A Second Chance With a Duke

by Claudia Stone

  Rage had caused Katherine to raise her voice and the sound of it had brought Bessie and Highland running. Katherine was not certain what her brother might have done, had they not appeared at the door of the drawing room, nor did she wish to know. Toby, sensing defeat, cast her a cruel leer, before shrugging his shoulders in a laissez-faire manner.

  "If that is how you wish it, Kitty," he said with a mocking bow, "Then you may consider yourself without family."

  "I have been without family since the day Papa died," Katherine countered, under her breath, but Toby did not hear her mutterings for he had already swept from the room.

  "Is everything alright, m'lady?" Bessie asked nervously, as the sound of Toby slamming the front door reverberated through the house.

  "Never been better," Katherine replied, tight lipped. Though she appreciated the maid's concern, she wished for a few moments by herself, so she instructed Bessie to start preparing her bath.

  "Honestly," Katherine said, turning to the elderly Highland who still lingered in the doorway, "I am perfectly fine, thank you for your concern."

  "If you say so, my lady," Highland bowed his head, "Though if you ever need me to run Lord Harrington through with a sword on your behalf, just say the word. Lud knows he's turned into a big enough target."

  The butler's last comment was muttered quietly, as Highland made his way from the room, though Katherine still managed to hear it and gave a wry smile, despite her anguish. It was true that Toby was starting to run to fat; no doubt through a combination of excessive drinking and not enough exercise.

  As the door clicked shut behind Highland, Katherine gave a sigh and wandered toward the bay window. She leaned lightly against the wall as she gazed out onto the street, allowing her mind to meander back to the awful days which had followed her father's death...

  The late Lord Harrington had been a gregarious sort of fellow; always quick with a laugh or a joke, or to buy a pint of ale for one of his tenants in the local inn. He had inherited a small estate that, had it been managed properly, would have sufficed to support the family modestly. Alas, Lord Harrington's convivial nature did not marry well with estate management and his second wife's tastes were richer than what the coffers could offer.

  At the age of seventeen, Katherine had not paid any thought to the family's finances. Her head was filled only with thoughts of Michael, her childhood friend turned sweetheart, who had bought himself a commission in Wellington's army. He had left, some six months before her father's tragic death, promising to return in a year and make her his bride. It was a thrilling secret, which had she held close to her heart, afraid that if she shared it, someone would tarnish her hopes in some way.

  In the interim, Katherine had submitted to her stepmother's wishes for her to make her come-out in town, though she had made little effort with the men who had tried to engage her interest. Her heart belonged only to Michael and each night before she fell asleep, she would whisper a fervent prayer for his safe return.

  At the end of her first season, Katherine returned to Kent as a complete failure in her stepmother's eyes.

  "She did not even attempt to catch the eye of any eligible gentlemen," Lady Harrington groused over dinner to her husband, who had stayed at home due to a flare up of gout, "The only thing she managed to secure was a friendship with another wallflower."

  "I have always thought that wallflowers were a most under appreciated flower," Lord Harrington had mildly replied, as he sipped at his thin broth.

  Katherine recalled having been worried by her father's thin and haggard appearance, and when she thought on the night of his death, she oft wished that she had followed him from the dinner table to make certain that he was alright.

  She had not, however, and had instead opted to retire to bed for a night of dreaming about Michael.

  Just after midnight, Katherine had been roused from her sleep by a servant and bid go to her father's bedchamber. There, she had found her stepmother and Toby standing pale-faced beside her father's bed, as they watched the patriarch of the family struggle for breath.

  "What happened?" Katherine had cried, as she rushed towards her father's bedside.

  "He simply complained of a twinge in his left arm, but when he stood up he collapsed to the floor," Lady Harrington wept.

  The family huddled together as they waited for Dr Philips to arrive, but by the time the diminutive physician entered the room, Lord Harrington had breathed his last.

  The days that followed her father's death were a blur for Katherine. She recalled the funeral, the dozens of mourners who visited to pay their respects, the plates of food which went uneaten, and the prevailing sense of guilt which haunted her.

  If only she had followed her father from the dining table, she thought, over and over. Little realising that this regret would haunt her for the rest of her days.

  Katherine felt her father's absence keenly, but never more so than on the fateful day that Lady Harrington had revealed the dire state of the family's fortunes.

  "We are ruined," she had told Katherine solemnly, "The house must be sold, Toby will have to leave Eton, and heaven knows what will happen to us all. We might have to go our separate ways and seek paid employment."

  "W-w-what?" Katherine had stuttered in reply. Fear had gripped her at the thought of another monumental change taking place in her already broken world. She could not lose her Mama and Toby so soon after her father; it was unthinkable! "There must be something that we can do."

  There was a pause as Lady Harrington eyed her shrewdly. "Well, someone has made an offer for your hand. Should you choose to accept, he has offered to assist with all the debts your father managed to accrue and we will be saved."

  For a split second, Katherine had felt a surge of hope as she imagined that Michael had somehow discovered her predicament and had come to her rescue. Her hopes were quickly dashed, however, by her stepmother, who had continued speaking.

  "Lord Atwood was quite taken with you when he saw you in town," Lady Harrington had said, her face betraying no sign of emotion, "I know that he is a little bit older than you but it would be a most advantageous marriage. Not only does Lord Atwood greatly admire you, he also owns half of Kent."

  It was quite clear that Lady Harrington thought the second point the more important of the two, for she wiggled her eyebrows at Katherine, as though she too would be impressed by Lord Atwood's land holdings.

  "I cannot marry Lord Atwood," Katherine had replied, aghast at the very thought of it, "I am promised to another."

  "And who might that be?"

  If Katherine had been less consumed by grief, she might have noted her stepmother's ire. Instead, her soft heart had poured out the story of her love for Michael and his promises to make her his bride upon his return.

  "Well," Lady Harrington had sniffed, once Katherine had finished speaking, "I did not expect you to be so blind, Katherine. It's as plain as day that Lord Carville is making a fool of you. If I recall correctly, he is promised to the daughter of an Earl who comes with fifty-thousand. Do you really think his father will allow him marry the daughter of an impoverished baron?"

  "You lie," Katherine shook her head, but doubt was beginning to creep in.

  "Why would I lie?" Lady Harrington had asked, "When it is your best interests which concern me. No, my dear, I am afraid that I must speak the truth plainly to you, for this boy has muddled your head with sweet words. Lord Carville has no wish to marry you, for if he did, he would have asked you formally before he left. No man would leave the woman they love so unprotected..."

  Her words were like a flesh wound to Katherine's heart, and she imagined that she could almost feel it breaking within her chest. Was her step Mama right? Was Michael simply toying with her affections for his own amusement? It was true that she would bring little to the marriage, excepting herself, but surely he did not care for such things. Not when he loved her...

  "I cannot marry another," Katherine had cried, but doubt had caused her
voice to waver. Everything in her world now seemed so precarious that she could not even be sure of Michael's love, which had once seemed so certain.

  "Oh, you selfish girl! You have a duty toward your family," Lady Harrington had replied sharply, before clutching her breast as though she were in pain, "My heart. Quickly, fetch a doctor!"

  Lady Harrington had been whisked away to her chambers by the servants and Dr Philips had been called. Strict instructions were issued for the patient to stay in bed and not be subject to any undue upset, until such time as she felt stronger. Katherine and Toby were both terror struck by their mother's lapse into ill-health, though terror seemed to inspire spite in the latter.

  "This is all your fault," Toby hissed at Katherine one evening, "If Mama dies, I shall never forgive you. How can you live with yourself causing her so much stress?"

  "I cannot marry Lord Atwood," Katherine had pleaded, though uncertainty had again crept into her voice.

  "No," Toby had sneered, "You're saving yourself for Lord Carville. How noble of you to wait for the man who has tupped nearly every girl in the village whilst ignoring your family's needs."

  He was lying, Katherine told herself, but it was impossible to ask Michael, for he was hundreds of miles away in another land. As the days progressed, Lady Harrington had begun to refuse all food, and a pall of despair hung over the household. Katherine herself had also lost her appetite, as anxiety and worry ate away at her.

  Was she truly so selfish that she would sacrifice her family's future for the words of a boy who had—in essence—abandoned her for adventure?

  Eventually, after a disastrous visit from father's solicitor, who had instructed Toby that a large parcel of land would have to be sold to pay the most immediate of debts, Katherine succumbed to her fear.

  "I will marry Lord Atwood."

  Once she had said the words to Lady Harrington, there was no taking them back. Lord Atwood was summoned to meet his young bride-to-be, and though at seven and forty, he was decades older than Katherine, she had reluctantly agreed with her Mama that he was still quite handsome and very charming. The mysterious pains which had plagued Lady Atwood soon disappeared and she threw herself with gusto into the organisation of the wedding, which would take place as soon as possible, on foot of a special license.

  "Lord Atwood is most eager to make you his wife," Lady Atwood had assured Katherine, though with hindsight, Katherine later realised that her Mama had wanted the paperwork signed before she'd had a chance to change her mind.

  And so, a mere four days after she had submitted to her mother's wishes, Katherine became Viscountess De Vere.

  "You have saved us," Lady Harrington had whispered to her, as Katherine and Charles had prepared to depart for Atwood Manor, and Katherine had felt heartened by her words.

  She had saved her family, she thought with relief, little understanding the price she would pay...

  Katherine felt a stab of regret, as she recalled the fateful day of her marriage to Charles. How young and naive she had been; she had handed out trust to whomever had asked for it, without a second thought for herself—but no more.

  Now, she was an independent lady of means. Not great means, by any stretch of the imagination, but she was mistress of her own home and did not have to answer to anyone.

  She tore herself from her reverie and checked the clock on the mantelpiece, which was close to striking the hour. She needed to make haste and prepare herself for the ball. There was no point in reflecting upon the past when it was dead and buried, she told herself.

  Still, as Bessie assisted her into her bath, Katherine could not help but think momentarily of Michael and what might have been, had she not been so foolish as to fall for her Mama's tricks.

  The past might be dead and buried, Katherine reflected, but the echoes of it still reverberated throughout her life.

  Chapter Six

  Michael had no particular acquaintance with the newly minted Viscount De Vere, but when an invitation for a ball had arrived from Lord Atwood, Michael had instructed his social secretary to accept it at once.

  When Katherine had failed to reply to his missive, he had resignedly accepted that she no longer had any feelings toward him. Keen to honour her desire to be left alone, Michael had valiantly fought against the strong urge to call on her and beg for an audience, and had left Katherine in peace.

  His conscience could not tolerate the thought of forcing his company upon a woman who had no wish for it, but his heart could not resist attending another ruddy ball just to catch a glimpse of her.

  Hence, on a dreary, wet evening, Michael found himself climbing the steps of Lord Atwood's Mayfair home. The white stucco fronted town house was brimming with guests and Atwood had obviously spent a considerable sum of money on his first social soirée as viscount. Chandeliers blazed with hundreds of candles, fresh flowers occupied every free space, and dozens of liveried servants bustled to and fro, bearing trays laden with champagne. In the ballroom, a five-piece orchestra serenaded the guests who wished to dance, and as Michael made a circuit of the rooms, he heard whispered rumours of a performance by a famous Italian opera singer.

  "Of course, Signora Ciccerello is rumoured to be very close to Lord Atwood," General Winters whispered to Michael, elbowing him conspiratorially in case Michael had failed to understand his heavy innuendo.

  "It's a wonder anyone gets anything done in London," Michael replied dryly, "For all I seem to hear are rumours about amorous liaisons. If even half of what I heard was true, the city would be devoid of men, for they'd all have expired from exhaustion."

  "Quite a way to go though, eh?" Winters replied with a ribald smile, oblivious to the irritation in Michael's tone.

  With a tight smile, Michael left the congenial general to his own devices; Winters wasn't the worst of society's tabbies, though Michael's patience with his chattering peers was beginning to wear thin. He missed the straight-forward life of the army, where one said what one meant and did what one said. In London, he was forced always to be on his guard, lest anything he said or did was misconstrued and inspired a deluge of gossip. Just this week, he had twice spotted his name in the newspaper columns, where twice he was linked with two different ladies. The first, Lady Renable, was a neighbour he had chatted to for a few minutes whilst out riding in Hyde Park, whilst the second, Miss Coachford, was a complete stranger to him.

  He knew that he should ignore the papers, for they were as wont to make up the news as they were to report it, but Michael hated feeling as though he was constantly being watched and scrutinised.

  Why, even in the crowded ballroom, he felt as though he was under the direct gaze of the crowd, though as he turned his head, he realised why it was he currently felt so conspicuous.

  His mother.

  The dowager duchess stood on the far side of the room, her blue eyes—which were a match for Michael's own—trained determinedly on her last remaining son. It was a wonder she hadn't bore a hole through his coat, such was the heat of her stare, and Michael suspected her interest in him had little to do with himself, but more the pretty young woman who stood at her side. As Eudora caught her son's gaze, she lifted the fan in her hand to beckon him over, and there was little that Michael could do but comply.

  "Mother," Michael bestowed a kiss upon his mother's cheek, noting with a start how papery thin it had become. Since the loss of her husband and her eldest son, Eudora had shrunk to almost skeletal proportions. Tonight, however, there was a glow to her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  "Elsmore," Eudora beamed, though Michael detested hearing her stand on ceremony and use that moniker. Elsmore was his father's name and should have been Philip's; Michael did not feel at all fit to be called it. It also made him feel strange, as though he had stopped being himself once he assumed the title; he was no longer a man but a duke.

  "Allow me to introduce Miss Hutchinson," Eudora continued, gently prodding the young lady beside her to step forward.

 
Michael tried not to grit his teeth as he allowed his mother to make the introduction. To be fair to Miss Hutchinson, she seemed almost as mortified as Michael felt at Eudora's blatant meddling, and as Eudora's attention was caught by a passing acquaintance, she offered a quiet apology.

  "I hope you don't think me too forward, your Grace," she whispered nervously, with a keen eye on the chattering Eudora, "But your mother is friends with my mother, and she seemed so excited at the prospect of us meeting."

  "Did she strong-arm you into it?" Michael asked, with a reluctant smile.

  Miss Hutchinson was far too polite to say if his mother had, but Michael already knew the answer. What was his mother thinking, forcing a girl who was clearly fresh out of the school room upon him? It was fair to neither he, nor Miss Hutchinson, who clearly wished to be gossiping with the crowd of white-clad debutantes who clustered on the far side of the room and not making small talk with a crotchety duke.

  "Don't worry about my mother," Michael said, with a kind smile to the young girl, "I shall deal with her. Why don't you join your friends, before she comes back?"

  Miss Hutchinson looked most relieved as she took her leave, near fleeing on her slippered feet, such was her haste to be away. Michael sighed as he watched her go; if his mother wanted to see him married, she would have to find a more mature candidate. His title rendered most young ladies mute with fear, whilst he himself could not muster any interest in ladies who were more than a decade younger than he.

  His mother must have noted Miss Hutchinson's disappearance, for she soon returned to his side, with a cross look upon her face.

  "What happened?" she asked, prodding him with her fan, "Did you say something to upset her?"