A Duke's Dilemma

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Her mother harrumphed slightly, obviously barely willing to accept his response. Instead, she flicked her fan open. “You do realize,” she said, “there are at least thirty-six eligible women here tonight who would make an excellent Duchess. Each a member of a prominent family. Perhaps forty if you counted the daughters of Barons.”

  “Mother …”

  “No Suffolk,” she interrupted, “it is time you found a wife.”

  A memory of Meg laughing pulled at him. The way her eyes sparkled with happiness. The thought was instantly followed by a gut-wrenching memory of a coy look she had shot him from beneath her brow. The kind of look that could twist a man’s heart into a tight knot.

  No, that way was closed to him. Perhaps his mother was right. Perhaps he should pick some young woman. Someone to provide him heirs after which they could lead their own separate lives. It would at least eliminate this constant harping of his mother’s.

  He was pondering his mother’s words when he recognized a tall thin man on the other side of the room. “Is that Lord Duval?” he asked his mother.”

  She stopped fanning herself as she squinted to stare across the large room. “Yes, why do …”

  He ignored the rest as he left his mother. Perhaps his daughter was here with the Earl. Maybe he could somehow learn of Meg. Of course, talking to a Lady about her maid was impossible. He would be thought a blithering idiot. But he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if he were falling down a deep hole with no roots to grab.

  But at least he could learn how long they were to remain in London.

  A thousand scenarios ran through his mind as he frantically tried to remember everything he knew about the man and his family. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to Stephan. Then there was the prattling of his mother at the dinner table. Stories about who was doing what with whom.

  Nothing. Oh, why hadn’t he paid attention? Perhaps something that would have helped him in this situation. How do you ask a man about his daughter’s maid without exposing her to ridicule and a dozen questions?

  “Duval,” he said with a slight dip of his head.

  The Earl’s eyes narrowed slightly. They did not normally travel in the same circles and were barely acquainted. “Your Grace,” he replied.

  The two of them stood there for a moment, both searching for something to say. Ian’s mind raced as he fought to stop himself from just blurting out a question about Meg.

  “Have you decided to join us here in London permanently?” he asked the Earl. “I am sure Liverpool would enjoy your support in Parliament.”

  A quick hope burst inside of Ian. If Duval moved to London for good, he would have a much better chance of finding Meg.

  Duval shook his head. “No, we are leaving after the wedding.”

  Ian frowned, he really should pay attention when Stephan briefed him. “Wedding?” he asked.

  The Earl took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, my daughter and Lord Evens. I believe you have been invited.”

  Ian’s heart jumped. If Meg’s mistress was to be married, would that provide him an opportunity?

  “In fact,” the Earl said, as he indicated behind Ian, “here they are. Margaret and her betrothed, Lord Evens. May I present His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk.

  Ian turned only to have his heart slam to a halt as his world dissolved into one single fact. Meg.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Margaret’s world crumbled around her. Ian. Here, her Ian. How, … what? Nothing made sense. A Duke? Ian?

  She froze in place, afraid to move, afraid to accept her father’s words. Ian, the Duke of Suffolk. Impossible. …

  But, it was the only possible answer to why he was here. Why he was standing before her dressed in a tight frock coat made of the best fabric. Of course, everything made sense. Yet, nothing made sense.

  “Lady Margaret,” he said as he bowed at the waist, perhaps a little deeper than expected of a Duke meeting an Earl’s daughter. The music had disappeared into the background. The bright colors, the smell of fresh flowers. All of it gone. There was just this man before her.

  A lifetime of habit took over as she dipped into a deep curtsey, but she couldn’t look down as she had been taught from an early age. Instead, she remained focused on the man across from her. How was this possible?

  When he took her hand to help her rise, a tingle shot through her entire body. Yes, this was Ian. It had to be. There was no mistake. Only he could make her body feel this way.

  Suddenly, a sense of betrayal filled her very soul. He had lied to her. Deceived her. Taken her, used her for his own pleasure all without telling her of his true identity. Never in a thousand years would she have gone to him if she had known the truth.

  He was of her world. They knew the same people. He knew her father for God's sake.

  Immediately, her cheeks grew warm as she blushed with embarrassment. Memories of what they had done jumped to the front of her mind as she fought to hold onto a sense of honor.

  The room began to spin and she worried she might faint right there in the middle of the ballroom.

  “Is everything all right, My Dear,” Lord Evens asked as he frowned at her.

  No, she wanted to yell at him. Nothing is right. Nothing will ever be right again. Ian had lied to her. The one person she had thought she could trust. Oh, what a fool she had been. What must he have thought of her? The simple Lady’s maid. A quick fling.

  Lord Evens had asked her a question she realized as she fought to maintain some semblance of resolve.

  “Yes, My Lord,” she replied as she flicked her fan open. “it is rather warm, don’t you think.”

  How he must have laughed to himself. Surely, he believed their paths would never cross. Now, to meet him like this. Here with her father and her future husband.

  No one must know. The wrong word, the wrong act. My God, what if Ian said something. What if he exposed their secret? Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his eyes, searching for any hint of his intentions. Please she silently begged. Please keep my secret.

  His brow continued to be furrowed as if he were trying to understand a new reality. Of course, she realized. He thought of her as a Lady’s maid. She had deceived him. Of course, he was confused. And yes, she was as guilty as himself. But this was different. She had a perfectly good reason and had never intended to end up in a Duke’s bed.

  An awkward silence fell over the group. Margaret realized that neither she nor Ian were acting correctly. There was no meaningless small talk to ease the tension. No baseless compliments or probing questions. Just four people looking at each other as if trying to understand why this was different than any other meeting between aristocrats.

  Finally, Ian squared his shoulders and turned to Lord Evens. “Congratulations, Lord Evens on your pending nuptials.”

  Margaret’s insides squeezed tight as a bolt of shame filled her. Ian knew she was marrying Lord Evens. And to make it even worse, he didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, she wondered if he was secretly pleased. One less woman making his life complicated.

  “We do hope you can attend, Your Grace,” Lord Evens said as he looked up at the man with a curious frown. Margaret held her breath, had her betrothed discovered the truth. Had she exposed her feelings? Had he seen the truth?

  How would Ian respond? Suddenly the thought of Ian sitting in the audience while she married Lord Evens sent a deep despair through her.

  “Of course,” Ian said, giving her a meaningful look. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Her heart crumbled into a dozen pieces.

  “You are a lucky man,” the Duke continued, obviously referring to the Viscount’s future bride.

  Margaret wondered if he meant it, or was he just expressing the expected platitude. Why had he lied to her? How could he?

  Lord Evens smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Margaret realized. “Well, yes, every man must marry if he is to have an heir.”

  The Duke frowned for a brief momen
t then nodded. “Of course, why else would a man marry. But locating the right wife can be so difficult. Finding a woman who is loyal, trustworthy, is so important, don’t you think?”

  Margaret cringed inside. He was talking about her and her deception. He is angry she realized. This was an Ian she didn’t know. A man who could so easily hide his emotions, hide the truth. The realization made her wonder what else she didn’t know about the man.

  Obviously, everything. He lied. To her. To society. And now, this disdain for marriage. He wasn’t the man she had thought. Oh, the pain ate at her heart. She had lost her Ian. The kind, sweet Ian. It had all been a ruse. A falsehood. How could she have been such an idiot?

  Please, she silently prayed. Let the earth open and swallow her whole. Anything to end this misery.

  Again, the awkward feeling fell over the group. Why couldn’t Ian leave them? Surely there was some other person at the ball he could torment. Some pretty widow to sweep off her feet. Please, leave her alone so that she could try to start building her world again.

  “I am told,” her father began, obviously hoping to keep the conversation going. “That your man visited Worcester last month. We were in residence. At my estates.”

  Ian nodded as he glanced at her. “I wasn’t aware you were there. I would have had my secretary stop by perhaps things would have gone differently if he had.”

  Her father frowned. “A business opportunity I was told.”

  The Duke shrugged, “A personal matter. But alas, it appears it has come to naught.” He glanced at Lord Evens and shrugged again. “Some things were not meant to be.”

  The painful look he shot her made her want to cry. He blamed her. She was positive. Blamed her for leaving without a word. Blamed her for marrying Lord Evens. Blamed her for lying to him. The Realization made her angry. A churning cauldron of anger that bubbled in the bottom of her stomach. How dare he? Didn’t he realize that her life was not her own?

  Of course not, she had never told him. No, to Ian it must appear as if she had deceived him for one night before giving herself to her husband. One night of fun before settling into the life of a British Lady.

  The sudden realization of how things must look to Ian made her shudder. What must he think of her? He obviously would think her nothing but a light skirt. A woman fast and lose with her virtue. Somehow, she knew that Ian would never respect such a woman.

  Again, silence fell over them. Her father gave her a meaningful look, obviously wondering why she was acting so strangely. Seeing that she was not going to hold up her duties in the conversation, he said, “I have heard that you paint, Your Grace.”

  The Duke’s eyebrows rose, obviously surprised with the shift in the conversation.

  “I used to dabble,” her father continued. Margaret was surprised, she had never known her father had been interested in painting. “In my younger years. Before I had to put it aside and focus on important matters.”

  Margaret cringed. Her father had just insulted a Duke. Referring to his passion as unimportant and trivial.

  Ian smiled, “Ah, some of us are not so disciplined. Perhaps you should stop by and examine my work. I would enjoy your thoughts. There is one particular painting I believe you would find interesting.”

  Her father quickly accepted the invitation.

  Once again. her heart slammed to a stop. No, this was impossible. The thought of her father and Ian being alone together terrified her on so many levels. Surely Ian wouldn’t show her father his painting of her in his bed. No. he had promised.

  No sooner had the thought registered than she reminded herself that she didn’t know this man. Not truly. How could she ever rely on his word?

  Please, she prayed again, let me die now, and never experience the coming embarrassment.

  “So tell me, Lady Margaret,” Ian said to her. “Have you ever posed for a portrait. Perhaps I should paint you so that you could give it to your betrothed as a wedding present. Every man should have a true rendition of his wife. Especially when she is young and beautiful.”

  Her heart raced. Why was he torturing her like this? It was not the Ian she had thought she had known. He must truly hate her. A new sadness filled her as she realized her memories were now tainted. That sweet night in his arms would be marred by the lies they had told and the anger he now felt.

  A tear began to form at the corner of her eye. Something more to fear. Ian seeing her cry.

  “If you will excuse me,” she said to the group as she dropped into a quick curtsey before turning and fleeing. She knew they were staring at her, aghast at her rude behavior. Father would surely give her grief over it. But, there was no choice. She needed to be away from him. It was her only hope of retaining any sense of sanity.

  Ian Temple. Her Ian. Was the Duke of Suffolk. And he hated her for deceiving him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ian slammed the door to his study and growled under his breath. Never had he been so furious. At Meg, At Lord Evens, the world in general, but most of all, at himself.

  How had he let himself be deceived? Meg, an Earl’s daughter. It seemed too farfetched to believe. If he had not been standing there with her father he would never have believed it. Meg, his Meg, had seemed the antithesis of the silly young Ladies he knew. Too intelligent, too sweet and too kind.

  No, he needed to accept this new reality. Meg was a British Lady, nobility, and she had deceived him about that fact. What is more, she was preparing to marry another man.

  The thought sent a burning hate to his stomach. The image of her in Lord Evens’ bed made him want to hit something. Anything. Pound it into oblivion until the image would disappear.

  “Meg,” he mumbled with a sigh as he began to pace back and forth, his hands repeatedly clenching and unclenching into fists.

  She looked so beautiful tonight. The finest dress, the perfect hair. Yet his heart ached for the Meg he had known before. The simple maid’s dress, the fresh innocence. Not this sophisticated woman. Once again he thought about the look in her eyes when she realized it was him.

  Had her shock been because he had discovered the truth. Or because she had discovered his deception.

  A sense of guilt washed over him. He had deceived her as much as she had him. Perhaps more so. But, still the fact remained she hadn’t informed him of her true status. Why. Was it because she thought him a simple itinerant painter. A man not worth her hand in marriage? A man beneath her? Or had she feared he might become a fortune hunter? Surely not.

  If she had only told him, their lives would have been so different. He would have asked her father for her hand in marriage. The certainty of it hit him like a brick wall collapsing on him. It was true. He would have married her. Not because as a lady, he was honor-bound to do so after their night together. No, because he wanted her to be his wife. His Duchess.

  The thought made him grind his teeth. The reason he had not pursued her hand was because he believed she had not been trained to be a noblewoman. That she would be crushed under the weight of their world.

  The silliness of that belief now sat on his stomach like a bad bit of beef.

  As he recalled their meeting tonight, a sense of shame hit him. He had been churlish, unbecoming. Meg deserved better. His comments about the painting, about the importance of a loyal wife, had been unjustified.

  He had been driven to lash out at something, anything and he had been cruel to her. The shame ate at him. One more thing to add to the long list of things to feel guilty about.

  Meg, an Earl’s daughter, the thought was unfathomable. But tonight, he saw this other side of her. The regal bearing. The ease with which she handled the ball. As if she belonged there and had every right. No, not the shy lady’s maid but a trained, confident Lady of the British ton.

  Another growl echoed up from deep in his chest as he thought about what might have been. What should have been?

  “Why,” he said aloud as he continued to pace. Why was she marrying that man? She had walked aw
ay from his bed and accepted that toad’s proposal. Why? Surely he had meant something to her. Couldn’t she have at least talked to him first?

  And why Evens? The man was so … so unacceptable. Surely she hadn’t left their bed for such a man. But of course, that was exactly what she had done.

  Or had she already known she was to wed Evens and that was why she had come to him that night? One last opportunity to be with someone she desired vice … what, someone she was being forced to marry?

  Was that it? Had her father found out about their affair and was forcing her to marry before her name could be drug through the mud. Or Evens? Had he used the knowledge to force her into marriage?

  The thought gave him hope until he remembered the betrothal. Such a contract was impossible to break without a great deal of scandal. The kind of scandal that could ruin a family. It was almost as binding as a marriage in itself. In many ways more so. A woman could stray from the marriage bed. Especially after a few heirs had been produced. But not from a betrothal. No, it wasn’t done. To stray before marriage was unthinkable. How could a man know that his heir was his?

  He gasped, had Evens taken her to his bed already?

  “God, no,” he whispered as he realized just how wrong things had become.

  He needed to talk to her. He needed to find out the truth. He should never have found out as he had. No, she should have told him.

  Of course, she had thought he was a commoner traipsing through the midlands. Not a Duke of the realm. How could she have told him? And which him should she have informed.

  The last thought made him laugh at himself and shake his head. He was acting like a stupid boy crushed by the loss of his first love.

  “Get a grip Suffolk.” Better yet, he needed to find some answers. His world would never be right again unless he had some answers. But how? Who could he turn to for help? Brock? Jack? The thought made him laugh. He had teased them endlessly for allowing themselves to fall in love. He didn’t relish the thought of having them tell him he was just such a fool himself.

  Pretending to be a commoner only to fall in love with an Earl’s daughter pretending to be a Lady’s maid. Both of them deceiving the other. It was straight out of a Shakespearian play. Too silly to be believed.