How to Fool a Duke (The Husband Dilemma #1) - Lancaster, Mary Page 0,27

A pile of soil had already started to accumulate.

“How long have you been here?”

“Six hours.”

“I’m impressed. You seem to making quick progress.”

The two-man team continued their routine, and by the tenth exchange, the one holding the sieve called out, “Found something, Your Grace!”

Sarah followed the duke and reacted as excitedly as he did to the ancient looking, drinking vessel the worker held up.

“It’s covered in filth, Your Grace, but with careful cleaning, I believe this may be a valuable piece.”

Leonard pulled what resembled a small painting brush from his pocket, cradled the vessel in his other hand, and with cautious strokes, began to wipe some of the layers of dirt away.

“Yes,” he said, his face lighting up. “Come here, Sarah.”

She approached, eager to see what he was looking at.

“Do you recognize what these are?”

Crudely carved into the pottery, there were about sixteen symbols in all. “No.”

“Runes,” he offered. “The equivalent of the alphabet to the Norse.”

“Really?” She studied the blueish-brown piece. “Will you be able to decipher its meaning once it is clean?”

“Perhaps,” he said, obviously elated. “There is still much to learn of our Viking conquerors. They did not have a written language, and their history was passed down through stories. Some monuments exist with runic messages on them in Scandinavia.”

“You have been there?”

“Three times.”

How she envied his freedom, his worldliness. She wanted to visit the most exotic places. Furthermore, she hadn’t known the duke had such a deep passion for anything. It added layers to his otherwise rigid character, making him more appealing to her adventurous spirit. Seeing him this way, dressed as a commoner, hands dirty, filled with such zeal, and the sunshine on his handsome face, she could fall in love with him all over again. Yes… That day in the tree had done her in—she had loved him instantly. Even her brothers had never climbed a tree with her! The fact that a duke had taken the time to join her in her favorite tree had meant something to her.

“What is it, Miss Sarah?”

“Nothing at all,” she lied, forcing a smile on her face. “I am thrilled for you, Your Grace. But I am afraid I have overstayed my welcome. I am expected for tea with Lady Whitmore.”

“May I escort you to the castle?”

“No,” she said too sharply. “I mean, thank you, but I rather enjoy the solitude of my daily walks.”

As she wandered away, she realized that was the second time in two days that she had left the Duke of Vexen standing alone and wanting more time with her.

Chapter Seven

Tired but delighted with the fruits of his first day’s dig, Leonard scrubbed himself clean and changed into evening clothes. He had meant to instruct James to write to his solicitor about the purchase of the cottage and land offered by Lady Whitmore, but his secretary was having dinner with a harpist this evening. Much to Leonard’s amusement and secret delight, for he thought James too staid for a young man.

Accordingly, since there was still half an hour or so before dinner, he repaired to Lady Whitmore’s library to write his own letter.

The library was empty but finding a quantity of headed notepaper on one of the desks, he sat down and drew a sheet toward him. As he dipped his pen in the ink stand, he read the printed address at the top of the paper: Whitmore Castle, Whitmore, Northumberland. Nowhere mentioned her name or title. Perhaps the paper was also used by the “villagers.”

Still, it was not a great deal to give his solicitor who would, presumably discuss matters with her ladyship’s man of business. On impulse, he replaced the pen and rose to find out what he could about the estate and its owner.

Discovering bound volumes of Debrett’s, he looked up Lady Whitmore—and did not find her. In fact, he could find no peers or even baronets with this name, which made him scratch his head. However, he rarely gave in to problems and began to search elsewhere for information on Whitmore Castle, and this time found much that he meant to pursue at his leisure. In the meantime, he was searching for current ownership

In the previous century, he learned from a musty tome, Whitmore had been part of the considerable estate owned by Viscount Fordenham. Once more he picked up Debrett’s and easily discovered the last viscount, who had indeed died with no male issue. The title had died out. But he had left three daughters: Julia, Marian, and Georgiana.

Which