“I’ll Marry the First Man Who Enters,” She Joked — Then the Duke Walked In
Chapter 9
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On the afternoon of the fourth day, the sky darkened, though the sun had not yet set. A thick, acrid haze hung over the horizon."We are close," Augustus said, breaking a three-hour silence. He closed his leather portfolio.Bella looked out the window: the trees here were stripped bare, their trunks darkened by years of industrial exhaust; in the valley below, a sprawling complex of brick chimneys belched thick black smoke into the sky; the sound of heavy machinery, a rhythmic, mechanical thudding, vibrated through the floorboards of the carriage. It was not pretty; it was violently alive."The Pendleton Collieries," Augustus said, watching her face. "It funds the dukedom. It built the townhouse in London. It bought your emerald dress."Bella didn't flinch. She watched the soot-stained men trudging along the road, their faces blackened, carrying pickaxes over their shoulders. "It looks like hard work.""It is brutal work," Augustus corrected. "My grandfather bought the land for a song, found the seam. The aristocracy looks down on trade, Bella. They sneer at the coal dust, but their grand estates would freeze solid in January without it. This is the reality of the Westford title: dirt, iron, sweat. If you expected manicured rose gardens, you will be disappointed.""I expected a roof that doesn't leak," Bella said mildly. "I am quite easily satisfied, Your Grace."Augustus's mouth twitched; it was the closest thing to a smile she had seen from him.The carriage turned off the main road, winding up a steep, craggy hill away from the mines. The smoke thinned out here, though the smell of burning coal still clung to the damp air.At the crest of the hill stood Highridge Manor. It was a fortress built of dark gray stone: it sat heavy and squat against the landscape, designed to withstand the biting northern winds rather than to impress visitors; the windows were narrow; the ivy climbing the walls looked dead; it lacked the symmetry and grace of southern estates; it was entirely uncompromising.The carriage stopped in the gravel courtyard. A small, disorganized line of servants stood shivering on the steps: there was no grand housekeeper, no polished butler, just a collection of rough-looking men and a few women who looked thoroughly overwhelmed.Augustus stepped out and handed Bella down. The wind immediately tore at her bonnet."Welcome to Highridge," Augustus said.A man with a pronounced limp stepped forward from the line of servants; he wore a coat that was missing three buttons. "Your Grace, we weren't expecting you till tomorrow. The fires ain't all lit.""Miss Holloway—" Augustus paused, correcting himself with a slight frown. "The Duchess is tired, Miller. Have the trunks brought to the main suite and get tea into the drawing room.""Drawing room's shut up, Your Grace," Miller said, scratching his jaw. "Drafty. We lit the fire in your study."