Free The Grace of a Duke by Linda Rae Sande Page A

a dark blue riding coat and bright blue waistcoat atop buckskin breeches that met a pair of Hessians. Quite smart, indeed.
    Joshua gave Charlotte another cursory glance before heading toward the west, suddenly conscious of the snug fit of her habit around her waist and bosom. From her ease in the saddle, he realized she had probably been riding since early childhood.
    Charlotte scanned the tree-lined horizon as she rode alongside Joshua, amazed at the vista and the nearly cloudless sky. The air, fresh from the night’s rain and wind, was cool but portended a warm day. Given the good weather, Garrett had taken off on his horse just moments ahead of them and headed north to look for storm damage and to check in on some tenant farmers.
    “Stay on my right,” Joshua ordered as he urged his horse to quicken its pace. “And let me know if you’re not able to keep up,” he added as he noticed her testing the bay’s reactions to her movement with the reins.
    “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied, somewhat miffed that he doubted her riding skills. When he dug his heels into his stallion, she was ready and did the same with her left heel. The bay responded as she’d hoped, obviously glad of the opportunity for exercise and a rider.
    “It’s really too bad about the oak tree,” Charlotte commented as she looked back towards the house. The loud crack they’d both heard the night before was the tree splitting, almost down the middle. The roots were partly exposed while the tops of the two halves leaned toward the ground. Several low-hanging branches had already been trimmed away by the groundskeeper in preparation for the tree to be completely cut down and chopped into firewood and building materials.
    Not looking back, Joshua shrugged. “The village will not lack for wood this winter,” he said as his horse’s speed increased to an easy trot. “Not that it ever does. About a third of the land around here is wooded. I believe we’ll use the larger parts of the oak for the house, though. There is still a good deal of interior framing to be done,” he added when he saw Charlotte’s curious expression.
    “I must say, I was very surprised at just how much of the house had already been rebuilt,” she replied, her horse’s trot easily matching his. “I half expected you’d be living in another house on the grounds.”
    Joshua considered her words. Had he not had to spend so much time in hospital and then several more months in London recuperating from his burns, he might have had to live in a cottage meant for a dowager duchess. But Garrett, who unbeknownst to Joshua had appointed himself to oversee the estate in his friend’s absence, managed the arrangements to get the grounds cleaned up, the burned debris removed, and the undamaged wing of the house in livable condition. His prior experience as an estate manager had proven invaluable. In just a few months, he had completed what might have taken Joshua years to accomplish.
    Having just finished the replacement central hall and wing construction, matching the existing wing so that the casual observer wouldn’t even notice there was at least a fifty-year age difference in the structures, the carpenters were just starting work on the interiors when Garrett announced he had had quite enough of dealing with construction foremen and masons and carpenters and the decisions that had to be made. He had more than enough to do in managing tenant farmers and villagers and forests and orchards and employees.
    A rather surprised Joshua now found himself trying to manage the household, oversee interior construction, and keep the duchy’s books. And just two days before Charlotte had arrived on his doorstep, he was asked by a foreman what color he wanted the new parlor to be painted. Horrors! Asking if he could be shown some choices, Joshua found himself quite out of his element when the man left him with a book – a book – of dozens of possible colors.
    “I have Garrett to