Free The Duke by Catherine Coulter Page A

know.
    Claude cackled. “Ye’re in Scotland now, yer grace. Partan bree it is and not yer usual English fare.”
    â€œIt’s a crab soup,” Bertrand said in a friendly voice. “I hope ye’ll find it tasty.”
    â€œIt’s a lucky happenstance that we poor Scots still have the sea,” Percy said. “Even the English could not destroy that.”
    â€œOr the Danes or the Vikings or the Picts or the Britons or other unfriendly Scottish clans either, I suspect,” Ian said and saluted Percy with his spoon.
    â€œPercy, mind yer tongue,” Lady Adella sang out, “or it appears that Ian may very well nip it off. Ye’re quick-witted, yer grace, and that pleases me. So few quick wits around these days.”
    Ian lowered his head to look more closely at the partan bree. Percy had been introduced to him as Lady Adella’s grandson. Why the devil wasn’t the fellow the heir to the earldom? Perhaps that fact went a good distance in explaining his snide comments on the English in general, and himself in particular. He lifted a spoonful of the crab soup to his mouth and found the meat smooth and rich, the cream tangy. At least as yet he hadn’t any complaint to make of Scottish food.
    â€œCousin Ian,” Constance said in a soft woman’s voice, “where are yer servants? I always thought that English gentleman had simply hundreds of servants, and since ye are a duke, why ye should barely be able to move from one room to another without someone attending ye?”
    â€œI had the misfortune of breaking an axle on the carriage. My valet, Mabley, is, I hope, successfully negotiating with a blacksmith in Galashiels. I came alone in my curricle, as you know.”
    â€œYe brought only one servant?”
    He’d clearly disappointed her, this woman-girl. He said with a grin, “I’m but one man, not an entire household.” He thought of his gently sighing valet and grinned to himself. Whatever would Mabley think of the scratchy Morag?
    â€œYe came from London, yer grace?” Brandy asked.
    â€œYes, a long journey. Nearly six days. Many poorly appointed inns and a swarm of thieves lurking about everywhere we stayed.”
    â€œBut why?” Brandy said.
    Ian paused with his last spoonful of the crab soup suspended over the bowl, and cocked his head to one side. “Why did I come here, you mean?”
    Brandy sat forward, looking at him straightly. “Aye, yer grace. We didn’t believe ye would ever come to Penderleigh, being an English duke and all. We believed ye’d sent a man of business to force more rents out of us. But ye’re here. Why?”
    She didn’t realize she was being excessively rude. He did, though, and found himself again charmed by her candor. Lady Adella said to her granddaughter, “Ye pry into matters none of yer concern, child,” but Ian saw, as did everyone else at that long medieval table, that the old lady’s faded eyes were fair to burning with curiosity.
    â€œI suppose it’s natural for you to wonder. But didyou really believe that I would ignore my Scottish kinsmen?”
    Percy said, a sneer twisting his fine mouth, “What my little cousin means, yer grace, is that we didn’t mind at all being ignored. It’s the land and rents we feared would gain yer attention.”
    â€œPercy, that is not at all what I meant. I’ll thank ye to let me put my own words in my own mouth. Well, perhaps I did mean a bit of it, but not all.”
    The duke was forced to laugh. “From outward appearances, I would venture to say that the lands and the castle are much in need of my attention. The rents appear to be excessive already.”
    Lady Adella said, “Ye’re my sister’s grandson, Ian, and part of my blood. I’m heartened that ye visit yer holdings. At least so far I’m heartened. Things change.”
    The duke would have been pleased by Lady