Page 50 of The Duke's Only Desire

Chapter Fourteen

Shay dropped tothe ground from the back of his gelding and tossed the reins to one of the boys who hurried toward him from the stables.

He’d just spent the last hour placating an irate Enfield, so irate, in fact, that the man had hunted him down at the Jansen farm and interrupted his inspection of the barns. He had assured the steward that he still controlled the estate and all that happened here, although Her Grace would play a larger role in estate management than previous duchesses. And no, they were not opening the home park to all kinds of riff-raff, strays, and vagabonds.

He yanked off his gloves as he jogged up the front steps and across the portico. “Where’s the duchess?” he demanded of Henley when the butler opened the door for him.

“In the gardens, Your Grace. She said she wanted to meet with the head groundskeeper to discuss plans for—”

With a curse, Shay spun on his heel and charged back down the steps. Each crunching step of his boots in the snow as he marched toward the walled gardens only raised his irritation. Yes, Ravenscroft Manor was Sophie’s home now, too. Yes, she was entitled to make changes.

Butdamnation, did she have to cause so much upheaval?

He heard her before he saw her. Her voice was carefully controlled, made even more so in contrast to the rising anger from the man arguing with her. Shay rolled his eyes, not having to see the man’s face to know who he was—MacHeath, the head groundskeeper. The old Scot had been working at Ravenscroft Manor long before Shay was born, starting off as a hall boy and slowly working his way outdoors into the park, where he rose over the years to be in charge of the grounds. He now answered only to Shay and Enfield, although it surely stuck in the man’s craw to have to answer to anyone. For the most part, he didn’t, and was on his own to tend the gardens, terraces, and greenhouses, most of which had been left unused over the years.

But right then, the old man’s failure to respect Ravenscroft’s hierarchy infuriated Shay.No one—not Malcolm, not Enfield, not even old MacHeath—had the right to raise his voice to Sophie.

He rounded the corner of the brick wall separating the formal terraces from the greenhouse’s gardens and found MacHeath shaking his head furiously at what Sophie was patiently attempting to tell him. The old Scot was so angry, in fact, that he’d drifted into such a thick Highland accent that Shay could barely understand him, but he knew whatever he was saying, it wasn’t good.

So did Sophie, apparently, from the way her cheeks had flushed; that pinking wasn’t from the wintry air.

“MacHeath!” Shay called out to interrupt as he approached. “I see you’ve met Her Grace, Duchess of Malvern.” His gaze darted to Sophie, whose mouth had pressed into a hard line of frustration and restrained anger. “Are you discussing changes to the gardens?”

“Not changes,” MacHeath bit out in answer. “Destruction.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sophie threw up her hands, her patience snapping. “Simply changing the use of the outer gardens and orchards so that—”

“Destruction,” MacHeath repeated.

Sophie continued mid sentence, “—so that the villagers and tenants can make use of areas the manor house doesn’t need isnotdestruction. It’s improvement.” A frustrated groan rose from her lips. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Unless they work in the house or are delivering goods, villagers have no business being inside the home park,” MacHeath responded before Shay could jump into the argument.

“They haveeveryright,” Sophie countered with mounting anger so palpable it hung on the cold air with every cloud of breath from her lips. “The home park wouldn’t exist without the support of its tenants.”

“You are new here,” MacHeath argued. “You don’t understand the way Ravenscroft Manor has been run.”

She shook the sheet of paper in her hand. “I understand domestic agriculture far more than you realize.”

The old gardener shook his head. “You’d be wise to stay in the house where womenfolk belong and let men who know how to—”

“MacHeath!” Shay raised his voice. He had no choice but to interrupt for fear that Sophie would throttle the man for whatever nonsense about women was about to spill from his lips. “You will not address Her Grace in that manner. Do you understand?” He gestured at Sophie. “She is your duchess, and she will have whatever she wishes.”

A bitter laugh came from Sophie. “That’s a damnable lie!”

Raging anger had flushed her cheeks scarlet, and she shook fiercely, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Flames danced in her bright eyes, and her jaw clenched like a vise.Every bit of her fury was directed not at MacHeath for being yet another man who had thwarted her plans, but at Shay.

“If the duchess can have whatever she wishes,” she shot back fiercely, her blazing eyes locking with his, “then she wishes to have her husband!”

MacHeath’s mouth fell open, shocked. The old gardener darted glances between the two of them, not knowing where to look, before finally lifting his gaze to stare up at the trees edging the garden.

Sophie spun on her heel to stomp away.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Shay ran to catch up with her, took her arm, and pulled her toward the greenhouse. “We’re having this out. Now.”

He shoved open the door and led her into the greenhouse, then closed the door behind them for privacy. Through the panes of frosted glass, he could see MacHeath beating a quick retreat for the gardening shed behind the stables.

“What on earth is going on?” he snapped. “First, I had to calm down Enfield, now MacHeath. When I said you could make whatever changes you wanted, I meant to workwiththe staff in making them, not—”