GypsyDukeEpub by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B

He might need to speak with her about that. If she were to gaze at another man like that…well, he might feel inclined to violence.
    He started down the hall toward the stairs, when he heard a crash from the parlor.
    He rushed into the room. His uncle had the maid pressed against the wall, her arm bent behind her back, the tea things in utter ruin on the floor. A dark, damp stain leaked across the Persian rug from the shattered china teapot. At his uncle's feet, several biscuits were ground into crumbs.
    John could scarcely believe his eyes or ears.
    His uncle didn't even bother to lower his voice. "I sent for you, my dear, and I did not give you leave-"
    John jerked his uncle away from the maid, who whimpered in terror. "Uncle, you forget yourself. We do not threaten the staff here. I dismissed her. If you have a problem, it is naught to do with the maid." John bent his head to her. "You may go. Send Cook to clean up this mess."
    The maid didn't bother with a curtsey, but fled the room, her injured arm held to her chest.
    John faced his uncle. "Explain yourself."
    Bartholomew drew himself up and sneered at John. He was a large man, but John didn't back down. Bartholomew took a menacing step towards John. "I believe no explanation is necessary, boy. I did tell you what would happen if you tried to thwart me. Do not attempt to make me look the fool again or the servants will not get off with just a twisted arm." He stepped over the tea tray and left the room, grinding more biscuits into the rug.
    John followed at a slower pace. In what nightmare did he find himself? He climbed the stairs as if in a trance. Was there no way to protect everyone from his uncle? He'd thought he had time, at least until his father died, before his uncle attempted to harm the staff.
    John stared at the rows of calf-skinned books unable to believe his father was gone. He glanced at his uncle, who leaned against the bookshelves with a look of anticipation that left a feeling of doom in the pit of John's stomach. The last three weeks had been the most trying of his life.
    He recalled seeing Kitty and her family at the funeral, as well as Robert's family. Had he spoken to them? He couldn't remember.
    His father was dead. The thought of assuming the duchy, of making decisions for all the people on their different estates, for his mother, and some day for Kitty, felt daunting. He alone was responsible for their welfare.
    The sound of weeping on his right drew his thoughts back to his mother. Expecting support from his mother at this time would create a hardship for her, particularly in view of the fact that lately, he'd been the one to carry her concerns.
    She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a limp handkerchief. Her quiet sobs had become almost constant since his father's death.
    John toyed with the notion of riding off on Renegade and leaving them all. He would have, but the image of his father's stern face, spouting about his responsibilities and failure to meet them, rose to haunt him. He shook his head and tried to smile as he handed his mother yet another of his handkerchiefs.
    The solicitor strode into the room with his nose in the air and a leather case hanging from his hand. He stopped behind the duke's desk, ignoring the persons assembled before him as he rifled through the case. He finally dropped a stack of papers on the desk, puffed his cheeks in and out, and stared down at John with an owlish gaze. Pompous old stick.
    Bartholomew drew a maroon leather chair to the right of the desk and sat with a faint smile.
    John had given up all attempts to put his uncle in his place. It wasn't worth the effort. He couldn't stand to see his servants suffer for it. With his father gone, nothing would restrain the man.
    The solicitor cleared his throat and nodded at them. "Your Graces, my lord, I regret the need for this, but the Duke instructed me to read the will immediately following the funeral service." He cleared his throat again and pushed his