A Duke’s Dilemma
By
G.L. Snodgrass
Copyright 2020 G.L. Snodgrass
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Dedicated to
Shelley
Other Books by G. L. Snodgrass
Regency Romance
The Reluctant Duke (Love’s Pride 1)
The Viscount's Bride (Love’s Pride 2)
The Earl's Regret (Love’s Pride 3)
Marrying the Marquess (Love’s Pride 4)
Confronting A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 1)
Charming A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 2)
Catching A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 3_
Challenging A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 4)
Duke In Disguise (The Stafford Sisters 1)
The American Duke (The Stafford Sisters 2)
A Very British Lord (The Stafford Sisters 3)
A Duke's Desire (The Duke’s Club 1)
A Duke’s Dilemma (The Duke’s Club 3)
Western Romance
Lonely Valley Bride (High Sierra 1)
High Desert Cowboy (High Sierra 2)
Sweetwater Ridge (High Sierra 3)
Young Adult Romance
Certain Rules
Unwritten Rules
Unbreakable Rules
My Favorite Love (Lakeland Boys 1)
One Night (Lakeland Boys 2)
My Brother’s Best Friend (Lakeland Boys 3)
Worlds Apart (Lakeland Boys 4)
My Brother's Bodyguard (Hometown Heroes 1)
My Hidden Hero (Hometown Heroes 2)
My Best Friend’s Brother (Hometown Heroes 3)
Our Secret (The Benson Brothers 1)
Hidden Truth (The Benson Brothers 2)
Deception (The Benson Brothers 3)
A Duke’s Dilemma
Chapter One
The man who invented paper should be drawn and quartered. Preferable over a low flame. Ian Temple, His Grace, the fourth Duke of Suffolk, shook his head while he pressed his ducal seal into the red wax. Once he was sure the imprint was clear, he shook the document to dry the hot wax then handed it to his young secretary Stephan.
“Only a few more,” the man said as he removed another piece of paper from his blasted case. Ian was rather positive it was a cursed container with an endless supply of letters and documents, each needing his immediate attention.
“Tell me again, Stephan, why do I pay you if all you do is bring me problems and issues?”
The tall thin man laughed slightly, “Because Your Grace, without me, your life would become unmanageable and you know it.”
Ian’s hand froze above the next document as he looked up at his secretary. The man was right.
Sighing internally, Ian flashed back to that morning so many years earlier when he’d discovered the stable boy sneaking out of the library with a book under his arm.
Ian had been visiting his parents on the home estate in Devon, one of the few respites from that hell known as the Chesterton School for Boys. He had come down early, unable to adjust to the quiet of a room all to himself only to find the twelve-year-old boy trying to abscond with one of his father’s books.
Over four years younger than himself, Ian had been surprised to discover the boy could even read let alone taking Humboldt’s translation of Caesar’s commentaries.
It had taken the rest of that visit to convince his father that instead of sacking the boy, he should pay for his education. Any boy who enjoyed reading Humboldt was either insane or had a lot to offer this world.
Surprisingly, his father had finally relented. Ian had often wondered if it was because the old man had been persuaded by the arguments. Or simply to shut him up and return the house to a semblance of normal.
Either way, the boy had been sent to school. And eventually, on to Oxford.
Ian returned to reading the document before him. Something about a new barn for Balkingshire, the family's home estate in Devon.
“And then I am off,” Ian responded as he began to read the next letter. He had been looking towards this for months. several weeks away from London.
“A few more, Your Grace,” Stephan said as he slid the signed document into the case to join the others. “An invitation from Lady Campbell. She seems rather hopeful.”
“Hopes to entrap me, you mean. The woman has tried three times to be caught alone with me, all in the hopes that I will be forced into matrimony. Little does she know that I’d rather give it all up and work in the coal pits before I’d marry.”
Stephan scoffed before he could stop himself. Ian raised an eyebrow at his employ, silently asking for an explanation.
The secretary took a deep breath as he composed himself. He well knew he could speak his mind. That was what the Duke paid him for.
“It is just, Your Grace. Doesn’t every man say that until he finds himself before the vicar?”
“Yes,” Ian said as he signed his name. “But I am not like most men then. Am I? Any fool that allows himself to be trapped, deserves his punishment.”
Stephan didn’t respond directly, instead, he removed the last document. “A note from your mother,” his secretary said as he handed over the last letter.
Wincing, Ian took a deep breath. “How bad?”
Stephan smiled slightly. “She plans on coming to London next month. And hopes to bring your brothers.”
“She is determined to see me married,” he told his secretary. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find her in conspiracy with Lady Campbell. Why do mothers push such punishments upon their sons?”
Stephan paused. “I would never hazard a comment, Sir. Her Grace, the Duchess of Suffolk, is a force of nature that I will never fully understand.”
Ian shuddered. The man was right, as always. And his mother had determined that he had been free long enough. You would think that having two spare heirs would be enough. But no, not with his mother.
Ian sighed heavily. This was not how a man should spend his life. Having to deal with a mother determined to marry him off. Avoiding conniving women, signing papers he didn’t care about, and attending parties that brought no real joy. His get away was looking better every moment.
Without warning, the memory of a mill in a small village just outside of Worcester flashed from his memory. He had wanted to paint it the first time he had seen it years ago. And now, the light at this time of year would be perfect.
“That’s it,” the Duke said as he finished reading his mother’s note. “Enough is enough. I am off.”
Stephan’s forehead creased in confusion. “Sir? Is this wise?”
“I am leaving this wretched city. If I’m to retain any form of sanity. I must be away. There are paintings to paint, people to meet and adventures to have.”
His secretary continued to frown at him. Obviously, the thought of a British Duke doing anything other than signing papers and sitting on parliament’s benches was ridiculous. Ian didn’t care. If he didn’t get away, he would surely bust with boredom.
“But, … But, Your Grace. Where will you go? How am I to get in contact.”
Ian’s brow furrowed. “I am not on a leash. A fact the world needs to remember.”
Stephan took a deep sigh. “Your Grace, you are responsible for a large part of English lands and a good bit of both Wales and Scotland. Thousands of people work on those lands. Hundreds work for you supporting those people. The Crown is dependent upon the funds those lands create. You can’t just leave.”
Ian snorted as he stepped out from behind his desk. “Stephan, remember. Britain survived long before I came along and will survive long after I am gone. In fact, most of my tenants would prefer for me and my agents to stay out of their hair. They want nothing more than to be left alone. A few weeks away will not destroy the country.”
Young Stephan continued to stare at him with some doubt. Ian smiled slightly. The man would never understand. There wasn’t the slightest bit of the artist in him. No, to Stephan, the world ran on numbers, schedules, and paperwork. Heaven knew Britain needed men like him. They were the glue that held everything together.
But Ian refused to be dragged into that world. At least not on a permanent basis. He needed his freedom to create his paintings or what was life worth living for.
“Tell Peterson I will not be taking the coach. I’ll hire …”
“Sir.”
“No,” Ian continued, “I want to slip in without anyone knowing. If I show up in a Duke’s carriage with the family crest. I’ll stand out like a … well, a Duke.”
Stephan sighed heavily, obviously upset, and having difficulty understanding. Ian felt a small sense of regret. He knew he was making the young man’s job harder.
“Listen, Stephan,” he said as he clapped the man on the back. “Just tell everyone that I’ve gone to Scotland for the hunt. They won’t believe you. They’ll probably think I’m enjoying myself with a young widow somewhere. Or better yet, hint it might be an actress. But really? Does it matter?”
“But what of the Prime Minister?”
Ian scoffed, as he opened the door, a sense of freedom and escape starting to build inside of him. “If the prime minister can’t run the country without me. We need to get a new prime minister, don’t you think?”
Stephan stared for a moment then let his shoulders slump in obvious defeat. Ian smiled to himself. He knew the man would be making plans and contingencies for every conceivable problem. Well, that was what made him the happiest. So really, by going away, he was making Stephan’s life more fulfilling.
Really, if you thought about it, he was being an excellent employer by giving the young man purpose and a challenge.
Yet, that was how he would look at it.
Laughing, he raced up the stairs two at a time. Prescott, his valet, had long ago reluctantly prepared several disguises. Clothes that allowed him to fit in, to observe, learn, and eventually paint, all without being interrupted or stopped. It seems the people found the thought of a Duke painting in public rather eccentric, and therefore, interesting.
No, to experience real freedom, no one need know his true identity. And best of all, he could get away from maneuvering women set on ruining his life.
God, this was going to be fun.
.o0o.
Lady Margaret Duval took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. Her father had sent one of the footmen to tell her he wished to speak to her in the parlor. Never a good thing. There had been too many battles fought in the parlor at home. She feared he had transferred the same routine for their visit to the Worcester estate.
“Yes,” a voice grumbled in response to her knock.
“Father,” she said as she stepped into the room. Her heart jumped with disgust when she saw the man standing next to him. Lord Evens, her father’s best friend. Why was he here? A quick memory jumped to the front of her mind. She had been a little girl and watched in horror as the man beat his horse for rearing. His crop cutting welts into the horse's neck.
Only after Bart the stable master had grabbed the horse’s bridle and forced him to stop had Lord Evens turned his anger on poor Jimmy, the stable boy who had delivered the mount. He had actually lifted his riding crop and would have struck the boy if the horse hadn’t reared again.
Margaret had always admired how Bart had stepped between Lord Evens and the boy. Looking up into the Viscount’s eyes and refusing to back down. The man had risked his very lively hood.
At only eight years old, a whole awareness about her world had sunk in.
“Lord Evens,” she managed to say as she pulled herself back to the present and dropped into a curtsey.
“Lady Margaret,” he replied as he slowly ran his eyes over her. Examining each attribute as if he were judging livestock at the local auction. Her skin ran cold. For a man as old as Lord Evens to look at her that way seemed almost evil.
The female inside of her rebelled. Everything about the man was wrong. Shorter than herself, balding, overweight, and as old as her father. His skin showed patches of parched skin. Rough and unpleasant looking. It took every bit of will power to stop her body from shuddering.
She felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment as he continued to examine her. Slowly, his eyes took on a beastly desire that made her skin crawl with revulsion.
Margaret quickly glanced at her father, desperate for his help. But the man continued to smile as if there was nothing wrong with the way Lord Evens was looking at her.
“Yes,” Lord Evens said to her father. “I believe we can come to an arrangement. My lawyers will be in contact.” And with that, the man was gone, taking up his hat and gloves and out the door before Margaret could understand what was happening
Margaret’s insides clenched into a tight ball as a sudden fear filled her.
“Father?” she asked.
Her father set his jaw and stared at her. “Lord Evens has asked for your hand in marriage and I have agreed.”
Chapter Two
Lady Margaret Duval slammed the door as she stormed into her bedroom. How dare he? How could a father do that to his daughter? Promise her to a … an ancient reprobate such as Lord Evans. The man was ugly, fat, a leech and … and old. And worse of all, blessed with the intelligence of a dining room table. And her father expected her to meekly accept his pronouncement that she was to be betrothed to such a man.
No. Never.
Turning, she continued to stomp back and forth as she fought to stop from screaming. The man, her father, was a tyrant, old fashioned, and uncaring.
No. Never.
Taking a deep breath, Lady Margaret pushed down her anger. Susan, her maid, stood beside the dressing table with a ribbon in her hand, looking like a trapped doe. Wide eyes and a pale face told Margaret that she had frightened her maid. Never a wise move.
Thankfully, Susan had been with her for two years, since her seventeenth birthday and coming out. Hopefully, she knew deep down that her mistress was mad at her father. Heaven knew, there had been more than a few instances.
“M’lady,” the maid said, obviously having heard the row from downstairs. Margaret was rather sure the entire household and half the estate had heard the argument. “His Lordship can’t make you marry. Can he? I mean, after all, this is England.”
Margaret scoffed as she waved her hand. “No, not legally, but he can make my life so miserable that marriage to Lord Evans might be preferable.”
Her maid shuddered then turned to hide her obvious disapproval.
Her father had waited until they were away from home to spring this on her. She had agreed to accompany him on a tour of his estates. She had foolishly believed it would be a way to draw closer to him. But no, the man had gotten her away from her mother before announcing his news. Obviously hoping to win by dividing his enemies.
<
br /> The first morning here on the Warwickshire estate and he’d told her.
A sick sinking feeling filled her. No, she refused to allow her life to turn out like that. The man was an idiot if he thought she would ever give in.
Was it the money? she wondered. Lord Evans was rich. And her father wasn’t. As he said, an Earl could be land rich and cash poor more than once. Usually when she begged for a new dress. And everyone knew Lord Evans had more gold than most needed.
Margaret sighed. She needed to delay. At least until they got home and she could enlist her mother’s help. Deep down, however, Margaret felt a twinge of doubt. He had been rather adamant. Determined to see her married off. Telling her two seasons was more than enough time.
She wondered if all he wished was to simply be rid of her? Or, was it the money?
Although, if he had allowed her to go to London with Aunt Vera, then perhaps, she could have found a husband. It was rather obvious that the selection near their home in Cornwall was rather limited. But then that was her father. A penny-wise, a pound foolish.
But no, he planned to solve the problem by marrying her off to his best friend. That made everything so much worse. He and Lord Evans had been friends for most of their lives. Didn’t he see? She’d be marrying a man as old as her father. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. No. Never.
“Susan,” Margaret said as she turned on her maid. “I need a spare dress.”
Her maid frowned as she glanced over at the armoire, and the dozen of dresses it contained.
“I am sure we packed enough, M’lady.”
“No,” Margaret said as she shook her head. “A maid’s dress. Something that will let me walk in the village without anyone recognizing me.”
Her maid’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“We’re the same size,” Margaret told her. “Let me borrow one of your dresses and we can sneak into the village. If I don’t get away from here, I will surely explode. I need to get away from my father. If I stay, I will say something that makes things worse. And if I go as … me, word will get back to him. You know it will.”
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