” she whispered to herself.