by Joyce Alec
A Duke for Christmas
Hearts and Ever Afters
Text Copyright © 2017 by Joyce Alec
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2017
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
www.LoveLightFaith.com
A Duke for Christmas
Hearts and Ever Afters
By: Joyce Alec
Table of Contents
A Duke for Christmas
Bonus Content
Regency Romances
Historical Christmas Romance
A Duke for Christmas
Chapter One
Charles, Marquess of Sutherland, eldest son to the Duke of Harve, gazed indolently out of his study window, finding life a little dull, to say the least.
“You must marry, and soon,” his mother continued, harping on as she had done on more than one occasion. “You are the eldest son, Charles. It is necessary for you to produce the heir to the dukedom.”
“Yes, Mama,” Charles sighed, ignoring her as best he could, his thoughts wandering as his mother continued her diatribe. This was not the first time his mother had said such a thing, nor was it the first time she had sought to put pressure on him. The truth was that Charles had no inclination to wed, and certainly not to any young lady that his mother thought was suitable.
“You know your father is aging, as am I,” the duchess continued, heaping on the emotional weight even further. “We would delight in seeing a grandchild or two.”
Having had enough of the discussion, Charles rose to his feet and shook his head. “Mama, we have talked about this repeatedly. You and father are in the most perfect of health and have many years ahead of you, I am sure. I have no desire to wed so soon, and certainly not to anyone you consider to be a good match. Should I find someone to marry, it will be of my own choice.”
His mother let out a sigh of exasperation. “You are too stubborn for your own good, Charles.”
“I am more than aware of my foibles, mother,” he replied calmly. “You have been so kind as to remind me of them on many occasions.”
“Then what are you planning to do?” she exclaimed, getting to her feet. “You are not about to go back to the country again, are you?”
Charles chuckled. “Mama, as much as you despise it, yes, I am going to do just as you suspect. London has become boring of late, and I confess to missing my horses.”
“But you cannot just up and leave,” she cried, now looking horrified. “We have invitations we have already accepted. Should you suddenly disappear, you will appear rude, Charles.”
Very aware that his mother had, more than likely, set up the engagements, Charles sighed. “And yet, I find nothing to keep me here. I am going to my country estate and shall spend a fortnight riding, hunting, and whatever else I feel inclined to do. I shall return at the end of the two weeks however, I assure you.”
“A fortnight?” the duchess screeched, her expression dire. “You will miss far too many social events, Charles. I cannot allow you to go.”
“Unfortunately, Mama, you cannot prevent me,” Charles replied in a soothing tone. “I promise I shall return for Christmas Eve, have no doubt about that. Father will have returned from his business in Scotland by then, will he not? You may then impress upon me any women who have not yet been snapped up by the other gentlemen of the ton.” He pressed his hand to the small of his mother’s back and, enduring her screeches for a little longer, led her towards the door. Charles was forced to listen to her angry speeches for a few minutes more—at the front door no less—before finally, she took her leave and he was left alone.
He thought about returning to his study to go over a few financial matters, but after his mother’s reproof, he found he could not focus on business matters. How much he longed to go out riding across the wild grasses of his country estate. It was simply not the same in London. The town was thick with people and animals, and the only freedom he could have was if he rose at the crack of dawn and took a mount to Hyde Park.
Charles longed for the quietness of the country, for the wind in his hair and the rain on his face. It was not that London did not hold other pleasures—for Charles had often imbibed in those—but, over time, even those grew stale. It was time to return home for a short while, although he had promised his mother to return to London for Christmas Eve.
Pouring himself a snifter of brandy in the drawing room, Charles allowed the amber liquid to run around the bottom of the glass for a few moments before taking a sip. What he had not told his mother was that there was a house party planned—a quiet one, of course—made up of three gentlemen and four ladies. He did not have an in-depth knowledge of all those who had been invited, having relied on two of his closest friends to supply him with those who would be good company.
As the memory of his mother’s words began to fade away, Charles sighed happily to himself and refilled his brandy glass. This was bound to be an enjoyable fortnight. Many blessings came with being the son of a duke, for not many people could challenge any or all of his behavior.
Not that he made his flirtations and liaisons too obvious, for that would bring too much unwanted attention, but ladies keen for his considerations were not exactly in short supply. Wealthy widows were of particular interest, for they had no wish to marry again and were happy and settled with their own fortunes.
“And Mother thinks I would be interested in matrimony,” he muttered, shaking his head to himself. What a fool he would be to give up the life he had now for only one woman. A wife required too much of him and, at the moment, he was not prepared to give what would be asked. No, he would continue to enjoy himself for some years to come until he had to give in to what his birthright duties entailed. Surely by that time, he would have had his fill of this world’s pleasures.
Returning to his country estate would give him more than a little respite from his mother’s constant haranguing, particularly when both of his parents preferred to spend their time in town these days. Some years ago, his father had bequeathed him a small estate of his own, and Charles had made that his hiding place, a place where he could go to get away from his parents and his responsibilities to wed and produce children. Just being there would be a relief in itself.
A scratch at the door alerted him to the butler’s presence and, on being called to enter, the butler opened the door and announced Lord Walton.
“Walton!” Charles exclaimed as his friend walked in. “You are a little early. We are not to leave until tomorrow morning.”
“Good afternoon, Sutherland,” came the muttered response.
To his surprise, Walton did not look in the least bit happy.
“Whatever is the matter?” Charles asked, frowning. “You look down in the mouth.”
Walton sighed and threw himself into a chair. “My father has given me a warning.”
“A warning?” Charles repeated, pouring himself a fresh brandy after giving Walton a glass. “What warning is that?”
“I am to stop harassing the governess.”
Charles paused for a moment before allowing a slight chuckle to escape. “Walton, surely you were not
doing such a thing?”
“I could not help it!” Walton exclaimed. “Is it my fault that my father insists on hiring such a pretty young thing to teach my half brothers and sisters?”
Charles shook his head and sat down opposite his friend. “You are incorrigible, Walton.”
“She welcomed the attention,” Walton grumbled, throwing back his snifter. “But apparently my attentions were too obvious to my father, and he worried about a possible scandal.”
“She did not complain about you, did she?” Charles exclaimed, surprised.
Walton shook his head. “No, of course not. My father actually walked into the room where I was attempting to steal a few kisses.”
A rush of anger flooded Charles for a moment, but he kept his temper and simply shrugged. “Walton, you should not be doing such a thing.”
“Why not?” Walton whined, getting up to pour himself another brandy. “She was in the household, and I could not help but see her pretty face everywhere I went.”
Knowing that Walton had, most likely, sought the governess out, Charles could not agree with him. Walton, being the son of an earl, also had nobility and credence, but he was much too pushy with his desire for a lady’s attentions. He went places that Charles would never dream about.
“I know how you feel about governesses and the like,” Walton sighed, sitting back down. “But she is not a servant, Sutherland. She is a governess.”
“That does not make a difference, Walton,” Charles replied firmly. “I would not go near a servant nor a governess, for you know that by your very actions, you could be putting her livelihood at risk. It is thoughtless, do you not think?”
Walton studied him for a moment, but did not say anything, merely grunting before turning his attentions back towards his brandy.
“So, what warning has your father issued you, then?”
A growl of complaint left Walton’s mouth. “I am to stop pursuing the governess, or any of the pretty maids, and if I do not, then my name shall be rubbed from his will.”
Surprised, Charles lifted his eyebrows in astonishment. That was a weighty punishment for something that many gentlemen would see as a trivial matter.
“Apparently, he shares the same opinion as you do,” Walton muttered, shaking his head. “Although where you get your deep respect for the lower classes is quite beyond me.”
Charles chose not to answer, knowing that Walton would not understand the reasons for his respect.
The truth was, Charles had been blessed with a wonderful governess, albeit a rather unusual one. He had never understood it until he was older, his mother being the one to explain the tale.
Charles’ uncle by marriage had taken on the governess—a Miss Docherty—for his own two children, but, finding her beautiful, had chosen to press his attentions on her forcibly. It soon was evident that the man had managed to plant a babe in her belly and, according to Charles’ mother, her request for his help and support with the child had been brushed aside. The poor woman had been thrown from the house almost the moment Charles’ aunt had discovered what had happened. Almost completely destitute, Miss Docherty had made her way to the only other person she thought might help her—the Duke of Harve.
It had been a bold move, but one that had proven to be for the good of all. The duke had visited his brother-in-law and sister on more than one occasion, and Miss Docherty, aware of where his estate was, had made her way there. She had been weak by the time she had arrived, and Charles’ father had not had the heart to discard her.
Charles could still remember the pain on his mother’s face as she had talked about how tired and ill Miss Docherty had been. It was just like his mother to show such compassion, and, despite the scandal it might cause, the governess had been taken in and given a position within the household.
“For what fault was it of hers that your uncle would do such a thing?” his mother had said on more than one occasion.
Charles had found that he could not argue.
Miss Docherty had been turned out to be a quiet and kind governess, despite the pain she had gone through, and Charles had come to adore her. The baby had been born six months after the governess had arrived, and Charles could still remember the way he had looked down at the small bundle with wide eyes, not sure what he was seeing.
As an only child, he had come to love that baby, finding Isabella to be a friend and companion as they had grown up together, even with the gap of five years between them. His father had even kept him back from Eton until he was thirteen so that the happiness in their household might continue for a few more years. Of course, Charles had required additional tutors as well as his governess’ lessons, but his father had not appeared to mind. Apparently, harmony and happiness in his household was of the greatest importance to him, as well as the fact that being a duke meant he could do as he pleased, without caring a jot for what the beau monde might think.
Leaving for Eton had been difficult. He could still recall how Isabella had wept countless tears, clinging to him as though she would never let him go. She had been eight years of age, and her best friend in all the world was leaving for Eton. Of course, that meant that there was no requirement for Miss Docherty to remain in the household, and Charles had been concerned about what would happen to her.
His father had bequeathed Miss Docherty with a living, and she had left the duke’s household with her daughter, settling in the distant north of England somewhere. Of course, Charles had corresponded with his dear friend Isabella for some time—until the delights of life in Eton and all the new experiences that came with it began to eat away at his interest in corresponding with her.
Her letters were still frequent for weeks, maybe even months, but slowly, they began to lessen until none came at all. Charles barely thought of her now, although he did look back on that part of his life with a pleasant outlook. He was sure Isabella and her mother were happily settled somewhere, and he would be eternally grateful for all that he had learned from his dear governess. That was where his respect for governesses and those within his employ came from—not that Walton would ever understand.
“Just leave that governess alone, Walton,” Charles sighed, shaking his head at his friend. “I promise you will have more than enough to distract you once we are returned to the country.”
Interest lit up Walton’s eyes at once. “Truly?”
Chuckling, Charles nodded. “Of course, Walton. Just swear to me you will not lay a finger on that governess.”
Satisfied to see his friend nod, Charles drank the rest of his brandy and sat back with a sigh. This was going to be an excellent two weeks; he was sure of it.
Chapter Two
Charles flung open the door to his house, managing to startle the butler who had been trying to reach the door before Charles to open it for him. Charles, however, had been more than a little eager to reach his country estate and had practically run from his horse towards the house.
“No, no, no apologies needed, Mr. Stubbs,” Charles chuckled, as the butler began to stutter. “It is good to be home.” His eyes roved around the hallway, appreciating the festive touches his staff had put around his house. “I can see you have been busy.”
“It is good to have you back, my lord,” the butler said, recovering his composure. “Everything is ready for you.”
“Thank you,” Charles replied, handing him his coat, hat, and gloves. “My guests should be arriving this evening, although Lord Walton is with me.”
The butler nodded, as efficient as ever. “Everything is ready for you, my lord.”
“Wonderful,” Charles exclaimed, walking towards the drawing room. “I shall have luncheon in the drawing room, I think. A couple of trays will do us well.”
The butler nodded and welcomed in Walton, who had been a few minutes behind Charles. He looked harassed at having to ride so quickly, still muttering about wishing they could have taken the carriage on a cold day like this.
“Come now,” Charles laughed as
they entered the drawing room. “You cannot be that cold.”
“I am frozen to the bone,” Walton replied, walking straight over to the roaring fire and holding out his hands to the flames. “We have been riding all day.”
Charles shrugged. His estate was the best part of two days’ ride away from London, and they had changed horses a good number of times, given how cold it had been. The inn they had stayed at had been comfortable and warm, but Charles had been so eager to return home that he had barely slept, rousing Walton in the early hours of the morning.
“The other guests are arriving this evening?”
Charles nodded. “In time for a lively dinner, I hope.” Just the thought of it had him smiling. “And then the festivities shall begin.”
That, at the very least, made Walton smile. “I do hope you will not keep the ladies all to yourself, Sutherland,” he warned, lifting one eyebrow.
“I cannot imagine what you mean,” Charles replied a little airily.
Walton snorted and shook his head, finally moving back a little from the fire. “You are in line to be a duke. Some of us do not hold as noble a title.” He chuckled. “Ladies seem to be more inclined to press their attentions onto men who hold titles such as yours, as opposed to titles such as mine.”
“I am not particularly interested in any ladies who are seeking matrimony, as well you know,” Charles replied firmly. “The ladies who will be attending my house party are not interested in it either. You will be at ease, I assure you.”
A look of relief flashed across Lord Walton’s face, making Charles chuckle.
“I am glad to hear it,” he replied quietly. “I find that I am already looking forward to the arrival of the other guests.”
***
The remainder of the house party guests arrived later that evening, and, having sat down to dinner, Charles allowed himself to look over the party. He had Lady Fitzgerald to his left, who was sitting next to Lord Walton. Lord Walton was already in discussion with Lady Worthing, and then, next to him, came Lord Smythe and Lady Swift. Lord Hollington was the last gentleman, and then, finally, Lady Marchfield.
