To Desire a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Vol 8

by Wendy Soliman

  To Desire a Duke

  Wendy Soliman

  To Desire a Duke

  Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2020

  Edited by Perry Iles

  Cover Design by Clockwork Art

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of

  The Author – Wendy Soliman

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

  Chapter One

  Spring, 1815

  ‘Oh, what an inconvenience!’

  Brione Gilliard looked up from her embroidery and smiled as her friend Rachel walked into the drawing room of her London home in which Brione was a guest. ‘What has inconvenienced you, Rachel?’

  ‘It’s Annie. She is inconsiderate enough to have developed a head cold and now she thinks she is dying.’

  ‘Nothing quite that serious, surely. Colds are beastly but seldom fatal.’

  Rachel seated herself and rolled her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you were better acquainted with Annie. I cannot fault her services as a lady’s maid but when it comes to her health, she seems to catch everything that’s going.’ Rachel threw back her head. ‘Or at least she insists that is the case.’

  ‘Head colds are not easy things to pretend one has in order to evade one’s duties. The signs must be there.’

  ‘She has the sniffles right enough, and a slight fever. I have ordered her back to her bed. I don’t want it spreading through the entire household.’

  ‘Very sensible. I am sure you will not be inconvenienced for long.’

  ‘I shall not be. Mary can carry out Annie’s duties while I am here at home, but don’t forget that I am due to travel to Lincolnshire the day after tomorrow for Deborah Murray’s party. Annie won’t be well enough by then to accompany me.’

  ‘Can you not take Mary?’

  ‘No. She is young and inexperienced. She would be daunted by the splendours of Alford Castle, especially when its inhabitants are consumed with race fervour.’

  ‘Race?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I explain? The duke hosts an annual horse race for amateurs—but almost always wins it himself.’

  ‘The rest probably allow him to in order to curry favour,’ Brione suggested.

  ‘Not a bit of it! I have attended before and even I found it rather exciting. The riders attack a course with impossibly high fences, and they ride bareback.’

  ‘Goodness, that sounds like a recipe for disaster.’

  ‘There are always tumbles and the odd broken bone, but as far as I am aware there have never been any fatalities.’

  ‘What a very odd thing to do. But I suppose boys never really grow up, or out of their fascination for horses for that matter.’

  ‘And wagering.’

  Brione smiled. ‘Definitely that.’

  ‘I believe the current duke’s grandfather began the tradition. His neighbour was a famous trainer.’

  ‘Now you have shocked me, Rachel,’ Brione said, trying not to smile. ‘A common trainer of horses breaking bread with a duke. Whatever is the world coming to? Standards are definitely not what they once were.’

  ‘Believe me, my dear, the proprieties are observed. Mr Bryce never dines with the duke. Deborah makes sure of at least that much. She runs her brother’s house and acts as gatekeeper too.’

  ‘I see.’

  Brione pondered the possibilities that Annie’s illness had created. ‘Perhaps,’ she said in a speculative tone, ‘an opportunity has arisen that will enable me to repay your kindness for offering me a roof over my head.’ She sat a little straighter and smiled at Rachel. ‘I shall come with you and act as your lady’s maid.’

  Rachel flapped a hand in dismissal of the suggestion. ‘Thank you, but I couldn’t ask you to lower yourself.’

  ‘You are not asking; I am offering.’

  Brione glanced out the window, distracted when a loud disagreement erupted between two passing tradesmen. The fine spring weather had brought the crowds out, and the fashionable street teemed with equally fashionably attired ladies and gentlemen on foot, in carriages and on horseback. Brione had been away from England for a long time and had forgotten just how noisy and busy London could be.

  ‘I have been trying to persuade you to set foot into society, but nothing I have said has managed to sway you. Now you are offering to act as my maid.’ Rachel shook her head, looking bewildered. ‘I don’t understand. Why would you demean yourself?’

  ‘There is nothing demeaning about providing good service.’ Brione grinned. ‘Besides, someone has to look after your hair.’

  Rachel laughed. ‘Even so, Brione, it is beyond time that you put aside your widow’s weeds and rejoined society. Evan has been gone for over a year,’ she added softly.

  ‘Gone but still talked about, his memory sullied by ignorant innuendo. My own character would be too if I were to show my face.’

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ Rachel reached across and squeezed Brione’s hand. ‘I don’t believe for a single moment that Evan turned against his country. Besides, you are not responsible for his behaviour and no stigma will attach to you.’

  Which, Brione thought, rather defeated Rachel’s argument and implied that Evan had turned traitor. But Rachel’s heart was at least in the right place, so Brione remained silent on the point.

  ‘None of my neighbours in Cambridge will give me the time of day,’ she said. ‘Some have gone so far as to cut me in the street, which is why I grasped your invitation to run away and stay with you in London so eagerly. No one here knows who I am and I would keep it that way. I am bound to be recognised by one of Evan’s fellow officers if I venture outside.’

  ‘Perhaps you could use the opportunity to ask them why the rumours about Evan’s loyalty arose.’

  Brione shook her head. ‘I very much doubt whether they would tell me anything, even if they know.’

  ‘I suppose you would be recognised. Even with your hair pulled back in that unflattering style, you are still beyond compare.’

  ‘Oh, Rachel, what nonsense you do talk!’

  Brione smiled at her friend, grateful beyond words for her kindness and commiseration. They had become acquainted in England prior to Brione’s marriage and their paths had briefly crossed again when Rachel had visited Brione at her mother’s home in Austria. Rachel’s husband had died what had been described as a glorious and heroic death—although how any death could be described as glorious was a mystery to Brione. She had seen far too much of it, and knew there was absolutely nothing glorious about the fear experienced by those who were not killed outright but lingered in agony, in the certain knowledge that they were dying. Rachel, devastated by the loss of the man to whom she had been married for over ten years, had carried on with dignity and shown generosity of spirit in reaching out to Brione in her hour of need. And if she had not done so…?

  Brione refused to complete that thought, well aware that she had been so furious, so dejected by the unfoun
ded rumours that circulated about her brave and patriotic husband’s behaviour, that she had briefly seen no reason to continue living. Rachel had saved her from acting foolishly at the height of her grief. She had now overcome her initial anguish and was hell-bent on proving Evan’s innocence. But the only way she could think of to go about it was to expose the identity of the real traitor.

  ‘I have tried several times to persuade you to join me at Alford Castle. Deborah will make you welcome, I am absolutely sure of it. I don’t mean to be unkind, but the longer you remain hidden away, the more it will seem as though Evan was a traitor, and we both know that is not the case.’

  ‘Thank you, Rachel, but I have no interest in parties.’ She did however have a very great desire to make the Duke of Alford’s acquaintance, and Rachel’s maid being indisposed had provided her with an unexpected opportunity in that regard. ‘Not everyone will be as understanding as you are, especially with Napoleon on the run and raising an army to attack us yet again.’

  ‘Pray do not mention that odious man’s name.’ Rachel looked annoyed. ‘His wretched pride will not permit him to accept defeat—gracefully or otherwise.’

  ‘Precisely so. Almost every family in this country has lost a man to that ill-conceived war. They are not ready to fight again, but those who did return and who are now disillusioned and unable to find work, are ready to turn on anyone whom they suspect of being disloyal, regardless of whether the requisite evidence exists. Evan, since he is no longer alive to defend himself, makes a perfect scapegoat.’ Brione paused to tap her fingers restlessly against her knee. ‘As does his widow.’

  ‘People are ignorant and easily led. They will believe whatever the rabble-rousers tell them. The unrest will die down in time. What’s important is that you and I both know Evan was loyal to the core.’

  ‘Even so.’ Brione summoned up a smile. ‘I will gladly act as your maid, Rachel, but I cannot—will not—have you ask Deborah Murray to invite me as a guest.’

  ‘Well, I suppose your coming in any guise is a victory of sorts,’ Rachel replied, conceding defeat. ‘It is beyond time that you left this house. Very well, my dear. Since I cannot abide the thought of having anyone else fussing over me—’

  ‘Or making a mess of your hair…’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Or that. Thank you, I shall accept your offer with gratitude.’

  Brione narrowed her eyes at her friend. ‘Why are you giving in so easily? What are you plotting?’

  ‘Me?’ Rachel offered a suspiciously innocent countenance for inspection. ‘Why, nothing whatsoever. Shall we go and look at my wardrobe and see what gowns I possess that might still be considered remotely fashionable?’

  Brione had been staying with Rachel for over a month, but knew that she couldn’t depend upon her friend’s hospitality indefinitely. Be that as it may, she was unwilling to return to her husband’s house in Cambridge and endure further vilification, at least until she could clear Evan’s name and hold her head high in public. How she was supposed to go about such a delicate mission, overcome people’s prejudices and resume a normal life, she had yet to decide. All she knew was that she couldn’t hide away in London indefinitely, excusing herself whenever Rachel had visitors and never setting foot outside of the house.

  The time had come to fight back, and the Duke of Alford was the one person who could help her in that regard. The handsome and eligible duke was widely considered to be a national hero after covering himself in glory during the campaign against Napoleon.

  But Brione knew differently.

  The duke and Evan had been comrades in arms and a great deal more than ordinary soldiers. Both had ventured into dangerous situations in their capacity as spies, which is something the gossip-hungry masses knew nothing about. Alford had walked away with nothing more debilitating than a sabre cut to his face and a reputation as a patriot and hero. Evan, who took all the risks, had paid with his life. It was grossly unfair, and Brione fully intended to find the necessary evidence to exonerate her beloved husband.

  Somehow.

  A few days later, she glanced out of the window of Rachel’s travelling chaise as the vehicle embarked upon the final leg of its journey. They had driven through some magnificent scenery that had helped to settle Brione’s nerves, but the closer they came to their destination, the less sure she was that being under the same roof as the duke would do her cause any good. Perhaps she had been foolish to imagine otherwise. She would be posing as a servant, and servants were invisible to great men of the Duke of Alford’s ilk. Even so, that invisibility could also work to her advantage, she reasoned. When he was otherwise occupied, she would be able to slip into his library and search through his papers.

  Brione threw her head back and suppressed a sigh, worrying that Rachel would demand to know what was wrong. She was convinced that the Duke of Alford was somehow responsible for her beloved Evan’s downfall but in her enthusiasm to prove that the duke was not an honourable man, she had failed to consider the fact that he would not have kept anything in writing that would incriminate himself. He might be a traitor but he was no fool, and this charade was ridiculous. It was a waste of time, and she should not have come.

  It was exceedingly unlikely that the duke would give himself away, but his closest friends and comrades in arms—his adjutant Adrian Vaughan, Sir Gregory Frazer and Robert Craig—were bound to be present at this gathering. And Alfred Kensley, the duke’s batman, keeper of all secrets and right hand man, never left his master’s side. Perhaps one of them would speak out of turn in the presence of an invisible servant?

  It was a remote possibility at best, but Brione couldn’t feel downhearted on such a glorious day. The English countryside in spring, heralding new beginnings and awakening possibilities, was something she had missed during her years away from her homeland. Even so, the peace of mind she so desperately sought could not be found in an expanse of fragrant bluebells, a canopy of trees in fresh bud or the frolics of newborn lambs in an adjacent field. Brione would never find true contentment until she understood what had happened to Evan and why.

  ‘It’s truly inspiring,’ Brione said softly.

  ‘Isn’t it.’ Rachel smiled. ‘I always enjoy coming here, especially at this time of year. The more so when the weather behaves itself, as it appears intent upon doing at the moment. Alford Castle is only ten miles from the coast, if your fancy turns to a sea excursion.’

  ‘Maids do not go on excursions,’ Brione reminded her friend.

  ‘They do when their mistress requires their services.’

  ‘If this is your convoluted way of persuading me to show my face,’ Brione replied, ‘then you are destined to fail. I only brought my maid’s clothing with me and don’t have the least intention of putting myself forward. I shall fade into the background and no one will notice me.’

  Rachel chuckled. ‘Have you looked in the mirror recently?’

  ‘Oh, stop it!’

  Brione, always embarrassed when anyone alluded to her looks, flapped a hand and returned her attention to the view as the vehicle slowed to walking pace and commenced its ascent through the Lincolnshire Wolds. She gasped as a magnificent castle perched on the highest hilltop slowly came into view. The sight of the ancient structure, bathed in spring sunshine that turned the weathered stone walls different shades of grey, took her breath away. Towers and crenulations looked randomly spaced, but had most likely all served their purpose over the centuries. The duke’s standard fluttered in the breeze from the highest turret and Brione’s stomach fluttered in nervous response.

  ‘These ruins we are just now passing were the original outer walls,’ Rachel told her. ‘There was a moat at one time as well. As you can see, it’s been allowed to go to ruin because the cost of keeping it in good repair was prohibitive. It’s just the main body of the castle that is lived in now.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Brione asked, making them both laugh.

  ‘I dare say we shall squash in together quite comfortably.’ />
  ‘That must take enough work to maintain,’ Brione said, peering out the window at the ancient structure as the carriage clattered through a wide archway that had probably once been guarded by a portcullis. ‘It must be terribly cold and damp all the way up here during the winter months, but the view is quite magnificent.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think they use above half of it. Besides, the duke isn’t always here. And as to the view,’ Rachel added, ‘I think the land belongs to the duke as far as the eye can see.’

  Brione didn’t doubt that any more than she doubted the duke’s frequent absences from his eyrie. He had been away making a name for himself as a hero—leading from behind, in all likelihood, while others took all the risks and paid for them with their lives and reputations.

  She had never set eyes on Troy Erskine, the duke in question, but had already taken him in extreme dislike, her views skewed by her husband’s ruined reputation. She had heard tales of his looks, his wealth and authority, and of him being ardently pursued by ambitious single females. In Brione’s experience, if a man possessed a title and fortune he was considered to be handsome and became a target for every ambitious matchmaker in the country even if he resembled the rear end of a horse.

  ‘The remaining parts of the castle are built around the keep, which has been turned into a rather delightful garden. A place to relax and reflect.’

  ‘It certainly sounds appealing,’ Brione forced herself to say, aware that she had become introspective over the last few miles and must make a dull travelling companion. Rachel had told her that she had no quarrel with the duke and was looking forward to renewing her acquaintance with his sister. Brione should not allow her own prejudices to spoil her generous friend’s pleasures.

  ‘We are here,’ Rachel added unnecessarily, as the carriage rattled to a halt at the front entrance and a small army of footmen descended upon it, ready to attend to the luggage.

  Feeling nervous yet determined to discover something—anything—to prove Evan’s loyalty, Brione paused to ensure that her thick locks remained pulled tight into an unflattering bun at her nape and that no strands had escaped. She spared only a passing regret for the fact that she was obliged to hide her ordinarily riotous curls. A dark strawberry blonde, the colour was distinctive enough to make her stand out—a situation she was anxious to avoid. The brim of her bonnet was wide, concealing most of her features, but there was little she could do to also disguise her height, which was above average for a woman. She refused to resort to stooping and took pride in her deportment. Her plain black gown and the white lace cap beneath her bonnet would make her position as a maid apparent. With great good fortune those above and below stairs would accept her for what she was pretending to be and take no particular interest in her.