The afternoon sun was trying its best to shine through the tall windows of the Duke's study, but Rowan was in no mood for extra sunshine. He was staring at a stack of ledgers that his estate manager had left for him.
Crop rotation.
Wool prices.
Roof repairs for the tenant farmers in Kent.
Rowan sighed. He rubbed his temples. Being a Duke was 10% attending balls and 90% worrying about sheep and estate affairs.
He stood up and walked to the window, needing a distraction. He looked down into the courtyard.
He expected to see the gardeners trimming the hedges. He expected to see a groom walking a horse.
Instead, he saw a carriage.
It was not one of his carriages. It was not the sleek, black Hamilton coach with the gold crest on the door. It was a hired hackney carriage. It was scuffed, muddy, and looked like it smelled of old boxes.
The front door of Hamilton House opened.
Delaney Kingsley stepped out.
