Free Heartless by Mary Balogh Page B

In those days he had been an even worse marksman than they had given him credit for. They had accused him—and convicted him—of trying to kill for the heirship to the title and the fortune and for Henrietta. They had not known the true story: they thought that Henrietta had preferred George to him and had been indiscreet with him, ignoring her promise to marry Luke. They had assumed that the challenge had been made out of jealous rage. In reality he had issued the challenge for the mere sake of making a point. For the sake of honor.
    And because he had been devastated by a sense of betrayal. George, four years older than he, had always been his idol. And he had returned from his Grand Tour looking very grand and dashing. George had always been extremely handsome—as Ashley was now. Luke had spent time with him, drinking in the accounts of his brother’s travels, reveling in the pleasure of his company again. And then George had stolen his woman in the cruelest possible manner.
    No, it was not a memory to be revived. Luke was not surprised that he had suppressed it so ruthlessly. But Henrietta had been forced to live with it for ten years—or for eight, rather, until George’s death. She had found no happiness with him—both William and her letter told him that.
    But she was still the Duchess of Harndon. And she had plans for sweeping renovations at Bowden Abbey, plans of which his mother disapproved. He was being invited home so that he could take sides. So that he could take Henrietta’s side. He hated the thought of becoming involved in such a dispute.
    He did not care what they did with Bowden. They could burn the house down and lay waste the land for all he cared. And yet, unbidden, the memories came back of the home he had loved as a boy. He did not know quite what Henrietta had in mind, but he could not picture Bowden renovated. There was a fine air of antiquity about the old abbey even though architectural changes down the centuries had almost totally obscured the ecclesiastical origins of the house. He feared that if he must take sides, he would take his mother’s.
    And clearly Colby was not doing a good job and must be replaced. Yet how could he replace the steward unless he observed for himself what the man was doing or not doing? Would it be fair to discharge him on hearsay evidence or on the evidence of the books for which he was planning to send? Or even on a personal visit by his steward to London?
    He was going to have to go down there himself, Luke thought with a dull certainty. Devil take it all, he was going to have to go.
    If he went home he would be caught in the middle of a petty squabble, the duchess, his sister-in-law, on one side and the dowager duchess, his mother, on the other.
    Unless . . .
    He held the completion of the thought at bay while his valet helped him into his coat and he picked up his tricorne hat and his cane.
    Unless he took home with him a third Duchess of Harndon. A wife.
    His mind shifted to the evening before and the ball he had attended. She was fresh and charming and innocent despite the flirtation she had engaged in quite boldly. There was a sparkle about her and an unmistakable enjoyment of life—qualities to which he was unaccustomed in a woman. He had been unexpectedly dazzled by them. He had stopped at a florist’s on his way home from his ride this morning and arranged to have a dozen red roses delivered to her. And he was to take her walking in St. James’s Park this afternoon. He had thought about it throughout his ride and at breakfast and had looked forward to it more than he could remember looking forward to anything for a long time.
    She was of suitably high rank. She was the daughter of an earl. He did not know if she had a fortune, but that point was immaterial to him. He had two vast fortunes, one that he had earned for himself and the one that had come with his title and properties two years before.
    She was