Page 60 of All Duke and Bothered

There was not much to pack, only borrowed clothes from Calliope and Richard. Preston got the news that the fire was finally contained. Chalworth hadn’t burned down completely, but it would require significant time and money to rebuild it. While Penelope prepared for the journey, Preston told her he was going out for business.

Instead, he went to Tyche, where he made an arrangement with Solomon Eastbourne that would ensure his threat to Lord Beckett was realized. He bought the man’s debt.

Finally, they set out. The roads were still muddy even in spring, and the trip took a full day, so with their late start they were forced to stop at an inn overnight.

But it was all worth it.

When they arrived, Penelope’s breath was taken away. Grandhampton Court was so much grander than Chalworth. It looked like something that should house a royal family. The house was breathtaking. Tall and long, built in the Palladian style from large, perfectly square pieces of sandstone, it had an impressive portico so large, it could host a ball. Twelve fluted columns three stories high supported a roof structure that held twelve statues of the Palladium. To the left and to the right, the building stretched farther and could envelop two Sumhalls.

Round-arched windows lined the ground floor, and perfectly rectangular windows lined the first and the second floors, each with a triangular ornament above. Grand stairs one story high led to the entrance door under the portico.

Before the building, a beautiful, well-maintained natural park spread with cut grass, neatly pruned bushes, and flowers. There was a large fountain. Trees and small groves grew here and there. A herd of sheep grazed on a pasture two miles or so away.

When Penelope stepped out of the carriage, she breathed in the sweet air, full of the scents of leaves and earth, and closed her eyes. Sunlight fell on her face and wind kissed her cheeks. She held her bonnet as she raised her chin towards the sun.

“Welcome to Grandhampton,” said Preston, and when she looked at him, she didn’t recognize him.

The stern mask of a London lord was gone, and he was someone else. The tension around his eyes melted away, and a soft smile bloomed on his lips. He was so handsome her heart burst, and it was that moment that she knew she was utterly and completely in love with him.

The realization struck her like a blow. She went momentarily numb, unmoving, as if suspended in air. How strange was it, to know it was her heart that slammed hard against her ribs, but that it didn’t belong to her anymore.

It was his.

After the servants were introduced and Preston gave her the initial tour around the house, he led her outside, around the back. Hidden by a grove of trees were the entrance for servants and deliveries, the stables, a cow shed and a chicken coop as well as a garden. And at the side of the house was a natural pond with a jetty and a boat.

Willows grew on the other side, their branches trailing in the water. Reeds and grasses framed the shores. Flies and bees buzzed by.

“We used to swim here as children,” Preston said and pointed at an inviting little meadow before the pond with cut grass and daisies popping up here and there. “We spent most of our time here. That is, until I was sent to Scotland. After that, I came here only in summers, but those were the happiest months. Then when the time came for Spencer to be introduced into London society, we started to attend the Season every year in London. That’s when I knew that my father had a different side to him. In London, he was the perfect duke. Here, he was my papa. Someone domestic and simple who went to fish with all of us, even Calliope. Who taught me how to swim. Who playfully tickled my mama when he thought no one was watching. This is where Mama ran after us children with squeals of delight and tickled us and wore such a warm smile on her face that it was impossible not to smile back.”

Penelope saw how that must be true. Preston here was not the Preston she knew in London. She got glimpses of him like that when they were alone and in bed. But there was more to him, and she couldn’t wait to find out what. Only…she had a sinking feeling she’d only fall further in love with him. And that terrified her.

He showed her the meadow where they played cricket. A pasture a mile away where Spencer had taught him to ride his first pony. The grove of trees where they had fenced with sticks. He told her Calliope had had a favorite dog, Butterfly, who had sadly died a few years ago.

As they passed by the portico where two footmen stood waiting for them at attention, Preston leaned to her. “Richard was always the servants’ favorite.”

Penelope chuckled. “I can easily see why.”

Preston shook his head softly. “He charmed them. Always had a smile for any of them. Not only did the little devil know each of their names, but he also knew what each of them liked to eat. Up to the age of eight, he hid portions of his food in napkins for them—to both the pleasure and irritation of Mrs. Liddle, the housekeeper, because they left fat stains that were very hard to get rid of.”

Mrs. Liddle, the housekeeper, and Harney, the butler, came down the stairs, a footman following them with a tray in his hands.

“We thought you and Her Grace would like some refreshments, Your Grace,” said Harney.

He was a man in his seventies, with a bald head in the front and sparse hair at the back. He was tall and broad, with a wide mouth and an impressive straight jaw. His wrinkled face had a kind expression. The liveried footman stood proudly next to Mrs. Liddle, with two empty glasses and a decanter of wine and another with something stronger. Alongside the drinks sat a small platter with toasted slices of bread rubbed with something red and drizzled with some sort of greenish oil.

“Pan con tomate,” said Mrs. Liddle proudly. She was a sweet woman in her sixties, with plump cheeks and translucent blue eyes. Both Mrs. Liddle and Harney looked like they could barely maintain their polite masks. Penelope had the impression they had to restrain themselves from dashing forward and hugging Preston. “Just like your dear mama, God rest her soul, taught Mrs. Norman.”

Preston’s face spread in a broad smile that warmed Penelope’s heart. When Harney poured wine into two glasses, Preston took one of them and handed it to Penelope. He then took the other glass and a slice of red bread. “Please, thank Mrs. Norman. Mama always loved her pan con tomate.” He looked at Penelope. “It’s a Spanish dish Mama insisted on having. It means tomato bread. It’s a traditional peasant dish, but Mama tried it once back in Spain when she was little and loved it.”

Curious, Penelope picked up a piece of bread and sniffed. It smelled strong and pungent, like something from faraway lands. “What’s in it?”

Mrs. Liddle smiled at Penelope. “Toasted bread is rubbed with tomato and garlic and drizzled with some olive oil. There’s also sea salt.”

“Oh,” said Penelope. “Does your gardener grow tomatoes?” She sipped some wine, then bit into the pan con tomate.

The crunchiness of bread, the sweet-tart flavor of tomato, and the pungent bite of garlic were delicious on her tongue. She suppressed a moan of delight because, of course, duchesses didn’t moan in company. Preston chewed with his pose stiff and upright, but she saw the delight dancing in his eyes.

“He does,” said Mrs. Liddle. “Ever since Her Grace started living here. The tomatoes on the bread are preserved as they’re out of season. We still plant them every year because the children… Beg your pardon, Your Grace, I still refer to you four as children. Well, they all enjoy the Spanish cuisine their mama introduced here.”