A Cinderella for the Duke

by Abby Ayles

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  With Love

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  Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my best-selling novels: The Lady’s Patient & The Lady’s Gamble!

  Engaging Love

  Chapter 1

  Natalie frowned at her elder sister, Bridget. Bridget was a lovely woman. Everyone said so. But Natalie rather thought she’d be prettier if she wasn’t always looking so stern.

  “That’s another suitor gone,” Bridget said.

  She sighed. It was times like these that she could see a weight settling about her sister’s shoulders like a wedding veil weighted with iron.

  “I hardly see the problem,” Natalie replied. She had dozens of men who were insisting that she add them to her dance card.

  Bridget shook her head, as though Natalie was failing to see something right in front of her face.

  “This is not a game,” she told her. “You no longer have the choice of waiting.”

  Natalie wanted to fold her arms and pout. But that wouldn’t have been ladylike. Bridget spoke as if she was a child. As though she could have somehow forgotten the dire straits they were in.

  It was all Father’s fault. Not that she entirely blamed him. She could still remember how he had been before Mother’s death. He’d been jovial, kind, making time for his children.

  After Mother died it was as though every time he looked at his daughters, all he could see was her. It stung to see her father turn away from her and her sisters. He sank into gambling, and would spend long hours in his office, cut off from the world.

  It was his gambling that had ruined them. Regina of all people had been there to see it. Regina, their quiet, shy sister who hated large crowds and balls.

  She’d been there to see Lord Pettifer take their father’s money. And his land. Take everything they had in one fell swoop.

  Natalie still couldn’t believe it in a way.

  How could Father have been so stupid? Even Regina, who preferred to sit and sew in a corner, knew who Lord Pettifer was. He was a most awful rake. He had tried to get Bridget, Natalie’s eldest sister, to marry him and had been greatly offended when she had understandably declined.

  Natalie would have not put it past him to go after Father directly as revenge for Bridget’s refusal. There was much that she would not put past men.

  But now she had to actually settle down and find a husband. Once it was discovered that she and her sisters had lost all their fortune and land, no man would have them. They would be destitute.

  Only marriage could save them. That meant that all the balls, all the flirting, would be over. It made Natalie want to fling something. What was the point of life if one couldn’t have fun?

  If she was to marry, she wanted a husband who would let her continue to go to balls and call upon friends. She refused to be one of those wives who simply sat at home.

  Yet, every man she had talked to seemed to want that. They loved how she flirted with them. She was quite good at it, if she did say so herself.

  But was that flirtation, that liveliness that drew them in, something they wanted in a wife? No. It was as though they expected her to completely change her personality.

  Natalie was not going to change herself. Not for anyone.

  “Have you thought of talking about something besides yourself for two minutes?” Bridget asked.

  She watched as her elder sister stood up and walked across the room with agitation. It was hard to see Bridget barely holding herself together in this fashion.

  Bridget was—always had been—the most level-headed of them. Louisa, the second eldest, was sweet but too quiet and far too willing to go ahead with the whims of others. Elizabeth, younger than Natalie but older than Regina, the youngest, was far too impulsive and smart with her tongue.

  But Bridget had always been of the most even temper and calm demeanor. Even before Mother’s death, she had been endlessly patient at mediating arguments.

  To see her now, so on edge, working hard to contain her panic—it was unusual and upsetting.

  Natalie knew that they were in a precarious position. It wasn’t that she had been ignorant of that. From the moment Regina had told them what happened, she had known. Life as they knew it was about to change.

  They had to marry, and quickly, before anyone found out they were destitute. Otherwise they would be left to the streets. It was a prospect that terrified her.

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew what was at stake. Yet nothing drove the point home quite like seeing Bridget pace about the library, struggling and failing to completely hide her concern.

  Natalie almost wished that Elizabeth was nearby. Usually, Elizabeth annoyed her. She was far too smug in her wit and would cut down any man who dared to spar with her.

  It was nearly impossible to get a man while Elizabeth was there cutting them all down. Natalie was grateful that Bridget had sent Elizabeth with Louisa to the house of a mutual friend.

  Before they had departed, she had bet her sister that she would find a suitor long before Elizabeth’s potential suitor, Mr. Denny, had proposed.

  “You’ll drive him away,” she had declared. “He is an honorable man, but he’ll quail before you and renounce all intentions.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself,” Elizabeth had replied. “At least men know that I have substance in my head.”

  Natalie had been so certain that she would be proposed to. She had tried every trick that she knew to appeal to the men who had come calling and whom she had called upon with her sister.

  Yet here she was, with Lord and Lady Morrison’s masquerade ball nearly upon them. And she had yet to be proposed to.

  The latest man, Mr. Gentley, had been perfectly charming when Natalie had seen him last. They had danced twice with one another at the last ball she had attended.

  He had been very attentive to her. He’d seemed to greatly enjoy her comments about the other dancers assembled. When she had coyly told him that he must wait another five turns before he could dance with her again he had laughed.

  And so, Bridget, through Father, had extended an invitation for him to come calling. Mr. Gentley had come and she had made sure they were served tea.

  Bridget had then been kind enough to sit in the corner and read a book, only interjecting occasionally. It was as alone as Mr. Gentley, or any suitor, and Natalie could be.

  She had started by engaging him about some gossip she had heard regarding a Miss Florisant.

  Yet Mr. Gentley hadn’t wanted to talk about that.

  Instead he had asked her about things such as household staffing. Had she ever hosted a ball of her own? What sort of books did she read? Did she enjoy sewing?

  Sewing! Sewing was Regina’s hobby, not Natalie’s. It was as though Mr. Gentley did not know her at all.

  Or, worse, that he thought the way that she was at balls was merely a front. That she was hiding herself in order to appeal to a man at a ball and was another way at home. Or—and this was the worst possibility of all! Perhaps he wanted her to simply change who she was now that marriage was on the table.

  Natalie couldn’t stand that idea.

  In any case, conversation had come to a standstill. She had faltered horribly. What could she discuss besides dancing and gossip?

  Bridget had to step in. It was mortifying for Natalie to watch her sister sweep in to save the conversation.

  Surely, she could continue a conversation with a gentleman for the space of an hour or two?

  Yet, Mr. Gentley had left looking as though he had turned to wood. Stiff, his eyes without expression. His complexion was even, however. He did not look pale or flushed.

  In other words, he looked like a man climbing out of love rather than one falling deeper into it.

  “We are about to be ruined,” Bridget sai
d. She ran her fingertips over the spines of the books on the shelves.

  She had always enjoyed books. As had Regina, actually. Natalie hadn’t seen much point to them. Talking to other people was far more interesting.

  “You talk as if I’m unaware of this fact,” Natalie replied.

  “You behave as though you are unaware of this fact,” Bridget said.

  “If I’m to wed then I need to have some measure of compatibility with my husband, do I not?”

  “Normally, yes,” Bridget said. “But we no longer have the luxury of that choice.

  “Louisa is encouraging Elizabeth to marry Mr. Denny—whether she is amicable to him or not. I am to choose a husband by the time of the masquerade ball, whether I like it or not.

  “I hope that Elizabeth is amicable to Mr. Denny. He is a fine man. And I suspect he has a greater backbone hidden beneath his modesty than most people give him credit for.

  “And I hope that I shall be able to choose someone for whom I feel some fondness. That has always been my goal.

  “But we have no choice anymore. Do you not understand that? We may hate our husbands but if they are of means and name and they propose, we have to say yes.

  “If we do not… Natalie.” Bridget turned to look her dead in the eye. “Do not make me tell you what will happen if we do not.”

  Natalie could see the frustration in her sister’s eyes. That did not startle her. What did startle her was the panic.

  Bridget never panicked. She was calm, even after Mother’s death.

  Natalie would never forget that day.

  She had been fighting with Elizabeth over something and desperately wishing for Mother to come home. Everything was better when Mother was around. Louisa was livelier, and Elizabeth was gentler. Father was happy. Baby Regina grew bolder.

  Miss Cora had been visiting. She was an old friend, though Natalie knew not what had happened to her after Mother’s death. It was all a blur. The messenger had arrived.

  Bridget had taken the letter, Miss Cora reading over her shoulder. Those two had done everything together.

  After reading it, Bridget had gone very still. Miss Cora had wrapped her arms around her from behind, offering comfort. The intimate touch had told Natalie all she needed to know: something was dreadfully wrong.

  But Bridget had not cried. Had not panicked. She had leaned into Miss Cora for a moment, and then pulled away and told her sisters,

  “Sweethearts, I’m afraid we need to talk. Please gather in the drawing room while I speak with Father. I’ll be right back.”

  And that had been that.

  All through the funeral and the mourning. All through handling Father as he spiraled. All through raising Regina. Bridget had never once panicked.

  Yet, here, now, there was cold fear fluttering in her blue eyes like a trapped butterfly.

  Natalie let out the breath she was holding and dismissed what she was going to say. It was petulant anyhow. Instead she nodded meekly.

  “Yes, Bridget, I understand,” she said. “The next man that arrives, I shall do my best to please him.”

  Never mind that she had been doing what she could to please her suitors. Bridget evidently thought she hadn’t been, and that was what mattered.

  Natalie squared her shoulders. She could do this. She could surely charm at least one man into marrying her.

  Couldn’t she?

  Chapter 2

  John Ridgecleff, heir to the Earldom of Mountbank, was finding himself in rather dire straits.

  He stared at the letter he had just received from England. He had been passing his time quite pleasantly on the Continent. The museums, the masters, the scholars!

  What more could a man of leisure possibly want in life? He had thought it only best to spend his youth soaking up the pleasures here. Italy, France, Switzerland, Belgium, and all the rest. Surely there was nothing wrong with that.

  And yet here was a letter from his father, speaking quite to the contrary.

  Dear John, the letter began,

  I hope that you are still at your hotel by the time this letter reaches you. I shall assume it has, and if I do not hear from you, shall presume you are ignoring my instructions.

  My entreaties that you return home have fallen upon deaf ears time and again. I understand that Europe has its temptations. The land is lovely, the history and art are of a fine nature, and I hear the women can be art in and of themselves.

  But it has been years since you have last darkened the door of your home. You are the heir to this land. It is time that you learned how to run it.

  Your sister and younger brother shall loathe to hear I admit this, but I am not well. They protest I have many years in me yet. I am not so certain.

  The pressing of my years upon me turns my mind to the matter of inheritance, more strongly than it has before. Edward has been helping me about the house and grounds these last few years. While you have been whiling away your time on frivolities, he has been the wall upon which I could lean.

  Even more concerning than your lack of presence and care in your duties as heir are the reports I receive of your behavior. If the women of the gentry should learn you are a rake, not a one of them shall have you.

  The ones that will still have you, of course, will not be the sort of women you want in charge of such a fine estate as Mountbank.

  You always spoke of wanting a sensible woman as your bride. You spoke of wanting one to accompany you on walks and read with you. What has changed you so that you indulge in playing with women like this?

  It breaks my heart that you seem to have no care for how you treat others or for carrying on your family legacy.

  I insist that you come home and show you are earnest in being the heir. This includes taking a wife. I shall expect you to return home in a month’s time with a well-bred and betrothed woman accompanying you and an earnestness in your heart for the hard work being a keeper of this fine land requires.

  If you fulfill neither of these duties—if you bring home a stupid, selfish woman, or if you bring home no woman at all, or if you show nothing but laziness and disinterest for the estate—then I shall disinherit you.

  Do not think that I do this in jest. It breaks my heart to write this. I have locked myself in my study at a late hour, so that your siblings might not stumble upon me in my current state.

  But my feelings of sadness must be pushed aside to do what must be done for the good of the estate. We are lords, John. We are tasked with upholding the tenants that keep the government running and taking care of England’s land and her people.

  Some men may take this duty lightly. I am not one of those men.

  You must prove to me your worthiness, or I shall instate Edward in your place. I know that he has long held a wish to travel as well. I know that doing this will upset everyone. And I do not wish to cause you pain or demote you in any way.

  But I must think of Mountbank’s future. I will not have our family’s legacy driven to ruin. If you will not rise up and be the man I know you can be, then I shall have to put your brother up in your stead.

  Please, do not disappoint me in this. I hope beyond words that you will prove me wrong. But do not think that I will not hesitate to make good on my threat, either.

  You have one month. I shall appreciate you writing me with updates to let me know you have received my letter and so forth. But in any case, if after one month I have not heard from you and you have not come home to fulfill my conditions, you shall be my heir no longer.

  I remain,

  Fitzwilliam Ridgecleff

  John supposed he was lucky that his father hadn’t bothered to list all of his official titles.

  He cast the letter aside, trying to ignore how his hands trembled. His father was trying to be gentle with his words. John suspected his sister Emma had her hand in that. Emma had long tried to be the peacekeeper between John and their father.

  It had only gotten worse after Mother had died. Father had always been stern wit
h John but without Mother there to soften his temper he’d only gotten worse.

  Could he really—could anyone—blame John for fleeing to the Continent and staying there while he could?

  A part of him wanted to write Father and tell him to hang it all. He wasn’t going to be called home like a wayward dog and lectured like a child.

  But the idea of losing his inheritance…

  It made his blood run cold. He nearly had to sit down.

  Without his inheritance, he had nothing. His father wasn’t disowning him completely so he still had his family name at the least. It was a kindness.

  But without his inheritance he should have to enlist in the Army or Navy, or quickly become a lawyer. He might even have to enter the clergy.

  An eldest son, and of an earl, forced to swiftly take up an occupation to sustain himself?

  He would be a laughingstock. Oh, nobody would be so gauche as to do it to his face. He didn’t know of anyone rude enough for that.

  But behind his back? Oh, yes.

  He would find certain doors barred to him. Invitations would be fewer. Some of his higher-up acquaintances would find excuses not to see him.

  It would not be total disgrace, but it would be close enough.

  He could not bear it. He would not bear it.

  There was no choice for it then, in the end. He would have to fulfill his father’s conditions.

  Coming home and helping to run the estate and learning how to occupy his inherited position would be the easy part. He had never truly wanted to evade it. Although his behavior might suggest otherwise.

  He would come to enjoy his duties. He was sure of it. Edward would be grateful and eager to help as well. His brother had written John a few times, expressing envy of his brother’s travels and freedom. This would afford Edward the opportunity to travel on his own at last.

  It would do him marvelous good to see Emma as well. She had inherited all of their mother’s shy grace and sweet, demure nature. A kinder and more thoughtful creature, John was certain, had never lived. She could help him in winning Father’s good graces back.