Full Circle - A Duke Lost

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"You are not seriously contemplating seeing this through, are you Bram?" asked Michael, staring incredulously at his friend. The two men had a robust friendship that had stood the test of time, trials and tribulations, but never, not in his wildest imaginings had Michael expected Julian to commit himself to an invalid. Not just an invalid, but a poor child as poor as a church mouse and as countrified as a pumpkin. Shaking his head in disbelief, Michael was unable to hit on an argument that would change the course of destiny Julian had set himself on. He considered his friend– devilishly handsome, dangerously wealthy and a solid Peer of the Realm, Julian Charles Wilde seventh Duke of Bramford was not a man to be toyed with. He commanded both respect and envy and had a fair amount of mystery about him. Another peer in his shoes would have taken full advantage of the authority and wealth that came with the title, but not Julian. One could never accuse him of being haughty or negligent in his duties as the man was sublimely conscientious and unwaveringly in control. Whilst many fantasised about having a close friendship with the Duke, an honour which would set them up as bang up to the mark in the highest accolades of the upper crust, most knew that a bond with Julian was not something to be trifled with. Michael knew through experience what many only sensed:Julian could be dangerous. Calculated risks were the name of his game. More often than not, he faced danger head on and in doing so harnessed the element of surprise and stole the advantage. Still, the ton sensed not to mess with him, and as such, maintaining a polite, cordial distance was recommended by all who knew of him. One word from the Duke would ruin a person's social standing and one condescending look from him was enough to wither that person's confidence beyond regeneration. Michael was one of a few aristocrats who had the tenacity and intensity to handle such a relationship and so felt entitled to challenge the foundation on which Julian's decision was resting.

Julian also had a wicked sense of humour and so always took things in his stride or on this particular occasion, with his large muscular frame sprawled across the chaise longue and his legs casually crossed at the ankles, seemingly not a care in the world.

Michael knew this to be far from the truth. Despite his relaxed, devil may care attitude, Julian would settle for nothing less than control. He had returned from the Napoleonic Wars to take on the duties of his heritage not only in relation to his vast estate and many tenants, but also his continued commitment to the Crown. He spent as much time in London in private chambers discussing the safety of the Realm as he did taming the wilds of Leicestershire and losing himself in the lush Vale of Belvoir or mulling over the estate accounts. The man carried the world on his broad shoulders and never baulked from responsibility and indeed, did not seem to fear it. For all of these reasons, Michael just could not fathom Julian's seemingly casual stance in relation to this particular cause, because that is exactly what marriage to the chit would be. No matter how chaste and obedient she was espoused to be, marriage to her was a matter of charity, a cause of the highest and the most extreme nature. Damned if Michael was not certain marriage to her would be a sacrifice of note.

Julian allowed his head to loll to the side, a satisfied state of exhaustion seeping deeply into his aching muscles. He had toiled relentlessly alongside the estate labourers to mend the winter-beaten fences. The entire estate had suffered much weather damage during the cold winter season, which had seen the large snow drifts that Julian could recall, only to be followed by heavy, relentless flash floods through spring. Julian did not begrudge the hard labour that this onslaught had brought. He would not have it any other way. It left him feeling sated. What's more the return of sun-dappled days left him feeling hopeful. If spring left him feeling this euphoric, he could not wait for the rare warm summer days Leicestershire offered. He held fond memories of frolicking about in his youth, chasing nothing more than elusive rainbows. His childhood had been idyllic and mischievous, filled with rampant games curbed only by the setting sun. And Michael James Sharpe, Earl of Milford had been keeping pace at his side for most of his childhood and all of his adulthood.