He's a Duke, But I Love Him: A Historical Regency Romance (Happily Ever After Book 4)

by Ellie St. Clair

  “Tillie,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

  Her friend beamed.

  “It’s for Rochester’s,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a sample, of course, but it does not need to be there for three days. So, you can wear it today and we will make sure you do not arrive on their doorstep looking like some sort of creature that crawled from the gutter.”

  Tabitha frowned and looked down on her drab, worn muslin gown. It wasn’t that bad, was it?

  “What are you doing this morning?” Tabitha asked as Tillie pushed her behind the work curtain of the shop and practically forced her to change her dress.

  “Nothing,” Tillie called. “Waiting for you to invite me along.”

  Tabitha stuck her head out between the curtains and smiled.

  “I assumed you would be too busy,” she said. “Would you like to go? It’s a bit of a walk.”

  It was true. The townhouse owned by the Fairchild family was on the far side of town and not an easy walk.

  “I have my father’s chaise,” Tillie replied. “I shall have our groom drive us.”

  “You drove?” Tabitha asked, looking toward the window. “I didn’t see the carriage or the groom.”

  Tillie shook her head.

  “He’s getting himself something to eat a few streets away and watered the horses at Denton’s,” Tillie said. “Neither of us wanted to see your stepmother this morning, so we thought it best.”

  It was a good idea, Tabitha mused, appreciative of how very smart her best friend was. Ellora, while somewhat polite to Tillie’s face, was an opportunist and cornered her friend for information about her eligible older brothers and cousins whenever she was around. Not that Tillie couldn’t handle her, but Tabitha shuddered at one of those poor Andrews boys getting shackled with a crow like Frances.

  “Are you quite ready?” Tillie asked in a huff, never one for patience. “I am absolutely starving and I want to stop for the small cakes at Lodge and Stone. They’re my favorite, you know.”

  Oh, yes. Tabitha knew. Tillie was a connoisseur of delicious food, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the looks of her. She managed to maintain just the right curves in just the right places and was never shy about enjoying herself.

  As well she should, Tabitha thought with a smile. Life was hard enough as it was, why not take a little joy where you could find it?

  “I believe so,” Tabitha said, suddenly shy at the form-fitting walking dress. It hugged her small body in the right places, more so than any of her ordinary dresses. And the color — it made her violet eyes simply shine in the full-length mirror before her. There were buttons and ribbons accenting the dress perfectly — not too many and not too few. She looked polished. Poised. So far from the normal, bedraggled mess that she was most other days that she pinched her cheeks for a little dash of color and smiled at her reflection.

  “It’s absolutely lovely,” Tabitha breathed as Tillie came to stand behind her. Tabitha studied the hat displays in the shop and moved toward the back to find the perfect bonnet to complete the look, large peacock plume and all. She set it on top of the tawny locks piled on top of her head.

  “Now we are ready.”

  Tabitha and Tillie left the shop and Tabitha locked the door behind her.

  They walked the two long blocks to Denton’s, a stabling station for people who could afford it. When the carriage was ready, Tillie and Tabitha climbed in and enjoyed the long ride toward the grand manse of the former Duke of Stowe, Reginald Fairchild. The Duke had died unexpectedly almost two years prior and his wife, the Dowager Duchess Gemma Fairchild, was slowly coming back out into polite society. As such, she found her wardrobe to be a bit outdated and on a recommendation her lady’s maid had found her way into Tabitha’s shop for the first time two months ago for a simple hat, which had turned into the most recent repeat order.

  Nearly an hour later, they rolled to a stop in front of the Fairchild home and Tabitha sucked a breath through her lips.

  “My goodness,” she said as Tillie laughed beside her.

  “You have that right,” her friend replied.

  The home was large, bedecked in white marble, and had four giant marble columns across the front of it. There was a small pond in the middle of the circle drive they took around to the back door. Tabitha counted an army of gardeners toiling away in preparation for what was likely going to be a few days’ worth of guests and revelry.

  When they were greeted by a footman, Tabitha gave her name and asked for Mr. McEwan. They waited a few brief moments before the older gentleman appeared and showed them inside.

  Tabitha tried to keep pace with the steward as he led them down the long corridor.

  “Very kind of you to make this happen, Miss Blackmore,” the man said as he practically sprinted with his short, quick strides down a long hallway toward the back of the house. They stayed with him until he turned down a short hall.

  “There now,” he said, as he pushed the first door open to reveal a small office. “They are here, darling. Just like I said they would be.”

  “Darling” turned out to be a smartly dressed woman with an ample bosom, bright cheeks, and kind green eyes. She looked to be somewhere in her 50s and from the warm smile she gave Mr. McEwan, Tabitha guess they were about to meet Mrs. McEwan.

  “Miss Tabitha Blackmore and Miss — my apologies,” Mr. McEwan looked flustered as he glanced at Tillie, who whispered her name good naturedly to him. “Miss Matilda Andrews. This is my wife, Lorna McEwan, the housekeeper here. I leave you with her as we have quite a few preparations we are overseeing. His Grace is due to arrive at any moment.”

  The steward flittered away, leaving Tabitha and Tillie standing in the doorway, feeling awkward. Lorna had a warm smile as she rounded the desk she’d been sitting behind and led them down the hall to what looked like a simple dining room housing a long table and chairs. She took some of the boxes from Tabitha and put them down on the table.

  “I was looking over a few of the accounts for Her Grace,” the woman muttered in a thick brogue. “But now, this is exciting. This is one of her first hosted parties since His Grace passed away and I know she is very nervous about the whole thing.”

  Mrs. McEwan began pulling the hats and fascinators from the box and tittering and clucking in appreciation.

  “I knew you’d come through for us, Miss Blackmore,” she said, mostly to herself. “You came highly recommended from Baron Wellesley’s daughters and I knew you would provide the best for Her Grace.”

  Tabitha blushed a little and Tillie pinched her lightly in the side at the compliments.

  “Are you her assistant?” Mrs. McEwan asked Tillie, who simply shook her head.

  “She is a talented dressmaker,” Tabitha blurted out before she could think better of it. She heard Tillie gasp at her secret identity being outed so quickly, but Lorna didn’t look at all disapproving. In fact, she looked interested, so Tabitha pointed to the dress she was currently wearing.

  “This is one of hers,” she said, proud of her friend. “It is going to be a sample at Rochester’s but she insisted I wear it to deliver these.”

  Mrs. McEwan gave the gown a steady gaze and smiled at her friend.

  “You’re very talented, Miss.”

  As Tillie was thanking her for the compliment, the door burst open with a train of three maids carrying two gowns each. Mrs. McEwan instructed them to hang the dresses on hooks along one side of the wall.

  Six exquisite gowns were suddenly on display and she watched as Tillie took them all in, silently regarding every last detail on each one.

  Mrs. McEwan stayed quiet a moment before speaking.

  “So,” she prodded. “Professional opinion, ladies?”

  With the hats on the table in front of the gowns, Tabitha realized what Lorna was asking. She wanted to know how they thought the gowns and the headwear matched up. As the last maid shut the door and left, Lorna looked to the ladies a second time.

  “Well?�
��

  After a moment of hesitation, both Tabitha and Tillie set upon the dresses and accessories, moving the feathers and ribbons around so that they paired up with the best gown. The housekeeper stepped back and watched as the two of them discussed ribbon shades and the texture of lace next to bright, fluffy feather plumes. When they were done, Lorna stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the ensembles they had put together with a smile on her face.

  “Exquisite,” she said reverently. “Absolutely exquisite. Do you happen to be free over the next two days?”

  She turned toward them as she asked.

  Tabitha didn’t answer immediately, but Tillie did.

  “I am supposed to leave with my mother in the morning for two weeks in Bath,” she said. “I’m actually running behind schedule as it is. We are dining with my uncle at his club in a few hours.”

  Mrs. McEwan turned to Tabitha.

  “I am not sure,” she answered honestly. “I am not certain of what you are asking me right now?”

  Mrs. McEwan cast a glance toward the gowns.

  “The next few weeks are important to Her Grace for many, many reasons,” she began. “First, she is venturing out of mourning and the eyes of her peers and contemporaries will be more than critical as she begins to immerse herself in the activities surrounding the season. I want her to shine, to put it bluntly, and none of her maids know a thing about dressing her to her station.”

  Tabitha could understand that. A duchess was expected to have an air of regality that none beyond the royal family would possess.

  “What’s more,” the woman continued. “Her son is expected to return this season and select a wife, so all eyes will be on His Grace as he moves through these parties and balls with an eye on the crowd for the next Duchess of Stowe.”

  Tabitha had heard rumors of Nicholas Fairchild, the latest Duke of Stowe. He was rumored to be a good-looking man who’d run wild in his younger days as the privileged sons of the elite were wont to do. He had managed to leave for France last year without a scandal chasing him out of town and as far as she understood, there wasn’t one from the Continent chasing him back into town.

  Either he was a well-behaved son of a duke or a very crafty duke who knew how to hide his indiscretions.

  Whatever the case may be, as the daughter of a merchant baronet, the duke was so very far out of her realm that he might as well have existed in an alternate universe. Tabitha was a realist if nothing else, and spent very little time as a girl reading about white knights and rescues. She was a woman making plans to rescue herself.

  “What I’m offering,” Mrs. McEwan continued, pulling Tabitha back from her thoughts. “Is to pay for your services if you would agree to stay until tomorrow and make sure that the maids have Her Grace looking ravishing and heads above the rest. We need personal touches that it seems only the two of you can give. We shall pay you for your troubles. Handsomely.”

  Well, that did it. Handsomely, from the family of a duke, usually did mean handsomely, and that was money she needed to fund her schooling in Paris.

  “I can do it,” Tabitha said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I just need to send a message, letting my stepmother know I will no longer return until tomorrow evening.”

  Crafting an expeditious white lie, Tabitha sent word to her stepmother that she was visiting with Tillie’s family for the evening and would be back for supper the following day.

  The games were surely afoot now, Tabitha thought to herself as she allowed Mrs. McEwan to show Tillie out and to lead her to her temporary rooms.

  The Duke She Wished For is now available for purchase on Amazon, and is free to read through Kindle Unlimited.

  QUEST OF HONOR

  SEARCHING HEARTS BOOK 1

  PREVIEW

  Begin the stories of the Harrington family with Thomas and Eleanor…

  Prologue

  Marie looked around the table at her five children, her gaze coming to rest on Thomas. Normally she was most concerned about Daniel, her eldest and the next in line to become Duke, but there was something about Thomas tonight that seemed off to her.

  Typically the most free-spirited of her children, this evening he wore a serious look, and had taken on the brooding silence that overcame him whenever he felt stifled or frustrated.

  The remainder of her children, from Daniel at 24 down to her 16-year-old daughter Polly, were chattering away as they were normally wont to do, no matter how she tried to instil in them the proper etiquette of the dinner hour. Her husband, Lionel, Duke of Ware, sat in his usual place at the head of the table, intent on his food as he listened to the stories of his brood.

  “Thomas,” Marie said, and he raised his dark head. “Is everything quite well, darling?”

  “Yes, Mother,” he replied mechanically.

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “Well actually,” he said, looking hesitantly at her and then his father. “I do have somewhat of an announcement.”

  Marie raised her eyebrows as the chatter around the table hushed, for Thomas’ siblings could see the nervousness that accompanied his statement.

  “I am going to be joining the Navy,” he said, puffing his chest out, trying to look more assured than he felt.

  “The Navy!” his mother exclaimed incredulously. “You cannot be serious. Is this some sort of joke?”

  “Not at all, Mother,” he responded, his blue eyes taking on an icy resolve. “The Navy is a noble profession. What else am I to do with my life?”

  “You are the second son of a Duke! What if the title of Duke should need to pass onto you and you are injured or dead somewhere at sea?”

  “I shall not spend my life sitting here waiting for Father and Daniel to die, Mother,” he responded, his voice becoming slightly more heated, although he would never raise it at his mother. “They are both quite healthy and, I’m sure, have long lives to live. I want to see the world! What better way than on the sea?”

  “Lionel!” Marie said to her husband with fervour. “Have you nothing to say?”

  Lionel finished chewing his potatoes, his expression unwavering.

  “Well, son,” he said. “I would say your intentions are admirable. You do know what you are getting yourself into?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, then, boy, I’d best talk to my friend the Admiral tomorrow. The son of the Duke of Ware must find a reasonable berth and vessel upon which to serve.”

  Thomas’ face lit up, and he caught the gaze of his sister Violet, who smiled at him encouragingly. He grinned at her, then turned back to his father.

  “Thank you, Father,” he said. “I would appreciate it.”

  “This is quite ridiculous,” his mother said, her head swivelling from Thomas to Lionel and back to Thomas once more. “Thomas is 22 years old! He and Daniel should be finding wives, settling down, raising children. Instead, Daniel is out doing Heaven knows what and Thomas will be at sea miles away from Britain! How is it that I have three children of marriageable age, none of which have any interest in actually being married?”

  Benjamin and Polly smirked, happy to have the attention off of them and onto their three elder siblings.

  “In due time, Mother,” said Violet, somewhat mollifying her. “In due time. In the meantime, let us drink to Thomas and the world that awaits him.”

  “To Thomas!” They all joined in, with the exception of Marie, and Thomas grinned, excited about what the future would hold for him.

  1

  Five years later

  Eleanor Adams sat primly on the straight backed chair as her father stomped around, muttering something under his breath. She waited patiently for his judgement to fall, knowing that he would not be able to bring himself to punish her too severely. After all, she was his only child and he had never been able to be too strict with her. In fact, this was the only life Eleanor had ever known. Just her and her father, facing the world and all its tribulations.

  “You cannot simply do as you please
, Eleanor!” her father spluttered, his face now a beetroot red. “What if we had not seen you?”

  Eleanor stifled a sigh of frustration. “Papa, you know me better than that. I simply had to investigate whatever it was down there.” A small smile crept across her face. “And, if I had not, then we would currently not have these three small trunks in our possession.” She indicated the three, still damp, trunks that sat beside her father’s desk, glancing at them before returning her gaze to her father.

  To her very great relief, he sighed and sat down heavily, although he continued to shake his head at her. Eleanor hid her smile. She was triumphant.

  “We have not opened them yet, Eleanor,” her father said, a little gruffly. “You could have risked your life for nothing.”

  In response, Eleanor tossed her head, aware of the spots of moisture that shook off her long flaxen locks. “I am one of the best swimmers among the crew, Papa, you know that.”

  “But still,” he retorted. “You cannot just dive off the ship without alerting someone to what you have found! Had you done so, I could have dropped the anchor and gone to see what was there.”

  Eleanor bit her lip, aware that her father was being more than reasonable. Had any one of his crew done what she had, they would have been severely punished. It was only because she was the captain’s daughter that she had done such a thing. Her cheeks warmed. “I was trying to prove myself, Papa,” she explained, more quietly. “As the only woman on board, I have to take extra steps to show my worth.”

  His face softened. "Eleanor, you already have my respect and the respect of the crew. For over twenty years you have traveled the seas with us and you have no need to prove yourself. Doing such a thing is both dangerous and shows a lack of regard for me – not only as your father but also as your captain." His lined face grew more serious, as his bushy eyebrows clung together. "You know that I will need to punish you for what you did, Eleanor. As much as it pains me to do this, you are to be confined to your quarters for two days."