The Duke's Daughter

by Sasha Cottman

  Not so Lucy. She really didn’t want to be his wife.

  ‘Explain something to me. If you didn’t want to marry me, then why in heaven’s good name did you follow me into the garden that night? You had to know the risk of us being discovered. No girl of your social standing does that unless she has her sights set on marriage,’ he said.

  Lucy’s gaze fell to the floor.

  ‘I came into the garden to warn you about your visit to Hampshire and the Owens’ plans to match you up with one of their daughters. And yes, I thought to press my own case. I didn’t understand until that moment that you can barely tolerate the likes of me. Now that I understand things more clearly, the thought of being married to you when you don’t even like me is beyond my emotional capacity. If we had perhaps been able to remain friends, it might have been different. I would rather face ruin than live without love,’ she replied.

  He had to hand it to his new, reluctant bride, she certainly had a way with words. If she remained married to him in a loveless union, it would destroy her. Her bone-deep misery cut him to the quick.

  He gritted his teeth. It had been many years since someone had made him feel such a worthless piece of humanity. He reminded himself quickly that Lucy was not Thaxter. That she too was suffering.

  ‘You said you had a plan,’ he replied.

  When the time was right, before he finally let her go, he would attempt to apologise for the harsh way he had treated her. Perhaps they could manage to reach an understanding. Even form the fragile bonds of friendship once more.

  ‘Yes, but not a very good one now that I have looked further into it. I had money coming from my mother’s side of the family upon my marriage. I thought it would be sufficient funds for me to run away to France.’

  ‘And now?’

  She sighed. ‘As of yesterday morning, I was informed that most of it goes to my new husband. Believe me, Avery, if I had enough money I would be in Calais right this minute. And you would be a free man.’

  ‘So I give some of the money to you,’ Avery replied. A simple and agreeable solution to her problem.

  Lucy growled with obvious frustration.

  ‘It is part of the dowry contract, which states that the money only comes to you after a year of us cohabiting. You might have won on the minor matter of the wedding celebrations, Avery, but my father has trumped you when it comes to the issue of money.’

  ‘You did say there was something we could do,’ he replied.

  ‘A divorce.’

  Divorce. Even the sound of it had a chilling finality.

  Avery’s breath caught in his lungs. Lucy had caught him off guard. He had anticipated tears or possibly a blistering row, but her open and honest response left him struggling.

  Here on his wedding night, he and his beautiful young bride were calmly discussing getting a divorce.

  For God’s sake, man, take her in your arms and make love to her.

  His mind understood one thing, but his sex-starved body screamed another. He was well within his rights to command her to come to their bed, to give him willing access to her body. To end this nonsense and accept the inevitable.

  But here she was, offering him a way out.

  ‘Considering the lengths that various people have gone to ensure our wedding took place, don’t you think that is an impossibility? Even I know that a divorce could take years,’ he replied.

  She screwed up her face, her self-doubt evident.

  ‘Yes, in England perhaps, but not in Scotland. I have a distant aunt who, I understand, managed to secure a divorce at the courts in Edinburgh. There is nothing to stop us trying that avenue.’

  She stared hard at him and he sensed she was somehow sizing him up. Assessing and judging his true intentions. Wondering if he would support her in her quest for freedom.

  ‘I can give you the name of a firm of reputable and reliable solicitors in Edinburgh. One which my father does not utilise for his business dealings. They should be able to find suitable grounds for divorce.’

  His heart went out to her as she choked on the last word. Any other girl in her position would likely have kept silent and endured whatever came of their marriage. Not Lucy. A divorce would mean the complete loss of her honour, but she was prepared to pay the price to give him his freedom.

  ‘So what will you do if we succeed?’ he replied.

  She sniffled back tears.

  ‘I shall do as I had planned. I shall go abroad. Eve’s brother William is back in Paris, I am sure he would be happy for some company. My parents will no doubt give me travel funds once they know you have instituted divorce proceedings. They cannot run the risk of scandal tainting the rest of the family. In a few years, hopefully after Emma has married, I shall return quietly to England and try to pick up the threads of my life.’

  Lucy’s words were calmly delivered, but her still and fragile posture betrayed her pain. Emma was only twelve years old. Even if her sister married young, Lucy would spend at least the next six years in exile.

  Tonight should be a night for laughter and love; instead the bride and groom were conducting a cold discussion as to how they could end their brief union. The bride was facing years away from her country and family.

  If he could feel any worse at this moment, Avery doubted it was possible. Even the painful injuries he had sustained at Waterloo hadn’t burned to the depths of his soul as this did.

  ‘Well, if we are agreed, I shall bid you goodnight. We can discuss this further in the morning. Thank you, Avery, it is nice that we have been able to agree on something,’ Lucy suddenly announced.

  He stood and watched in stunned silence as she turned on her heel and went back into the adjoining room, closing the door behind her.

  Guilt welled up inside him. He knew it had taken every ounce of her strength not to break down in front of him. Once she was on the other side of the door he doubted she would be able to maintain her taciturn facade. Lucy was a woman incapable of hiding her true self from the world.

  He had not heard the key turn in the lock. It would be simple enough for him to open the door and end all this nonsense right here and now. She was Lucy Fox now and he had his rights as a husband.

  ‘No. I will not force her to be bound to me. If she wants me, then let her come to me of her own accord,’ he muttered to the door.

  He stared at the closed door for what felt like an eternity, but Lucy remained on the other side. Finally he retired to the big bed. Lying on his back in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, he listened for any sign that Lucy had returned. No sound came from the adjoining room. His wife wasn’t coming back.

  ‘Not how I thought my wedding night would be,’ he sighed.

  He fell asleep, a prayer on his lips that one day Lucy would find someone to love and share her life with. Whoever it was, it most certainly would not be him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  With her eyes closed, Lucy leaned back against the door which separated her from Avery. Her confrontation with him had left her drained and empty.

  ‘At least he has agreed to help end this farce,’ she comforted herself.

  In the days leading up to the wedding she had meticulously planned the wedding night. After having had the talk with her mother, Lucy had made up her mind. She was not going to bed with Avery and she most certainly was not going to consummate their marriage.

  When the time came to give herself to a man it would be with her whole heart and soul, not just her body. From what she had gathered from Millie’s occasional comments, she knew sex within marriage could be wonderful. It was something to share with someone you truly loved and who loved you in return. A mutual worshipping of one another’s bodies.

  From observing her parents as she grew into adulthood, Lucy knew they had a close, romantic relationship. Her father was often caught by his children holding and kissing his wife. The duchess did not shy away from the duke’s attentions. Her mother’s deep love for her husband was evident in the way she had explained the
physical relationship that a man and his wife should share within their marriage.

  Lucy had sat silent throughout the talk, hoping her mother would soon finish. She could only feign interest in her future married life for so long. Lady Caroline wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter, whispering words of comfort and love. Everything would turn out for the best.

  Lucy puffed out her cheeks.

  Her parents’ love and happiness had given the Radley children a warm, loving home, so unlike those of many other children born into the upper echelons of London society. She was, as always, grateful for her life, but now, faced with a forced marriage, she found herself having to contend with complications for which her upbringing had not prepared her.

  Neither her mother nor Millie understood the peril Lucy currently faced. If she allowed herself to become Avery’s wife in the fullest sense, she would forever lose her heart to him. He, in turn, had made his position clear. He would never love her. To wake next to him each morning and look into those emerald eyes, knowing that he did not love her, would be a lifetime of torture.

  His long black hair, which had been tied back in a simple hold at the base of his neck for their wedding day, would fall forward, framing his face. His morning beard would tempt her fingers to reach out and touch his face. To kiss his hot, tender lips.

  Those lips.

  ‘Stop it. Stop it,’ she said, tightly clenching her fists.

  Her resolute heart had set itself to love him and would not be denied.

  ‘The sooner we part, the better.’

  She pushed away from the door and surveyed the room. It was then that the folly of her plans for their wedding night began to dawn on her. She had not taken into account the likelihood that trying to drug Avery would fail. While he slept in the sumptuously appointed bed in the adjoining room, she now faced the prospect of spending the night on a short, uncomfortable couch.

  She cursed herself for being too heavy-handed with the sleeping draught provided by Lady Alice at the wedding breakfast. Avery had not been fooled.

  ‘Neither of you deserve this fate. In the morning, talk to him; tell him to let you go,’ Lady Alice had counselled.

  ‘That would just about sum up the sort of day I have had,’ Lucy muttered in disgust as she looked at the small couch.

  The only option apart from the couch available to her at this point was to go back into the master bedroom and take her place beside her new husband. The chance of meeting someone from either her family or the household staff while she attempted to sneak back to her old bedroom on one of the lower floors was too great a risk.

  She went to the tall oak chest of drawers and rummaged around. Fortunately a woollen blanket had been stored in the large bottom drawer. She draped the blanket over her shoulders. Quickly realising the couch was not long enough for her to lie down, Lucy was forced to accept that she was going to spend the whole night sitting up.

  ‘Not how I had imagined my wedding night would be,’ she muttered.

  She gave a glance to the door which separated her from Avery. She hoped he slept well. One of them at least should be well rested in order to tell whatever lies the morning required.

  Avery woke early the following morning. Years of army life had ingrained in him the need to rise as soon as the first spark of sunlight graced the sky. Outside the window he heard the call of morning birds.

  He sat up in the bed, momentarily wondering where he was. When his gaze took in the empty pillows beside him, he remembered.

  Last night was supposed to have been the happiest night of his life. He was a married man, and with it should come all the benefits of a lust-filled wedding night. Lucy, his bride, should be lying sated and happy in the bed next to him. Instead, they both spent the night alone.

  Their conversation of the previous night began to roll around in his head. What the devil had he promised to her?

  ‘A Scottish divorce, you dolt,’ he chastised himself.

  He had promised Lucy her freedom. With the morning now came the question as to whether he could deliver on that promise. He gave a quick look toward the door that separated him from his wife.

  She wanted to be rid of him and was prepared to sacrifice her honour to do so. He in turn was honour-bound to try to give her what she wanted. He owed her at least that much. If he failed in his endeavour to end their union, then he would deal with the outcome. He looked at the clock by the bedside. It was nearly seven o’clock. The servants of the household would not disturb them any time soon. The newlyweds would be given time to sleep.

  He rolled over and climbed out of bed, quickly throwing a dressing gown on to cover his naked body. Looking at the door which separated him from his new wife, he scowled.

  With luck Lucy had slept well.

  ‘Damn,’ he muttered as soon as he opened the door and saw her slumped in the chair.

  She stirred and opened her eyes.

  ‘Avery,’ she whispered, the gruff of poor sleep in her voice.

  He lifted her from the couch and, holding her in his arms, carried her back into the main bedroom.

  As soon as her head touched the pillow, Lucy’s eyes closed. It was clear she had slept little, if at all, during the long night. He threw the blankets over her still fully dressed figure, before dropping to sit beside her on the bed.

  He reached out and tentatively touched her hair. Lucy, deep in exhausted slumber, did not stir. Emboldened, he stroked his hand down her cheek, stopping when his thumb reached the corner of her mouth. For a moment he was mesmerised. Watching as sleep finally took her deeply into its arms tugged at his heart.

  His breath caught as he saw Lucy roll over and grab one of his pillows. She hugged it tightly to herself. She murmured in her sleep and buried her face deep into the pillow.

  He gripped the bedclothes, knowing it would take only a moment for him to lose the modesty of his dressing gown and climb into bed alongside her. From there, events would take their natural course.

  Avery pulled his hand away and stood.

  Promises had been made, and he would make certain to keep to his side of the undertaking. His honour dictated he behave in such a way.

  His honour.

  He shrugged his shoulders. What did he, Avery Fox, know of such things? He had forsaken it all at Waterloo.

  Lucy rolled over onto her side, facing away from him, still clutching the pillow to her face and breast. He took this as a sign to take his leave.

  He quickly found a fresh set of clothes and dressed.

  Halfway down the grand staircase, it hit him. What on earth was he doing? This was supposed to be the morning after his wedding. He should still be in bed with his new bride, not wandering the halls of Strathmore House alone. If he encountered another member of the duke’s family, he would have something to explain. The sound of a door being opened and closed had him racing back to the bedroom.

  Lucy woke in the big bed.

  For a moment she lay enjoying the warm, comfortable blankets. There was nothing better than waking up in the morning feeling rested.

  From outside she could hear the noises of the street. The jingle of horse bridles. The cries of the street sellers as they turned into Upper Grosvenor Street from Park Lane.

  She looked toward the window. The sounds of London life were very loud for this early in the day. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and gasped.

  It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. She had slept the whole morning away.

  She was most of the way to the dresser when she realised where she was. Last night she had spent many hours trying to fall asleep on the small gold and blue couch in the adjoining room, yet here she was waking up in the very same bed she knew Avery had slept in.

  The warm smell of his cologne still clung to the pillow and the sheets. Her new husband was, however, nowhere to be seen. She put a hand to her face; Avery’s scent now lingered on her skin. It was as if he had actually been in the bed with her, had touched her.

  W
herever Avery was at this moment, she very much doubted he was thinking of her. She looked down at her rumpled clothes and frowned. She was still fully dressed. She quickly changed into a suitable nightgown and tossed the blankets about in the bed before ringing the bell to summon her maid.

  After a long, silent period of dressing and making up her hair, she headed downstairs. She hoped her maid had taken her reticence to talk this morning as a sign of wedding-night-induced fatigue.

  No one need know the truth of last night. At least, not yet. At some point she knew the truth would come out. But by then she and Avery would have secured a divorce and he would be long gone.

  ‘Eight, nine, ten and turn,’ she said quietly to herself as she slowly made her way down to the main ground floor.

  The staircase at Strathmore House traversed four levels. The first was an even ten steps, followed by a landing. The second was thirteen steps, followed by a landing and a turn. Lucy had climbed and descended these stairs all her life. Why today of all days did she finally realise that the sequence of stairs was not in symmetry? She stopped at the third landing and looked back up the stairs.

  ‘Nothing is as it would seem,’ she said.

  She had just recommenced her descent to the ground floor when she spied Avery coming out of a side door into the front entrance. He looked up and caught her eye.

  He gave her a nod of the head, then stood waiting as she completed her journey to the ground floor.

  ‘Did you put me in the bed?’ she asked.

  ‘A pleasure to see you, wife,’ he replied.

  A reminder of their conversation was on her lips when she saw her brother David was following close behind her husband, and understood Avery’s answer.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lucy, hope you slept well,’ David said.

  Lucy ignored the comment. She was not going to give David anything he could report back to Clarice. There was little to be served in dragging other members of her family into this miserable mess. Lady Alice’s attempt to be helpful had been a failure. During the long night where she had sat and contemplated her future, she had come to the firm decision that from now on she would keep her own counsel. When the time came to leave England, it would be with a clear conscience, knowing that she was not leaving anyone behind who would be held to account.