The Perfect Duchess

by Erica Taylor

  “I dealt with your twin easily enough,” Jonathan snarled at her. “Patrick can easily die at sea. And I will deal with you all the same. Once you are dead and gone, it will be mine. And like I said, I am a very patient man. You could just turn it over to me. That could work too. Though I doubt it would stop the blackmailing.”

  “I’m not the remaining heir,” Clara stated and Jonathan eyed her dubiously, as if she had just told him she was the King of England. At least he thought her as mad. “You did not check your facts as well as you thought. When Christina died, she left behind a child, a female child.”

  “It is not true,” Jonathan said, his voice low, his eyes black with hatred. “Christina died without issue. That child died with her.”

  Clara shook her head. “Her last act was to fool you. I’ve seen Christina’s daughter, and there is no doubt. But you will never get your hands on her. She is so well hidden that you would have to burn England to the ground to find her.”

  “Tell me where she is!” Morton shouted but Clara stood her ground. Anger raced across Morton’s face, his hands trembling.

  “Why Jonathan?” Clara asked. “Why do you hate me so?”

  Morton’s jaw clenched. “I hate you because you always had Bradstone’s eye, when I so desperately wanted him to look at me the way he always looked at you.”

  Clara’s eyes grew wide and Andrew realized the meaning behind Morton’s words a heartbeat later.

  Morton turned to him, glaring. “I loved you,” he stated, his voice just above a whisper. “And you only ever had eyes for her. Before you inherited, I thought . . . I thought maybe . . . as a second son, you wouldn’t have had any responsibilities, you would be my friend, and maybe you wouldn’t care that I loved you. But then you became the duke.” Turning his gaze to Clara he continued, “And your face only reminded me of what I had lost. And I hated you for it. And I hated Christina because she looked like you. Now I will take everything from you, like you did to me.”

  “Jonathan,” Andrew said, but stopped when he realized his old friend had tears streaming down his face. “Then, I would have still been your friend, even if I did not have the same feelings as you. But now . . .” Andrew’s face hardened as he glared down his former friend. “You’ve let this hate consume you. Your reasons have become irrelevant, as your actions have far surpassed anything rational. You will be tried for the abduction of my fiancée, the attempted murder of myself and of my sister who was poisoned at your command. You cannot hate me for not reciprocating your feelings. You cannot hate me for falling in love with your sister.”

  Andrew smiled down at Clara, love and pride flowing through him. But he did not see what Morton was doing until it was too late. A brutal roar ripped out of the earl and he pulled a pistol out of his coat, took aim and a loud gunshot rang throughout the room. Instinctively Andrew threw himself over Clara, pulling them both to the ground, but he knew he was too late.

  “Clara, Clara, please be unhurt,” Andrew said frantically searching her clothing, and Clara blinked her eyes open. She looked around frantically and her gaze landed on Jonathan’s crumpled body. Andrew looked to see what she saw, noting Luke’s reflection in one mirror, and Redley standing in an opposite doorway, both holding smoking pistols.

  “Andrew, I’m fine,” Clara said, choking on a sob. “I have not been shot.”

  He gathered her to him, holding her tightly against him, grateful for those five words. She buried her face into his neck, hot tears soaking through his neck cloth.

  “You don’t need to see this, Clara,” Andrew said, when she turned her head to observe her brother’s crumpled dead form.

  “It is all right, Andrew,” she said. “I need to see that it is finally over.” Leaning away from her, he searched her eyes before nodding and helping her to rise to her feet. She moved closer to Morton, looking sadly onto the face of the brother who hated her so much. His eyes were glossed over in death, a permanent scowl on his face and two bullet holes, one in his forehead and one in his chest.

  She turned away and sought comfort in Andrew’s arms, which he graciously offered. Luke and Redley were moving into the room, the sound of the footfalls soft on the worn carpet.

  “Thank you,” he said to Luke and then to Redley. Each one nodded before looking away.

  “We will handle this, Andrew,” Luke assured him, looking down at Morton’s bleeding corpse.

  “Let me get you home,” Andrew said softly in her ear, and Clara agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gentle reader, is today the day? After failing to attend her own wedding the first time, it seems the Duke of B— is willing to give Lady C— another try. One is only left to wonder at his motives, but after all this time, might the Duke of B—have fallen in love with his scandalous bride-to-be? Will Lady C— show at the wedding this time after a bout with a mysterious illness? Or will she jilt him once and for all?

  Clara stood outside the doors to St. George’s Church, just steps from the doors that would lead her down the aisle to Andrew.

  “Patrick,” Clara said, her voice wavering. “Am I making the right decision? Andrew loves me, does he not? He will not come to regret this?”

  Patrick’s eyes practically rolled to the ceiling. “For goodness’ sake, Clara, are you still worrying about this?”

  Clara glanced at her brother guiltily.

  “You’ve been silly for that man since you were a child,” Patrick reminded her. “I was there, I remember. And as much as he came to Morton Park to holiday with Jonathan, his attentions often wandered to you.”

  “I was a child,” Clara scoffed. “He was a sixteen-year-old lord when I was a ten-year-old in braids, running after him like a silly little girl.”

  “Why are you so quick to deny his love for you?” Patrick asked.

  “Because no one else in my life has ever loved me!” Clara whispered furiously. “Father hated me, Jonathan hated me. Christina, for her faults and misguided attempts to protect me still ran off and left me alone. And you, Patrick, you left as well. I don’t disparage you for it, I am happy you were away from our brother’s hatred, but I was still alone.”

  “Are you alone now?” Patrick asked.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “His grace has done nothing but champion you since you reconnected last month, correct?”

  Clara nodded. “Even after I told him I intended to leave him, he still did not waver.”

  “He accepted guardianship of Mary, the daughter of the woman who jilted him,” Patrick reminded her. “That takes a lot of love and faith to do for someone. He did not do it for Mary, and he did not do it for Christina.”

  Clara nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

  “And when you had disappeared, he was frantic,” Patrick continued. “He was ready to give away his entire fortune to have you safely returned. I’d never seen someone so pale and full of worry. Don’t you think that should tell you something?”

  “Yes,” Clara replied with a laugh. “That he loves me.”

  “Clare-bear, that man loves you in such a way it makes the rest of us wary of being in the same vicinity for fear whatever he is afflicted with might seep out onto us.”

  Clara laughed lightly again. “I’ve been a fool, have I not?”

  “The biggest,” Patrick assured her with a smirk. “But you have time to remedy that. Shall we go into the church? I believe they are waiting for us. Again.”

  Clara glanced at the heavy arched doorway, knowing the rest of her life lay beyond that door. Her gateway to happiness.

  “Go and get him, Paddy,” Clara asked. “I wish to speak to him first.”

  Patrick watched her face for a moment before nodding. “Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll not have this happen again.”

  It was like being in a repetitive form of hell, Andrew realized. How many times had he stood up,
waiting for a Masson sister to appear at the church doorway?

  The murmurs were traveling through the congregation again, wondering where the bride could possibly be. It was a scene he’d lived much too often.

  Luke stood beside him, discreetly checking his watch fob. At Andrew’s dark glare, Luke quickly slipped it back into his pocket.

  There were more people this time, Andrew realized, his eyes moving past the first five or so pews filled with his friends and family, but the remainder of the church had filled nearly to the brim with onlookers and gossipmongers expecting a grand show. Expecting Andrew to be stood up, for the third time.

  The door creaked open and a stillness went through the room as each body turned towards the door. Andrew’s eyes snapped to the doorway, eager to see his bride, to marry Clara after everything they’d been through.

  But it was Patrick who walked down the aisle towards him, rather quickly, and Andrew’s stomach dropped.

  Again? Could this possible be happening again?

  “Pardon the interruption, you grace,” Patrick said, leaning close to Andrew to keep his voice from being overheard. “But you are needed outside.”

  “Where is Clara?” Andrew ground out.

  Patrick swallowed. “Please, your grace, come with me.”

  With a deep sigh, Andrew followed Clara’s brother out of the sanctuary.

  “I’m sure this cannot be happening again,” Luke said loudly to the congregated guests and a tentative laughter carried Andrew through the doors.

  Clara was there, beautiful in her pale yellow wedding gown, a different gown than she had previously worn to their wedding. She did not look happy.

  “Andrew!” she said, her face brightening when her eyes landed on him.

  “I will leave you two alone for a moment,” Patrick said before ducking out of the room.

  “Clara, what are we doing?” Andrew asked. “You were supposed to be down the aisle nearly half an hour ago.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Clara said, wringing her hands together. “And I’m terribly sorry for that. I can only imagine what you must be thinking up there, waiting for me.”

  “Again,” Andrew reminded her. “From Christina leaving with my footman and you being abducted, yes, my mind is racing to every possibly dreadful outcome. But you are here, so why are we not in there? Is everything all right?”

  Clara’s face softened, reaching out for his hand. “Yes, actually, everything is wonderful.”

  “Then why—”

  “I love you, Andrew,” she said with a soft smile.

  “Yes, darling, I love you too,” Andrew replied. “Now can we—”

  “I am sorry for denying your love for me,” she continued. “Before we married, I wanted you to know I was doing it for me, I was choosing to be your wife for nothing other than my love for you. Not because I have no other options or because I am in need of protection, but because I want to be with you for the rest of our days.”

  “Is that all?” he asked, stepping closer to her, tracing a finger along her jaw.

  “I’ve been in love with you since I was a child,” Clara told him, her voice soft. “What started as an infatuation, impish kisses and declarations of a silly girl, manifested into something deeper over the years. Despite the setback when you almost married my sister, I am here now and I love you still.”

  “My darling,” Andrew said, cupping his hands around her face and kissing the tip of her nose. “I am so devastatingly in love with you I hardly know how to breathe. It seems illogical my feelings for you could be this deep after a near month’s acquaintance, but I suspect my attachment to you goes back years, since you sat atop my horse, grass and pond weeds in your hair and proclaimed you would marry me someday.” He set his lips against hers, gentle, but with a promise Clara knew he would not break. “Had our lives not been derailed by the external forces pulling us apart, I suspect I would have returned to Morton Park each summer, not to spend time with your brother, but to see you. I would have courted you properly, and someday I would have married you. Despite the path our story took, this is the ending that was intended all along. Today is that someday, darling. Together, we will determine what happens next, a life of our making.”

  Clara nodded. “That sounds lovely.”

  “Now, may we be married?” Andrew asked. “I believe we’ve waited long enough.”

  Andrew felt a strange sense of déjà vu as Clara walked down the aisle towards him. Five years ago she had hurried down this aisle towards Andrew, careful not to stumble as she came to deliver the news of her sister’s elopement. So much had changed since that day, and he was grateful for it all. He met her gaze as he watched her progress down the aisle, adoration radiating from his bright blue eyes.

  Clara squeezed her brother’s arm, and Andrew was thankful for Patrick’s steady presence at her side, as she looked like she was nearly skipping down the aisle. If only Norah would have let her wear a crown of rose buds in her hair . . .

  Three hundred of their closest friends and relations had decided to attend their nuptials, which was strange by society standards. Andrew heard later there was a hefty wager on whether or not Clara would show this time, and he might have overheard Patrick boasting of his winnings later in the day. Clara beamed at Andrew as they repeated the same words countless couples had done before them, and he smiled back in complete devotion. When the priest gave the instruction, Andrew took a step towards her, tipping her chin up and placed a firm kiss on her lips, lingering a moment longer than necessary. He pulled away, a broad grin spread across his face, his blue eyes twinkling with the hint of mischief she had a talent for pulling out of him.

  A loud cheer went up in the church as the new Duke and Duchess of Bradstone stood grinning at each other, their eyes melting into a shared heat, and the priest had to nudge Andrew, reminding him to sign the register.

  Andrew led her down the aisle, not bothering to wipe the lopsided grin off his face. Clara grinned from ear to ear, and he knew they looked the quintessential love match, but he did not mind.

  They were, finally, here together in the end.

  They ran through the shower of rice, laughing and holding hands as he lifted her inside the formal ducal carriage, the brilliant Bradstone coat of arms emblazoned on the side.

  Andrew’s bright grin did not falter as the carriage rolled into motion, completely and utterly in love with her, and Clara grinned in return, her feelings reflected in his heart. The carriage rolled through the streets of Mayfair, carrying them towards their happily ever after.

  And oh, what an adventure it would be.

  About the Author

  Erica Taylor is a mother of two and military wife married to her high school sweetheart. Raised in the mountains of Colorado, she holds a BA in History from the University of Colorado. Erica has been writing stories as long as she can remember. She picked up her first romance novel while on a beach vacation as a teenager, and fell in love with falling in love, sexy heroes, and the feisty women who challenge their lives.

  A self-confessed geek, Erica loves anything Harry Potter, Doctor Who, or Star Wars, can spend hours in Target with a Starbucks, and truly believes a cat makes a home. Currently living in South Africa, Erica can often be found writing during soccer practice or piano lessons and is not afraid to let dinner burn if it means getting the story out of her head.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you . . .

  Mom, for giving the best advice, even bits about handbags and shoes.

  Brittany, Kelly, and other medical professionals who I’ve cornered and peppered with questions, any mistakes are mine alone. You all gave the best medical insight and provided excellent ideas.

  Jenny M., for seeing what this book could be before I saw it myself. You are the best editor an author could ask for.

  J, I placed my trust in you all those years ago and have
never regretted it. Thank you for your unwavering support and for cooking dinner when my mind is stuck in 1813.