Mark Linfield, the young Duke of Edgerton, sat at his father’s bedside and reached over and took the old man’s hand. His father had been asleep but, at his son’s touch, he opened his eyes.

“Son?

“How are you doing this morning, Father?”

His father winced. “About the same. What time is Doctor Benson coming? Did he say?”

“He usually comes about ten.”

Jacob, Mark’s father, closed his eyes again.

“Father, I wanted a word with you about the Cape Colony trade.”

Opening his eyes, Jacob said, “Mark, I am sorry not to be of better use to you, but I just cannot deal with those issues anymore. That is why I passed the dukedom on to you. Please, leave me in peace.”

“As you wish, Father,” Mark replied, and he stood to leave.

“Maybe your grandmother might have some thoughts about the Cape Colony business. She always seemed to have a head for business, but she is a bit of a dotter these days. But have a chat with her.”

“I will—thank you.”

As Mark turned to leave, his father stopped him by waving his hand. “And have the doctor sent up as soon as he arrives.”

“I will.”

* * *

It was unusual for a living duke to pass on the dukedom to his son while he was still alive, but Jacob Linfield was no ordinary duke. He had been aggressive in business in his active years, and he had amassed a vast family fortune in trade while, at the same time, being an eager supporter of the arts—especially music. But when his health rapidly declined, he turned his entire estate and title over to his son Mark.

Linfield House and Park were situated just outside of London in Essex, near the small market town of Chipping Ongar. It was a convenient location because it had ready access to London where Mark could conveniently manage the estate’s business interests.

One approached Linfield house from the right side—the drive leading through a lush green lawn and past two welcoming monuments to the right front corner where a single-story entrance led into the two-story French chateau-style house. Mansard and conical shaped roofs covered turrets and towers along the front and sides of this yellow sandstone building, surrounded by expansive lawns with beautifully placed, stately trees.

Short, round topiary bushes crossed along the front of the house on the far side of the drive, edging the lawn that led down toward a natural lake with an irregular shore with many small coves, surrounded by a natural wooded area.

Mark walked leisurely along the grand gallery toward a wing of the house known as the Duchess wing, because his grandmother, Hester, the Duchess of Edgerton, resided there. Mark’s mother had died giving birth to his sister Alice, leaving Hester as the reigning Duchess.

The grand gallery of Lindfield House was particularly attractive. A wide skylight ran the length of the gallery illuminating one of the finest art collections in private hands in all of Great Britain. Aside from the fine portraits of previous generations of the Linfield family, there was an extensive collection of English and European landscapes, religious paintings, military campaigns, and sea battles.

Mark had the same striking features that ran in the Linfield family. At thirty he was tall, aristocratically handsome with finely chiseled features, and had a graceful way of moving. He wore his blond hair loosely, but not long enough to reach his shoulders. He had never done manual labor, and his hands were long, thin, and beautifully proportioned. He would have been a natural pianist if he had ever been trained, but, alas, he was needed, even as a youngster, to learn the family business.

Mark arrived at the Duchess’s door and he knocked. The door was opened by Baggs, Hester’s maid.

“Is Her Grace available?” Mark asked.

“Yes, please come in,” the maid said, standing aside and allowing Mark to enter.

“Oh, Grandson, there you are. Come sit with me,” Hester said.

The Duchess was seated at a card table by a large window overlooking the lake of Linfield Park, playing solitaire. She was a large woman who favored loose clothing with lots of lace, believing it hid her unwelcome size. She was considerably advanced in age but her plump face showed few wrinkles, lending her the air of a sybaritic cherub.

“I do like to amuse myself at cards just before my luncheon. I believe it soothes and aids in one’s digestion.”

Mark sat opposite her at the table.

“I have recently come from Father’s bedside,” Mark said pointing to a card that could be played.

“And how is my poor son doing today?”

“About the same, but never well.”

Hester sighed. “I should be the first to die, but I am far too stubborn. And now he is wasting away with whatever that nasty business he has consuming him.”

“Doctor Benson is doing all he can. He bled him again earlier this morning.”

“Humph,” Hester muttered, shifting her weight in her chair and pulling at her clothing to free it up. “And then there is that snarly uncle of yours—fit as a fig. I am sorry he became a part of this family.

“Grandmother, he is my mother’s brother. We can hardly exclude him, now can we?”

“Well, I certainly have no say about such things, do I?”

Mark played another card that Hester was ignoring. “Uncle Silas thinks very highly of you and treats you with the utmost respect.”

“He is so obviously trying to get into my good graces. I do not trust him as far as I can throw a pony.”

“Grandmother, have some charity, please. Uncle Silas and I are actively engaged in many worthwhile projects together. Why we have been working to stage one of Handel’s great choral works at Chelmsford Cathedral at Christmas. It will be quite splendid, and I know you will want to attend.”

“Handel, eh? That might just be passable.”

Just then Wesley, the long-serving, and ancient, household butler, knocked and entered pushing a trolley with Hester’s lunch.

“Your Grace, would you like your luncheon served at the card table or in your study?”

“This will be fine,” she said clearing away the cards.

Wesley served as Mark stood.

“My purpose in coming to see you was to get your opinion on the Cape Colony trade situation. You are aware of the troubles, are you not?”

Hester waved her hand, dismissing his concern. “It is nothing to bother about. The natives are often restless, but they will calm down when the rains come.”

Mark was unimpressed with her answer. “I believe it is more complicated than that.”

Shaking her head, Hester turned to her fillet of sole and took a dainty bite. “Come back in a week if the trouble persists, but I do not believe it will.”

Mark could see she was not about to discuss the situation with him seriously. “Very well, I shall take care of the matter myself. Enjoy your meal,” he said and was about to leave when he added. “And you will still be attending the concert with us tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, however, I shall be going down to the house before the two of you. I have some shopping I need to attend to before you arrive. Baggs will be going with me in my carriage. And are we to dine together?”

“After the concert as it starts early.”

“Then we shall meet at the house for tea before?”

“That sounds convenient,” Mark said, and then left.

* * *

“Wesley told me you were visiting,” Mark said.

Sophie Crauford was waiting for him in the red parlor when he entered with his three dogs panting behind him.

“Have you been riding?” Sophie asked with a welcoming smile.

“Foxes—keep raiding the barnyard. Thought we might flush a few, but no luck. Crafty buggers.”

“Father has much the same problem. Says it is time for a hunt,” Sophie said, as she walked leisurely about the room, knowing just how to show off her attractive figure.

“What brings you to Linfield? I thought you were at the London house,” Mark said as he approached Sophie and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She turned away with a pout. “I have not. And you have been a very naughty boy?”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“You have not visited me in well over a week.”

Mark was not about to play into her pouts, so he said, “Shall I ring for some tea?”

“No tea. I have a mind to just leave and never return until you treat me properly.”

Mark knew Sophie’s games and just stood admiring her perky indignation which she displayed so well.

Mark had been courting Sophie, the daughter of Baron Crauford, a nobleman who lived close by. The two had known each other since childhood and it had always been assumed that they were a suitable match for matrimony.

Sophie wore a small jaunty hat on top of her blond ringlets with a form-fitting satin dress that showed off her very best attributes. She was very beautiful and often stayed at her family’s London house because she was always in demand at the season’s many social functions.

She had a lovely oval face with small lips and a slightly upturned nose that gave her the quality of a pixie.

“Very well, since you refuse to answer me, I shall leave and free you to attend to your other, obviously, more pressing concerns.”

She kicked at the hem of her dress and turned with a swirl and headed for the door.

“Sophie, you know I am delighted to see you, but I have been tied up with business matters, and I did believe you were in London. Do not be a silly filly about it.”

She turned and scowled at him. “Oh, I am a silly horse, am I?” And she continued toward the door, but he did not stop her, and she left.

This little incident was going to cost him at least a flower arrangement or even a silver necklace. But he tapped his riding crop against his boots to rouse the dogs and headed for the stable, where he had noticed a lame horse when he stabled his own after riding.

* * *

Mark and his uncle, Silas Skeffington, were headed from Linfield to London in his carriage the next afternoon. They were dressed in evening wear even though it was mid-afternoon. They had musical business to attend to before attending a concert that evening in a small hall in the West End that was featuring a performance by a trio of lady musicians—a most unusual affair.

Silas sat opposite Mark in the carriage. At first, they were both lost in their own thoughts as they left the house. Silas, his mother’s younger brother, worked closely with Mark on his many musical projects. They both had a passion for supporting the arts, but most importantly, music. It was, in fact, Silas’s profession to manage a few musical artists and to organize and direct tours for various musical groups and soloists.

Silas was in his late forties but was still considered to be handsome and dashing. He had red hair like his sister and kept in good shape due to his passion for hiking and swimming in the nearby forest preserve.

His sister had bequeathed him a fine Georgian house in a nearby village, and he was often at Linfield conferring with Mark on business matters.

“What have you heard about this trio we are to see this evening?” Silas asked.

“Very little. But the fact that there are three female musicians is interesting enough to spark my interest,” Mark said.

“I have heard that the pianist is quite exceptional. Some of my contacts in the musical world tell me she is a virtuoso and could be headed for international fame.”

“Really? And her name?”

“Miss Emily Dunn. I believe her father is the owner of Cartwright & Phillips, a well-respected establishment.”

“And the other young ladies?”

“Her sisters—but less than promising. It is the pianist who stands out, I am told.” Silas leaned in with a twinkle in his eye, “And a very handsome woman too, it is reported.”

Mark sat back in his carriage seat and tapped his walking stick absentmindedly against the side of the carriage keeping time to some inner melody. Finally, he asked Silas, “What do you know about this Cape Colony trade business?”

“Not a damn thing. I have all of my investments in gilt-edge securities. But I have heard good things about the newly emerging railways. I might try some modest investments in those and see if there is anything to them.”

“Hmm. Yes, I have heard about those, but it seems like a pipe dream to me. How can something as simple as steam ever drive a carriage large enough to haul numerous people, as well as pigs, sheep, and bales of hay—what will these engineer types think up next?”

Silas laughed. “You may be right. Best we keep focused on the world of music. It has been around as long as civilization and is bound to remain long after we are gone.”

“It certainly is lasting even if it is not always profitable,” Mark said with a smile.”

“And your Grandmamma is attending the concert with us?”

“We are to meet at the London house for tea and then we shall travel together to the concert hall.”

“And no supper first?”

“The concert is early, so I suggested we dine after.”

“Then I shall load up on teacakes before. Never enjoyed music on an empty stomach,” Silas said with a chuckle.