“But it is,” she insisted, laughing out loud with incredulity. “Two shooting stars. Oh, Edmund, I can’t help but believe that it is Andrew and Isobel, looking down on us. I think we’ve done them proud.”
“You couldn’t do anything but,” he said with a smile. “I love you, Hannah.”
“And I love you, Edmund.”
“Always.”
“Always.”
THE END
* * *
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Designs on a Duke
Preview the first book of The Bluestocking Scandals…
A sneak peek…
Valentine St. Vincent, the sixth Duke of Wyndham, was tired.
He was tired of balls. He was tired of operas. He was tired of pretending to be the Duke of Wyndham when all he had ever aspired to be was a man making a name for himself in his chosen profession, which was the only thing he truly excelled at. One who would be perfectly happy spending his life without any pressure or great responsibility placed upon him.
But then his brother had died. His father had died. His cousin was deemed illegitimate. And then the old duke had finally succumbed to the illness that had kept him bedridden for years, and Val remained the fortuitous one to be alive and declared the duke after a lengthy inquiry by the College of Arms.
He let himself into his house — though it was styled more of a mansion than anything else, and finding his butler utterly absent, he hung his hat up himself.
A crash resounded from down the hall and he smiled to himself. Jemima. At least some things never changed. His sister was still as curious in unraveling the next great scientific discovery. He didn’t understand half of it, though she was always more than pleased to provide a running commentary of her most recent hypothesis. Currently, it was something to do with the effects of the cleanliness — or lack thereof — of water.
He strode through the foyer to what was supposed to be a ballroom but had become Jemima’s laboratory. He found her blonde head bent over a microscope, so focused that she didn’t even look up when he walked into the room.
“Good to see you haven’t destroyed our new home quite yet,” he said, and she yelped as she jumped up.
“Val! You scared me.”
He chuckled as he tapped a hand against his leg, where an old injury still aggravated him from time to time.
“Where is everyone?”
“Hmm?”
Her mind was still elsewhere.
“Dexter wasn’t at the door. Usually he is so eager to prove himself as a new butler that I can hardly untie my own cloak.”
“Dexter? Oh yes, he came through here not long ago.”
“Jem?” He tried not to sigh in exasperation, but he only needed a moment of her time.
“Right. Ummm, he had some people with him. I think they went into the parlor. So did Mother.”
She waved her hand toward the end of the room, where the parlor was located.
“People? Oh, right — the architect.” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “I completely forgot.”
“And you call me absentminded.”
When she finally looked up at him, her eyes widened and she snorted.
“You certainly cannot greet them looking like that.”
“Why not?”
“You look as though someone just gave you a sound pummeling.”
“I actually came out the victor, thank you very much.”
He looked down at himself and saw that his sister had a point.
She was shaking her head now.
“I really don’t understand why you continue to go back to Jackson’s.”
He walked over to the table and tweaked her nose as though she was still a girl and not a woman over twenty.
“And I don’t understand why you enjoy mixing your liquids in here all day, but I leave you be, don’t I?”
“Fair point.”
“Very well. I best wash up and then I’ll meet with the architect. Though I wish Mother hadn’t pressured me into hiring one. We have no money to pay for him.”
“That’s why you’re supposed to marry someone wealthy,” Jemima said absently, returning to her work, apparently dismissing him.
Val sighed as he found the stairs and began to trudge up to his room. Truth be told, the only joy he could find in his current life was through some physical activity and boxing served the dual purpose of keeping up his strength as well as releasing the tension that seemed to build as he sat at his damned desk all day working in the ledgers the old duke had left. Val had fired his man of business who had supposedly handled everything but truly bungled it all. Val was determined to figure this out on his own before he trusted another to look after things for him.
He entered the large ducal suite, aware that it was too depressing, too dismal. It made him feel as though he was living in some remote Scottish castle. He’d have the architect take a look at this room, see if there was anything to be done.
Although his sister had said that architects had arrived — he only recalled asking one to come to consult with him. He certainly couldn’t afford two. Hopefully the man had simply brought an assistant.
He stripped off his bloody shirt and threw it on the bed, realizing as he did so that he had forgotten to call for the valet, and Dexter wouldn’t know to tell Archie he had returned. Well, soon enough, word would get round that he was home and Archie would be through the bedroom door and ready to offer him his assistance as well as his commentary.
He was not the most conventional of servants, but he was one of the few not constantly awaiting his every command, which was beginning to unnerve him.
Well, until Archie arrived, he supposed he could select his own clothes.
He opened the door to his dressing room, reaching out a hand as he did — and touched something very soft, very silky, and very smooth.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, opening the door wider to allow more light in.
There stood a woman, her greenish-brown eyes wide as they stared at him over a pert nose. Her jet black hair was pulled back from her head, seemingly long and straight as pieces tumbled down from the pins over her back. What he couldn’t tear his eyes away from? Those cherry-red lips, just begging to be kissed. They parted now, as though she was about to say something, but just then he heard a sound from the corridor.
“Your grace?”
Not Archie. Dexter.
For a moment, Val forgot that he was a duke, that he had no one to answer to but himself. He went back to being a young man, who was frightened of his father discovering any transgression. Before he could even think of what he was doing, he stepped into the dressing room, nearly pressing himself against the woman, and shut the door behind him.
* * *
Rebecca stood so still in shock that she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. She was an intelligent woman. She should have a witty response on the tip of her tongue.
But inspiration had never come quickly to her. Rather, she had to stew on something, turn it over in her mind until just the right thought entered and answered her current problem.
“Ah… you must be the Duke of Wyndham,” she finally managed before sensing movement. “Did you just nod?”
“I did,” he said, his voice deeper, rougher than she had expected. “My apologies. Rather idiotic of me. Yes, I am the Duke of Wyndham.”
“Well, I cannot say this is how I thought I would make your acquaintance.”
“Rather silly for us to be hiding in here,” he said with the slightest of chuckles. “I, ah, saw a beautiful woman, heard a voice in the hall, and acted on instinct.”
“To hide with a woman?” she asked, pleased that he couldn’t see the flush in her cheeks at being called
beautiful.
“Err…”
“You don’t need to answer that,” she said quickly. What had gotten into her?
But then he laughed. His laugh was a low rumble that began deep in his chest before resounding throughout the dressing chamber. It was one of those laughs that was so contagious, one had no choice but to join in.
And so she did. It was freeing, chasing away both the awkwardness for a moment and the need for either of them to say anything within this strange encounter.
“I think he’s gone now,” the duke said after their laughter subsided, and sure enough, the sounds of his butler calling out “Your grace?” was no longer. “Poor Dexter. He will be most distressed. At least he likely found my shirt to take to the valet for laundering. That should keep him busy for a time.”
“Your shirt?”
“Yes, it had some… stains.”
“I see.”
Rebecca was quite confused by this entire encounter, but who was she to question a duke?
“I, ah, best be going now,” she said, slowly inching around him, doing all she could to not slide her body over his as she sought the door. Relief swept over her when she found the handle, and she turned the knob open, allowing light to enter once more though she didn’t look back. “I shall see you in the parlor,” she managed, before slipping out the door and nearly running out of the bedroom, along the corridor, and down the stairs.
* * *
Valentine stood there in shock, staring after the beauty. One look at her and he had turned into a blithering fool.
It was this entire new situation, he told himself. He was having a difficult time learning how he was supposed to interact with his peers, his servants, and… whoever this woman was. As she had escaped his room so quickly that he nearly wondered if she had seen a mouse, he realized that he had no idea who she was or what she was doing in his bedchamber. Apparently not a gift, he realized with a rueful laugh.
He was right in that his soiled shirt had been taken away, but he knew it would take him a great deal longer to dress himself than with the help of his valet. With company about he was expected, as a duke, to always be fully dressed in a waistcoat and cravat, as uncomfortable as they were. He walked to the door, throwing it open.
“Archie!” he bellowed, but instead of seeing his valet approach, a tall, distinguished gentleman he had never seen before was wandering down his corridor. What in the…
“Hello, sir,” the man said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Ah… I’m not entirely sure,” Val said, scratching his hair, which had been cut fairly short upon his arrival in London. He missed his usual longer locks. “Just who are you?”
“Why, I am Albert Lambert, of course.”
“Lambert — the architect. Right,” Val said, frowning. What kind of architect had he hired? “I thought you were awaiting me in the parlor.”
“The parlor? We finished the parlor weeks ago!” Lambert said, further confusing Val. “We must now continue with the ballroom.”
“That will be the last of it,” Val said. “We must make sure we build my sister a proper laboratory first.”
“Laboratory?” the man repeated back to him, a frown marring his face. “I wasn’t told of a laboratory.”
“Yes, well, I will explain everything when we discuss the project further,” Val said, relieved when he saw Archie approaching down the hall. “I will be down to meet with you shortly, Mr. Lambert. My apologies for my tardiness.”
He stepped back into the room, Archie following him with a questioning look, as Mr. Lambert nodded and strode away in the other direction.
My, but this was a strange day.
* * *
Designs on a Duke is now available on Amazon.
Also by Ellie St. Clair
The Bluestocking Scandals
Designs on a Duke
Inventing the Viscount
Discovering the Baron
The Valet Experiment
Writing the Rake
Risking the Detective
A Noble Excavation
The Victorian Highlanders
Callum’s Vow
Finlay’s Duty
Adam’s Call
Roderick’s Purpose
Peggy’s Love
Blooming Brides
A Duke for Daisy
A Marquess for Marigold
An Earl for Iris
A Viscount for Violet
The Blooming Brides Box Set: Books 1-4
The Unconventional Ladies
Lady of Mystery
Lady of Fortune
Lady of Providence
Lady of Charade
Happily Ever After
The Duke She Wished For
Someday Her Duke Will Come
Once Upon a Duke’s Dream
He’s a Duke, But I Love Him
Loved by the Viscount
Because the Earl Loved Me
Happily Ever After Box Set Books 1-3
Happily Ever After Box Set Books 4-6
Searching Hearts
Duke of Christmas (prequel)
Quest of Honor
Clue of Affection
Hearts of Trust
Hope of Romance
Promise of Redemption
Searching Hearts Box Set (Books 1-5)
Standalone
Unmasking a Duke
The Stormswept Stowaway
Christmastide with His Countess
Her Christmas Wish
Always Your Love
About the Author
Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion -- romance novels.
In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.
Ellie and her husband love nothing more than spending time at home with their two sons and Husky cross. Ellie can typically be found at the lake in the summer, pushing the stroller all year round, and, of course, with her computer in her lap or a book in hand.
She also loves corresponding with readers, so be sure to contact her!
www.elliestclair.com
[email protected]
Always Your Love: A Gothic Regency Romance Page 10
