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

thank for that,” Joshua responded, his attention suddenly on the distant tree line. “But he claims he has had enough of rebuilding and needs to concentrate on other matters.” He scanned the horizon, looking for obvious storm damage. “What color should a parlor be painted?” he asked suddenly, his attention still on distant objects as he redirected his horse toward the south.
    Charlotte gave him a look of amusement. “It depends,” she replied with a one-shoulder shrug, directing her horse to move toward the south alongside his.
    “On what?” Joshua countered, his face turning towards her. She rides quite well, he decided, noting how at ease she seemed in the saddle, how her posture was so erect, her left boot firm in the stirrup but not pressed down too far while her right leg was bent around the pommel of the saddle.
    “Furnishings, carpets, drapes, where the windows are ...”
    “Oh, the devil be damned,” Joshua cursed in annoyance. From his vehemence, Charlotte thought perhaps he had seen some evidence of damage in the distance. She glanced across the horizon.
    “What is it?” she wondered, not seeing obvious damage.
    “I cannot spend time considering such things right now,” he responded, a bit of impatience in his voice. “There are far more important matters to consider than how the house is to be decorated.” His aggravation was apparent when his horse, which had been cantering for several steps suddenly broke into an easy gallop. They rode in silence for several minutes, heading southwest toward the village. Although a few leaves and small branches littered the trail, there was no immediate evidence of downed trees or smoldering fires from a lightning flash. Once in Kirdford, they slowed their horses to a trot and nodded as villagers waved or bowed in their direction. Charlotte recognized a few of the denizens, remembering them from when she’d arranged Joshua’s move from the dowager cottage to London. When Joshua did not slow his horse, she wondered, “Have you no business in the village this morning, Your Grace?”
    Joshua glanced her way. “Not these days,” he answered, a bit of wistfulness in his voice. “Mr. McElliott is here nearly every day on estate business, so there’s really no need for me to ride over.”
    Charlotte considered his answer as she noticed the shingle for the village pub, the Forester Arms. “But you must come over for an ale now and then,” she hinted, hoping to draw out the lighter side of the man. She knew him capable of humor; she’d witnessed his brilliant smile and easy demeanor at several balls and evening entertainments.
    Shaking his head a bit, Joshua sighed before answering her. “I haven’t been in the Arms since before the fire,” he finally said, nodding in the direction of the pub.
    Charlotte caught her lower lip with a tooth. “That is too bad,” she offered, not sure what she could say. He was obviously bothered at not having visited the people in his dukedom. “Perhaps we can come over for a luncheon later this week,” she suggested, hoping he would agree. He needs to get out of that house, she thought suddenly. He’s become a prisoner in his own home .
    “Perhaps,” he answered, his tone suggesting it was more likely that they would not. Once they were through the village, he allowed his horse to return to a faster pace, and Charlotte’s horse followed suit, eager to return to the easy gallop they’d enjoyed on the wooded trail. When the trail opened into a meadow and turned east, Joshua urged his horse on, allowing it to enjoy an outright run. Charlotte lowered herself over the front of her bent leg and let loose the reins, her horse quickly picking up speed to catch up to the stallion ahead of them. She laughed as her bonnet flew back, its ribbons around her neck straining as the bonnet billowed behind her. Looking back, Joshua saw her look of joy and smiled, unaware that his mask had done the same thing. The leather ties