Falling in Love
With a Duke
a novella
by
JILLIAN EATON
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2015 by Jillian Eaton
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SELECTED PRAISE FOR JILLIAN EATON
“Romance lovers, [The Duke of St. Giles] is a book you’ll definitely want to read.” – Imagine A World
“Fall in love, embrace the ride, and enjoy the thrill.” – Book Freak
“[The Runaway Duchess] is fast paced and filled with chemistry. A must read for any historical romance readers who love a good romp through England.” – My Book Addiction and More
“Enjoyable, sexy novella.” – Rogues Under the Covers
“Jillian Eaton finds the perfect balance between intense emotions, sizzling chemistry, and light-hearted humor.” – Swept Away by Romance
“Once I got started I couldn’t put it down.” – Bitten By Romance
“[The Runaway Duchess] will sweep readers off their feet and into a whirlwind of romance and intrigue.” – Night Owl Review Top Pick
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Most Inconvenient Love
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
PROLOGUE
It should be noted there was nothing particularly special about Merry Clearwater. In fact, everything about her was rather ordinary.
She was of average height and build with a plain face, round cheeks, and a top lip that was slightly heavier than the bottom. Her eyes were blue, a pleasing enough color, but they had the poor habit of shying away from prolonged contact. She had a soft voice that was soothing to the ears, but, like her face, it was not very memorable.
Her natural propensity towards shyness prevented her from drawing attention unto herself, and more often than not she was comfortable going unnoticed in a sea of prettier, wealthier, and more outgoing debutantes.
Yet despite all of these ordinary characteristics – or perhaps because of them – Merry managed to capture the attention of one of the wealthiest dukes in all of England.
And that is where our story begins.
CHAPTER ONE
On the subject of marriage…
“I should think having a husband would be quite nice. Although a cat would also suffice.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
“Leg-shackle myself to one woman for the rest of my life? I would rather cut my eyes out with a dull spoon.” – His Grace The Duke of Kendalwood
Had Merry Clearwater known she was going to meet her future husband at Lady Bishop’s private dinner, she would have most likely stayed home. Especially if she had known her future husband would turn out to be none other than the Duke of Kendalwood, the only man in all of England she had ever purposefully spilled wine on.
Unfortunately, Merry did not know either one of those things (she was not, after all, a fortune-teller) and so, as she watched the snow silently falling outside her bedroom window, she wasn’t thinking about husbands or dukes, but if the foxes and the squirrels and the badgers hiding in the woods surrounding her family’s country manor were cold. She wondered because she was cold, and she could not help but feel pity for the poor woodland creatures who were no doubt shivering in their boots.
Or rather their paws, she amended, her mouth curving in a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and brought a touch of lightness to a countenance that tended towards severity.
It was not that Merry was a very serious person. Quite the opposite, in fact. But she was a very thoughtful one, and as most of her thoughts occurred in her head she had the unfortunate tendency of coming across as rather grim-faced…particularly when compared to the company she kept.
In addition to her older sister Cadence whose coy smile had set more than a few male hearts aflutter, Merry had three very close friends, each one prettier than the last. They’d all met at a private seminary and despite being from varying social classes – Nicola was the daughter of a viscount, Evie’s grandfather was a duke, and Rosalind’s brother was a renowned politician – had become fast friends.
Over the course of five years, two marriages, one near marriage, and a teensy tiny scandal that thankfully everyone seemed to have forgotten, the four women had managed to retain their friendship. Through thick and thin they had stood by each other’s sides; no small feat given the oft times volatile nature of the ton.
Of course, it helped that neither Nicola nor Evie nor even Rosalind had ever seen Merry as much of a threat. Naturally quiet and reserved, she was quite content to stand in the background. Without fail it was where she was the most comfortable, and on the rare occasion someone – whether it be a man or a woman – sought her out in an attempt to engage in a bit of polite conversation she was always caught off guard.
“Are you speaking to me?” she’d ask with genuine confusion. When the person nodded, she would quickly glance both ways to ensure everyone else in the room hadn’t suddenly expired due to some deadly disease before whispering, “But why?”
Suffice it to say a social butterfly Merry was not. Unless someone had a dog or a cat with them, in which case she would happily engage in a lengthy and involved discussion…with the dog.
Such behavior had earned her a bit of a reputation for eccentricity, but thus far no one had dared say anything too untowardly. She was a very small fish in a very large pond, and England’s fast set had far better things to do than gossip about a girl who related more to animals than she did to people. They simply assumed what Merry herself assumed: that she would soon turn from wallflower to spinster and spend her days wandering around London collecting stray pets much like the legendary Pied Piper of Hamlin.
Except instead of leading them into the river, she would lead them straight into her house.
“Are you ready to go yet?” The leather heels of her ankle boots echoing on the hardwood, Cadence Clearwater sauntered into the bedroom without invitation or even bothering to knock, a bad habit she’d employed since they were little girls sharing the same bed and pulling each other’s hair.
Blessed with sparkling blue eyes, a waterfall of gleaming blonde hair, and perfectly matching dimples, Merry’s sister was everything Merry was not. Beautiful, charming, and witty (a winning trifecta to be sure) she had suitors fighting over her left and right and never missed an opportunity to add another one to her ever-growing list of potential husbands. Which was why, when she’d learned of a private dinner being held at the estate of Lady Bishop, she had all but cut off her own arm to secure an invitation.
By herself, Lady Bishop was not very worthy of mention. A widow in her sixtieth year who largely
kept to herself, she rarely drew any attention. But when paired with her nephew (who just so happened to be the notorious Duke of Kendalwood) she became everyone’s favorite hostess.
Like a prized stag, the duke had been ruthlessly hunted by debutantes and married women alike since he had returned from traveling abroad late last year. As a result his social outings had become less and less frequent which made this private dinner all the more important. Vicious social battles had been carried out in private to ensure an invitation and more than a few noses had been left snubbed in the process.
As for Merry, she could care less that Kendalwood was rumored to be in attendance. She had met the duke before, and she did not like him.
At all.
Other women may have been willing to bend over backwards (and many had) to get a tiny sliver of his attention, but not her! Just thinking about what an unbearably rude, spoiled twit he had been when they’d last crossed paths was enough to make her nose wrinkle. Arrogant did not even begin to describe Kendalwood. He was also pompous, rude, conceited and–
“Well?” Cadence demanded, both eyebrows arching towards the soft golden curls she’d arranged in a perfect heart shape around her temple. “Are you ready to leave or not? You have been in here for over an hour.”
“Have I?” Much to her family’s everlasting frustration, the passage of time was not something Merry ordinarily concerned herself with. Wandering away from the window, she perched on the foot of her bed and absently began to comb her fingers through her disheveled brown curls. Unlike Cadence’s sleek blonde locks, her hair was prone to tangles and sticking out in every imaginable direction no matter how many pins she jabbed into it.
‘You are the exact image of Great-Aunt Myrtle, may she rest in peace’ was something Merry had heard time and time again from nearly every member of her family. As a child she had thought the comparison was a compliment…until she’d actually seen a painting of Great-Aunt Myrtle and realized, with some horror, that her grandmother’s sister had most closely resembled a donkey with a tuft of black hair, wide, slightly off-set eyes, and a nose so large it was a wonder the artist had been able to fit it all on the canvas.
After studying her reflection in the mirror for a good two hours – Merry was nothing if not thorough – she had determined that she looked more like a field mouse than a donkey, thank you very much. It was a comparison she welcomed as she vastly preferred cute, furry little mice with their large, liquid black eyes and delightfully tiny noses over mean, stubborn donkeys. She still had the scar on her forearm where a donkey had bitten her as a child, and the sound of their loud, obnoxious braying never failed to set her teeth on edge.
Rather like the idea of spending the evening surrounded by wealthy, self-indulgent aristocrats.
“I am not ready and I do not wish to go to the dinner party,” she said firmly.
“Of course you do not,” Cadence muttered under her breath before she squared her shoulders, batted her lashes and said in a sweet, sugary tone, “But you will attend for me, won’t you Merry? I do not want to go alone.”
“Mother will be there,” Merry pointed out reasonably.
“Yes, but it is not the same. You are my sister.” Crouching beside the bed, Cadence grasped both of Merry’s hands and squeezed tight. Blue eyes wide and imploring she said, “And when the Duke of Kendalwood falls in love with me at first sight I want you by my side.”
Merry considered this for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better if it were just the two of you? Walking through the garden, gazing up at the stars. Although it is a bit cold.” She bit her lip in thought. “Mayhap if you slipped into the library. That could be quite nice. Shelves lined with books and a roaring fire–”
“There will be apricot pudding there.”
Merry hesitated. She did love apricot pudding.
“Very well,” she conceded. “I suppose I will go. But could you not find someone else to fall in love with at first sight? I do not believe Kendalwood is a very good candidate.”
Cadence rolled her eyes and stood up. “You cannot choose who you fall in love with at first sight, Merry. That is why it is called love at first sight.”
“Then how do you know you will fall in love with the duke?”
“Because I just do. Must you always question everything?” Huffing out an exasperated sigh, Cadence marched across the room and threw open an armoire filled to the brim with fancy dresses and gowns. The Clearwater’s were not exceedingly rich, but they made do with an inheritance given to Mr. Clearwater by his late grandfather, an earl of something or rather and the only nobleman of note in their entire ancestry. The title had been lost to a second cousin, as had the properties that accompanied it, but Mr. Clearwater had been the late earl’s favorite grandson and he’d made certain to leave a considerable sum in his name before he died.
“What do you think of this?” Rummaging through the armoire, Cadence pulled out a white cotton evening dress with a watery green silk overlay and puffed sleeves.
“It’s pretty,” Merry said absently. Unlike her sister and her friend’s, she had never paid much attention to what was considered in fashion which was why she always yielded to Cadence’s judgement on such matters.
Studying the garment with pursed lips, Cadence gave a decisive nod before nudging the armoire closed with her heel. “And it will compliment my gown quite nicely.”
“We shall be like a set of matching casters.” Merry bounced off the bed with a grin. “Would you prefer to be the salt or the pepper?”
The corners of Cadence’s mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “You’ve the sweetest heart of anyone I know, dear sister, but not a very sensible mind.”
“Thank you?” Merry ventured.
“You are quite welcome. Now come sit here” – she patted the seat of a velvet upholstered chair – “and we shall see what can be done about that hair of yours.”
CHAPTER TWO
On the subject of courtship
“It is rather exhausting, to be quite honest.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
“A bloody waste of time, if you ask me.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
Only one hour into Lady Bishop’s dinner party and Merry was already soundly regretting her decision to attend.
First of all, Cadence had lied about the apricot pudding.
Second of all, she did not know a single person sitting around the enormous dining room table.
Well that is not completely true, Merry amended as she shoveled a spoonful of veal broth into her mouth. There was one person she knew aside from her mother and her sister.
The Duke of Kendalwood.
He sat at the head of the table like some sort of dark prince, his thick mane of ebony hair gleaming beneath the glittering chandelier that hung from the middle of the vaulted ceiling. He had a cleanly shaven jaw and long sideburns that added a sinister appeal Merry found rather troubling, although she seemed to be the only one who did as the duke was not suffering from lack of attention.
Especially of the female variety.
To Merry’s bewilderment – and general annoyance – the women in attendance hung on his every word as though his very next breath might contain the secret to life. Cadence was similarly engaged, although she had settled for flirting with a lowly viscount as the duke was six chairs away. Such a distance should have made it easy for Merry to ignore Kendalwood completely, but like a moth drawn to flame she couldn’t help but sneak quick peeks in his direction.
Twice their eyes had already met and twice she had been the first to look away, her gaze darting down to her broth or out the window where snow continued to fall, drifting up against the side of the stone manor in a sea of frothy white.
Desperate for a distraction, Merry began to shovel broth into her mouth with great vigor until her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Scowling, she nudged the empty dish aside and sat in silence, gloved hands clenched in the folds of her dress and shoulders defensively hunched. She did not want to be here a
ny longer. The constant hum of voices was beginning to make her head ache and the heat wafting down from the chandeliers was stifling. What she wouldn’t give to be home by herself, curled up with a good book and a cool glass of water. Every tense line in her body bespoke of her discomfort, but neither Cadence nor Mrs. Clearwater seemed to notice anything was amiss. Completely in their element they chattered on like magpies, eagerly devouring the latest gossip delivered fresh from London just that morning.
From what Merry had been able to gather by listening to bits and pieces of the conversation it seemed someone of great social significance was ‘in the family way’ and was refusing to divulge the identity of the father. It made her wonder what would happen if one day there was no gossip to be had. Would everyone simply sit around the table in silence staring at one another, or would they actually discuss topics of note such as the sustainability of the rising population or the evolution of the steam engine?
“Merry.”
Startling at the sound of her name, Merry glanced sideways and discovered her sister was glaring daggers at her. “Yes?”
“You are doing it again,” Cadence whispered harshly.
“Doing what?”
“Staring at nothing.”
Merry blinked and looked quickly around. “Is there something I should be staring at?”
Aside from the Duke of Kendalwood.
Even thinking his name was enough to set her teeth on edge. Being this close to him again reminded her of the night they’d first met. It had been raining, she recalled with the faintest of grimaces. Which meant the ball Lady Bridgeton had planned to have in her beautiful gardens had been moved inside instead. Unfortunately, she hadn’t planned for poor weather and had invited far more guests than her house comfortably allowed. Stacked in like tinned sardines there had been barely enough room for dancing, which had been just fine for Merry, but understandably upsetting for Nicola, Evie, and Rosalind, as they did so love to dance.
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