Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  Shaking with rage, Somerset pointed at Hawksworth. “You knew about this.”

  “Of course I did.” His son’s face was as cold as the father’s usually was. “But you signed the contract. You couldn’t wait to sign it even when Berwick suggested you wait until morning. I am a witness.”

  “How?” Somerset demanded. “You weren’t even in the room.”

  “Not in the room, but we saw everything from where we were.” Kendal released the old duke, and Thalia placed her hand on his arm. “I witnessed it as well. You did not even care that the other signature wasn’t on the contract. I signed it immediately after you left. Thalia is my wife, and I will not allow you or your tools to interfere with her or me in any way.” Her father’s cold blue eyes glared at Kendal, and he glared back. “I suggest you depart. Immediately. The rest of us have a wedding breakfast to attend.”

  “Father”—she said as they turned to leave the study—“I wish you well.”

  “Where is my wife?” Somerset raged. “Did she know about this?”

  “No.” Laia stepped forward. “Mary has not been well, and my mother has been helping to nurse her. She knew nothing. She will no doubt be as shocked as you are.”

  He stalked out of the room followed by two of Berwick’s footmen, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  “It’s done.” Kendal said. “I see now why you take such precautions to protect the duchess.”

  “If he knew what she was doing,” Meg said, “he’d refuse to allow her to see the younger children and send her to some remote estate.”

  “Come.” Guy took his wife’s arm. “We have reason to celebrate. Do we not?”

  “Yes.” Giles glanced at Thalia. “I certainly do.”

  Her eyes shone with love. “I do as well.”

  “I have a question,” Guy said as he escorted Laia away. “Do you really still have dungeons?”

  “We do indeed,” Berwick said. “One never knows when there will be another uprising.”

  “I think Sittle should be prosecuted.” Thalia had a militant look in her eyes, and Kendal was not going to argue with her. She was turning into a formidable lady.

  “I agree,” Euphrosyne said. “He was the one who tried to stop my marriage.”

  Markville scowled. “Perhaps we should put him on a ship to the Antipodes.”

  Somerset departed within the hour with a reduced number of servants. The next day, Kendal arranged for Sittle to indeed be shipped to the Antipodes.

  Five days later, Kendal handed his duchess out of the coach and introduced her to their staff. He’d never been so happy in his life.

  * * *

  One month later.

  Thalia strolled through the gallery, looking at family paintings, and came across one of Kendal with his dead wife and daughter. “Is that Lillian?”

  “Yes.” His arm was already around her, but he needed her closer. “We can put it in the attic if you wish.”

  “No, why would I want you to do that? You had a beautiful daughter, and you loved her. That is how it should be.” Thalia turned and kissed him. “We will never forget her.” She placed her hand on her stomach. “And we will not let our children forget her either.”

  His throat closed, and his heart couldn’t be fuller. “You’re going to have a baby?”

  “No.” She smiled in her gentle way, but her tone was firm. “We are going to have a baby.”

  Author Notes

  The fabric tulle is actually from the French town of Tulle and debuted in 1818.

  The year 1819 was, in general, a cold year in England. A severe frost struck as far south as the Forest of Dean and into southern Scotland. This caused crops to fail and added to the hunger and misery started by the extreme cold in 1816 from which England had not recovered. The Corn Laws made the situation much worse as imported grain was out of the reach of most of the population. In August of 1819, there was a large protest against the government’s policies was in the process of taking place when the local militia charged resulting in the Peterloo Massacre.

  There was actually a Duke of Berwick-upon-Tweed. He was the illegitimate son of James II. Although, the English title is extinct, the title of Berwick is carried on in a Spanish line.

  Dukely really is a word. It dates to the early 19th century.

  We don’t think much of dowries now, but they were very important, many helped to support a lady’s younger sons, some became part of her widow’s portion, and they could also be put in trust for the lady’s use. They also gave a lady a sense of worth.

  If you are interested in Hawksworth’s obsession with food, or any of the other references in the book regarding other family members, please read the other Trevor books and Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince, part of my Marriage Game series.

  And finally, those of you who read my books with notice that Your Grace, for example, capitalized where it should not be. That was the majority decision of the group.

  * * *

  If you haven’t already, please join me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/EllaQuinnAuthor and join my mailing list either through the Facebook Link or at www.ellaquinnauthor.com. You can also follow me on BookBub at https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ella-quinn. I look forward to meeting you!

  HOW TO DITCH A DUKE

  July

  May McGoldrick

  Preface

  Lady Taylor Fleming is an heiress with a suitor on her tail. Her step-by-step plan to ditch him is simple. But there is nothing simple about Franz Aurech, Duke of Bamberg. When Taylor tries to escape to sanctuary in the Highlands, her plans become complicated when the duke arrives at her door and her loyal allies desert her. But even with the best laid plans, things can go awry…

  Chapter 1

  How to Ditch A Duke

  – Step 1 –

  Neglect Your Appearance in Important Situations

  April, 1820

  Angus, The Scottish Highlands

  Lady Taylor Fleming stood with her maid a few yards off from the stranded coach-and-four. The hard downpours had eased to a miserable, drenching rain, and water had long ago soaked through her boots. She was chilled to the bone. From the sound of the teeth chattering next to her, Taylor knew her maid wasn’t faring any better. She took the satchel, allowing the older woman to warm her hands.

  A thick grey cloud had been chasing them since she and her family left the Lowlands. The accident could not have happened at a worse place, for the chance of help arriving anytime soon was unlikely. She’d traveled this road a hundred times, and she knew there wasn’t a crofter or a village for miles. They were stuck.

  They’d needed to leave Edinburgh. Sporadic outbreaks of violence had followed the social protest assemblies earlier in the week, and the clashes had spooked her father. The weavers’ guilds and other reform groups had been shutting down business in cities from Manchester to Glasgow to Edinburgh to Aberdeen, and the authorities were retaliating everywhere with military force to suppress the voices of protesters. When a pitched battle had spread to a hospital surgery near the university, killing a doctor, it had been the last straw.

  Their escape had hardly been an easy one, but the sodden road going west toward the family hunting lodge had been a nightmare ever since they left the coach road at Montrose. Then, nearly an hour ago, a rear wheel slid into the ditch. They’d been fortunate the carriage didn’t turn over, but the wretched thing was sunk in the mud up to the axle.

  So now, they were marooned on an isolated road in the Highlands.

  “Lift the blasted thing. Put your backs into it.”

  The querulous voice was getting on everyone’s nerves. The men were trying. Taylor looked from the driver, urging the tired horses, to the two grooms and the pair of valets struggling to keep their footing in the cold muck. Her father and brother stood beneath the solitary oak tree beside the road. The Earl of Lindsay and Viscount Clay. Both men were completely ignorant of how much horse and manpower it took to move the heavy weight of a carriage from a pre
dicament such as this. But that didn’t stop the incessant directions.

  “Lighten the load, you fools!”

  The trunks and other luggage were sitting in a pile, having been unloaded immediately after the accident. Taylor seethed as her father continued to berate the men.

  “Lay a whip to those horses. This is no Sunday ride in the park. Show them who is master.”

  Her skin burned with irritation. Incessant harassment was the earl’s standard response whenever things didn’t go as he wished. As the only daughter, Taylor had been on the receiving end of his carping for as long as she could remember. Since her mother’s death seven years ago, however, she’d learned that the secret to dealing with him was to keep her distance when she could manage it and pay no heed to him when she couldn’t. Of course, her aptitude when it came to investing and managing their money played in her favor too. So long as she took care of her father’s and brother’s expenses and didn’t bother them about their exorbitant spending, a fragile peace was maintained.

  “Blast you all! We don’t want to be out here all day.”

  The men’s faces were streaked and spattered with mud, and their clothes were soaked and filthy. They continued to push as the driver pressed his tired team. The horses snorted and pulled, and the carriage groaned and rocked dangerously, but a moment later the contraption settled back where it was. They were getting nowhere.

  They needed help.

  Just then, one of valets, a slight, middle-aged man, slipped and went down, sliding into the roadside ditch.

  “Get up, man. Come out of there this instant, or you’ll feel my cane.”

  That was all she could take. Taylor peeled off her gloves and handed them, along with the satchel, to her maid. As she stalked toward the tree, the muck sucked at her shoes and her cloak dragged behind her, but she didn’t care.

  “Help them, Clay,” Taylor ordered when she reached them. “We’ll never get out of here without extra help for the men.”

  Her brother, standing beside the earl, gazed into the distance, pretending not to hear her.

  “Push harder. Lift!” The earl shouted a string of curses when the valet was too slow in regaining his place.

  “The horses and the men are tired,” Taylor said to her brother. The rain continued to beat down on her, but neither man shifted an inch to make room for her under the tree’s branches. “They’re no closer to moving the carriage than they were an hour ago.”

  She wanted to shake Clay. He continued to disregard her, brushing water droplets from his cloak.

  “Don’t ignore me,” Taylor persisted. “You need to go out there and help them.”

  “You must be daft.” He glared at her. “Help them how?”

  “Lend a hand. Help push the carriage onto the roadway.”

  “No bloody chance of that. I’m wet enough as it is.”

  She hated to admit it, but her brother was becoming more and more like their father every day. “We’re all wet. They need more muscle.”

  “Have you forgotten my shoulder? The deuced thing will never heal if I don’t give it a rest.”

  “You tripped climbing two steps six weeks ago, and it hasn’t stopped you from fencing at the club or rolling dice with your friends.”

  “You’re a cold fish. You have no sympathy. No heart. You couldn’t care less about the pain I’ve endured.”

  Taylor definitely had no patience for the drama that came part and parcel with every interaction with her brother. Four years older than Clay, she wasn’t his mother. She wasn’t his keeper. And she was tired of the jealousy that lay just beneath the skin of every comment he directed toward her. During arguments, he made no attempt to veil his hostility and resentment. She knew the source of his antipathy. Over five years ago, her mother’s brother had left a fortune to Taylor. Not to his nephew, not to his brother-in-law, but to his niece. And any moment now, she knew Clay would bring up the topic.

  “I wouldn’t even be here if you weren’t such a tight-fisted harridan. If you’d paid my way to Bath—”

  “Save your complaining for another day. They need you now.” Taylor pointed at the men struggling in the storm. “Go.”

  “I think not!” Clay shot back hotly, turning to the earl. “Father, speak to her. If you don’t curb her, she’ll have us driving the carriage ourselves.”

  Lord Lindsay looked down his nose at her, at his son, and back again at Taylor.

  “Look at you. You’re as tall as your brother. Wider in the shoulders. And you’re surely twice his weight. Too bad you’re not a man, because you’re hardly a woman.”

  Her throat closed. Her eyes burned. Her skin flushed in anger. His barbs were nothing new. She’d been the target of his demeaning comments about her size and shape for all her adult life. During the years when she was paraded out in front of society’s eligible bachelors—only to be treated as if she were invisible to them—he’d have the same sharp jabs. She could ignore the scoffing efforts at wit from strangers, but not from her own kin. She could pretend her father’s gibes didn’t sting, but the hurt never went away.

  Throwing the hood back and shedding her cloak, Taylor shoved it into Clay’s stomach and turned on her heel, moving down toward the carriage.

  “What are you doing?” The earl’s shout followed her. “Come back here this instant.”

  Tears escaped but immediately washed away, mingling with the droplets of the rain. She wouldn’t allow them to see her cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they could still hurt her. Her anger regarding their carelessness and lack of responsibility, they were accustomed to. Her temper, when unleashed, was the only thing they feared and respected. And in moments like this, she valued it, as it provided her with a shield.

  One foot sank into the mud, followed by the other, as she trudged toward the carriage. With each step, she tried to silence the haranguing voices behind her and instead focus on the men who’d paused for breath. They were all staring as she approached.

  “Shall we?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves to the elbows.

  “M’lady, you shouldn’t.” The driver glanced uncertainly at his master and back at her.

  She shook her head at his soft-spoken words. “I believe I should. Let’s do this now. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

  Ignoring the murmurs of protest coming from the others, she put her shoulder against the rear of the vehicle. She braced her feet, and after a moment’s hesitation, the men returned to their places.

  On three, the driver shouted his commands to the horses and they all pushed. But the carriage remained anchored in place.

  Rain pelted down on them. At least, her father was silenced for the moment. Again, they threw their weight into the effort, and the neighing of the horses was accompanied by the grunts and muttered profanities of the men.

  Her feet sank in the mud up to her ankles. The exertion wore on her. She wasn’t used to strenuous physical labor, but she persevered. Still, there was no movement. Her breath caught in her chest with the next push, and she tasted the saltiness of tears on her lips.

  She knew nothing about pushing carriages out of a ditch. She’d hoped to stir some shred of guilt in her brother. One person in this family needed to demonstrate some semblance of moral fiber. One person needed to show some appreciation for the efforts of others. She was also down here slogging in the muck to send a message to her father that he couldn’t hurt her. His insults meant nothing. She was a woman. A strong, financially independent woman.

  Taylor closed her eyes and focused on the task as they started again, but she was suddenly aware of the presence of a man behind her.

  “If you please, step aside and allow me to help.”

  She didn’t know who he was and where he came from, but she wasn’t about to give up her place.

  “My lady, I can be far more effective if you give me room.” The voice carried the hint of an accent.

  A stranger had stopped to rescue them while her family stood watching
. She edged over a little, not about to leave her position at the back of the carriage. “We appreciate your help, sir.”

  “If you were to rejoin your party beneath the tree—”

  “I’m staying here, helping these men,” she said tensely.

  The newcomer acquiesced and shouldered in beside her. They all pushed together, and the carriage inched forward. He had shed his coat, and his satin waistcoat was already dark with rain. The soaked sleeves of his shirt were plastered over muscled arms. His hands, latched securely onto the spoke of a wheel, were large.

  “Let go.” He still hadn’t looked at her, and it was the tone of a man accustomed to being obeyed, but she continued to hold on.

  “I can’t. I won’t.”

  They all heaved again. She realized she was little more than an ornament in the process. Taylor felt the raw power exuding from the man. The earthy, masculine scent of leather and fresh air filled her head. His face was turned away, and she stared at his wide shoulders.

  The next concerted effort caused the carriage to shift with a jerk as the wheel popped up onto the surface of the road. But as it did, Taylor fell and slid down the bank of the ditch into the muck and the runoff from the rain. The vehicle continued to move, and a cheer went up from the men.

  Taylor pushed herself onto all fours. Her hands were deep in the mud, her knees sunk in it, and filthy brown water dripped from her chin.

  Shame and embarrassment washed through her, more painful than any physical distress. Here she was, an earl’s daughter. One of the richest women in Scotland. While her mother was alive, Taylor had been doted on, loved, cherished. But those days were gone. Today was proof of it. Here, in the presence of a stranger on a storm-soaked Highland road, she was on her hands and knees, chilled and wet and bedraggled—an object of derision in the eyes of everyone. And to what end? Simply to prove a point to her selfish family about character.