Would I Lie to the Duke by Eva Leigh

Author:Eva Leigh
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“Carriford’s charming,” Noel said to the passengers in his carriage. “The grounds are amongst the loveliest of all my estates. The old heap of stones was built in the late sixteenth century—but trust me when I say you’ll be comfortable there. Successive Dukes of Rotherby were keen modernizers, so the walls aren’t porous as sponges, and the rooms are warm. Small, but warm.”

Since boyhood on, he’d looked forward to Carriford. But never in all of his thirty-four years did he feel the excitement he did now, heading there with Jess.

He probably sounded like the veriest ninny, rattling off facts about Carriford. But the hell of it was he didn’t give a damn.

He’d show her everything. He wanted her to love it as he did. It shouldn’t matter—she’d be gone to the Continent soon—but it did.

“We’re nearly there.” He nodded toward the window. “That gristmill with the waterwheel means we’re but a mile away.”

Everyone, including Jess, Lady Haighe, and Mr. Walditch, craned their heads toward the landmark.

“It’s lovely,” Lady Haighe said irritably.

“That distresses you?” Jess asked.

“Lovely things make me aware of my mortality, and I already have reminders of that when I rise from bed every morning and my body aches for no reason at all.”

Noel shared an amused glance with Jess. Fortunately, she sat opposite him, beside Lady Haighe. There was a good chance that if he’d had to ride to Carriford with Jess’s thigh pressed against his, he’d arrive a slavering madman. Having Mr. Walditch next to him was far better.

The caravan toward his country estate consisted of his carriage and Lady Farris’s own vehicle, which transported her, Baron Mentmore, Lord Pickhill, and Mr. Parley. Their servants trundled behind in a more sturdy coach.

It was all Noel could do to keep from jouncing his leg in impatience. The late afternoon light would gild Carriford’s West Terrace, which he’d show Jess as soon as she had settled in her room. He’d made very specific instructions in his letter to the butler as to the placement of Jess’s bedchamber. Hopefully, she’d be pleased with his decision.

“Do you host many house parties at this estate?” Mr. Walditch asked.

“Not for some time.” He wouldn’t mention one weeklong bacchanalia a few years ago that had seen him playing nude billiards with an actress, and the garden fountain that had been filled with wine so that anyone might drink by scooping their hand into its contents. Even shy, scholarly Holloway had been his version of wild, fencing with McCameron in the long, vaulted gallery.

“I think I see some towers.” Jess pointed to the sloped gables that barely poked above the ash trees. “Is that it?”

“We’re passing through the gates just now.” He waited in anticipation as the carriage rolled up the long, curving drive that led to Carriford’s front entrance. Instead of looking out the window, however, his gaze held to Jess’s face, eager to see her response to his estate.

A shame that the soap makers weren’t located in Cambridgeshire, where his grandest home, and the seat of the duchy, was situated.

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