Undone By The Duke

by Willingham Michelle

  “Yes,” she whispered. But she couldn’t help feeling as if she’d given away a part of her soul.

  “They haven’t left Ballaloch, my lord.”

  Brandon Carlisle, the Earl of Strathland, stared at John Melford, his factor. “What do you mean, they haven’t left? The crofters were evicted weeks ago. Surely, they’ve gone by now.” Their leases had ended in winter, which he’d thought would force them to move west quickly, in order to gain shelter.

  Strathland moved to stare out the window. His manor house stood atop the hill, overlooking thousands of acres of land. The sheep nearly blended in with the snow, the herds milling close together.

  The older man cleared his throat, casting a glance toward the door. “They took refuge with Lady Lanfordshire and her daughters. So far as we’ve seen, the crofters have kept our sheep from grazing on that land, ever since the first snows fell. They’ve also kept them off the property belonging to the Duke of Worthingstone.”

  “You needn’t worry about Worthingstone,” Strathland remarked. “He travels frequently, and I highly doubt a man like His Grace would set foot in Scotland. Our sheep can continue grazing on his property next spring, and he’ll never know about it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s no longer true, my lord. It seems that the duke was here to inspect his land. One of the crofter boys shot him.”

  God help them. He’d heard nothing of the duke’s arrival, and he demanded of his factor, “Is he alive?”

  Melford nodded, and Strathland exhaled with relief. “Arrange a trial and hang the boy who shot him, as a lesson to the others.”

  His factor made no argument, but inclined his head. Strathland didn’t care that a boy had done it. There needed to be a clear understanding that violence would not be tolerated, particularly against the English nobility.

  “Where is the duke now?” the earl asked.

  “He was taken in by the eldest Andrews daughter and Dr. Fraser saved his life.”

  Paul Fraser was a thorn in his side, one Strathland wanted to be rid of. But the man was like a wraith, here one moment, disappearing the next. Because of Fraser, hundreds of Highlanders were refusing to leave. They were faithful to Fraser, never disclosing where the man had gone.

  “There’s more, my lord,” Melford continued. “I’ve heard that the duke plans to marry one of the daughters.”

  “Not Juliette,” Strathland ventured. The memory of the beautiful young woman slid through him, like a faint dream. She’d eluded him for months now, but he intended for that to change.

  “No, my lord. The eldest daughter, Miss Victoria Andrews.”

  The earl relaxed his grip upon the armrests. Interesting. He couldn’t imagine why the duke would even consider lowering himself for a baron’s daughter. It was a complication he hadn’t expected, but one that could be easily managed. Once the pair of them had gone to London, he could regain the grazing land.

  In the next year, he wanted full command of this region. He intended to triple his herds of sheep, if all went according to plan. The price of wool had quadrupled, and these lands were perfect for the herds. With any luck, he could use the profits to free himself from the vast debts his wife had accumulated while she was living. Though he ought to have mourned her death, he wasn’t at all disappointed she was gone. She’d done nothing but bleed his profits dry, and he was well rid of her.

  “Has the wedding taken place yet?”

  “No. Lady Lanfordshire is awaiting the arrival of her other daughters, and the wedding will commence then, before His Grace returns to London.”

  The earl rubbed his chin, thinking to himself. He’d never wanted to grant the land to Worthingstone, but he’d had little choice after the gambling losses. He’d mistakenly believed that luck was with him that night, after he’d won the first few hands of cards. But gradually he’d sunk deeper into debt until he’d had nothing to offer except the land. At the time, he’d believed there was no harm in losing Eiloch Hill, for the house upon the land was hardly more than a farm dwelling, not at all appropriate for a duke. He’d never imagined Worthingstone would journey so far to inspect the land himself.

  Clearly, he’d been wrong.

  Brandon had to find a means of encouraging both families to leave. Though he’d offered to buy the land from Lady Lanfordshire, she was powerless in her husband’s absence.

  “My lord, if I may, the only way to send the crofters to the coast is to take away their refuge.” Melford glanced outside, where the snow was drifting against the window. “Without the Andrews family to grant them shelter and food, they would have no reason to stay.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Melford shrugged. “Accidents happen, from time to time. A candle or a lantern might tip over and start a fire. With no house, they’d have to return to London, wouldn’t they?”

  “And the duke would certainly take them there.” He nodded, liking the simplicity of the idea.

  “After the wedding would be the best time,” Melford advised. “I have someone in mind who could set the fire. He could ensure that the house is destroyed.”

  The earl nodded. “I’ll leave it to you to manage, so long as I am not involved.” He sat back in his chair, reaching for the crystal wineglass. “If you find Fraser, see to it that he’s no longer our problem.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Melford bowed. “And I presume you do not wish the Andrews ladies to be harmed in the attack.”

  “I would prefer that they leave when the fire begins,” Strathland said. “A little fear wouldn’t be amiss.”

  “I shall see it done,” Melford promised.

  As he swallowed his wine, Strathland sat back in the chair, envisioning the vast acres of land stretching across the Highlands. The wool profits would increase in the coming years, and the evictions had only aided him in making more room for sheep.

  He’d amassed most of northwest Scotland now. Rather like the ruler of his own kingdom.

  He lifted his glass in a silent toast to himself.

  “Are you certain this is what you want, Victoria?” Margaret held a pair of elbow-length ivory gloves while Juliette laced up the back of her gown. “You hardly know this man. Even if it was highly improper for him to be here—”

  “She saved his life,” Amelia interrupted. “It was terribly romantic, and he’s desperately in love with you. Isn’t he?”

  Victoria had no idea what to say to that, and she sent Margaret a silent plea for help. But it was Juliette who came to her rescue.

  “If he doesn’t already love her, he soon will,” her sister pronounced. With a tentative smile, Juliette squeezed her hands. “There aren’t any flowers right now, but I have some dried heather you could carry.”

  Victoria managed a helpless smile, trying not to think of her impending wedding. Her mother had refused to let her see Jonathan beforehand, and supposedly his staff had arrived from London and had taken him back to his house to get dressed. She hoped he had also begun arrangements to bring the crofters there, but thus far, she had seen none of them leaving.

  She smoothed a wrinkle from Juliette’s green muslin gown. Her sister’s dark hair was braided and coiled atop her head, while she wore a single ostrich feather within the arrangement.

  Amelia stood back to look at her, and her face held nothing but adolescent excitement. Her eyes sparkled, and she lowered her voice. “I’m wearing one of the new chemises with my corset, and it’s absolutely divine.”

  Margaret gaped. “You are not wearing something so inappropriate, Amelia. You should take it off, this instant.”

  “But who would even know?” Her sister sent her a sly look. “I imagine you’re wearing one, too, aren’t you, Victoria?”

  She didn’t speak a single word, but her blush revealed the truth.

  “There is nothing at all wrong with your undergarments,” Juliette interrupted. “And Margaret, if you’d care to look at the recent sales, you would know that this is just the beginning. By the time we’ve sold the re
st of Aphrodite’s Unmentionables, even princes will be falling at your feet for a chance at the dowry you’ll have.”

  That news shut her sister up, though Margaret still appeared anxious. Victoria adjusted the shoulders of her gown, feeling unsettled as she stood before the mirror. With the help of the padded corset, her breasts were pressed against the scooped neckline. Her dress was a long-sleeved ice blue muslin, trimmed with lace. The color reminded her of the frost upon the window and the chill inside her heart. She’d debated for hours on what sort of unmentionables to wear. Her mind demanded that she choose a virginal garment, tightly laced, covering every part of her bodice.

  But instead, she’d chosen an ivory chemise that was sheer, with a low-cut corset. The garment was delicate, with white embroidery that resembled swan feathers. Something beautiful, and yet, it would tempt her husband.

  The thought of Jonathan’s hands upon her sent a silent thrill inside. Though she was not pleased by the way he’d coerced her into this wedding, another part of her was looking forward to the night ahead. He’d promised they would spend their wedding night at his house, where there would be no one to intrude upon them.

  She hadn’t yet decided how she would manage the short journey to Eiloch Hill, but she’d put it out of her mind. If she had to cling to Jonathan every mile of the trip with her eyes shut, she would do what she must.

  Last, she put on a blue silk bonnet trimmed with silver embroidery and ribbons. Her gloves did nothing to keep her hands warm, and inside, the anxiety heightened.

  Amelia and Margaret hurried off to finish their own preparations, leaving her sister Juliette behind.

  “Are you afraid?” her sister whispered.

  “A little.” Victoria hadn’t told any of them the true reasons for the marriage, particularly the fate of the crofters.

  “I know you were… stranded with him for a long time,” Juliette said, staring at the carpet. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No. Not at all.” Victoria understood her sister’s worry, but took her hand in reassurance. “He never tried to…” Seduce me, she almost said. But that wasn’t precisely true. He’d awakened her to temptation, touching her in wicked ways.

  “You don’t have to speak of it,” Juliette said, squeezing her hand. “Did Mother tell you what to expect tonight?”

  “Whether or not she did, it’s not something I’m going to tell you.” Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a hint of curiosity. The truth was, her mother had said very little. Just that she should submit to her husband and, with any luck, she might become pregnant quickly.

  A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Beatrice Andrews entered. At the sight of Victoria, her mother’s eyes glistened with tears. “You look beautiful, my dear. Your father would be so proud of you.”

  She crossed the room to embrace her, and Victoria clung to her for a moment longer. Her mother had grown terribly thin, but the love in her arms was undeniable.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Beatrice whispered. “And this will be just the beginning. You can’t even imagine the life ahead of you.”

  Something in her mother’s voice made her draw back. “Why would you say that? I’ll be living only a few miles away.”

  A flush came over Beatrice’s face. “Forgive me, you’re right. Of course you’ll be nearby.” But the overbright tone sounded false, planting seeds of suspicion within Victoria.

  Her mother glanced over at the sewing basket, clearing her throat. “But I am grateful you’ve managed to make a successful marriage. At least it means none of you girls will be making dresses anymore.” She sent Victoria a pointed look. “Margaret told me about what you’ve been doing. Although the money was welcome, none of you should have lowered yourselves to engage in selling goods. This will be the end of that, won’t it?”

  It was a statement, not a question. Victoria was saved from an answer when the clock chimed. A bright smile spread over her mother’s face, and she opened the door. “It’s time, my dear. His G—” Her words cut off immediately, amending, “That is, Mr. Nottoway is downstairs waiting for you.”

  Victoria followed her mother, holding the small sprig of dried heather that Juliette had given her as a bouquet. Her heartbeat quickened as she descended the stairs toward the parlor.

  She could hardly believe she was about to marry. It didn’t seem possible, not within so short of a time. But when she followed her mother into the parlor, she saw Jonathan standing in formal attire worthy of a prince.

  His tailcoat was dark blue, trimmed with gold embroidery, while his cravat was a stark snowy white. A blue matching waistcoat was revealed beneath the tailcoat, and his buff breeches were snug against his thighs.

  The cut of his clothes and the fabric itself held the promise of wealth. She had nothing at all to bring to this marriage. Her mother had offered a modest dowry, which Jonathan had refused. He wanted only one thing from her—an heir.

  A shiver broke through her at the thought of him touching her this night. He’d combed back his dark blond hair and his cheeks were clean-shaven. As he took in her appearance, the expression on his face revealed his satisfaction with her appearance. For a moment, she imagined them alone, and she remembered the Christmas gifts he’d given to her.

  That gentleman had been kind and teasing, a man she liked. He’d been patient… and he’d made her smile.

  But then, there was the ruthless man who had demanded marriage. He’d put her in an impossible position, one where she had no option to refuse. He’d said he didn’t care what happened to the refugees, and she could almost believe that.

  Before she entered the parlor, Mrs. Larson interrupted her mother. “Forgive me, Lady Lanfordshire, but the crofters have asked if they might witness the wedding. They’ve also brought gifts.” Her face blushed, but she said, “It would mean a great deal to them if they could show their appreciation to Mr. Nottoway.”

  Beatrice turned to Victoria. “It’s your decision, my dear. If you wish for me to keep them out, I will.”

  “No.” She shook her head, despite the nervousness of being surrounded by people. “If they will just… stay back toward the hall, so it’s not so crowded.”

  Mrs. Larson beamed. “I’ll keep them back. I fear Mr. MacKinloch’s sister isn’t well at the moment, and he’s gone tae take care of her. But I can manage these folk, same as he would. Most are kin to me and mine.” She went to the doorway and opened it.

  Outside, Victoria spied dozens of men in full Highland attire. They wore short jackets and belted plaids in a pattern of brown, red, and green with sporrans hanging from their waists. One by one, they bowed to her, entering the house, with the ladies following behind. They, too, had worn the plaid colors, some of the younger married women wearing a kertch over their hair, while the children fidgeted with excitement. Some carried instruments—fiddles, pipes, and drums, while she saw others carrying barrels of what could only be ale or mead from her father’s cellar.

  The vast number of people sent her apprehensions even higher. They filled the hallway and even the dining room. Victoria approached her husband-to-be, who raised an eyebrow at their presence, but he didn’t refuse them.

  Jonathan took her hands, and the clergyman greeted them, beginning the short ceremony. Victoria never heard a word the minister said, for she was caught up in her own anxieties. The very presence of these people made it impossible to change her mind. She no longer had a choice in this marriage, and it hurt to know that her bridegroom’s reasons for wedding her had nothing to do with affection.

  It was time for the vows, and Jonathan held her hands, speaking them clearly. When it came time for hers, Victoria faltered a moment. She studied his green eyes, wondering if they would ever have a marriage based upon love. Or whether she could break past her shyness to be a real wife to him.

  “It will be all right,” he murmured, beneath his breath. She could only hope so, as she dutifully repeated her own vows.

  When the brief ceremony was finish
ed, Jonathan brushed a light kiss upon her cheek. A loud cheer came from the dining room, and one of the Scots bellowed, “That’s no’ a proper kiss, Sassenach! Try again, or we’ll show you how ’tis done!”

  Her face went crimson, but Jonathan sent her a wicked look as he bent and took her mouth in a more thorough kiss. Victoria was so startled, she could hardly kiss him back. The crofters applauded, some playing the round drums in celebration. One by one, they lined up to congratulate them, and Victoria was startled to see one man hold out a simple clay dish. A fiddler began playing a lively tune, and as each of the Highlanders came forth to extend their good wishes, they dropped a penny into the dish. Their gesture touched her deeply.

  These people, who had nothing at all, couldn’t afford to give money away. And yet, they had, out of thanks. Her eyes blurred with tears as the dish filled with pennies. Moving to Jonathan’s side, she murmured, “We can’t accept these.”

  But he took her gloved hand and whispered against her ear, “Give them their pride, sweet. If we take that from them, then they’ve nothing left.”

  She squeezed his hand in understanding.

  Before long, the men and women pushed the dining room table against one wall, loading it up with food gifts they had brought to share. Mrs. Larson had prepared a luncheon of roasted hen and salmon, but Victoria saw the others adding cheese, butter, oatcakes, and eggs, as well as small portions of beef, duck, muirfowl, and milk.

  “Where did they get all of this?” she whispered to her new husband.

  “My footman Franklin arranged to bring a great deal of food when he returned from London. It was distributed among the crofters, but it seems they’ve decided to share it with us.”

  The music filled up the house, and men and women began to dance. Jonathan took Victoria’s hand and led her to the side as the women whirled in the arms of their men. “I’m afraid I can’t dance with you yet,” he confessed. “Not with my leg.”

  Mrs. Larson moved toward her, scolding her gently. “Now why is it your laces are done up so tightly, Miss Andrews?” She moved behind Victoria and loosened them, before she also loosened the ribbons on her bonnet and shoes. “Now, then. It’s unlucky to have your wedding dinner in the house—it’s supposed to be in your father’s barn, but given your circumstances, I’ve asked the men and women to have it inside.”