When a Duchess Says I Do

by Grace Burrowes

  Papa watched Duncan with a brooding curiosity, as if Duncan were familiar but Papa could not recall where they’d met.

  “You remind me of somebody,” Papa said.

  “Duncan Wentworth, at your service.” He did not bow but instead studied the dragon.

  The house was more of a showplace than a home. Matilda did not particularly care for its appointments, though the location was enviably refined, and the building itself well constructed. Papa, though, treasured this place.

  More than he’d treasured his only daughter?

  “I’ll take the house,” Matilda said, “and all of its contents. You may have a week, Papa, and then you will depart on an extended tour of the Continent. Take a few items of sentimental value, but don’t think to loot the whole inventory. I want none of the current staff underfoot, and I expect you to pension them all generously. Bide with friends, if any you have, or set up a household in Paris. I care what becomes of you, but for now, having a substantial body of water between us would be well advised.”

  Papa looked like he wanted to argue.

  Duncan held the dragon vase up to the morning sunlight, held it high enough that if he dropped it, the dragon would shatter.

  “You want the house,” Papa said slowly, “and its contents.”

  “Little enough compensation for putting a woman at risk of death, bodily harm, and worse,” Duncan said, returning the dragon to its perch. “Did you know you’re an accessory to kidnapping? I’m sure your generals will flock to your defense when those charges are laid, though, of course, they were complicit in the crime too. Matilda might have gone with Parker willingly at first to spare harm to the innocent, but she did not agree to be locked in her chamber and forced to wed him.”

  Matilda liked that Duncan had thought three moves ahead of Papa’s strategy. She liked the utter lack of a facile retort from Papa as well.

  “I neglected to introduce Mr. Wentworth to you properly,” she said. “He’s cousin to the Duke of Walden, and on particularly good terms with Lord Stephen Wentworth.”

  Papa rubbed his forehead as if weary. “I will sign the house over to you legally, with all of its contents, as is. When I have established a household on the Continent, I’ll write to you here.”

  Matilda rose. “I won’t be here, and neither will all of this expensive, beautiful art. Safe journey, Papa. You may write to me care of the Duke and Duchess of Walden on Birdsong Lane. Mr. Wentworth, if you’d see me back to the carriage?”

  Duncan sketched a bow in Papa’s direction, then held the door for Matilda. He assisted her with her cloak at the door rather than allow Carlu to perform that courtesy, and ushered her out the front door and into the waiting carriage.

  This time he took the place beside her on the forward-facing bench. “Well done, Your Grace. You served him a very tidy checkmate.”

  Matilda took Duncan’s arm and arranged it around her shoulders. “I never have felt like a duchess nor cared to be addressed as such.” The coach moved off, and a simmering relief gathered momentum in Matilda’s heart.

  “How shall I address you?” Duncan asked.

  My dear. She’d loved it when he’d called her that, but today was a day for besting foes, confronting traitors, and putting the past to rest.

  “I’d like it very much if you’d call me Mrs. Wentworth.”

  “I’d like it very much if the whole world called you Mrs. Wentworth, but first, we have a few matters to discuss.”

  The last, lingering shadow on Matilda’s mood dissipated. She knew exactly what to do with all of Papa’s precious clutter, she’d never have to deal with Atticus Parker again, and she’d soon become Mrs. Duncan Wentworth. She fell asleep in Duncan’s embrace and dreamed of baby bunnies.

  * * *

  Jane had taken one look at Matilda and enveloped Duncan’s beloved in a silent hug. The ladies had disappeared abovestairs, arm in arm, heads close together.

  “Parker will resign his commission,” Quinn said, prowling around the Walden estate office. “Though the generals might mutter about treason and making an example of him, he’ll likely subsist in foreign parts on a remittance from his brother, possibly for the rest of his life.”

  “Please see to it that the colonel’s fate remains uncertain for at least a short time,” Duncan said. “Matilda wandered in the wilderness for weeks when her only crime was trying to protect her idiot father. Let the great war hero face the thought of ignominious death, let it wrap around his awareness until all of his arrogance is effectively strangled and some humility has room to grow.”

  “Are you handing out penances now?” Stephen asked, taking the couch along the estate office’s inside wall.

  “Not penance,” Duncan said. “Detention for a student with more pride than brains. The colonel was a greedy fool. But then, a system that confers vast wealth on one brother and leaves the other with little isn’t exactly brilliant.”

  “Our Duncan is a flaming radical,” Stephen marveled, polishing the gold handle of his walking stick on his coat sleeve. “My staid, reliable cousin now spouts revolutionary notions. Years in low company on the Continent have clearly had an effect.”

  Duncan took the seat behind the desk, his knees suffering a curious weakness after the interview with Wakefield. Wakefield had let his generals continue their dangerous game rather than risk their displeasure. Duncan had held out hope that Thomas Wakefield had been unable to help his daughter, not merely unwilling.

  Wakefield had simply chosen thirty pieces of silver over his own honor. Perhaps Matilda’s father should have studied for the church.

  “You sent Wakefield packing?” Quinn asked.

  “Matilda gave her papa a week to pension the staff, choose a few mementos, and quit the realm. He betrayed her trust, exploited her, failed her when she needed him.…She’s being more lenient than I would be.”

  “No she isn’t,” Stephen said. “You are the forgiving sort, else you’d have tossed me from the deck of a few ships. I’ve never thanked you for your forbearance.”

  Quinn pretended to dab at a smudge on the silver wax jack gleaming in the midday sunshine.

  “Don’t be maudlin,” Duncan retorted. “You are an antidote to boredom, and those are ever in short supply onboard a ship.”

  Where was Matilda? Would she sleep the day away? What were her plans for Wakefield’s house, and when could Duncan be alone with her again? He had told the truth earlier in the day when he’d informed the marquess’s butler that he was in possession of a ring for the duchess.

  “I’m also dead on my feet, as the saying goes.” Stephen scooted to the edge of the sofa and hoisted himself into his Bath chair. “All of this drama has left me in need of a nap. Somebody should write to the household at Brightwell and let them know your duchess is safe.”

  “I’ll tell them myself when I return there shortly,” Duncan said. “I was hoping you’d come for another visit after the first of the year.”

  Stephen had wheeled himself halfway to the door. “I didn’t quite finish my modifications to your back stairway, did I?”

  Quinn set down the wax jack. “You let Stephen start hammering and sawing when you know what his little projects end up costing?”

  “I know I will be without a steward come the new year,” Duncan said, rising. “I’ll write to Trostle today informing him of my decision and send the letter by express. Trostle has family, and they have means. Let them deal with his venery. I suspect Jinks’s uncle would make a very trustworthy steward, but I’d like to put that request to him in person. Right now, Stephen has projects in progress that will enhance the value of my home, and I find his company delightful.”

  Stephen smiled at his knees. “Now, you’re telling falsehoods, old boy. True love has addled even your impressive—”

  The door opened and Matilda slipped into the room, Jane on her heels. Duncan’s duchess looked rested, and she was wearing a high-waisted dress of green velvet—a simple, elegant frock, not that expensive con
coction sewn for her wedding with Parker. Her hair was in a braided coronet, like a tiara, but prettier.

  “Quinn and Stephen,” Jane said, “you will join me for luncheon now.”

  “Yes, love,” Quinn said, marching for the door. “You heard her, Stephen.”

  Stephen wheeled himself into the corridor, Quinn following. Jane paused at the door, looking both pleased and worried.

  “We’ll be down shortly,” Matilda said.

  “No hurry,” Jane replied. “None at all. Take your time.” She smiled, and Duncan had the certain thought that if he failed to arrive at table as an engaged man, Jane would order him right back upstairs to see the business done properly.

  As well she should.

  “She’s very dear,” Matilda said, when they were alone behind a closed door. “They all are. You are fortunate in your family.”

  Duncan held open his arms and Matilda came to him. “You are very dear,” he said. How precious she was in his embrace. She wasn’t the wraith she’d been weeks ago, though she was still petite.

  With the heart of a lioness.

  Matilda seemed content to hold him and be held by him, but the Wentworths waited below, and Duncan could be patient no longer. He stepped back, though only far enough to sink to one knee.

  “I was stumbling about in a woods of my own making,” he said, “and you rescued me. Had you not taken me in hand, I’d be bewildered still, increasingly given to conversation with long-dead philosophers, my wealth plundered by crooked hirelings, my family despairing of me. Without you, I cannot be the person I hope to be, Matilda. Please make your home with me at Brightwell, or anywhere, and be my wife.”

  He took the simple gold band from his pocket and tucked it into her grasp, folding her fingers around a token too plain for the sentiments sparkling in his heart.

  “Duncan Wentworth, you took my part when I had no allies, you protected me, and would not let me come to harm. You played me to a draw. Of course I will be your wife.”

  He sprang to his feet, not a twinge of protest from either knee. “Do you mean that? You’ll put up with my silences and my ducal relatives? You’ll show me how to turn Brightwell into a home? Help me sort through my journals and possibly even publish them? Stephen will visit frequently—the man’s lonely, does he but know it—and I suppose we’ll have to entertain. I hate entertaining. The lady cousins will come down from the north, and we will be expected to offer hospitality. I have no notion—”

  Matilda kissed him mid-babble. “I am a duchess. Hospitality is easy. We offer food, warmth, safety from the elements, and good company. You excel at hospitality, but Duncan, about your journals?”

  He had to kiss her back, at length. He was considering locking the door when his mind seized on a detail. “What journals?”

  “Those brilliant works of scholarly charm that will fetch a very handsome sum from any number of publishers.”

  “Scholarly charm is a contradiction in terms. I like the part about the handsome sum. To make Brightwell worthy of a duchess will require a very handsome sum.” Which he would somehow come up with, if he had to offer Latin classes to the squire’s sons to do it.

  Matilda locked the door and then returned to his embrace. “Papa’s art collection will fund all the renovations we’d ever care to make at Brightwell. My dower portion will take care of any remaining—”

  “Your dower portion is for you, and for your children.”

  “Our children. I sent your treatise on Sicily to my man of business, Duncan. He’s probably even now having copies made to send to every reputable travel publisher in London and Paris. We’ll take bids and negotiate.”

  Children. Matilda had mentioned children, and…Duncan left off nuzzling the spot below her ear. “What are you going on about?”

  “Parker found me near the posting inn not only because the day was too pretty for me to hide indoors, but also because I was determined to mail a sample of your writing to my English solicitors. I will see your travelogues published, and your genius will be admired and compensated as it deserves to be admired and compensated. I wanted to do at least that much for the man who saved my life.”

  She patted his lapel and Duncan knew why cats purred. “All I did was offer you a meal, my dear. You saved my life.” Duncan was talking about more than her ability to fend off poachers, and she seemed to know that.

  “We did not play to a draw,” she said.

  She tucked in close, and Duncan sent up a prayer of gratitude for locked doors and honest duchesses. “Neither of us lost.” Though he was quickly losing any interest in joining the family for luncheon.

  Matilda stroked his chest this time, then slid her hand lower. “We both won.”

  Lovely, lovely woman, and Duncan aspired to be her lovely, lovely man. “Jane said we need not hurry downstairs. Let’s both win again, shall we?”

  “A fine notion, Mr. Wentworth.”

  They were very late for lunch, and not exactly on time for dinner, or breakfast, but they did both win—every time.

  About the Author

  Grace Burrowes grew up in central Pennsylvania and is the sixth out of seven children. She discovered romance novels when in junior high (back when there was such a thing), and has been reading them voraciously ever since. Grace has a bachelor’s degree in political science and a bachelor of music in music history (both from Pennsylvania State University), a master’s degree in conflict transformation from Eastern Mennonite University, and a juris doctor from the National Law Center at the George Washington University.

  Grace writes Georgian, Regency, Scottish Victorian, and contemporary romances in both novella and novel lengths. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, and enjoys giving workshops and speaking at writers’ conferences. She also loves to hear from her readers, and can be reached through her website, graceburrowes.com.

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  Also by Grace Burrowes

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  The Trouble with Dukes

  Too Scot to Handle

  No Other Duke Will Do

  A Rogue of Her Own

  Rogues to Riches Series

  My One and Only Duke

  HIGH ACCLAIM

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  —Library Journal, starred review

  “A delicious read. Best of the Month pick.”

  —Apple Books

  A ROGUE OF HER OWN

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  –Library Journal, starred review

  NO OTHER DUKE WILL DO

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  TOO SCOT TO HANDLE

  “A well-plotted, beautifully written story made all the more satisfying by its delightful secondary characters.”

  –Library Journal, starred review

  “Delightful plotlines, heartfelt emotions, humor and realistic, honest characters, have turned her Windham series spinoffs into a fan favorite…a gem of
a read.”

  –RT Book Reviews, Top Pick

  THE TROUBLE WITH DUKES

  “The hero of The Trouble with Dukes reminds me of Mary Balogh’s charming men, and the heroine brings to mind Sarah MacLean’s intelligent, fiery women…This is a wonderfully funny, moving romance, not to be missed!”

  –Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author

  “The Trouble with Dukes has everything Grace Burrowes’s many fans have come to adore: a swoonworthy hero, a strong heroine, humor, and passion. Her characters not only know their own hearts, but share them with fearless joy. Grace Burrowes is a romance treasure.”

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  “Readers who enjoy Tessa Dare will embrace…this affecting and clever tale.”

  –Booklist