A Duke's Dilemma

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Aunt Vera snorted again. “Think girl. Is it fair that you were given a life of luxury? Really. All those dresses. A life of privilege. People to cook and clean for you. A maid to see to your every need. Compare that to a soldier in the field. Or a miner working deep below the ground. Was that fair? No, of course not. Well, now the bill has come due. You will marry Lord Evens. It is our family’s only chance.”

  “But …”

  “No, Margaret, there is no other option. Even now he and your father are negotiating the bride price. You are this family’s only hope.”

  The very words made Margaret wince. It was as if she were being sold off like a side of beef in a butcher’s shop.

  “The funds will be very generous, I am positive. The Viscount can afford it. What is more? You will be safe. A rich Viscountess. No longer a drain on the family’s income.”

  Margaret felt as if she had been hit by a charging bull, then stomped into the ground. How was she supposed to feel? What of Ian? Even now, she desperately wished he was here so she could discuss this with him. Would he understand? Could he ever forgive her?

  And what of Lord Evens? What would he think if he discovered she was not pure? Granted, there were things she could do that might deceive him on her wedding night. But what if the ruse failed? Would he return her to her father and demand a return of the funds?

  What then? Had she thrown away any chance of saving her family?

  No, this was impossible. And so not right. Yet, deep in her soul, she knew that her aunt was speaking the truth. The only way out was to marry Lord Evens. Deceive him somehow, and become accepted as his Viscountess. Her happiness was not a consideration. Not when compared to the complete ruin of her entire family.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ian stepped back and sighed as he examined the painting. He had done it, captured the true essence of Meg. Even after two weeks, he could not stop himself from yearning for her.

  As he examined his work, his eyes traveled over the long legs. The curve of her hips. The full breasts, the sweet face. It had taken every iota of his talent to find the right shades to bring out the softness of her skin. The silky perfection.

  The eyes alone had taken him two days to obtain that internal fire filled with hidden secrets. But he thought he had achieved it. Oh, how he wished he could show it to her. If not her, then no one else would ever see the painting. Perhaps his best work ever. But none of that would matter if Meg could but gaze upon it and give him her opinion.

  A sadness settled over him. He had waited for two weeks. Surely enough time for her to reach out to him. Even all the way from London. But obviously, that was not to be. Perhaps his decision not to pursue her had been wrong. But he couldn’t approach Lord Duval and ask about his daughter’s maid.

  First, the man would never entertain the idea. Second, it would ruin Meg’s employment. And while, he would care for her, He had absolutely no idea if that was her desire. What if she had no wish to ever see him again?

  At least he had been able to finish the paintings.

  Sighing, he studied the artwork before him. A passionate need built inside of him as he stared at the nude. It was so Meg. Innocent with a hint of wild. A woman who knew her own mind.

  Glancing over at the other completed portrait on his right, he had to smile. An innocent girl sitting at a table, staring off into the distance. Here too he had captured her. His heart actually ached. She was so beautiful.

  Both paintings had been done from memory. A rarity for him. Normally he needed the subject there directly before him. But with Meg, he had been able to recall every minor detail. Every aspect of her essence.

  It was as if she had filled his mind with an image that could not be forgotten. As if she had worked her way into a part of his soul. Become a part of him even.

  Where was she? he wondered. Two weeks and you would think she would have gotten word to him. After all, she knew where he was. It hurt to think she hadn’t tried. Even Billy had been sent by Susan. Not herself. No note. No letter. No, it was time he moved on. He must accept the loss and return to his normal life.

  A duke couldn’t disappear like this without creating problems. And while he had enjoyed himself. At least up until Meg had disappeared. It was time to return to his real life.

  Of course, a thousand thoughts flashed through his mind. A thousand regrets. What if he had told her the truth from the very beginning? What if he had proposed to make her his mistress. Would she have accepted?

  And then there was the entire subject of marriage. What if he had been willing to sacrifice her happiness by making her his duchess. He would possess her, but then she would have been miserable. Any woman with any sense would have been. Especially one not raised in this world with these expectations.

  Of course, that assumed she might have any interest. But her lack of contact indicated otherwise.

  He sighed heavily as he once again looked at the paintings and slowly shook his head. He knew that slowly she would begin to fade in his memory. But he also knew that he would never forget her. The Lady’s maid who had taken ahold of his heart.

  .o0o.

  Margaret sighed heavily as she forced her heart to calm down. Her life path had been decided and there was no longer a choice in the matter. Aunt Vera’s lecture had seen to that. She must accede to her father’s plan. It was her family’s only hope.

  Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands down over her dress, adjusted the lace at her neck to make sure it lay correctly then entered the parlor.

  Her father, aunt, and Lord Evens were waiting for her. A strange man in a black frock coat stood by the desk with a leather satchel. The lawyer. obviously.

  She ignored the others as she focused once again on her intended. Unfortunately, nothing had changed.

  Margaret was unable to stop herself from comparing her intended to Ian. Obviously, Lord Evens did not fare well. How could he? No man could match up well with Ian. But Lord Evens was now even more lacking. It was as if God himself had designed the exact opposite.

  Now, after knowing Ian. Everything about the man set her teeth on edge. He was still … old. Well over twice her ages. Probably closer to fifty than forty. His hair had grown even thinner in the last few weeks. And, of course, he would never be tall. In fact, he would never even reach her own height. His waistcoat stretched across a bit of a paunch. And his shoulders were still thinner than his hips. Never a good sign in a man.

  The memory of Ian’s shoulders jumped to the front of her mind and refused to leave.

  Mentally shaking herself, she pulled her awareness back to the awful present. There was so much more that bothered her about Lord Evens. His fingers were stained from constantly stuffing his pipe. Of course, there was the fact that his smile never reached his eyes. Did the man laugh, she wondered. Thinking back the few times she had been in his presence, she couldn’t recall a time that he had ever shown any sense of humor.

  But most of all, it was the way he looked at her. As if he wanted to possess her. A beastly gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. It was funny, she thought with an internal shudder. If Ian had looked at her that way, her knees would have grown weak and her soul would have been thrilled. But this man, it made her stomach turn over with revulsion.

  Perhaps all of his many failings could have been forgiven if he were but a good man. An honorable man, perhaps they could grow into friends. But something deep in her heart told her this was not the situation. A man wouldn’t force a woman into a marriage she didn’t wish. No something told her that she was being sold into a cold world with no hope of happiness.

  All because he was a wealthy Lord and her family was in need.

  “There you are,” Lord Evens said with that sly smile of his. “I was starting to worry you might not be enthused about the matter.”

  Margaret swallowed, she could see it in his eyes. He knew perfectly well how she felt. Although she was positive neither her aunt or her father had informed him of her feelings. He could read it
of her. But then, any woman would have felt the same way. Yes, he knew, and yet he still insisted. Really that said everything a person needed to know.

  The stern look her father shot her told her to not dare destroy this opportunity.

  “No My Lord,” she replied. “What woman wouldn’t wish to marry such a distinguished man such as yourself.”

  He grunted as he nodded, obviously accepting her answer.

  “Shall we,” her father said as he indicated the lawyer.

  The man in question removed a single document from his satchel and placed them on the desk. “We will need the signature of both the prospective groom and bride,” he said pointing to the bottom of the page. “And the father of the bride obviously,” he added.

  Margaret’s stomach dropped as the reality of the situation finally sank in. “What am I signing?” she asked. Every instinct told her to delay. In fact, every instinct told her to run and never stop running.

  “The betrothal contract,” the lawyer answered as if she were a stupid woman who needed everything explained.

  Margaret decided to use that perception on his part to pull out as much information as possible. “Why? I mean, what does it involve?”

  Lord Evens sighed heavily as he glanced upwards, obviously frustrated.

  “Because,” the lawyer answered, apparently enjoying the opportunity to explain his expertise to a non-enlightened party. “This is a legally binding document. Your father has agreed to allow you to marry Lord Evens in exchange for … certain considerations.”

  Margaret glanced down at the document and was surprised to see the figure of five thousand pounds mentioned. Her heart turned over. It would be impossible to walk away from that kind of money. Her family would be rescued. They never again need they fear destitution.

  “In addition,” the lawyer said, “under the law, a betrothal contract establishes certain expectations. Both before the crown and the church.”

  “Such as?” she asked.

  “Really Margaret,” her aunt interjected.

  She sighed, “I don’t think it is fair to sign a document unless I understand … all aspects. Do you Lord Evens? Surely you agree with me.”

  The Viscount glared at her for a long moment then nodded his head, obviously deciding that she was an empty-headed woman who needed to be appeased. “Tell her.”

  The lawyer continued, “Under a betrothal contract, in addition to laying out the bride price, obviously, neither of you may marry another. In fact, any such marriage would be considered invalid and any children would be illegitimate.”

  Margaret swallowed hard as she watched the lawyer. “And?”

  The man gulped before glancing at her father and Lord Evens. “And,” he continued, “in actuality, there is no need for a wedding. If there is … If there is a consummation. The marriage will be considered legal from that date.”

  Her stomach clenched up into a tight ball. The world had created a way to ruin any hope of romance or love. They had turned everything into a cold business arrangement.

  “In addition, just as in any contract,” the lawyer continued, “if either party fails to carry out its obligations, they may be taken to court for breach of contract.”

  “The bride price would have to be returned,” her father interjected with a stern look. “Perhaps additional funds as punishment for damages.”

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart. Really, what choice did she have? Her family’s survival compared to her happiness.

  “Very well, where do I sign?” she asked as she dipped the quill and bent over the document. Her insides turned over but she refused to let them see the terror raging inside of her.

  The lawyer pointed to an empty line. Holding her breath, she signed the document then passed the quill to the lawyer. It was done. Her future sealed.

  He smiled kindly then indicated her father should sign.

  Margaret stepped back and watched as first her father and then Lord Evens each signed the document then shook hands. Her insides squeezed into a tight ball. It was as if they had just finalized the transfer of a prized heifer.

  The lawyer signed as a witness then returned the paper to his satchel and departed without further comment.

  Every part of her being had gone numb. Her life was ruined and she had done it to herself, she had signed away any hope of happiness.

  And what of her husband to be? Suddenly, the memory of the lawyer’s comment about consummation leading to the marriage being legal. Surely Lord Evens didn’t anticipate … not today …

  Looking up, she caught him staring at her, once again with that hungry beast look that made her insides turn cold with fear.

  “I should think a month should be enough time to prepare for a wedding,” Lord Evens said.

  Margaret started to slump with relief before she stopped herself. It wouldn’t do for him to see her overjoyed knowing her fate had been delayed.

  Her aunt frowned. “Perhaps six weeks might be better.”

  Lord Evens grunted as he started for the door. “A month.”

  And with that, he was gone. Margaret felt as if her insides had been scrambled into a mushy mess. And this was to be her life from now on, she realized. One disappointment after another.

  Chapter Fourteen

  His Grace, the fourth Duke of Suffolk sighed heavily as he stepped past his butler, Jefferson. and into his London residence. That familiar smell of beeswax, brass polish, and old money greeted him.

  It was as if he were admitting to the world and himself that it was over. He was no longer Ian Temple, painter, a free man in Worcester. No, he was once again a Duke of the realm. A man of London. At the center of the growing empire. Rich, powerful, and all alone.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace,” Jefferson, said with a welcoming smile. “Here, let me take those,” he added as he reached for the package under the Duke’s arm.

  “No,” the Duke snapped as he pulled away. He had carefully wrapped both paintings in cheesecloth and carried them next to him in the carriage all the way from Worcester. Nothing must be allowed to harm them. And most important. No one must see his work. He’d promised Meg.

  The butler frowned then stepped back. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Ian sighed internally. If he wasn’t careful, people would think he was mad, not merely eccentric.

  “I will take them to my room,” Ian said softly as he started for the stairs. He had only gotten a few steps when a cold voice called from the parlor door.

  “Suffolk, is that you?”

  A cold shiver ran down his spine as he forced himself to stop and turn. “Yes, Mother, I have returned.” He shot Jefferson a quick frown, a proficient butler would have warned his employer.

  His mother scowled as she examined him closely, her eyes traveling over his workman’s jacket and thick woolen pants finally coming to rest on his paint-splattered shoes.

  “Really, Suffolk,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “This is London after all. People might comment.”

  “Nice to see you also, Mother,” Ian said before returning to go up the stairs.

  “We need to talk,” she called out after him. “Soon,” she added, perfectly aware that if he had his way there would be no such conversation. There were only two things his mother ever wished to discuss with him. Her allowance, or his lack of a wife.

  As for his art. Never. If the subject was not addressed then she could pretend it did not exist.

  His mind shot back to the studio above the grocer’s in Worcester and the beautiful woman who had graced it only two weeks prior. No, that was behind him he reminded himself. Time to return to real life.

  “Jefferson,” he yelled down to his butler. “A bath, and tell Stephan to meet me in the study in one hour.”

  “At once, Your Grace,” the butler called up before scurrying off to see to his employer’s demands.

  Ian took a deep breath, it was time he returned to his duties. And if he was lucky. They would take his
mind away from the pain eating at his insides.

  Once he was bathed and his valet, Prescott, had him dressed appropriately in a frock coat too tight across the shoulders and a cravat starched to within an inch of its life, he started to leave his room before pausing. He looked back at the two covered paintings he had placed between the armoire and the wall. His insides lurched just the slightest. He must inform his valet Prescott and perhaps Jenny, the upstairs maid, to make sure they didn’t disturb the wrapped paintings.

  He wondered which of them would be more shocked at the picture of Meg in the nude. Prescott most definitely, like most valets, the man was a bit of a prig.

  As Ian walked down the stairs, he forced himself, to once again return to being a Duke. Paintings and enjoyable pastimes must be put aside. His life was now filled with expectations and duties.

  “Stephan,” he said with a smile as he stepped into his study. “You have won, and I have returned to once again put my shoulder to the wheel.”

  His secretary snorted. “Sir, you are as familiar with physical labor as I am with the inside of Windsor Castle. In other words. Neither of us have ever experienced it.”

  Ian feigned shock but couldn’t help but smile. It was good to be home, if only to be challenged by his secretary.

  “Some were born to toil,” he told his secretary. “And some to lead.”

  Stephan smiled back but Ian could tell the young man was biting his tongue. Probably to refrain from some comments about people having to be present to actually lead.

  “So,” Ian began as he glanced at the three separate piles of papers arranged on the edge of the desk. “Must I read them each? Or can you just provide the interesting parts.”

  “Sir,” Stephan said with a shake of his head. “These are the must-reads. I have culled out at least four times as much. If you wish, I can retrieve them as well.”

  “No, no,” Ian said as he held up his hand. “I trust you,” he added as his stomach fell. He would be here all day.

  Stephan broke out a thick ledger book and leaned back in his chair across from the Duke’s desk. Ian winced inside. His secretary kept prodigious notes and more lists than the Bank of England. But really, there was no avoiding it.