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The Duke of Haslemere had more land than any other member of the aristocracy except the King himself. His Dukedom was made up of three estates, two had been in the family since Magna Carta, and the third was a more recent acquisition. His residence was Easingborough Hall. A twenty-five bedroom mansion set in three hundred acres of parkland. His Spanish wife had only been able to bear him one child, Edward, now twenty. Edward was a handsome man. Tall and slender, he had his mother's hair color, black, and his father's green eyes.
In all, the Dukedom had around five hundred tenants. Not many of them had much respect for the Duke. Extortionate rent increases and regular evictions were commonplace, ample explanation why there were so few mourners at his funeral.
Edward held onto his mother's arm as they followed the coffin into the church. He had just inherited a massive fortune and a lot of responsibility. More sensitive than his father, the tenants were hoping for an upturn in their fortunes. Edward counted thirty-two people in the church, including the vicar, the organist, his mother and himself. Just twenty-eight out of five hundred, he hoped more would turn up when it was his turn.
Edward didn't have an easy first few weeks. The old Duke, his father, had surrounded himself with men as unscrupulous as himself. The official title for each of these gentlemen was 'Estate Manager.' Edward likened them to crooks when he discussed the estate with his mother.
''Anyone over the age of sixty may live in our houses free of rent until death,'' he'd announced at their first meeting, to wails of anguish and cries of no.
''I believe it is my property now, is it not?'' he'd added. He waited for each of them had to nod before continuing. ''In that case, I will do as I see fit, not as you see fit. Things are going to change around here, starting today.'' His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at each of them in turn. ''Thank you for serving my father so faithfully over the years but the time has come for us to part.'' The estate managers looked at each other in disbelief.
''You mean you don't want us to work for you anymore?'' one of the wanted to know.
''That is correct,'' he smiled. ''I have arranged an alternative job for each of you at Manor Farm under Mr. Jespon.'' Mr. Jepson was six feet five and a former bare knuckle fighter. He was a good farmer, and he'd taught Edward a lot about the workings of the land. He'd often told Edward that once he was Duke, he should do things differently and get rid of his father's team of crooks.
''If you want, send them to me, and I'll make sure they find out what real work is,'' Jepson had told him. When Jepson was informed that Edward was indeed going to carry out his suggestion, he'd danced around a milk churn until he became dizzy. That day Edward made three enemies and gained five hundred admirers.
When he returned to Easingborough Hall after that meeting, he'd found his mother was making preparations to move into the dowager house.
''Mother you look tired. You should let the servants do more,'' he told her. The English climate had made her skin paler over the years. When she'd arrive from Spain, she was very dark. Now much paler, Edward could see dark rings under her eyes. ''You don't have to move into the dowager house. What on earth will I do here in this enormous house alone?''
''One day you will find yourself a wife, and fill some of those bedrooms with children. You won't want your mother around when that happens,'' she replied.
He had feared his father, but he loved his mother. She had been kind to him and regularly defended him against her husband when he'd reached for the cane. The Spanish were more pleasant to children than the English; they didn't beat them or send them away to boarding schools.
''Would you help me sort some of your father's things? There are boxes and boxes of papers and documents. I have no idea where to begin,'' she asked. ''They're in his bedroom.''
Later Edward went into his father's room and began to do what his mother had asked him. There were six boxes placed in a row at the end of the bed. The room was large and had a fantastic view over the garden. Edward hadn't realized that his parents didn't share the same bed until he was thirteen. His mother had removed herself when he was five, no longer able to bear the whiskey fumes and incessant snoring.