Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,8

struggling, though to say so would undoubtedly make things worse than they already were. Pierce’s eyes met Asher’s. “Do you think he left me much? Perhaps a bit of unentailed property?”

Pierce was worried, as Asher had suspected he might be. He had grown up knowing nothing but luxury. It wouldn’t kill him to know hunger, to have to strive for what he had. It hadn’t killed Asher. Hell, he was proud that everything he had thus far he had earned, built, and sustained by wit and determination. And that pride was what had made it so hard to come here and accept money and land he’d done nothing for. But he’d done so for the sake of his employees and his company. Just because he was prideful didn’t mean he was a fool.

A knock came at the half-open study door before Asher could assure Pierce he’d not let him starve. Asher looked over to see the footman, Beers, standing at the entrance. “Your Grace, Mr. Benedict is here.”

“Show him to the study, please.”

With a nod, Beers departed, and the moment his footfalls no longer echoed in the hall outside Asher’s office door, Pierce said, “A duke does not say ‘please’ to a footman.”

“This duke does,” Asher replied.

“They’ll laugh behind your back if you act like a commoner.”

Asher shrugged. He knew by “they” Pierce was referring to the ton, Pierce’s set. Guinevere’s set. False people. Asher did not consider himself one of them, though he knew technically he was. “Ye assume I care, but I don’t.”

“How nice to have such a luxury,” Pierce replied. The envy in his voice was unmistakable.

“Ye’ve the luxury, too, Pierce. It’s a choice not to care.”

“A choice for one who knows he’s about to be incredibly wealthy,” Pierce replied, his tone tight.

“Your Grace,” came Beers’s voice once more before Asher could reply to Pierce.

The footman appeared in the doorway again, but now there was a short man with dark cropped hair, glasses, and an observant expression on his face. The man looked from Pierce to Asher as Beers announced him. Once the introduction was over, Asher waved his father’s—and, he supposed, now his—solicitor into the room and to a chair.

“Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a great deal about you over the years.”

The comment surprised Asher, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his feelings mirrored on Pierce’s face. “My father spoke to ye about me?”

“Indeed, he did,” Mr. Benedict replied.

“And did he speak to you of me, Mr. Benedict?” Pierce asked, his tone mild but his face intent.

The arrested expression on the solicitor’s face was his answer.

Pity stirred for Pierce. Asher knew what it felt like to be overlooked by their father. The man had purposely forgotten him for years. But it seemed to him, in this moment seeing Pierce, that being ignored by someone you saw every day was likely worse.

With a clearing of his throat, Mr. Benedict opened the leather case he was holding, rose to his feet, and placed a series of news sheets in front of Asher.

Asher looked down, picked one up, and scanned it, surprised to see it was about him and when he’d opened his first distillery. Each paper he looked at was another write up about him. There was one from when he’d opened his second distillery and another from the third distillery being opened. Then there was an article that mentioned that he was the son of an English duke. He’d hated that article.

Asher set the papers down and met Mr. Benedict’s frank gaze. “What’s all this about?”

“After you left England with your wife, your father followed your progress.”

Asher’s frown deepened. “Do ye mean to say he had someone watching me?”

“Exactly so. He had a man under his employ to watch you from the day you departed.”

“What the devil for?” Pierce demanded before Asher could voice the same question.

“I believe,” Mr. Benedict said, “he wanted to ensure that you were getting along with ease, given you refused to take any of the funds he’d offered you. I speculate here, as your father was not a man to share his innermost thoughts. However, in my observations from our meetings, I think he felt partly to blame for your being forced to wed Lady Elizabeth. Pardon, I refer to her as I did when she was unwed. Your father mentioned on several occasions that if you had been under his care, he could have guided you more, molded you better to