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  With a perpetual scowl, the butler saw her to her mother’s sitting room near the back garden before departing with Mary’s lady’s maid on his heels.

  “If it isn’t my ruined daughter,” said the voice in steely austerity.

  “Lovely exchanging pleasantries with you, too, Mother.”

  Mary took the seat across from the dowager duchess, leaning against the chairback in an unladylike slouch she knew would annoy her. Catherine took her daughter’s measure with a quick glance and narrowed eyes.

  The afternoon sun filled the room with warm and welcoming light, shadowed only by the neighboring trees and their lingering autumn leaves. Tall casement windows lined one wall, overlooking the tree-spotted lawn out to the arboured entrance of a walled rose garden. Peeking through the iron gate were Catherine’s prized China roses. If only her mother could be as pleasant as the view.

  Returning her mother’s haughty expression, Mary arched an eyebrow.

  “You are a spoiled girl with no respect for yourself, your family, or the rules by which we live,” Catherine said.

  “I hardly call ignoring me during childhood, then trying to pawn me off on aged nobles before I reached my sixteenth birthday spoiling me, nor do I consider refusing to be pawned a lack of respect.” Mary tilted her chin, her hands folded in her lap.

  “You’re spiteful,” her mother responded.

  “Speaking when spoken to is not considered spiteful, Mother. Now, did I come for you to accuse me of my ruin, or shall we ring for tea and discuss this marvelous weather we’re having today?”

  Ignoring Mary’s quip, Catherine said, “You’ve ruined yourself with that boy. I’m ashamed to call you my daughter.”

  “Oh, so you know about our trysts and our lovemaking until dusk?”

  Catherine’s eyes widened, her eyebrows lifting into her hairline. “How dare you, you insolent child.”

  “Was that not the ruin to which you referred?”

  “I’ll not listen to such vulgarity. I’ve shown you nothing but kindness and done my part in trying to see you settled; yet these words are how you thank me. You slash at my heart with filthy lies. Don’t think I don’t know every step you take. Don’t think I didn’t have you followed on your so-called trysts. Don’t think he wouldn’t have come to collect his reward had you succumbed to his seduction. You’re a fool.”

  With a tight-lipped smile, Mary asked, “Then to what sort of ruin do you refer?”

  “You know very well. You’ve paraded yourself to and from that house bearing our coat of arms. You’ve entered that boy’s bedchamber time and again, bold as brass. Your behavior is disgraceful. I would expect this impropriety from his family, but not from you.”

  “He’s been ill, Mother, unconscious during the visits. Each time I’ve had a chaperone present. Not a compromising situation, is it? But then, so what if it is? I suppose we’ll be forced to marry.” She said the last with a smirk.

  “I could never allow such a union. He is nothing in our world, the youngest son to another youngest son. His blood is polluted, mixed with that of heathens. He hasn’t even the courtesy, respect, or wherewithal to formally court you or seek your family’s permission to do so. Now he has even less to recommend him. He—”

  “He didn’t ask your permission because he knew your answer.”

  “Don’t interrupt me.” Her black eyes pinned Mary to the chair. “Now, I ask you, what sort of a man arranges trysts with a fifteen-year-old girl rather than publicly court her? Not an honorable man. What sort of a man abandons the girl he claims to love to play soldier? Not an honorable man.”

  “He—”

  Holding up her hand to silence Mary, Catherine said, “Before you attempt to throw at me his baronetcy, know that I’m aware of it, but such a title does not an honorable man make. I forbid you from seeing him again.”

  Mary sat up, spine straight, shoulders back. “You cannot forbid me from doing anything. I’ve reached my majority. Before you threaten to toss me out on my ear, know that I answer to no one but the Duke of Annick. And I have his full support.”

  “You disgrace this family.”

  “From my estimation, you’re the only person with qualms. You wouldn’t care if I fell in love with a prince. All you care about is my obedience to wed someone of your choosing.”

  Overlapping voices rose in crescendo as each spoke at the same time, determined to be heard.

  “You’ve made it clear I must renew my efforts to find you a suitable spouse,” Catherine said. “The pool will have decreased given your advanced age, but we can assuredly do better than a disabled baronet.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that I am not solely the daughter of a duke?” Mary said, talking over her mother. “Has it occurred to you that I am a person? That I have dreams and hopes and fears of my own?”

  Catherine’s voice trumpeted over Mary’s. “There is no place for dreams, hopes, and fears for women of our station. There is only duty.”

  “You’ve never even tried to know me,” Mary said, her words drowning out her mother’s. “You’ve never had a single conversation with me.”

  “Silence!” Catherine commanded, pounding a fist into her palm.

  A hush blanketed the room. Mary observed her mother’s lips trembling with anger.

  “Our time is at an end. I have more pressing engagements,” Catherine said at last.

  Dr. Knowlton’s departure marked a milestone in Duncan’s progress. Nothing physical changed, but Duncan accepted the responsibility that he and he alone must make a change in his life. He had to accept his circumstances while simultaneously focusing on improvement.

  The villagers called on him, two and three at a time, filling the afternoon calling hours. Day after day, they filed in, an inspiration. A few cast such pitying looks that he ground his teeth until they left. Others could not quite meet his eyes, as though his condition made them uncomfortable. The majority, however, were supportive and loving. It was the local blacksmith who took on construction of the Bath chairs, starting on the indoor chair first. He took pride in this project and hoped to have it to the family by the end of the week.

  However much Duncan had dreaded the calls from neighbors, their visits cheered him in ways he had never expected. There was such an outpouring of love that he did not dare disappoint them by wallowing in self-pity and returning to his bed.

  An hour each evening was reserved for Bernard’s bedtime reading. Duncan heartily despised not being able to carry the sleeping boy to the nursery, but his Papa took great pleasure in the task on Duncan’s behalf. The evenings were not the only time spent with the boy. Throughout the day, Duncan thought of excuses to send for Bernard. A quick joke he wanted to tell before he forgot it. A game he wanted to play. A part of a book he needed Bernard to read to him. Anything to spend more time with his son. It was with him that Duncan felt the most alive, the most positive about the future.

  Today marked the day the steward from Sidwell Hall would arrive. Though not familiar with estate accounts, running tenant farms, or any such practices, he was eager to learn. He caught himself rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Foremost on his mind, though it realistically should be the last thing on his mind, were the stables. He wanted to know the conditions of the stables, the size, and if the setup was sufficient for a stud farm. Something he did not know that he would need to inquire from Mary was what she hoped to breed. Hunters? Draft? Thoroughbreds? Had she already told him thoroughbreds? He could not recall.

  There were more reasons not to pursue a courtship with Mary than he could list on a single piece of parchment, but he would not give up on their future together yet. Given his last words to her had been unforgivably harsh, she may never want to see him again. His family felt otherwise.

  Three hours before the steward was set to arrive, he called a family meeting. His sister-in-law, Miranda, was able
to attend with Quinn, their children settled in the nursery with Bernard.

  Miranda smiled encouragement. His mother worried her bottom lip. His father’s brows wrinkled with concern. Quinn leaned forward with an expectant half-smile.

  “I’ve called you all to the table,” Duncan said, “to say that I love you all, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

  A rush of overlapping words assaulted his ears as everyone talked at once, all misinterpreting his meaning. Both hands raised, palms out, he bowed his head to request silence.

  “What I mean to say is, I don’t want anyone to feel they have to nurse me. Having you all cater to my needs, entertain me, and suffer my foul moods is not a situation I want us to find ourselves. After speaking with Quinn yesterday, I’ve come to the decision that I must be as independent as possible. I want to focus on what I can do, not what I can’t do. If I know I’m going to be a burden, I can’t… I can’t live like that.”

  This time, no one spoke. Quinn gave a nod, leaning back in his chair. Everyone else sat motionless.

  “Be honest, please,” Duncan said. “If there’s a remote chance I’ll be a burden, I will remove myself to Sidwell Hall as soon as the steward arrives. I don’t wish to stay if I’m a blight.”

  His father spoke first, his bushy brows knitted. “We all want to see the hall, and we want you to see it soon. But not yet. We’re in this together, son. You could never be a burden. Whatever you want, we support. Just know we’re here for you.”

  Georgina reached a hand across the table, clasping Duncan’s. “Don’t you leave me until I’m ready. I say now, I’m not ready.”

  Duncan was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He did not want to burden them, but neither was he ready to do any of this on his own. Waking each day in a strange, family-less home while he was still coming to terms with his situation sounded nothing short of a nightmare. But he would not burden them. They had their own lives to live.

  Duncan cast a smile around the table. “I’m sorry for being a selfish nit. This is about all of you as much as it is about me.”

  “Truth is, we need you,” Miranda said, her smile holding steady. “You’re an integral part of this family. For too long, you’ve been away. Now that we have you back, we’re not letting go.”

  His eyes feeling warm and wet, he glanced at his brother, who nodded again, emboldening Duncan to voice what he had been thinking all day.

  “In that case, here goes.” He exhaled a deep breath. “I’ve set goals, milestones, really. You’ll think me mad but hear me out. My first milestone, something I’ll need considerable help with, is to mount Caesar.”

  As he suspected, the room erupted with noise, protests volleyed. He waited for them to say their piece.

  When the room grew quiet again, he said, “Whether or not I regain the use of my legs, I need to be able to ride. The stablemaster is the best choice for helping me into the saddle. He’s the strongest servant we have, as far as I’m aware. I’m not saying this will be easy, but I want on my horse. I can’t sit here day in and day out, not even with occupation.”

  Georgina launched into a tirade of what ifs that all ended in certain death. Miranda joined the naysaying. Sean rubbed his chin, staring at the table.

  Not until his father cleared his throat did the objections quiet. “I’ve not mentioned this, but it seems a good time to do so. I’ve a letter from the Duke of Annick with plans for a mounting platform.”

  The chatter started up again, everyone questioning at once.

  He continued, “The idea, says His Grace, came from Lady Mary.” He cast a knowing glance at Duncan. “The platform, according to the plans, would ramp on one side and step up on the other to meet a plateau in the middle. This would make for an easy mount with the aid of grooms.”

  Duncan’s heart pounded at the mention of Mary’s name. He could hardly hide his excitement that she had been thinking of him rather than fuming in anger or rejection. Leave it to Mary to know what to do. If he could not swallow his elation, he would end up grinning like an idiot before his family.

  “Handrails,” Duncan said. “It needs to have handrails.”

  His father quizzed him with a stare.

  “With the right handrails, I could hoist myself onto the saddle.” When his mother huffed, he chuckled. “You underestimate my strength.”

  At his wink, she rolled her eyes.

  Each day followed the same rigorous regimen. At dawn, Duncan awoke and rang for his valet Peter who, with the help of a footman, moved Duncan to the middle of the room. Once alone again, Duncan undertook a series of exercises lasting approximately two hours.

  The workout began with tricep dips off the side of a table. Then came bicep curls with a set of dumbbells one of the grooms found for him. The abdominal crunches required extra effort to keep his legs steady, namely tying his feet to the legs of the table. Push-ups were next, which occurred in two rounds, one set on the floor and the other set with his legs planked on the table. The most awkward exercise, which left his forearms sore, was the arm crawl from one side of the room to the other. While not the most attractive of movements, it was invigorating, not to mention strengthening. He followed this with a series of practical workouts, such as attempting to lift himself into a chair without tipping over either the chair or himself.

  Fitness was not new to him. As an officer, he had pushed his men to stay fit, providing himself as an example. They fenced, boxed, played cricket and bowls, lifted weights, and did chin lifts on tree branches before chopping them into firewood. When the opportunity presented itself, they swam.

  Regardless of what the future brought to his legs, he would continue his regimen. Never again would he feel weak or helpless.

  Only when sweat dripped from his brow did he stop his morning workout and call for Peter. Depending on the day and circumstances, Peter would prepare a bath or bring the basin stand for Duncan to refresh and clean before a close shave, followed by the dreaded dressing—Duncan’s least favorite part of the day. Next came the punctual arrival of his morning meal. Such a time as this made him all the more excited for the Bath chair to arrive, for it would enable him to join his family for the breaking of their fast.

  The longest part of the day began with two footmen carrying him to the parlor at the end of the hallway. This would be his second to least favorite part of the day, being carried. It was unmanning. It was also a necessity until the chair arrived. Once situated near the hearth, his feet propped on a footstool, he spent hours with other people.

  His family came first, eager to share with him stories from the village, letters from his siblings, or the progress of the mounting platform. The Sidwell Hall steward took his family’s place shortly after. The man, a slight fellow with heavily pomaded hair and spectacles, had agreed to stay as a guest for several days before returning to the hall.

  Duncan met with him every day, pouring over the accounts, learning the tenant farmer names and specialties, visualizing the layout of the land, and asking endless questions. Rather than seem perturbed, the steward was excited by Duncan’s interest. The previous owner had loved the land and people as though he had built it all with his bare hands. These were big shoes to fill. Duncan had no idea what he was doing. With the help of Mr. McLarren, Duncan saw a rhythm to the place. Even the farming techniques used, which he knew nothing about until the steward explained them, seemed logical. There was a clear strategy employed not much different in craftsmanship than his attack and defense plans. If he could lead a regiment, he could run an estate.

  Once the steward departed to do whatever it was he did as a guest at Cois Greta Park, the villagers arrived to call on Duncan, a new set each day, none staying beyond a half hour, some less. By the end of the afternoon, he was exhausted and stiff from sitting in the same chair for hours. It was not yet time to move, though.

  The nurse brought in Bernard for game time. Th
e two played pantomimes, name games, counting games, color games, animal noise games, and any other game Duncan could invent to entertain the boy until they were both in tears of laughter. Only when Bernard returned to the nursery did Duncan have the opportunity to move.

  The same two footmen carried him from parlor back to bedchamber where he ate a hearty dinner and read a book. This was also his time to plan the potential stud farm. His steward had brought all the information he had on the stables and grooms, data Duncan studied at length, putting quill to paper as to what else would be needed to make Mary’s dream come true. He had little to recommend himself at the present, but by Jove, he could make this dream come true.

  Each evening came to a close with a second visit from Bernard for their reading time. Duncan read until the boy could no longer open his eyes, at which time the nurse, the boy’s grandpapa, or sometimes his grandmama would carry him back to the nursery.

  This was the time when Duncan propped himself against the headboard and, by the light of a single bedside candle, focused on moving his legs. He stared at one leg at a time, willing it to lift, cajoling a toe to wiggle, begging a foot to flex. Nothing happened, but he kept at it each night until the candle snuffed out. At times, he would swear he felt a tickle at the base of his foot. Other times, he was positive he saw a twitch of muscle. But then, his eyes were tired, his body exhausted, and the lighting poor.

  Chapter 12

  An arm over his eyes, he groaned to wake from such a lucid dream. Mary had been straddling him, head back in a cry of passion. If only he could have another hour to sleep. What he would not give to return to that vision and explore the myriad expressions of Mary being pleasured.

  With a harrumph, he propped himself on his elbows. The room had already been prepared for morning. A mug of coffee sat on his nightstand. A low fire glowed in the hearth to combat the autumn chill. The curtains had been pulled from the windows, letting in a grey glow.