The Way to Capture a Marquess's Heart
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL
BRIDGET BARTON
Copyright © 2019 by Bridget Barton
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Table of Contents
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The Way to Capture a Marquess's Heart
Introduction
Alice Campell has been burned once before by betrayal and unrequited love, so marriage is not a topic she wishes to discuss. When she meets a charming Marquess who also loathes the very thought of romance, she is more than excited to have made a new friend. Soon enough, she finds herself in a position of questioning even her own feelings, until she realizes her father’s gambling habit has put her family in a precarious financial position. Could a secretly arranged marriage get them out of this messy situation or is it too late already?
Luke Conolly, son of a Duke, was abandoned by his mother as a child. He fears that he will get hurt again, so he trusts no one, while avoiding having any romantic interactions whatsoever. When he meets a young lady who amazingly shares his opinions on marriage and their stubborn fathers’ habits, something will just change. Friendship sparks between them, quickly evolving into something that Luke never expected. Will this charming lady make him reconsider his beliefs or is he too stubborn to deny his only chance for love?
Unbeknownst to Alice, a hidden deal has been made, which threatens to cost her more than just her freedom... Will Luke eventually convince her to trust him and believe that his feelings for her were always true?
Chapter 1
It was not usual to hear raised voices in the house, let alone the voices of her parents. Alice looked towards the parlour in confusion, shocked to hear such a row. What could Mama and Papa be arguing about?
She could not remember a day in her twenty-two years of life when her parents had had the need to argue about anything. Her mother always readily agreed with whatever her father might say, a habit Alice disliked. If a man was wrong, then it was only right he be told, rather than have him believe he could do no wrong. So yes, she had wished for her mother to be firmer with her father, but not to the extent of the arguing she could hear just beyond the oak door. A servant passed her by, wide eyes looking to the door in amazement.
“Miss Campbell, would that be your parents?”
“Yes, Mary. Hurry along now, do not tarry. I am sure that Mrs Hodgkin needs the dresses you have in your hand.”
The maid curtseyed, dipping her face to hide her disappointment before hurrying away. The last thing Alice wanted was for Mary to know anything about her parents' argument as she was quite the gossiper. Not only would the details of the argument spread among the servants, but amongst the people of London as well. Alice could not understand why her mother insisted on bringing Mary with them to London. The young woman was a nightmare. All she did was talk, gossip, and pretend to work while the other servants did all the work.
She should have stayed behind on the estate and Clara should have come with us, thought Alice, who far preferred the quiet maid who seemed to anticipate her needs without needing to be told. Of course, that might be because she was a few years older, but Alice had always preferred a more mature company. However, as Mrs Hodgkin was here with them, it was only natural for Clara to remain behind and take care of the household.
Alice put her ear to the door, jumping when she heard the thud of a fist connecting with a hard surface.
She had to enter the room and stop them before a hand landed on flesh. If her parents could quarrel so heatedly, what was there to stop her father from laying a hand on her mother? Alice did not necessarily think he would do such a thing, but she could not be sure under these circumstances. She flung the door open, making both her parents jump.
“Mama! Papa! Why are you arguing in such a manner? Your voices can be heard from the staircase!”
Her mother sobbed. “Just ask your father what he has done. Ask him!”
Her father raised his hand to point a finger at her mother. “Calm down, Helen!”
“Do not tell me to calm down when you have lost a large amount of money to the Duke of Richley! What were you thinking, Dougie?”
“I did not think I would lose that hand, all right? I am usually good at cards. It was that darn duke that put me under the table with his last hand.”
Oh heavens, her father had been gambling once again. No wonder her mother was in such high fidgets. Alice's father had a habit of losing more than winning, and up until now the amounts lost had been reasonable. However, judging from this argument, they were close to ruin.
"Papa, the Duke of Richley? He is a notorious gambler, not many people can boast of having won against him."
Alice's father walked away from them to the drinks trolley, pouring himself a whiskey, likely smuggled in after his recent trip to Scotland. Her father owned some property there, his grandfather having been a wealthy Scotsman, and would often take a trip alone to survey his lands.
“We are nigh ruin, and yet you have the time to pour a drink?” her mother scolded. “Dougie, when will you take matters seriously? ’Tis but the start of the London season, what will happen once we return home? Would you leave us penniless? And what of your daughters? What dowry shall we give them in anticipation of suitable marriages? If potential suitors hear of our financial situation, it may cause them to disregard our daughters. Did you consider that when you threw our money away on a game of cards?”
Marriage? That was the last thing on Alice's mind. Let them disregard her, she did not care. But what of Violet? Her sister wished to be married. She carried none of Alice's cynicism towards love and matrimony.
“What else am I to say, Helen?” her father said. “Perhaps we should not have attended Lord and Lady Byron's ball. If I remember correctly, it was you who insisted that we needed to attend the first extravagant ball of the season, and it did not disappoint in that department.”
"Is that not what we came here for, Dougie? You had said that if we arrive early, our daughters would stand a good chance of being seen by eligible suitors, or have you forgotten?"
Her father moved his head from side to side as though he were listening to a tune in his head. Alice wondered why he must act as though he were insane. No, this was merely a ploy for him to gain time before he answered her mother. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, stretching the silence in the room.
“Dougie, this delay in response is unnecessary.”
Her father smacked his lips together as he took a glug of the liquid, eyeing his wife over the rim of his glass. “Dear wife, I do believe that you have forgotten your place. I am the husband, I am the head of the house, I rule this family with an iron fist. I do not have to answer any questions that I do not wish to answer, and I do as
I wish. Is that answer enough?”
Alice inwardly sighed. Was it any wonder the thought of marriage was enough to have her running for the hills? A woman becomes her husband's property and ceases to be a person.
“Oh, I see that you cannot recall the promise you made to my father when you asked for my hand in marriage,” her mother snapped.
Promise? Grandfather and Papa could hardly stand each other when in the same room. What promise could they have made together? This argument had gone on long enough and had to be stopped before they spoke of things that should not be spoken of in Alice’s presence.
“Papa, I am sure that you will find a solution to our predicament. You are, after all, a most intelligent man.” She turned to her mother. “Mother, you suffered an illness recently, it is not good for you to fret so. Come, we will sit in the parlour and drink some tea. I hear that Cook has baked a few biscuits and would appreciate it if we would taste her adaptation of an old family recipe.”
Her mother shook her head. “Alice, I fear that you do not understand the situation. Your father promised me that he would gamble no more, and yet he did that very same thing at the Byrons’ ball. I knew I should have never let him out of my sight once he became too engrossed in Lord Byron's wine.”
Oh goodness, Mama was determined to have Papa see the error of his ways, and yet he appeared nonchalant about it all. Could Mama be overreacting? Alice peered closely at her mother, noting the grim line of her lips and the slightly crazed look her in eyes. No, she was undoubtedly under the hatches. This did not seem to be a light matter, and yet Papa wished to leave it be.
He had taken a seat, crossing his legs as he looked up at his wife. "Helen, perhaps I was not in my right mind when I entered Lord Byron's gambling chamber, but an opportunity had presented itself to win a substantial amount of money, and I took it. The stakes were high, the cards were dealt, and I believed I had a good hand. That was until the duke revealed his own hand and took everything. I was not the only one to lose, my dear, but I will admit that I was hasty in the bet I placed." He shrugged his shoulders. "I do not blame him for it is a game of chance and luck was simply not on my side that night."
Her mother snorted. “Well, that makes a world of difference!”
Alice's eyes widened at the venom in her mother's voice. She had never seen her thus vexed.
"Helen, I am a grown man who does not need to be scolded by his foolish wife. Both the duke and I were aware of what we were getting ourselves into. He won this time around, but he may not be so lucky the next time."
Was her father thinking of playing with the duke once more? Alice found that she could no longer remain quiet about her concerns. “Next time, Papa? Surely we should first address your debt before considering another round of gambling with the Duke of Richley?”
He scratched his chin, and she could just about detect the raspy sound of a growing beard. Papa had not shaved again today. That was unlike him. He was generally meticulous about his appearance, shaving twice a day to avoid unsightly stubble. He found it necessary as he had dark and thick hair growing on both his head and chin, causing a shadow on his face within hours. Alice took after him in both thickness of hair and colour but, thank goodness, it did not grow on her face as it did her father's youngest sister, Aunt Tally. The poor woman was a rather handsome woman with an enviable figure, but she struggled with facial hair. Unfortunately, she had yet to find a husband who would take her as she was, and thus at thirty-one she was a seasoned spinster.
“Playing against the duke may be my only way of winning enough money to pay off my debt, Alice. I cannot think of another way.”
“And if you should lose?” her mother inquired.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Then we will most certainly be ruined.”
“Oh, goodness, Papa. There must be another way. I ask this with all respect due to you as my father, but just how much is your debt?”
Alice could not help sucking in her breath as her father named a sum that seemed astronomical. How on earth had he lost that much in one night?
“If we only but had a relationship with a family who would assist us during this difficult moment, it would certainly help our family until we are able to pay your father's debt.”
Alice could hear the unspoken suggestion behind her mother's words. It would be beneficial for her family if she or Violet were to marry a wealthy suitor. As she was the eldest daughter, the pressure would be on her to find a man who would be willing to financially assist her family. But what of her dowry? It was an essential element to a pending marriage, but as there clearly was no money to fulfil this aspect, would a man, in turn, be interested in her? Oh dear, what would Violet think once she heard of their money woes? She was a sensitive sort. This would crush her dreams of having her own family.
“Helen, none of our friends would be willing to help me,” said her father. “We cannot look to them.”
“Why would they help you when they have expressed their disdain for your constant gambling? You have none other than yourself to blame, Dougie. And you have dragged our family down with you.”
“Is it perhaps too late to return you to your family? Had I known you would become melodramatic in your old age, I would have thought twice about marrying you.”
Alice closed her eyes in disbelief. Papa had lost himself. One eye peeped open to see her mother's reaction, surprised to see no hint of tears but only pursed lips to indicate her displeasure. She trained a steady gaze on her husband, fixing him in place.
“I see that you have finally lost your mind, Dougie.”
Goodness, this would not do. They were intent upon hitting the other as hard as they could. Alice did not know what to make of her parents' attitude towards each other. Here her father sat as unaffected as a grazing cow, and there her mother stood as cold as a bronze statue. It almost seemed orchestrated, or perhaps they were so unaccustomed to fighting that they knew not how to behave.
Could this have been Henry and Alice in a few years? Henry Tottenham, the man she believed herself in love with. That was until he had shown his true colours as a rake by running off with a pretty Parisian woman whose father was only too eager to display his wealth in a most unbecoming fashion. Papa had always said that merchants were far less refined than those that hold titles, and that Jacques Bordeaux was the epitome of new money and sudden elevated social status. While she could not generalise as her father did, Mr Bordeaux certainly fit that description. Alice was firmly against coming back to London for another season when last year had been such a disaster for her. But her parents had insisted it was necessary. And yet here they were, in another predicament. Alice was starting to believe that London held a curse for the Campbell family, for nothing good seemed to happen when they were there. Would her parents be open to leaving London and returning home? It was the only solution to keep her father away from gambling and give them time to consider the way forward concerning their debt, that preferably did not involve matrimony.
“Mama, Papa, it seems that London has not treated us kindly. Would it not be advisable to return home?”
“Certainly not!” her mother said. “We are here for a reason. Your father's mistakes will not shadow our purpose.”
But had she not suggested that his actions would do that very thing?
“Besides, the duke will not allow me to leave London until I have given him a report of how I shall pay his debt,” her father added. “He is not a man I wish to anger.”
Both her parents seemed to have calmed down, which gave her great relief. Their body language and tone of voice held none of the severity of moments earlier, which gave Alice some doubt to the viability of their argument. Could one become so heated and lose it within a space of minutes? Perhaps it was possible for others, but certainly not her parents. Now that they seemed their usual selves, Alice would rather return to her painting. She was working on a portrait of Aunt Tally, sans her facial hair, and would gift it to her on her birthday, which would take pla
ce in a month or so.
“I shall leave you both to discuss this matter.” She turned away, only to be called back by her mother.
The Way to Capture a Marquess's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 1
