A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,40
a house in Perth, St. James?”
Drew mounded the sand to form a tee for his ball. They were playing with Duncan’s equipment, as he and his father were fiendishly fond of the game. It was the wrong season for golf, with the summer grass grown tall, but that only made it more sporting. There were a number of wagers riding on the match today. “It’s not my house,” he said, squinting against the sun. The hole was over the rise, out of sight. He set his club against the ball, drew back, and swung hard.
“Not yet,” drawled Duncan. “And if you’ve sent that ball into the marsh, you owe me a shilling.”
Drew bared his teeth. The shilling was for a wager made earlier in the game, not for the cost of the lost ball. “’Tis not in the marsh.”
“Whose house is it you intend to visit?” asked Kincaid, setting up his own ball. Drew watched critically. Kincaid was shorter than he, but stronger. His arms bulged as he drew back and swung his club. Monteith whistled in appreciation as the ball soared out of sight.
“Whose house?” repeated Kincaid.
Duncan was grinning like a cat in cream, curse him. Drew took a breath. “The Duke of Carlyle’s.”
Monteith laughed. “A duke’s house! And why are you free to invade with a large party?”
“Because he’s my cousin.” Drew lowered his voice even though they were alone. “And I’m his heir.”
Kincaid’s brows went up. Monteith’s mouth fell open. “You?” he said incredulously. “You?”
“Impossible to believe, isn’t it?” put in Duncan with a devilish smile.
Kincaid threw up one hand. “His heir? Explain that—you, an ordinary captain, who must needs borrow funds for beer now and then.”
Drew waved one hand, preferring to walk as he told the tale. It still gave him a vague sense of discomfort, detailing his grand and glorious expectations, as Ilsa Ramsay termed them—as if it couldn’t really be true. The feeling grew stronger, not milder, the more people he told.
By the time they had all located their golf balls—none in the marsh—his friends were shaking their heads in amazement.
“If I’d known you were cousin to a duke,” said Monteith, lining up his next shot, “I’d have asked interest on that five pounds you borrowed last year.”
“If I’d known last year I was heir to a duke,” returned Drew, “I would have asked someone of finer manners than you for it.”
“What’s your mission regarding this house?”
Drew threw Kincaid a grateful glance for the serious question. “It’s not been visited in many years. The duke’s solicitor wishes me to see for myself what state it’s in, and make it ready.”
“So he can come himself?”
Drew hesitated. “The duke is growing old. I doubt he’ll come.”
There was a beat of silence as the three of them exchanged glances. “Then ready for what?” asked Duncan, for once not laughing.
Drew thwacked some tall grass with his club. “The solicitor expects to sell it.”
All three looked at him. Everyone knew about the slow but accelerating dispossession of the small farmers in favor of tenants and migratory workers across Scotland. If the Duke of Carlyle put his estate up for sale, the same would likely happen to the people working his lands.
“You’re going to sell it?”
“St. James can’t,” said Duncan, the lawyer among them. “Only the duke can.”
“Aye, only the duke can order it sold,” muttered Drew. “From what I heard, he cares naught for his Scottish property, and the solicitor views it as a burden.”
“But soon it’ll be yours, aye?” Kincaid prodded.
The wind picked up, rustling the links grass. “Aye.”
“Are you of a mind to sell off the Scottish lands?”
“No,” said Drew. “If the choice becomes mine, I would not.”
“So your visit . . .”
“Is to see,” said Drew with a sharp look at Duncan. “And assess how they shall be maintained as valued assets, not sold to people eager to carve up more of Scotland.”
“Well,” said Kincaid after a moment. “Sounds noble enough. And you said your lovely sisters will be there?” He winked.
Drew folded his arms even as his shoulders eased. “Aye, and I’ll be there, too, keeping an eye on the lot of you.”
“Will you?” murmured Felix Duncan, lining up his next shot. He swung, sending his ball arcing into the glare of sunlight.
“Especially on you.” Drew stamped the grass as he located his ball and chose his angle. Kincaid took out his flask and Monteith made a rude comment about the way Drew was positioning his club.