by Dayna Quince
Desperate for a Duke
Third Edition
Dayna Quince
Copyright © 2013 by Dayna Quince
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contact Dayna at daynaquince.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Belle of the Ball
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About the Author
Also by Dayna Quince
Chapter 1
March 17, 1820
Marriages were interesting things to Heather. For someone in her position, marriage was the ultimate goal in life. Hopefully, the search was not long when one reached marriageable age, and then after a brief courtship, a wedding would commence and then… and then what? And then she would save her family from ruin, a voice inside her answered. That thought always made her sit up straight and refocus her gaze on the present. Ruin was even more interesting. Before now, the notion of ruin had been vague, an invisible entity to fear. But now she knew ruin was the taking of one’s homes by a vengeful cousin, the punishing a mourning wife and her daughters for his doomed inheritance, the tattered hem of a dress you hoped no one noticed, and the rising price of beef when potatoes grew tiresome to eat so very often.
Ruin.
And it was for this reason Heather found herself at the Shatterling ball, staring down the gauntlet of elegant, narrow-eyed vultures, all too eager to see her sink to the bottom of the cesspit that was genteel poverty. Her dance partner, Mr. Clovis, smiled blandly as he led her through the column of dancers to the end, and she took her place at the line. Lady Karen leaned close and Heather braced herself.
“No man would tie himself to a sinking ship, not even one so desperate as Mr. Clovis.”
Lady Karen’s venomous words sank deep. Heather didn’t respond, there was nothing she could say—nothing civil, anyhow. She was already standing on a razor’s edge, and if she tipped one hair in any direction, these vital invitations would cease to come.
Heather pressed her lips together, fighting the stinging rush of tears and a wicked urge to vomit. She swallowed her gorge down as beads of sweat percolated on the back of her neck.
Mr. Clovis may be desperate, but not desperate enough to marry a penniless debutante. It wasn’t that Heather was insulted by Lady Karen’s words; it was the truth in them that stung. Despite Heather’s best gown and her noble name, she was destitute and everyone knew it. The words may as well be written on her forehead. Panic gripped her, and in a move that was sure to follow her to her grave, she bolted from the dance floor.
Finding the retiring room blessedly empty, Heather splashed water on her face, her chest aching with the urge to sob out her sorrows. She could not, not here, not where her woes would be snickered over so gleefully.
The door opened and Heather twisted away to hide her red cheeks.
“Heather?” A hand touched her shoulder.
Heather turned into her mother’s embrace, a strangled sob wrenching itself from her chest.
“It’s all right, dear one.” Her mother stroked her back.
“It’s not all right.” Heather sobbed and gulped down air. “No one will wed me. Everyone knows that I will bring a mountain of father’s debt with me if they do. But the worst part is the scorn. Why do they hate us?”
“Hush now,” Lady Everly soothed.
Heather could feel her mother take a shaky breath. Pulling away, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks. “Who would have me?”
“Someone, but not someone here. I think we’ve exhausted our options here. I’ll find a footman to summon a hack.”
“We have—n’t the coin.” Heather hiccupped.
“We can’t be seen leaving on foot. It will only feed those gossiping trolls.”
Heather nodded.
Her mother cradled Heather’s face and wiped a stray tear with her thumb. “You must be strong. We all must.”
Heather considered her mother’s features, worn from stress but still lovely. Her pale blonde hair had turned mostly silver in the last year and a half since Father had died so suddenly. And now they were struggling to go on without him, without the fragile web of security he had built around them, hiding his gambling problem and poor land management. Every day his legacy sunk further into the abyss of debt.
Feathery lines of sadness and turmoil creased the corners her mother’s bluish-gray eyes, but still her mother stood firm, her chin held high. Heather lifted her own and took a deep breath.
“That’s my girl. Now let’s go home.”
Heather bit her cheek to keep from crying further. Home was no longer the quaint townhouse on Bloom Street or the sprawling manor in Somerset where she took her first steps as an infant. Mrs. Brogan’s House for Ladies was now their home, but only if they could pay the rent due in a week’s time.
Heather waited with her mother in the foyer while a hack was summoned, and then they took the hack just around the block, exiting out of sight of their friends-turned-enemies. They walked the rest of the way home, which thankfully wasn’t far and in a safe neighborhood.
Climbing the steps, Mrs. Brogan herself opened the door, her frizzy red hair vibrating with her apparent agitation.
“Mrs. Brogan?” Her mother stepped up and smiled pleasantly. “Is something amiss?”
“It is indeed, my lady.” Mrs. Brogan spat the words “my lady”’ as if she’d taken a bite of an apple and found a worm inside.
“A man came calling, and when informed you were not here insisted that I pay him an obscene amount of money in your stead. I will not countenance such a disturbance in my home. I took you and your family in out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Then let us in,” Lady Everly said sternly.
Mrs. Brogan pinched her lips together and stepped aside, narrowing her eyes at them.
“Heather, see that Violet and Prim are well.”
“Yes, Mother.” Heather hurried up the stairs. At the top, she nearly stumbled over a tail of blanket sticking out from behind a large potted fern almost taller than herself. Two shadows huddled behind it.
Heather sighed. “Come out of there at once.”
Prim poked her head out, her pale blonde hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, and her blue-grey eyes wide and frightened. Heather pulled her into her side and gave her a reassuring hug. “You too, Violet.” Violet stood, her expression mutinous as she slunk out from behind the fern and aimed a withering glower down the stairs. Presumably at Mrs. Brogan.
“To bed with the both of you.” Heather urged them toward their shared room.
“You should have heard the awful things Mrs. Brogan said about us,” Violet said through clenched teeth.
“I’d rather not know.” Heather
herded her sisters to their room, closing the door on Violet’s grumbles and returning to the top of the stairs to eavesdrop on her mother and Mrs. Brogan. She craned her neck to listen but heard nothing. They had moved into the drawing room and closed the door. Heather slipped back down the stairs and pressed her ear to the door.
“If you have the ability to attend extravagant affairs but not pay your debts, then it is clear you are not the kind of quality people I want in my establishment.”
“Our affairs are not your concern, Mrs. Brogan. We’ve paid our rent on time.”
“Don’t think I don’t notice your lack of coin. You’re living on very little means.”
There was silence. Heather bit her knuckle, the tension and rage inside her demanding she barge into the room and tell Mrs. Brogan exactly where she could stuff the rent money.
“Please get to your point, Mrs. Brogan,” her mother said at last.
“I want you out. However your troubles came to be, I want no part of any of it.”
“Very well.”
The swish of skirts drew closer to the door. Heather lurched away and bounced up the stairs on her toes as swiftly as she could. She bounded into their room, startling Prim and Violet. The girls were huddled over a book in one of the two small beds in their shared room.
“You frightened us.” Prim’s face scrunched up as she began to cry. Even at fourteen, she still seemed so young to Heather.
“I’m sorry.” Heather panted, moving away from the door and hurrying to undress before their mother arrived.
Violet jumped out of the bed. “What did you hear?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” Violet stalked to Heather’s side, the same blue-gray eyes of her mother and sister blazing. “I know something is terribly wrong. I can feel it.”
Heather’s insides fluttered with a tangle of emotions. She wanted to cry, to scream, but she had to be strong, if not for herself then for her sisters. She tucked a lock of Violet’s honey-gold hair behind her ear. “Hush,” she whispered. “Not tonight Vi, we all need our sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
Their mother entered, poised, but visibly rattled. Heather and Violet turned to face her. Prim slipped out of the bed and hugged her mother’s side tightly.
“For goodness sake, I will never sleep if you don’t tell me what is going on. What happened tonight?” Violet demanded. At sixteen, she was rapidly turning into a young woman. She had their mother’s strength, Heather realized, and their father’s warmer blond hair with streaks of pale gold, but also his unbending stubbornness that could either help or hinder her in the coming years. Heather prayed for the former.
“Mrs. Brogan wishes us to depart,” their mother said. “We will do so with grace and decorum. We are certain to find other, more amiable accommodations. We will begin searching tomorrow.” She smiled. It was brittle, but it still worked to reassure Heather to some degree.
Heather nodded. “Yes, we will find someplace better with softer mattresses.”
“An excellent suggestion. We can make a list over breakfast of all the things we will require.” Their mother shooed Prim back into bed and kissed her forehead. Heather undressed. The tension inside Heather abated somewhat, and after their single candle was blown out, she found the will to sleep.
Shaken awake, Heather bolted upright.
“It’s only me,” her mother whispered. “Come and dress. We need to speak privately.”
Heather looked around the dimly lit room. The early light of dawn was just barely visible through the lace curtain covering the window. She rose and dressed, following her mother into the kitchen where her mother poured them two cups of tea.
“What is it?” Heather took a sip of tea. The hot liquid fell to her empty stomach with an echo.
“I’ve been up most of the night thinking.”
“All night?”
Her mother nodded and folded her hands around her teacup. “We’ve run out of time, Heather.”
Heather swallowed another scalding sip of tea.
“Mrs. Brogan is all we can afford unless I take you and your sisters somewhere unsafe. A place so unsavory we would never be able to return to our former status.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean places where common folk live. You and I will have to go to work.”
Heather’s stomach clenched. As the daughter of a baron, educated as a young lady of noble birth, Heather didn’t think she had any skill someone would pay her for. “What of Violet and Prim?”
“I will write to my cousin Henrietta in America. She may be able to take Prim for a short time, and Violet, well, perhaps she can stay with us and work.”
“No.” Heather would do anything to keep her family together. She couldn’t believe they had sunk this far. It was unreal. “We will appeal to Cousin Milton.”
“He was clear in his regard for us. He has his reasons for not helping us. He has his own family to care for.”
“He’s a selfish prick.” Heather spat.
Her mother raised a chastising brow. “I’ve seen the ledgers, Heather. He can’t support us anymore than I can. And…it’s more than that. He must separate himself from our shame.”
Shame. They were penniless through no fault of their own, and yet after her father’s death, they carried great shame. Why? Why? Heather wanted to scream it. “That is what I don’t understand, Mother. Why are we so scorned? What did we do to deserve this? Father wasn’t the first gentleman to gamble more than he had, and we’ve done our best to pay his debts, haven’t we?”
“It’s…it is more than that, Heather,” her mother said, the words wilting her like flowers without water. Her shoulders drooped, and sadness washed over her features as tears spilled over her lashes. Heather began to cry, her stomach knotting as she sensed that something awful had happened, either now or back then.
“Tell me,” Heather said, though fear had clamped itself around her heart. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what her mother had to say.
“Your father…”
Heather reached out and took her mother’s hand, finding strength somewhere deep inside to comfort her, to give her someone to lean on.
“He took his own life.” Her mother shuddered.
“What?” The word was more of a gasp.
“Lord Brightly accused him of cheating, and thus, your father shot himself in shame.”
“But…” The vise around Heather’s heart squeezed tighter. Heather blinked as points of light filled her vision. “How could he!” Heather sobbed.
Her mother’s arms came around her. “He…oh, I don’t know. I ask myself that every day.” Her mother’s arms shook as she held Heather, but their strength was evident.
“Does Milton know?”
“Yes. He deserved to know. It would become his burden as much as mine.”
“Ours.” Heather pulled away. “It is our burden to bear. Who else knows?”
“Herman, Milton, and the cemetery caretaker. The caretaker was paid handsomely for his silence. It was Herman who found him. He heard the shot from the butler’s pantry.”
Heather sucked in a breath. “Is that why he retired?”
“After thirty years of service to this family, I could not stand to see him endure Milton’s childish tantrums. I pensioned him off before Milton took full control of the finances.”
Heather slumped into her mother’s arms again, closing her eyes as her mother stroked her hair.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to spare you and your sisters from this. But even though we hid the cause of his death, rumors are spreading. Lord Brightly has only fueled the speculation. I don’t know how he would know, but he must suspect. I know it feels hopeless, but we will find a way to save our family.”
“I will marry,” Heather blurted. “Anyone you choose.” Heather leaned back to look into her mother’s eyes.
Her mother grimaced. “That is an excellent solution if only we had the time.”
“There is no man in
all of England who would marry me? What about France? Spain?” Heather cried.
Before her eyes, her mother wilted. She slumped over her teacup, and the sight frightened Heather to her bones. “Mother.” Heather reached out and squeezed her mother’s hands. “Just tell me what I need to do and I will do it. I won’t see us split apart.”
“I’m afraid, Heather.”
“So am I. We’re staring down the pistol of poverty and scandal, but we will find a way out. I promise you. I refuse to give up.”
“That is good.” Her mother looked up and returned Heather’s gaze. “I think I may have one last solution, but it pains me to ask it of you.”
“Whatever it is, I will do it.”
Her mother took a deep, shuddering breath. “There is one man, a duke, who may be willing to marry in such a hasty fashion. He is much older than you and has been searching so long for a bride that he may just be as desperate as us.”
“A desperate duke? Impossible.” Heather scoffed. “How do I not know of such a man?”
“He is a recluse and despised throughout most of society. He left England years ago, but tonight Lady Candray, who happens to live across the way from his residence, mentioned that his townhouse is being aired.”
“A duke so despised he can’t find a wife?”
“Well, he did marry but she died, and he’s been searching for another bride to give him an heir ever since. There have been a record number of engagements to the duke, but all of them ended before the wedding.
Heather shivered. “What makes this man so terrible? Tell me honestly.”
“I would never suggest such a thing if I thought he would truly hurt you. I would never let him harm you, Heather. If you meet him and find him utterly detestable, you don’t have to marry him.”
