Page 63 of The Duke's Only Desire

He did. In the absence of a steward, Pearson had stepped up to take on some of the immediate responsibilities for running the estate, while Shay oversaw the other Malvern properties. It was a good fit. After all, the man’s former training as an aid-de-camp meant he was genial and accommodating with the tenants, yet also subtly forceful when necessary and able to have his way in the end. Shay had to admit that Pearson was better at running Ravenscroft Manor than he would have been, especially with the servants and staff.

The perfect example was MacHeath. Pearson convinced the old gardener to come to Sophie, hat in hand, to apologize for histemper, if not yet completely ready to accept her changes. Then MacHeath assigned Robert Crenshaw, one of the gardeners, to assist Sophie with her plans, which served everyone well because MacHeath would stay out of her way, Crenshaw was eager to prove his worth, and Sophie was now free to make whatever changes she wanted. Once her plans were realized, Shay was certain, even the stubborn old Scot would admit how good her ideas were.

The tenants and villagers were also pleased to have Pearson working in their favor, if downright stunned to have Shay doing the same. To a man, they couldn’t believe that their lord was now taking an interest in them after such a hands-off approach since he’d inherited. Shay could barely believe it himself.

Between the two of them, they were capably managing affairs until a new steward could be found.

“I just wish Pearson had better timing,” he muttered and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

She threw him a coquettish smile and straightened her coat.

Pearson shouted again and finally entered the walled garden after giving plenty of notice.

Shay opened the door of the greenhouse. “Here!”

Pearson hurried across the garden. He nodded at Sophie as he approached, winded.

“This had better be important, Pearson,” Shay told him. “I’m in the middle of gardening with my wife.”

Sophie raised a brow at that obvious lie.

But Pearson appeared too distracted to notice. “There’s an important matter I thought you’d want to know about, Colonel.” His face was grim. “A message arrived. I put it on your desk in the study.”

Shay straightened. He had rarely seen the unflappable Pearson as agitated as this. So he snatched up his discarded glove from the floor and turned to Sophie.

“I’ll only be gone a moment,” he promised and placed an affectionate kiss to her temple. “Save the hardest work for Crenshaw, all right?”

She nodded, but she couldn’t hide the sudden concern darkening her face.

Shay and Pearson hurried back to the house through the layer of fresh snow, and Shay’s unease increased with every silent stride Pearson took beside him.

“What’s the matter?” Shay demanded when they finally reached the study. He stripped off his coat and tossed it to Henley, along with this hat and gloves, then gestured for the butler to close the door on his way out.

Pearson nodded at the note lying on the desk. “That arrived by messenger from Edinburgh. I thought it regarded the Scottish properties, so I opened it, but your staff at New House had only sent it on to you here. It concerns your late brother.” He paused. “And his heir.”

Shay froze, except for his heart which slammed against his ribs so hard that he lost his breath. “My brother didn’t have an heir.”

Pearson locked grim eyes with Shay. “It appears he might have had one after all.”

Shay stared down at the letter. If John had a legitimate son, if he had done the unthinkable and married—

He snatched up the message before he felt any unbidden relief wash over him at the possibility. After all, he had never been friends with fate.

“It’s from a parish priest in Culross,” he muttered as he scanned the handwriting. “A nine-year old boy whose mother recently died has become the responsibility of the parish to care for… His mother had been abandoned by the father shortly after their marriage, found she was with child, cared for the boyherself until…” His voice trailed off, unable to believe what he was reading.

“And so the priest has reached out to the family of the boy’s father to provide help and compensation so the parish isn’t burdened by his care,” Pearson finished solemnly. “To the Douglass family.”

“There’s no mention of Malvern or the dukedom,” Shay mumbled as he read the letter again.

“There wouldn’t be if your brother lied about his identity.”

Shay shook his head. “But for Johnto marry…”

“In Scotland, marrying is easy,” Pearson reminded him solemnly. “The laws there don’t require parental agreement before the age of majority or a reading of the banns. A blacksmith’s anvil in Culross is just as good as one in Gretna Green, and parish priests can be bought off to record marriages in the church registry for even the most questionable ceremonies. So easy to marry, in fact, that many men think that marriage in Scotland isn’t legal at all in England, that they can marry and then leave without repercussion, return to England, and marry someone else under the Church of England’s rules. From what I’ve heard about your brother, he might have thought the exact same.”

Shay knew he did. John would have thought nothing of marrying a woman in a legally dubious ceremony over the anvil in Culross as John Douglass and then marrying Sophie as John, Marquess of Colsworth, in a perfectly proper Church of England service on the Ravenscroft estate. No one would ever know he was a bigamist, and in John’s warped mind, he probably wouldn’t think he was.

Pearson considered aloud, “If the boy’s nine, then… Did your brother travel to Edinburgh ten years ago?”