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“Has he told you anything?” William asked, eyes skimming the letter. Samuel had informed him of the gist of its contents, but he had to read it himself.
“No, Your Grace. I did not get a chance to see him, in fact. I was given this letter through his clerk.”
“Ah.” William tossed the letter aside. Fury rushed throughout him, but he managed to get to his feet without lashing out at something else. He ignored the trembling steward as he walked by and poured himself another glass of brandy at the sideboard. He didn’t speak again until the burning liquid had found its way to the pit of his stomach.
“There is no need to be so afraid, Samuel,” William said in a gruff voice.
Samuel nodded jerkily. “I-I know, Your Grace. I will try my best to work on it.”
William doubted it. Samuel had been his steward for a few years now and though the rail-thin man had grown used to William’s bursts of anger, it didn’t curb his skittish nature. He jumped at shadows, quaked if someone dared to change their tone when speaking with him, and shied away from any form of confrontation. The only reason William cared to keep him as his steward was because Samuel was the smartest man he knew. He was even willing to bet that he was the smartest man in all of London.
But right now, William couldn’t handle his jumpy behavior. “You may leave,” he dismissed. “Go home to your family and rest for the day. Return here tomorrow.”
“But, Your Grace—” He cut off when William looked at him, swallowing. Samuel quickly bowed. “Yes, Your Grace. Please, enjoy the rest of your day.”
I sincerely doubt that is a possibility.
He didn’t watch Samuel go. From the distance, William stared at the slip of paper he could still see on his desk, feeling his rage grow once more. He’d known that the estates would be in such a deplorable state. He’d known that the work he would have to expend to ensure that this didn’t get any worse would only anger and wear him. But now that he was faced with that reality, all William could think about was the long nights the previous Duke had spent away from home. The inebriated state William would find him in the following morning. The distress of his stepmother, which had driven her to an early grave.
Some days, William wished the Duchess of Brandon had not fallen so in love with his father. William felt he would have been much better off had his father remained in India and had never met the Duchess at all.
Would things truly have been better?
The fact that he wasn’t sure how to answer that question bothered him even more. With a grunt, William set the glass back onto the sideboard and made for the door. A walk would do him good. He’d be able to clear his mind and be ready for the painstaking task that was waiting for him when he returned to his study.
The moment he left, his long strides already eating up the distance between his study and the gardens, Elizabeth’s imaged drifted into his mind. His body tensed at the memory of the confusion and hurt on her face when they’d spoken earlier this morning. Something that felt like regret began to nag at him.
But that cannot be. She was not supposed to find me in the first place. I should not feel bad for sending her away when all she wants to do is intrude on this new life I have.
Telling himself that did not help to quell that unsteady feeling growing within him. After he’d left the drawing room, following her bold declaration, he’d ordered Harold to have her escorted from the manor. That had been a little over an hour ago, so she was sure to be back in her own bedchamber by now.
“Your Grace!”
William came to a stop, turning. Harold stood on the other end of the long hallway and he began to make his way over in quick strides. He was breathless when he made it up to William, looking a bit put out.
William frowned. “What has gotten you so flustered?”
Harold swallowed and straightened, visibly bringing himself to some level of normalcy. His gaze was directed right over William’s shoulder, a constant reminder that Harold was slowly going blind in one eye. William had suggested that he retire, telling Harold that he would ensure he and his family would be well taken care of. After all, Harold had proven to be of great assistance—and even a friend—when William had first moved into the Duchess’ household. He held the man dear to his heart, even though he was not the very best at showing it.
Harold had pointedly declined the suggestion, saying that he would serve the Brandon Dukedom until his dying breath. William had to admire such loyalty.
