The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“Yes, Crittaker nearly choked himself to death when he informed me of it over three months ago. I’m sorry it happened. I am here to fetch you back to Chase Park with me.”

She frowned at him, still not moving. She didn’t even offer him her hand or her cheek to kiss. She was his damned first cousin, for God’s sake, yet she was standing six feet away from him, and her frown was becoming more pronounced.

He realized in that moment that he’d given her a profound shock. First her mother and now her father, both of them dead within weeks of each other.

“I’m sorry about your father. He was my uncle and I was fond of him. He had a quick death, there was no suffering.”

“Thank you for telling me that. I thought he had forgotten me, that he no longer wanted me since my mother had died.”

“Now you know he did want you at Chase Park. He had no say in what happened to him.”

Badger appeared in the open doorway. “The duckling is perfect now, Duchess. It sits on a platter with small boiled potatoes around it and some fresh green beans. I decorated the potatoes with snipped-off bits of parsley. I also made some apple tarts, your favorite. Would you care to have dinner now? Would you like to have his lordship join us?”

She nodded, clearly distracted.

“Are you hungry, sir?”

“Yes, I have ridden hard all day. Is it possible for someone to see to my stallion?”

“You will have to see to your own horse,” she said. “Badger hasn’t the time to do it.”

“I see,” Marcus said. He turned on his heel and strode out of the small drawing room.

Badger called after him, “There is a shed behind the cottage. You may stable your horse there.”

Marcus didn’t say anything further. He was perfectly capable of looking after Stanley, but what he wasn’t used to, what he couldn’t seem to accept, was the fact that the Duchess was living alone with a man who spoke the English of a gentleman, was also her chef and decorated a roasted duckling with boiled potatoes and parsley. Even though Badger was ugly as a gnarly old oak and old enough to be her father, still, it just wasn’t right. What was going on here?

She didn’t look on the verge of starvation. She’d been humming wh

en he arrived and she had a spot of ink on her left cheek. And she looked so beautiful he’d just wanted to stand there and stare at her, at least until Badger had come in and announced that dinner was served. As far as he knew, there had been no provision at all for her in his uncle’s will, thus his growing fear over the past four months. As far as he knew, she had nothing.

What was going on here?

3

MARCUS PUSHED BACK his plate, sighed with pleasure, and folded his hands over his lean belly. The Duchess had finished some time before and was simply sitting there, calm and composed, not ruffled in the least by his presence, as if having a man to dinner was a daily occurrence. She merely waited: waited for him to finish, waited for him to speak, just waited as silent and calm as she had always been since he’d first met her when she’d been nine years old. She was slowly turning her wineglass between her fingers, a wineglass of good quality, he saw, surely a wineglass made of fine crystal that clearly cost a few guineas. It must be part of an expensive set. Who had paid for them? The man who ate evening meals with her?

He said easily, with deep appreciation, “Badger is a chef of great ability. The parsley was a nice touch. Greenery enhanced the paleness of the potatoes and highlighted the duck.”

“Yes, it was a touch of artistry. He is a man of many abilities.”

“Such as?”

She merely shrugged, looking as unruffled as could be, dismissing his sharp question as an impertinence, as he supposed it was.

“You’re looking well,” he said. “Everyone was very worried about you.”

After they’d finally remembered she even existed, she thought, but said only, “Thank you. You have quite grown up yourself. Were you a gentleman of leisure before my fath—before the earl died?”

“Oh no, I was a major in the army. I had to sell out after my uncle’s death. I didn’t want his damned title, though I know he never believed that, and I honestly didn’t care that I was his nominal heir. Like everyone else, I believed he would remarry after my aunt died in childbed, and continue to try procreating a male child. Undoubtedly he would have succeeded if he hadn’t died.”

“It is odd. I wonder why he didn’t remarry.”

“He was killed only seven months after my aunt died. To have remarried before a year—well, perhaps eight or nine months given his need—would have laid him open to censure. My uncle was conscious of others’ opinions.”

“He visited my mother often after the countess died. Indeed, he spent most of his time with her. He’d changed so much after Charlie and Mark’s deaths. At least those last months were very happy.”

Marcus wasn’t particularly surprised to hear that. After all, his uncle was always a lusty man who paid to have his mistress constantly at his disposal. However, he didn’t say this aloud, not to his uncle’s bastard daughter. He only nodded. He said abruptly, “Do you resemble your mother?”