Charlotte’s smile grew, thrilled that her friend had asked her. A few weeks away from London and a little romp in the countryside was just what she needed, and she was overjoyed to be able to help her friend.
“Please?” Chelsea asked again.
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “I would love to.”
Chapter 2
“I’m afraid, Your Grace, there is little else for it. Unless you can come up with a solution soon, you will have to sell Ashbourne House to cover the increasing debts. It rather seems that your predecessor burned through the last remains of the Ashbourne coffers.”
Alexander sighed, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. The day so far had been a series of bad news, first from the bank about his mounting debts and his obligations to repay. And now, Mr. Whitmore, his longstanding solicitor, had told him there was nothing more they could do.
No more funds that could be shifted around, no further investments he could withdraw from. He knew that inheriting the title and the duchy would not be an easy ride, but he had not quite expected this.
He would do better to open a brothel. He’d earn a fair wage and get to enjoy a little fun with the ladies of the night. He’d satisfy both his yearnings—for wealth and for pleasure. He sighed, knowing that there weren’t even funds for that.
“Surely there is another building we can sell? Or someone willing to invest in one of our businesses?”
Mr. Whitmore shook his head. “The only buildings left are those on the estate, Your Grace. And you have no businesses left into which someone could invest. Unless you think of something rather drastic and perhaps unorthodox, I’m afraid the Ashbourne Duchy will be a title alone.”
At the age of three-and-thirty, Alexander Wentworth had never expected to become the Duke of Ashbourne. His dear old cousin, Norman Wentworth, had turned senile long before anyone had noticed, and in his aging madness, he had gambled and wasted away the money. The duchy itself was in a mess, the people unhappy, and the estate itself in near ruin.
Alexander’s own family had had little to do with Norman, and so Alexander hadn’t known that the previous duke had produced no heirs. He had something of a reputation as a lover of women, and so Alexander had secretly expected illegitimate children to come out of the woodwork.
But a year after he had unexpectedly received the title, the estate, the debts, and the headache that came with it all, still no one challenged his right to be there. Either the rumors were vastly exaggerated, or Norman Wentworth was somehow biologically unable to reproduce. And to make matters worse, Alexander now had to watch over Norman’s care as well.
Alexander sighed again, his eyes roving over the papers on Mr. Whitmore’s desk as though they might somehow contain the answer.
“I still don’t quite know how this wasn’t noticed—and stopped—years before it became this bad. I’m certain the crown isn’t happy to see the decimation of what was once such a distinguished duchy.”
“I’m certain you are correct, Your Grace,” Mr. Whitmore said. He took off his spectacles and folded the arms down. “But asking why it wasn’t noticed and dealt with sooner will not alter the fact that we need to act now—and you have very few options left open to you. If you wish to put the estate up for sale—”
“I donotwish to do that,” Alexander said quickly and rather firmly.
“But it is in a state of disrepair, Your Grace. Perhaps it would be better to sell it to someone who has the means to return it to its original grandeur. And I am certain it would be a weight off your mind.”
Alexander stood up, plucking his top hat from the desk in front of him. “Iwillhave the means to restore it,” he said. “I just… don’t have them yet.”
“But you are running out of time, Your Grace,” Mr. Whitmore said, looking up at Alexander from his seat. “The bank will not wait forever, and as heir to the duke, the responsibility has been handed to you.”
“I have not run out of time yet. I shall think of something, Mr. Whitmore. Good day to you.”
Alexander swept out of the room, putting his hat on as he left. He heard the solicitor calling after him, but he ignored him. He couldn’t take much more bad news today, and the man had a particular way of haranguing. Alexander had a solution to come up with and a spirit to raise.
I need some physical release, he thought, his desire reaching him even as he dealt with blow after blow.Some woman to please me. At least then I shall have some control.
He had always been a lighthearted, happy man. But between the hardships of the past year and his hardships in love, Alexander had turned cynical. His manner grew more detached and abrupt by the day, and though he preferred the man he used to be, his need for personal armor was more important for the time being.
He paused at the top of the steps down to the street, taking in the scene, his metal-tipped cane tucked beneath his arm. Spring was just around the corner but still the skies were gray, the clouds as heavy as Alexander’s heart.
He fastened his cloak around his shoulders and frowned. The street was bustling with people going about their business, the noise of the everyday filling the air. Across the road, Alexander’s carriage awaited him, his horses stomping on thecobbles in frustration at its stillness, their breath plumes in the air.
With another sigh, Alexander trotted down the stone steps and slipped between the people to reach his carriage.
“Wake up, Jenkins,” he snapped, tapping the side of the carriage loudly with his cane. The coachman jumped from where he lounged on the trap, his cap lowered over his eyes. He looked wide-eyed at the duke, who merely threw him a disapproving glance and sprang lithely onto the pavement opposite.
Alexander could feel the eyes of the passersby upon him, as was often the case. He was naturally an imposing figure. At over six feet tall, he stood above even many of the gentlemen of theton, and his muscular, athletic frame made him all the bigger. He raised his shoulders, his chest puffed out to belie his true feelings—that he wanted to hide away from his seemingly insurmountable problems.
It wasn’t only his size and his self-assurance that drew the eye. He was a handsome man, and he knew it, though his arrogance presented itself as endearing rather than pompous. His hair was as black as a moonless midnight, and it hung an inch or two below his earlobes. It was almost always tousled with a gentle wave that needed no iron to curl, and it was somewhat softer than the short, wiry hair of his whiskers.
