Percy could see what he meant, for the bleak structure of dark gray stone continued to appear somewhat lopsided. The eastern wing was crumbling even when he was a boy, but as his stepmother had preferred to spend her husband’s money on finery and frippery, and the most expensive education for Norman that coin could buy, it had been allowed to fall into utter disrepair. Indeed, his intention was to remove it entirely, but not before the other three wings had been made livable once more.
“The laborers are utilizing the stone and materials from the eastern wing,” he explained. “It is less costly that way.”
Max nodded. “Very wise.”
“If you want a quarter less of a manor, I suppose,” Dickie muttered.
Percy glanced at him. “We cannot all be in possession of two pristine residences, Dickie. Some of us must make do with what we have and make something new out of the old.”
“You had best marry quickly, that is all I shall say.” Dickie flashed a pointed grin.
Percy returned an equally sardonic smile. “Or not at all. Perhaps, I shall rent it to whomever wants it, and seek a quieter life somewhere else. A small residence in a peaceful corner of England.” He frowned up at Granville House, the windows dark, no sign of life to be seen. “It was always too large—that is part of its struggle, I fear.”
“A duke abandoning his dukedom?” Max did not seem to like the sound of that. “If it is funds you require, all you need do is ask.”
Dickie smiled. “Then, I should like one hundred pounds.”
“To do what with?” Max replied, cocking his head.
“Whatever I please.” Dickie laughed, and though Percy loathed the grim driveway and the bleakness of the manor ahead, he was grateful to have the brothers with him. Although, he doubted anyone or anything could bring any light and cheer to that dreadful place.
Not even you, Anna.
They were almost at the overgrown, circular expanse of dirt and sparse gravel that lay in front of the porticoed porch, when Percy spotted another carriage. It was half tipped into a particularly deep ditch, marks in the road suggesting it had veered off course and ended up that way. There was no telling how long it had been there, though he was certain he had not seen it when he departed for Harewood Court, what felt like forever ago.
“How peculiar,” he mumbled, continuing on to the front doors.
He did not bother to knock, but let himself in. The faint aroma of mold and damp greeted his nostrils, but there were definite signs of improvement. The main staircase gleamed with new, varnished wood. The walls had been freshly papered, and most of the old furniture had been removed, which gave the entrance hall a rather stark, but altogether more pleasant appearance.
Gone were the portraits of his father and stepmother. Gone were all the trinkets and ornaments and unnecessary clutter that she had filled the manor with. Gone was her mark on this wretched place.
“Your Grace!” A man appeared from the shadows of the left-hand hallway, bowing so low that Percy feared for the fellow’s spine. “Goodness, we did not know you would be returning so soon! We have nothing prepared!”
Percy relaxed a little. “I do not need a parade, Mr. Foxcroft. However, we had to abandon the carriage halfway down the drive. Might you send some of the strongest men to fetch our belongings? And if there is a way to fill the holes on the driveway, so the carriage can continue on, that might also be a notion.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The butler, Mr. Foxcroft, pulled an apologetic face. “I should have warned your brother of the driveway’s condition, but he too arrived without sending word ahead.”
Percy stiffened. “Pardon?”
“I believe he meant to continue on to visit you at Harewood Court, but his betrothed was not feeling very well, so they have been here for a few days while she recuperates,” the butler replied, his tone suddenly anxious. “You were aware of this, Your Grace, were you not?”
“No, he was not,” another voice interjected, as a vaguely familiar figure stepped out of the nearby drawing room. “But as he has not answered a single one of my letters, I had no choice but to take drastic measures.”
It had been at least ten years since Percy had last seen his half-brother. He had still been a boy then, but the Norman standing in front of him now was most assuredly a gentleman. He had his father’s light brown hair and his mother’s brown eyes, but there was barely a hint of Percy’s stepmother in Norman’s features. Standing side by side, there would have been no doubt that the two men were brothers.
“You should not be here,” Percy said gruffly.
Norman straightened his posture. “You gave me no alternative.”
“Was my silence not enough of an answer for you?”
Norman smiled sadly. “No, it was not.” He paused. “Did you read any of my letters over the past few months?”
“Very few.” The moment Percy had seen Norman’s handwriting, the majority of the letters had gone straight into the fireplace. The brothers had not talked in years, and Percy had preferred to keep it that way, for there was no telling what long-conjured schemes Norman might attempt to fulfil on his mother’s behalf.
Norman nodded slowly. “All I want is one conversation with you, Percival. It is the most important conversation of my life, and time is running out.” His throat bobbed, his eyes gleaming with desperation. “Please, Percival. Grant me that.”
“Whatever it is you want from me, you will not get it,” Percy warned. “You have been well cared for. You have an allowance. You have a residence. I will not give you more than that.”
