Rowland had thought himself special. A beautiful lady who only seemed to have eyes for him was a dream come true, and as time went by, he knew he was falling for her. He fell for the way she would throw her hand over her mouth when she laughed, the splash of freckles across her nose that darkened during the summer, the slight arch of her eyebrow when she spoke.
Only a short time ago, he had asked for her hand in marriage in the central park they liked to frequent from time to time. He thought it the most romantic way of asking, showing her what a gentleman he could be by expressing his love in public. But she had rejected him immediately.
Even so, Rowland couldn’t find it within him to give up and had continued to court her until he thought it appropriate to ask her again, only six weeks later, through a letter. Now that her response was here, Rowland hardly had the courage to look at it.
Rowland set the glass down and snatched the letter up, ripping into it before he could give it a second thought. The memory of the last letter he had sent her flashed through his mind just as he began to read.
It took a few seconds for him to read it. Then he read it again, letting it settle over him. Then he read it a final time before he rested the letter aside like he had done the letter from the Duke of Gresham.
I should have known.
He really should have. Though he had tried his best to prepare himself for this outcome, it still cut deeper and rocked him harder than he expected it to. She rejected him.
It wasn’t a simple rejection. A rejection of his invitation to go on a simple horse ride together, or for him to visit her, he could handle. But this was a rejection of him, of his name. He had asked her to marry him and she declined.
Rowland preferred to read intellectual books rather than fictitious ones, but he was no stranger to renditions of affairs of the heart. He knew of heartbreak, even had a few friends who claimed they experienced it themselves. They all had different assertions of it—that the pain was as physical as it was emotional, that it was merely numbing, that it was hardening.
Rowland didn’t feel any of that, not at first. He simply felt...defeated. Not something he was used to.
He picked his drink back up and downed it all in a gulp. The burn of it didn’t help to chase away the pain he felt creeping in. In fact, it seemed to have bolstered it and though he knew it was a bad idea, he went about making another one.
Once he was on his third glass, and that blissful haze was settling over him, he called for Linton. His lithe steward appeared only a few moments after, watching him from the doorway. “Sire?”
“I need you to write a letter for me. In my state, I don’t think I’ll be able to make the words properly. Or perhaps I’ll even say something I shouldn’t.”
Linton approached the desk and sat. Rowland remained standing, then after a moment, prowled around the room.
“What would you like me to say, Sire?” Linton asked once he was ready.
“It’s for the Duke of Gresham. Tell him I will be joining him as soon as I am able. You can add a few more flourishes if you’d like. Perhaps even tell him that I’m looking forward to it.”
Linton seemed to ignore the slight slur to his words and went about writing. Rowland continued to pace the room. To an outsider, he looked idle. To Linton, he knew exactly how he looked. Like someone trying to act normal.
“I’ll ride into town tomorrow to find the soonest passage to England.”
“I’ll have your things prepared, Sire.”
“Don’t miss me too much when I’m gone, Linton.”
Linton’s response was simple and quick. “That’s impossible, Sire.”
Chapter 2
Joanna Albertson, née Bagley, the Duchess of Gresham, was a beauty who only seemed to grow more beautiful with time. As she stood in the foyer of Gresham Manor, her beautiful face split by her equally beautiful smile, Hannah couldn’t help picturing her only a few years ago. She had stood in this very spot, welcoming Hannah into the manor after the Duke had taken her out for her first horse ride. Hannah had thought she smelled terribly of horses that day, but her mother had folded her into her arms as if she didn’t.
They didn’t embrace this time. They simply held hands. “It’s great to be back at the manor, isn’t it?” Her Grace asked her, tipping her head as she drank in the sight of the familiar manor.
Hannah nodded in agreement. They had entered the manor together, holding hands, basking in the joy of being home once more. “I didn’t think I would be so happy to see these dusty paintings on the wall as much as I am,” she said with a chuckle.
Her mother laughed with her. “They aren’t dusty,” she chided lightly.
“Forgive me, Mother. I meant, boring.”
“That’s a little more believable.”
They erupted into a fit of giggles as if they were both young ladies with nary a care in the world. In truth, Her Grace was eight-and-thirty years while Hannah was only nineteen and though they looked very much alike, the difference in age was still clear as day.
“Can you believe the Duke is not here to welcome us?” Her Grace said. “And after months of being apart, too.”
“He may be busy, Mother,” Hannah said with a smile. She knew what she was doing, stoking the fire that was her mother’s hidden fury. Everyone in Gresham knew the Duchess was not a lady to be trifled with. She smiled easily enough, but she could snarl just as quickly, too.
She sounded only mildly miffed, though, nothing noteworthy. “Oh, busy nothing. I am his wife and you are his beloved daughter. There should be a ball to welcome us back home.”
“Forgive me, but I hope this will please you instead?”
Hannah turned toward the voice. The butler seemed to have melted into the wall the moment the Duke of Gresham appeared with a broad grin. No doubt to give the family their privacy. “Welcome home, My Dear,” the Duke said, taking Her Grace’s other hand.
Hannah’s father, Christopher Albertson, the Duke of Gresham, was quite unlike his wife. His handsomeness was more composed, as if made from his grace and nobility. It was clear just by looking at him that he had been born into nobility, and happened to be blessed with dazzling hazel eyes and mahogany hair that made the ladies swoon when he was younger. Or so Hannah was told. She was well accustomed to her father’s good looks, so his tales were not impressive to her.
Her mother, on the other hand, had a spirit within her that couldn’t be tamed. She played her role as Duchess well and the people loved her. But she was not like Hannah’s father. Her upbringing hadn’t been encased with propriety and duty like the Duke’s. She had been untethered and had she not fallen for the Duke, Hannah liked to think she would have continued her life as a Traveller. That untamed spirit seemed to manifest itself in her looks, through Joanna’s long, black hair that required a lot for submission, through her unnatural eyes—one brown and the other green.
Hannah looked a lot like her mother, the biggest similarities being their different colored eyes. She shared her father’s tall and slender stature, though she was still dwarfed by him, and had thick, cascading hair like her mother’s, though it was auburn. But her inherited eyes were unmistakable. One glittered green, the other glowed golden.
Hannah slipped her hand out of Her Grace’s as her father drew closer. She prepared herself for the display of affection she was about to witness. “Ah, is this the Duke of Gresham coming to see who’s making a ruckus in his foyer?” her mother said drolly.
Her father shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Forgive me,” he said again. “I had been awaiting the arrival of you two, but I happened to get a little carried away with some business.”
“Understandable.” Her Mother’s easy response was suspicious. Hannah watched on, amused. “A Duke is a busy man.”
The Duke was not so convinced by her words. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. Then he looked at Hannah, eyes twinkling. “She’s upset with me.”
“As she should be,” Hannah said,
raising her chin.
“Ah, and you’re upset with me, too. What did I go and get myself into?”
“It’s nothing, Christopher,” her Mother said, her tone light. “Your daughter and your wife returning from the London Season after months being apart from you should not distract you from the work you have to do. Surely not.” Hannah nodded to herself. At the start of the Season, her father had been tasked with hosting a diplomat from Prussia, which left Her Grace and Hannah on their own for the London Season. Neither parties were complaining, but Hannah would have liked to hear that her father missed them during the months apart.
The Duke wasn’t scared of his wife in the slightest. He chuckled and took her other hand in his before he gave her another kiss. Hannah smiled a little to herself when her mother leaned into it without thought. “I missed you,” His Grace murmured to her.
Her Grace looked at him, her brown and green eyes meeting his hazel ones. “I missed you, too.”
They gazed at each other for a while before His Grace seemed to remember that Hannah was standing there. He let go of his wife and held his hands out to his daughter. “My lovely eldest,” he said with a broad grin. “I’ve missed you as well.”
“I wondered when you two would remember you have an audience,” Hannah said as she stepped into his arms. It was the same as it was months ago, the same as the hug in farewell. Though it was foolish, it was comforting to know that nothing changed here. She relaxed into him. “How have you been, Father?”
“You two are well aware that nothing is the same when you aren’t here,” he said.
She stepped away from him. “What of Rosamund and Violet?”
“Your sisters are with their governess. They are deep in their lessons right now so I didn’t think it wise to disturb them with your arrival.”
“That’s fine,” Her Grace said. “We can all be together while we dine later.”
“You must be tired from your long trip from London, are you not?” he asked them both. His eyes strayed from Her Grace to Hannah and back.
Hannah did feel tired. Riding in a coach for long periods was always draining, though her mother was better company than most. But she shook her head. “I’m not tired but I am a bit famished. I think I will visit Karla once I get settled.”
Karla would be happy to see her. Hannah could picture her making one of her special pies in honor of her return. Ever since Hannah was little, she would pass through the kitchens on the way from the stables and Karla would sit her on one of the stools, hand her a treat, and talk about little things in her life that didn’t matter to a girl Hannah’s age. As they grew older, Hannah began adding her own little tales.
“She will be happy to see you,” her Father said. “I reckon she’s lonely not having you sneak around stealing her treats.”
Hannah knew the words should have made her blush in embarrassment, but she only laughed. “Oh, lovely, I think I should surprise her by swiping a tart or two when I can.”
The Duke chuckled. “Why don’t you go on and see her?” he said to Hannah. His grip on Her Grace’s hand tightened.
Hannah nodded before turning away. She left her parents behind and, as quiet as a mouse, her lady’s maid slipped in behind her. Servants rarely lingered when her parents were together. They were openly in love and the servants preferred to give them their privacy whenever they could.
“Karla will be happy to see you, M’Lady,” her lady’s maid, Lily, murmured. She was soft-spoken, one who preferred to keep her head down and out of sight. She had been even more reserved during their time in London.
Hannah smiled at her. “Are you happy to be back, Lily?”
“Yes, M’Lady. Everything seems the same.” Lily was always one step behind her, close enough for Hannah to hear her soft words.
“Well, I can’t argue with that. I hope I don’t have to leave again for now.”
Lily waited until they were within the confines of Hannah’s bedchamber to speak again. “But what if His Grace makes you attend the next Season?”
“Well, Lily,” Hannah said, sitting on her bed with a loud sigh. “That would be utterly dreadful.”
Chapter 3
“How lovely this is,” Hannah said absently, her fingers making quick work of the needlework in her hands. “To have us all together again.”
Though she didn’t look up, her mother nodded in agreement. She declined to join her in needlework. Instead, she sat opposite Hannah with a book in her hands. Under the light through the exposed windows, she was simply radiant. “It is,” she said. “It tears me up to see you three all together again.”
“Mother…” To the left of her, Rosamund looked up. Her own needlework fell in her lap, her nose wrinkling. “Please don’t cry.”
Hannah smiled softly. She knew Rosamund wasn’t saying that because she dreaded to see her mother sad, she simply hated seeing tears. It made her uncomfortable.
Violet, ever eager to follow in Rosamund’s footsteps, chimed in. “Yes, Mother. Tears are unbecoming of a lady.”
In the corner of the room, Rosamund’s and Violet’s governess, Miss Jolley, raised her hand in protest. Her Grace shot Miss Jolley a look of deep humor. “Unbecoming of a lady?”
“Yes,” Violet said determinedly. She wasn’t as good at needlework as Rosamund but she continued on with it. “Miss Jolley told us that there are things a lady shouldn’t do because it is unbecoming.”
“And did she say a lady is not allowed to cry?”
“No, but…” Violet looked helplessly at Rosamund. Rosamund didn’t spare her a glance.
“I’m sure Miss Jolley had other things in mind when she told you that, Violet,” Hannah said gently.
Violet fell into silence, not knowing how to advance her argument. She was two years younger than Rosamund, only seven, with the same eyes as their father and the same hair as their mother. Rosamund, on the other hand, had bright green eyes that seemed to pick up on everything, and her hair was the same shade as the Duke’s. Currently, they both wore the same hairstyle, Violet copying her older sister as usual.
Hannah glanced at her mother, who was silently smiling to herself. While Violet liked to follow Rosamund, Rosamund positively shadowed Hannah’s every move, which was why the two were both sitting still, working on their embroidery. Miss Jolley had a much more difficult time trying to get them to focus on such a task.
“Hannah,” Rosamund spoke up suddenly. “Did you not find a husband while you were away?”
Hannah was unsurprised to hear such a bold question from her bold sister. She decided to play around with her a little. “Did you want me to come back with a marriage proposal, Rosamund?”
“Doesn’t every lady wish for that when they come out during the London Season?”
Smart girl, you know too much.
“Not every girl,” Hannah said. “Not me.”
“Why not?” asked Violet.
How can I best explain it to children?
Hannah thought about it for a moment. Her Grace remained quiet, eyes on her book. Finally, Hannah settled on the simplest response. “I did not fall in love with any of the gentlemen I met.”
Both her sisters looked at her in confusion. “Love?” The word was still foreign to them.
Such young minds.
“Yes, my dears. I had hoped to find someone I could love, but alas, it did not happen.”
“I do not understand,” Violet said.
“Your sister,” Her Grace spoke up, “is enraptured with the thought of marrying someone she truly loves. A rather daring thing to want in a society like ours.”
Yet her mother supported her wholeheartedly. Her Grace was not born into the gentry. She had led a simple life with a band of Travellers when she met Hannah’s father. They married out of love, a story Hannah always held dear in her heart.
Against all odds, against pressures of society and people who conspired to keep them apart, they had found each other in the end. Her Grace had given birth to Hannah befor
e she found the Duke again and though she had no place in the Duke’s life—what with him already being married to the previous Duchess—the Duke of Gresham had still taken them into his manor, putting back together the pieces of their fractured love. Hannah still wondered what would have happened if the late Duchess, and her father, hadn’t been found guilty of the Duke’s poisoning.
Violet and Rosamund, though they were well aware of their parent’s affection for each other, did not truly understand just how deeply it ran.
Hannah did, however, and she had sworn to herself that she would follow in their footsteps. She would be foolish to witness such devotion and marry someone who didn’t love her with as much fervor. Her father had done so once before. She would not make the same mistake.
Courteously Seduced By An Enigmatic Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 2
