The Duke Read Online Free PDF Page B

of his quill as he sat hunched over a thick ledger. His only servant, the sharp-eared Fraser, had just told him that Percy had returned. Damned blighter. What the hell did he want this time? Stupid question. Money, of course. Well, there was no money for him, not a bloody sou, so let him flatter Lady Adella’s beautiful eyebrows and sharp wit. It made no difference. Of course, he wouldn’t be surprised if the old woman lied to him and made him all sorts of promises. He wouldn’t put anything past her.
    He forced himself back to the column of numbers, neatly entered row upon row in the account book. Stark numbers. Very bad numbers, their sums leaving his belly cramping.
    Penderleigh had lost ground this year, what with Angus dying bringing his creditors demanding payment, and the black-faced sheep’s wool bringing much less than expected at Sterling market. The English duke wasn’t going to like it one bit.
    He ran ink-stained fingers through the shock of dark red hair that fell habitually over his forehead. A disinherited grand nephew he might be, but old Angus had known his worth and trusted him to eke out every possible groat from the estate. His eyes burned as hegazed down at the scraggly numbers, little useless numbers, and he felt again a stab of real fear. Angus was dead and now he might very well find both himself and his gouty father tossed unceremoniously off Penderleigh land. How would he be able to convince the man of business the English duke would send that he had tried to force economics, indeed, that the castle and dower house were in a fair way of crumbling about their ears because he’d not allowed funds to make repairs? That was in a fair way to being a good jest. What funds? It hadn’t been all that difficult.
    He glanced up as Fraser, his step soundless despite his stout body, poked his round face into the small, sunny room and coughed discreetly. Bertrand looked up and nodded.
    â€œMaster Bertrand, yer father’s just heard tell of Master Percival’s a-comin’ to the castle. He be in a tither, if ye ken me meanin’.”
    â€œAye, Fraser, I ken all too well. Tell him I shall join him presently. Tell him not to worry about Percy. Tell him that Percy is the least of our problems. Wait, I’ll tell him all that. Don’t you worry, Fraser.”
    â€œOch, no matter what ye say, it’s still a bad time, wi’ Master Percival bein’ aboot.” Fraser shook his grizzled head, his enduring smile fading a bit.
    â€œDon’t worry, Fraser,” Bertrand said again. “Percival is naught but a buzzing, bothersome fly. It’s the English duke, our new master, who will tighten the collars about our necks. It just might be the killing blow. Then all of us will be looking about for a way to feed ourselves. Do you know how to fish, Fraser?”
    â€œA bit. I love abalone, but I can’t catch it. Ye’re right, Master Bertrand, we would be in a bad way if what ye say comes true. Ye really believe that the dook be like the Black Cumberland?”
    Bertrand laughed humorlessly as he rose from his chair. “This isn’t seventeen forty-six, Fraser, and theEnglish duke wasn’t born yet. Doubtless, though, he’s a proud man and, like all the English, disdainful of the Scots. Ye know, of course, that it’s likely he’ll dispatch one of his London men here to grub about and accuse us of stealing from him.”
    Fraser’s intelligent, close-set brown eyes, as round as his face, narrowed, but he remained silent. He said finally, “Not a blithering thing we can do aboot it now, master. Ye’d best go on to yer father’s room. I canna be sure, but my ears tell me he’s a-pokin’ his stick on the floor. I’ll hae some tea brewin’ fer ye an’ bring it.”
    Bertrand left the book room with a lagging step. As he mounted the decrepit stairs to the upper floor of the dower house and his