"Higgins, there was a stray animal near the ruins of the old wall at Thornfield cottage—a small dog, injured and in poor condition. I require you to make arrangements for its immediate care."
"A stray dog, Your Grace?" Higgins's weathered features revealed nothing of his thoughts, though Lucian detected a note of carefully concealed surprise in his tone. "Shall I have the stable lads dispose of the creature?"
"Certainly not," Lucian replied with sharp authority, his voice carrying the sort of command that brooked no argument. "The animal is to be brought to the stables immediately and provided with proper care. Food, warmth, medical attention, whatever is required for its recovery."
"Very good, Your Grace. And should the creature survive its current difficulties?"
"Then arrange for proper training. A dog of good character might prove useful about the estate, and I will not have it said that Ravenshollow Manor turns away creatures in need of assistance."
Higgins bowed with the precise deference that marked his years of faithful service. "I shall see to the arrangements immediately, Your Grace. The stable master will ensure the animal receives appropriate attention."
"See that he does. And Higgins?" Lucian's voice dropped to a tone that suggested the matter was of particular importance to him. "I expect regular reports on the creature's progress. If additional resources are required for its care, they are to be provided without question."
"Of course, Your Grace. I shall keep you informed of all developments."
After Higgins departed to carry out these unexpected instructions, Lucian sat alone in his library contemplating the curious impulse that had prompted his intervention on behalf of a creature he had never even noticed. Perhaps it was the memory of Evangeline's carefully concealed compassion, her obvious struggle between inclination and propriety, that had influenced his decision to preserve what she had been forced by circumstances to abandon.
Or perhaps, he admitted to himself with characteristic honesty, he simply wished to demonstrate that he was not entirely without consideration for suffering, even if his own wounds had made him less capable of expressing such sentiments directly. The puppy would receive care and training, would grow strong and useful, and would serve as a tangible reminder that even small acts of mercy could flourish under proper circumstances.
It was, he reflected, a pleasant change to exercise his authority in service of preservation rather than mere duty, and he found himself wondering what other opportunities for constructive action might present themselves if he could overcome his habitual withdrawal from active engagement with the world around him.
The puppy was a beginning, at least, a small life saved, a tiny gesture toward the sort of stewardship that his position demanded and his tenants deserved. Whether such modest efforts might eventually extend to larger matters remained to be seen, but for the first time in years, Lucian felt a stirring of something that might, with careful nurturing, develop into hope.
Chapter Seven
The morning of Evangeline's second day as Duchess of Ravenshollow dawned with the sort of crisp autumn clarity that made the Yorkshire moors appear almost welcoming despite their inherent bleakness. She had risen early, her stomach churning with a mixture of determination and apprehension as she contemplated the daunting task of establishing her authority within a household that had operated for years without female supervision.
The very notion of summoning Mrs. Cromwell for what she privately termed a diplomatic reconnaissance felt presumptuous, as though she were playacting at being a great lady rather than fulfilling her legitimate role. How did one command respect from servants who had decades more experience managing a ducal household than she possessed? What gave her, a captain's daughter who had never employed more than a cook and a housemaid, the right to direct the domestic arrangements of one of England's oldest estates?
Yet duty demanded that she made the attempt, regardless of her qualifications for the task, and so she had requested Mrs. Cromwell's presence in the morning room with all the false confidence she could muster.
"Mrs. Cromwell," she began, her voice betraying only the slightest tremor of uncertainty, "I should be most grateful for your counsel regarding the current arrangements for managing the domestic staff."
The housekeeper, a woman whose steel-grey hair and stern countenance spoke of decades spent maintaining order in a great house, settled herself in the chair Evangeline indicated with the sort of watchful attention that made the new duchess acutely conscious of being evaluated and perhaps foundwanting.
"Certainly, Your Grace. Though I confess myself somewhat uncertain as to what particular aspects of our arrangements might require adjustment."
The delicate emphasis on the final word, combined with Mrs. Cromwell's penetrating gaze, made Evangeline feel like a child attempting to rearrange her betters' affairs. She fought the urge to apologize for presuming to question established procedures, reminding herself that she was no longer Miss Hartwell but the Duchess of Ravenshollow, with both the right and the responsibility to oversee domestic matters.
"I have no intention of disrupting procedures that serve the household well, Mrs. Cromwell," she replied, praying that her uncertainty did not show in her voice. "However, I believe it would be beneficial for me to understand the current state of affairs before assuming my responsibilities fully."
The word 'responsibilities' felt foreign on her tongue, weighted with implications she was still learning to comprehend. At Hartwell Manor, her duties had extended little beyond managing a handful of servants and ensuring that dinner was served promptly. Here, she was expected to oversee the welfare of dozens of souls and maintain standards befitting one of the premier ducal houses in England.
"Of course, Your Grace. What would you care to know?"
Mrs. Cromwell's recitation of the household's reduced circumstances proved both illuminating and overwhelming in ways that Evangeline had not anticipated. Where once Ravenshollow Manor had employed nearly thirty servants to maintain its grandeur, fewer than half that number now struggled to manage the essential functions of daily life. The litany of eliminated positions and consolidated duties painted a picture of decline that would have been unthinkable during the previous duchess's tenure.
"And His Grace has made no provision for replacing those who have left?" Evangeline inquired, struggling to keep her voice steady as she contemplated the magnitude of the problems she was expected to address.
"His Grace has shown little interest in domestic arrangements since his return from the war," Mrs. Cromwell replied with diplomatic precision. "He has been preoccupied with other matters."
How was she supposed to restore a great household to its former glory when she had never managed anything more complex than her father's modest establishment? The very thought of coordinating the activities of thirty servants made her palms damp with perspiration, though she forced herself to maintain an expression of calm competence.
"I see. And what of the village tradesmen? Are the household accounts current?"
"Some accounts have been delayed, Your Grace. His Grace finds such matters tiresome and has not always attended to them with appropriate promptness."
The admission struck Evangeline with particular force, as she recalled her own recent experience with unpaid bills and the humiliation of having creditors appear at one's door. The idea that she now possessed the authority to settle such obligations with a few words felt almost surreal, like discovering herself in possession of magical powers.
