Enchanting the Duke

by Patricia Grasso

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  Rockland, Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2014 Patricia Grasso

  Exclusive cover © 2014 Laura Givens

  Inside artwork © 2014 Joanna D’Angelo

  Previously published as Violets in the Snow Copyright © 1997

  Revised and Expanded as Enchanting the Duke Copyright © 2014

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 978-1-927555-53-8

  A catalogue record for the Ebook is available

  from the National Library of Canada

  Ebooks are available for purchase from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 978-1-927555-54-5

  Editor: Joanna D’Angelo

  Copyeditor: Sarah Corsie

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Cosmo, my handsome orange tiger, alpha wannabe. One half of the famous kitten-sitting team of Cosmo and Reggie. Raven’s “grandpa”. I smiled whenever Raven and you snuggled. She’s never recovered from losing you.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Joanna D’Angelo (editor) and Myretta Robens (computer guru) for their long-suffering patience.

  Reviews and Awards

  3 weeks on Ingram’s bestselling list

  Romantic Times KISS Award

  “An awesome book. Light, quick-paced, makes the heart smile.” ~ Literary Times

  “Cinderella with style and spunk. Sharp dialogue. Believable characters. A keeper.” ~ Romance Reader Reviews

  “Delightful characters entertain page after page. Fairy tale magic.” ~ Rendezvous

  “Brilliant placing of the Cinderella storyline into a Regency romantic setting.” ~ Amazon

  “A stunning Regency to captivate anyone. Splendid!”

  ~ Bell, Book, and Candle

  “5 stars . . .” ~ Heartland Critiques

  “Heart-warmingly sweet. A treasure. Emotionally full plot. Dynamic characters. A book not to be missed . . .”

  ~ Romance Communications

  Also Available

  Douglas Series:

  Book 1 To Tempt an Angel

  Book 2 To Charm a Prince

  Book 3 To Catch a Countess

  Lords of Stratford Series:

  Book 2 Beauty and the Earl

  Pagan Bride

  Enchanting the Duke

  Prologue

  “God mend your ways.” In a flash of movement, ten-year-old Isabelle Montgomery grabbed her flute out of one stepsister’s hands and her fur-lined cloak out of the other stepsister’s hands. She dashed out of the bedchamber door and ran down the corridor.

  “Mama said you’re supposed to share with us,” shrieked twelve-year-old Lobelia.

  “We’ll tell Mama,” eleven-year-old Rue threatened.

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse about your mama,” Isabelle called over her shoulder without breaking stride.

  Isabelle scooted down the narrow stairway and, startling the servants, burst into the kitchen. Ignoring their surprised gasps, she escaped out the door into the April afternoon.

  Pausing a moment to catch her breath, Isabelle wrapped her cloak around herself and then started across the manicured lawns toward the woodland where she could evade her stepsisters’ greed. She crossed the estate’s stately drive built of mellowed plum-red bricks and gray stone dressings and gazed at the bordering masses of blue violets, nodding yellow daffodils, and blooming forsythia.

  Joyful spring surrounded Arden Hall, yet bitter winter gripped her ten-year-old heart. Blinking back tears, Isabelle stared at the Montgomery family chapel and the graveyard beyond it. They had buried her father that morning. Who could ever have guessed that her wonderful, healthy father would succumb to the dreaded white-throat disease? Now her dearest papa lay beside her long-dead mother. If only her brother Miles had not returned to the university immediately after the funeral.

  Isabelle reached up and touched the gold locket she always wore. It contained her mother’s miniature, the image of a woman she’d known only in her heart. If her real mother hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have those two nasty stepsisters or her stepmother, Delphinia.

  Squaring her shoulders, Isabelle turned away from the sight of her parents’ final resting place and passed through the giant oaks that separated the park from the woodland. She needed to get away from her stepfamily and mourn the loss of her father. Afternoon was fading into twilight, but the prospect of supping with her stepmother and her stepsisters disturbed her more than being caught in the woodland at night.

  With a heavy heart, Isabelle walked in the direction of the Avon River. Lilacs mingling with moss scented the air inside the woodland. Here and there were the brown and green stripes of jack-in-the-pulpit and the crimson crowns of rock columbine. Delicate white bloodroot blossoms pushed up through downy leaves, and tightly coiled spirals of fiddlehead ferns were beginning to emerge.

  Springtide heralded an active season for nature spirits and flower fairies. Cook had told her so.

  Isabelle shook her head at such a fanciful notion and then paused as a sound, fainter than a whisper on a breeze, reached her ears. Someone was playing a flute. The rich tones floated through the air and enticed her to follow them toward the Avon River. With each forward step she took, the flute’s song grew louder and clearer. Its lonely melody mirrored her mood.

  Isabelle quickened her pace. Breaking free of the trees, she stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

  A shabbily-dressed old woman sat on a tree stump beside the river and played a flute. The gray-haired, wrinkled-faced crone stopped playing and looked at her.

  Isabelle stepped back two paces.

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked.

  “Isabelle Montgomery.”

  Glancing toward the river, Isabelle saw the evening mist beginning to form and swirl. She peered up at the sky. Shades of lavender and mauve streaked the western horizon. Should she leave or stay? Delphinia would be very angry if she returned home after dark.

  “Sit down,” the old woman invited her.

  Isabelle heard the kindness in the woman’s voice and responded to it. She crossed the short distance separating them and sat down on the ground beside her.

  “I live at Arden Hall,” Isabelle announced without preamble.

  “Why is a Montgomery living at Arden Hall?” the woman asked.

  “My late mother was the heiress of Arden Hall,” Isabelle told her. “She married Adam Montgomery, my father. We buried him today.”

  “So young to be orphaned,” the woman said, patting her hand. “I am Giselle.”

  “Elizabeth was my mother’s name,” Isabelle told her.

  “And you loved her very much.”

  “I never knew her.” Isabelle opened the locket of gold and held it out for the woman to inspect the image inside.

  “With your pale blond hair and your violet eyes, you certainly have the look of her.”

  “Thank you. I consider that a compliment.”

  “So, Belle, what sadness besides your father’s passing brings you to my woodland?” Giselle asked.

  “How do you know my brother’s pet name fo
r me?” Isabelle asked.

  “Sharing troubles always lightens the burden,” Giselle said, ignoring her question. “I’ve years and years of experience in dealing with problems.” The crone shivered and dropped her gaze to the cloak. “I’ve been sitting here for a long, long time and I’m very cold. May I borrow your cloak?”

  Without hesitation, Isabelle removed her cloak and wrapped it around the old woman’s shoulders. “Consider it yours,” she said, plopping down on the ground again. “Mercy to the less fortunate will earn me a place in Heaven, then I will finally meet my mother and see my father once more.”

  Giselle nodded her approval and pulled the cloak tighter around her stooped shoulders. “Child, tell me what else brings you to my woodland.”

  “My stepsisters tried to steal my flute,” Isabelle began. “My flute and my locket are my mother’s legacy to me. Cook told me that my mother played the flute like a nightingale in song. My stepmother fired Mrs. Juniper as soon as we buried my father. Juniper loved me the best. That is the real reason she had to go, not because she drank cold tea. And what is wrong with someone preferring cold tea?”

  “Who is Juniper?” Giselle asked.

  “Juniper was my nanny until today, and she disliked my nasty stepsisters,” Isabelle answered. “My brother returned to the university after the funeral. I do hope he arrives there safely.”

  “I’m positive that, wherever he is, your brother is well,” Giselle answered.

  “Are we friends, then?” Isabelle asked, her eagerness apparent in her expression and her voice. “I’ve never had a friend and don’t really want to go home. May I live with you until my brother returns to Arden Hall?”

  “His homecoming may be delayed a long time,” Giselle told her. “Who will guard his estates if you live with me in the woods?”

  Isabelle shrugged, her hopeful expression drooping.

  “What do you want more than anything else in the whole wide world?” the old woman asked, as if she had the power to grant wishes.

  “I want to be loved.”

  “Listen, child. Do not ask me how, but I know things,” Giselle said, reaching out to touch her hand.

  “Someday a dark prince will rescue you, but only if you return to Arden Hall.”

  “Rescue me from what?”

  “Questioning elders is rude in the extreme,” Giselle chided her. “Now then, this prince will be the man who believes you are lovelier than a violet in the snow.”

  “Isabelle gave her an incredulous stare. Even she knew that no one could foretell the future.

  “You don’t believe me?” Giselle asked. “Would you care to see what he is doing this very moment?”

  Isabelle gave Giselle a smile filled with sunshine and nodded her head vigorously.

  “Come.” Giselle rose from the tree stump and held her hand out.

  Isabelle looked from the wrinkled face to the gnarled hand. Then she stood, too, and placed her hand in the old woman’s.

  Giselle led her to the river and knelt in the grass at the water’s edge. “Gaze into the water, little one. See what the future brings you.”

  Isabelle saw nothing at first, and then a shimmering image formed slowly. A man, older than her brother, looked directly at her. His hair and his eyes were darker than a moonless midnight.

  “Who is he?” Isabelle asked without taking her gaze from the image in the water. “Is he a foreign prince?”

  “No foreigners dwell within the kingdom of the heart,” Giselle said. Her gnarled hand tapped the river, and the prince’s image vanished in the rippling of the water. “It is past time you ran home.”

  “Will I see you again?” Isabelle asked, standing when the woman did. “How will I find you?”

  “I will find you.”

  Isabelle looked around. Late afternoon had faded into twilight and she feared walking alone through the woodland.

  “Simply follow the shining whiteness of the birch tree,” Giselle said as if she knew her thoughts, and pointed toward the woodland.

  Isabelle’s gaze followed the old woman’s finger. The shining white of the birch trees lit a path through the woods where there had been only darkness a moment earlier.

  “I do hope I’ll see you again.” On impulse, Isabelle planted a kiss on the woman’s wizened cheek.

  Giselle smiled. “I promise I will visit you often.”

  Isabelle started down the path through the birch trees. She looked back once but saw only darkness. Ahead was the only way to go.

  A friend. Happiness swelled within her heart as she ran toward Arden Hall. At long last, she had a friend in whom she could confide.

  Shivering from the evening chill, Isabelle sneaked inside the mansion the same way she’d escaped, through the servants’ entrance. She burst into the kitchen, startling the servants again, and then raced up the narrow stairway to the second floor.

  Isabelle reached the safety of her bedchamber and bolted the door. Now her stepsisters couldn’t bother her. If her stepmother wanted to scold her for sneaking outside, she would need to shout through the locked door.

  Intending to fetch a shawl, Isabelle hurried across the chamber. She stopped short and her mouth dropped open in surprise. On her bed lay the fur-lined cloak she had given the old woman.

  Isabelle smiled, joy lighting her expression. Giselle is my guardian angel.

  Chapter 1

  London, November 1811

  Thirty-year-old John Saint-Germain, the fifth Duke of Avon, tenth Marquess of Grafton, and twelfth Earl of Kilchurn, relaxed in his favorite chair inside White’s Gentleman’s Club on St. James’s Street and stared, in turn, at each of his three companions. His twenty-five-year-old brother, Ross, seated in the chair on his left side, cast him an amused smile. Directly opposite him sat his twenty-three-year-old brother, Jamie, who sent him a hopeful look. Miles Montgomery, his youngest brother’s bosom friend, sprawled in the chair on his right side but kept his gaze on Jamie.

  “I cannot believe this is the urgent matter that required I leave Scotland earlier than planned,” John said, his dark gaze returning to his youngest brother.

  “We cannot lose the opportunity of a lifetime,” Jamie argued with passion. “The profit on this investment will earn us a small fortune.”

  “I already possess a large fortune.” John ran a hand through his midnight black hair as he watched a disappointed expression appear on his brother’s face.

  “How can you be certain this speculation will turn any profit?” John asked, relenting at the sight of the change in his brother.

  “Nicholas deJewell, my stepmother’s nephew, tipped me off about it,” Miles Montgomery spoke up, drawing his attention. “He heard it from a well-placed man at Baring brothers, which represents the United States’ banking interests in England.”

  “How much is deJewell investing?”

  Miles Montgomery hesitated and then shook his head. “Nicholas is short of funds at the moment. I promised him a share for tipping me off—out of my profits I assure you.”

  “Miles and I plan to travel to New York personally,” Jamie added, his expression hopeful. “I promise we won’t leave anything to chance.”

  “England and the United States are not in accord at the moment,” John said, “and friction is mounting with each passing day. What if war breaks out?”

  Jamie shrugged. “We’ll be stranded in New York for longer than we expected.”

  “What do you have to say about this?” John asked, sliding his gaze toward his brother Ross.

  “I have no opinion concerning its success or failure,” Ross answered. “The required sum isn’t enough to bankrupt the Saint-Germains, so I say give Jamie the money.”

  John studied his youngest brother’s eager expression. At twenty-three, Jamie Saint-Germain was the baby of the family and, until now, had demonstrated no inclination toward anything but social activities. This business venture could be the very thing to transform Jamie into a responsible adult.

  “Good
evening, Your Grace,” said a deep, grating voice.

  All four men looked at the tall blond man who stood beside their table. The newcomer stared at them with a decidedly unfriendly expression.

  John inclined his head. “Grimsby.”

  “What a heartwarming picture of family life.” Grimsby shifted his gaze to the only stranger in the group. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Miles Montgomery is the Earl of Stratford,” John said, making the introductions. “Miles, meet William Grimsby, the Earl of Ripon.”

  Miles Montgomery stood, shook the other man’s hand, and then reclaimed his seat. Grimsby cast him a sardonic smile.

  “Take a friendly warning,” Grimsby said. “If you have a sister, keep her away from the Saint-Germains.” Without another word, William Grimsby walked away.

  Miles Montgomery turned in apparent confusion to the others. “What was that about?”

  “My former brother-in-law,” John answered.

  “Too bad Grimsby isn’t your late former brother-in-law,” muttered Ross.

  John cast his brother a sidelong smile. “You only say that because his pranks have cost our shipping lines a substantial amount of lost profit.”

  “How can you remain calm?” Ross asked. “The man is bent on ruining the Saint-Germains.”

  “William is upset about his sister’s passing.”

  “Lenore has been dead these past five years,” Ross said.

  “Brother, let it go for now.” John flicked a glance at Montgomery, who was listening to their conversation, and then shifted his gaze to his youngest brother. “I will loan you the funds, but because of the growing friction between the two countries, you must travel to Bermuda on one of my ships. From there you can journey via a neutral ship to New York. Agreed?”

  Jamie Saint-Germain and Miles Montgomery looked at each other and smiled. At his friend’s nod, Jamie turned to John. “There is one more thing we need.”