A Second Chance With a Duke

by Claudia Stone

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Author

  Other Works

  About the Author

  A Second Chance With a Duke

  Claudia Stone

  Copyright © 2019 Claudia Stone

  All rights reserved.

  Copy Editing E. Hamilton

  For Emma, with many thanks for holding my hand throughout this all.

  Chapter One

  There were many things that Katherine Atwood, Viscountess De Vere, had regretted over her eight and twenty years, but as she stood at the graveside of her husband, the late Lord Atwood, she acknowledged that his passing was not one of them.

  A grey ceiling of cloud hung low over the mourners who huddled tightly together in the small graveyard of St George's Church in Epsom, Surrey, and a chill wind teased them mercilessly. The vicar—his teeth chattering—speedily intoned a bible passage before Lord Atwood's coffin was lowered into the ground, much to the frozen spectators' relief.

  As was tradition, Katherine stepped forward to throw a rose onto the coffin before the gravediggers commenced the burying part of the burial. A pile of dark earth stood waiting to be tossed into the grave, but it could wait one moment longer.

  Katherine could sense a dozen pairs of eyes upon her as she broke rank from the crowd and took a step toward the grave's edge. As she felt the press of curious stares, she said a thankful prayer for the black, lace veil which covered her face.

  If the mourners had been hoping for a fit of hysterics from the newly widowed viscountess, they were much disappointed. Katherine stood silently for a moment, as though in prayer, before throwing the red rose she held in her hand down upon Lord Atwood's coffin.

  Beneath her veil, Katherine allowed a small smile to tug at her lips, briefly imagining what the gathered mourners would have to say if they but knew what she was thinking.

  Good riddance.

  The two words danced around her mind, tempting her to utter them, but Katherine refrained. She did not wish to cause a scene at Charles' funeral; a wish borne not from respect, but from complete and utter fatigue.

  There had been enough scenes during the course of their marriage; there would be no more. The tragic farce that had been their life was now at an end and Katherine was free.

  The hard slap of earth upon wood, as the two gravediggers began to shovel soil into the hole they had earlier created, signalled for the mourners to take their leave and Katherine allowed herself to be carried along with the tide of people. Carriages and carts awaited their passengers outside the church gates, clogging up the narrow country lane. The mourners would no doubt make the quick journey to Atwood Manor, to take tea and offer sympathy, and then they would be gone. Leaving Katherine in merciful peace.

  Once inside her waiting carriage, Katherine was allowed but a moment of solitude, before her stepmother and half-brother, Tobias, clambered in after her.

  "Faith," Lady Harrington grumbled, as she settled her skirts around her, "You could not have picked a worse day for a funeral, Kitty. My chilblains will be acting up this evening, no doubt."

  "I will make certain that the maids have a fire ready in your rooms, Mama," Katherine replied stiffly, smarting a little at the insinuation that the inclement weather was somehow her fault.

  "I couldn't give five-pence for the cold," Toby interjected, though no one had asked him, "But I'm deuced hungry. I could eat a baby lamb through the bars of its pen, I'm that famished."

  Katherine bit back a sigh of irritation at her half-brother's irritable complaint; Toby was trying at the best of times, but today he seemed to be going out of his way to vex her. His appearance was not what it should have been; his face was shadowed with dark whiskers, his clothes were slovenly, and the distinct odour of strong spirits and cheroot smoke hung about him like a fog. In short, he had done neither her, nor his title, justice with his slap-dash presentation at Charles' funeral.

  "There will be refreshments at the manor," she answered him primly, running a restless hand over the dark bombazine skirts of her mourning dress, "Though when we return you might, perhaps, ask your valet to freshen you up before you mingle with the guests."

  Tobias shifted uncomfortably at her words and rubbed his whiskered jaw before replying, "I did not bring a valet. We left in such a rush, you see..."

  It was a lie; Katherine could tell straight away. Toby's words hung heavy in the air, pressing down upon the carriage's occupants like a leaden weight. Katherine cast a glance toward her stepmother, who was studiously avoiding her gaze, and knew that she would not get the truth out of Lady Harrington. She ran through the possibilities of what might have happened to Toby's man but settled upon the most likely one; that Toby had lost a fortune at the gaming tables again and had been forced to let him go.

  "I do hope you haven't been gambling again, Toby," she said, allowing the ice she felt in her heart to creep into her tone, "For Charles' fortune has now passed to his brother and I know of no other wealthy viscounts you can marry me off to, in order to bail you out."

  Her cool put-down gave her a brief moment of satisfaction, until Lady Harrington began to gasp loudly and clutch at her chest.

  "Oh, my heart," she cried dramatically, still clutching at her breast.

  "Now look what you have done, Kitty," Toby admonished, as he turned to comfort his mother. The pair huddled together as Toby fussed over Lady Harrington, both of them casting Katherine looks of censure and hurt.

  Katherine remained silent in the face of their amateur theatrics; once she might have fallen for Lady Harrington's supposed chest pains—in fact, once she regrettably had—but now she knew that her stepmother's illness was nothing more than a cowardly pretence.

  "I shall ask the doctor to attend to you, once we reach the manor," Katherine said idly, as the carriage turned to make its way up the sweeping driveway of Atwood Manor. The house loomed large in the distance, a beautiful Palladian building of yellow sandstone, glowing even in the weak winter's light. Just last week, Katherine had viewed it as a prison, her own personal Newgate, but with Charles now buried in the ground, she could appreciate the house for what it was—not a home, but a fine building none the less.

  The carriage shortly drew up at the front steps and when it did, Katherine did not wait for a footman to arrive to help her down. Instead, she disembarked herself, calling out to the waiting servants to look after Lady Harrington.

  "Take her to her rooms and have Dr Lowry attend to her," she instructed the butler, in a tone that brokered no argument.

  "Oh, but I am feeling much better now," Katherine heard her stepmother protest, "It was just a dizzy spell, that's all."

  "Oh, but I insist, Mama," Katherine replied, turning on the heel of her half-boot so she could see her stepmother's face as she spoke, "I simply could not bear the thought of you silently suffering through your pain for my sake."

  There was nothing that Lady Harrington could say, in the face of Katherine's feigned concern, and so she allowed herself to be ushered up the steps by a solicitous footman. Her features were arranged into a grimace of annoyance and it was clear that this was not the outcome she had intended.

  Katherine hid her smile of satisfaction as she watched her stepmother being led away
; too often, Lady Harrington had manipulated her in order to get her own way, it was rather gratifying that this time her scheming had worked against her. The dowager baroness would abhor the idea of missing out on a social gathering and Katherine was certain that before the afternoon ended, she would attempt to make a reappearance.

  There was no time to relish in her small victory, however, for the guests soon began to arrive. Katherine made her way to the drawing room, to ensure that all was in order, and as they began to trickle in, she graciously accepted the condolences offered by her friends and neighbours.

  "Such a pity," Sir Bertram Edwards said, as he shook Katherine's hand in his meaty paw, "I have never known a man as charming and pleasant as Atwood."

  "He will be missed," Katherine agreed, through gritted teeth, though she longed to add that if Charles was missed, it would not be by her. For a decade, she had lived under her husband's thumb, had endured his cruelty and suffered his violence. To the outside world, Lord Atwood had painted himself as a congenial and gregarious man, an image he had not even tried to feign when he was alone with his wife.

  Oh, Katherine would not mourn her husband for one second, but appearances had to be maintained, and so she smiled and agreed when her guests offered their condolences on the passing of the "charming" Lord Atwood.

  "That was quite the performance."

  As the winter's light had faded, the guests had begun to leave in earnest, and once she had bid goodbye to Sir Bertram, there was only Katherine, Toby, and Charles' brother Anthony, left in the drawing room.

  Katherine turned at the sound of her brother-in-law's low, mocking comment. Anthony—or rather, Lord Atwood, as he was now known—stood watching her with amusement in his cold, grey eyes.

  "It was no performance," Katherine replied, bristling under his mocking gaze.

  "Oh, so you do mourn my brother?" the new Viscount de Vere asked, quirking an eyebrow as he waited for her to reply. When no answer was forthcoming, he gave a sardonic laugh, which caused a slumbering Toby to stir on the chaise longue he had fallen asleep upon.

  Katherine closed her eyes for a moment against the vision of them both; Toby slumbering in his cups, Anthony revelling in his malice. Her life had been controlled and dictated for too long by men who saw her as nought but a puppet on a string. She was weary of it.

  "I can't see how you would," Anthony continued speaking, "He was far too old for a woman like you. You will be most in demand, once you come out of mourning. A woman with your—ahem—condition, coupled with your beauty can expect to have dozens of suitors once you have discarded the black. Perhaps I should stake my claim, before they all descend?"

  If she had not known the man standing before her, Katherine would perhaps have assumed that she had misheard him. No good man would proposition a widow on the afternoon that she had buried her husband but then, the Atwood men were not known for being good.

  "My condition," Katherine replied, allowing a sarcastic note to inflict the word, "Has already done you enough favours, my Lord. You can expect nothing more from me."

  "But it is I who holds the purse strings, Kitty," Anthony said, licking his lips as he eyed her up and down, "And I can be most generous, if I someone proves themselves worthy of my generosity."

  Katherine felt her skin crawl as she took in the meaning of his words; would he truly have her act as his mistress in order to receive what was rightfully due to her as Charles' widow? She had already suffered enough at the hands of his brother; she would not allow Anthony to abuse her so easily.

  "While the laws of primogeniture are clear, dear brother, in that you inherit this house and all the lands that go with it, before we married Charles agreed to a jointer for me, to provide me with a living upon his death. I see no court in the land that would not expect you to hold up that end of the bargain."

  She delivered her words with more confidence than she felt, but the irritated twitch of Anthony's lip let her know that she had been right. What had been promised to her must legally be delivered—despite the fact that after ten years of marriage, she had not delivered to Charles his one desire.

  A child.

  Her inability to produce an heir for her husband had been both a blessing and a curse; a blessing because she had not been forced to endure watching her child suffer under Charles' wrath, a curse because her barren womb had only made Charles' hatred of her grow. Perhaps, things would not have been so bad, if not for the fact that five years ago, Charles had sired a daughter with his mistress. Once her husband finally had the proof that the fault of their childless union lay with her, his merciless torture of his wife had grown even more wicked.

  It's over now, Katherine reminded herself sternly, as visions of his cruel torments flashed through her mind. Her life with Charles was over and it would do no good to relive every cruel word or harsh blow that he had dealt her.

  The tension in the room was almost palpable, and Katherine let out a sigh of relief as the butler, Briggs, entered, to announce the arrival of Mr Davidson, Charles' solicitor.

  The elderly man's hair was slick with rain and the shoulders of his greatcoat were damp, but he could not be persuaded to sit by the fire and insisted upon getting down to matters of business immediately.

  "A spot of something warming will suffice," Mr Davidson said in reply to Katherine's fussing, tapping an impatient finger against the leather binder in his hand, which held Charles' last will and testament.

  Toby, who had been snoozing gently on the chaise longue, stirred himself from his brandy-sodden slumber at the sound of the disturbance.

  "Wills are a rather complicated business," he said, rubbing a hand across his stubbly jaw, "I'd best accompany my sister, lest she becomes confused by any of the terminology."

  Katherine bristled at her brother's insinuation that she was not capable of understanding a simple, legal text. As Davidson and Anthony nodded in agreement with her brother's words, she bristled even further.

  "I do not need to be accompanied, Toby," she said, desperately trying to keep her cool, "There will be very little in the will that concerns me, and if I fail to comprehend that which does, I am sure that Mr Davidson will be happy to explain it."

  Her brother opened his mouth to object and Katherine had a sudden flash of insight; her family's quick dash to Lord Atwood's deathbed had not been made out of concern, but rather a vested interest in what Katherine would stand to inherit. This realisation flamed the ire which already burned within her, and she cut Toby off before he could say another word.

  "No, I insist that you stay here and rest yourself," she said, her tone sanguine sweet, "You do seem dreadfully tired, you've been asleep for most of the afternoon."

  With a tight smile straining the muscles of her face, Katherine bid Mr Davidson and Anthony to follow her to the library, where they would be afforded a modicum of privacy.

  Once they were inside and all gathered were settled, Mr Davidson began to read Charles' will, which was—as Toby had said—a tedious and complicated document. Katherine listened glass eyed as Davidson read through reams of pages on the entailed properties, lands and business interests which would now pass to Anthony, until finally the elderly solicitor came to the portion of the will which concerned her.

  "To my wife, I leave an annual jointure of five hundred pounds," Davidson read in his gravelly voice, "To be paid immediately following my death and then every January thereafter."

  Katherine wrinkled her brow, as she tried to decipher what type of lifestyle five hundred a year might afford her. She would be well able to keep a country house and a small retinue of servants on that amount of money, though she would have to be frugal with other expenses.

  What other expenses, she corrected herself with a silent laugh; she had not been to town since the first year she was married, so she did not need new gowns or a carriage and five to show off in.

  "Most generous...considering."

  Anthony's barbed remark was made low enough so that Davidson, who was sh
uffling through the papers on the desk, did not hear it, but Katherine did. She willed herself not to react to his goading remark, a task made easier by the fact that she had weathered far worse remarks from his brother.

  "As to living arrangements," Mr Davidson continued, "Lady Atwood shall have full use of the dowager house on the grounds of Atwood Manor, and the leasehold for thirty-seven Tilney Street shall be transferred into her name."

  Katherine stiffened and, despite her resolve not to show any emotion before Anthony, a gasp of shock escaped her at this news. Her brother-in-law likewise let out a noise, halfway between laughter and incredulity.

  "Are you certain, Davidson?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair, "I had been led to believe that Rose Cottage would be bequeathed to Katherine."

  "Rose Cottage?" Davidson frowned and shuffled through the pages before him, "Ah. That is to be left to a Miss Molly Price, on the condition that it will then pass to her daughter Sarah. There is an annual stipend as well, some--"

  "Ahem," Anthony coughed censoriously and Davidson trailed off, the tips of his ears flushing and his gaze studiously avoiding Katherine.

  Katherine closed her eyes in anguish; Charles had managed to strike a blow from beyond the grave, still humiliating her even though he was buried and gone. Rose Cottage, the beautiful, rambling, sandstone home, which stood on a small estate in the west of the county, was not to go to her, but to Charles' mistress instead. Even worse, the London home that he had bequeathed her was the same one in which he had housed this Molly Price and her daughter, whilst he was alive. It was a love-nest for a mistress, not a home for his widowed bride; the whole ton would know this and they would revel in gossiping about her humiliating fall from grace.

  "Well, it's unthinkable that you would want to live in London," Anthony finally said, his thin lips curling into a smug smile, "You must take up residence in the dower house."

  His grey eyes, so like his brother's, were triumphant, and Katherine knew that he was delighting in watching her suffer. The echoes of Charles in Anthony's victorious gaze bolstered her failing spirits; she would rather live on the streets than under Anthony's care. If all the choice she had was between a sordid pied-à-terre in London or living within reach of Anthony, then she would choose London.