Not Quite a Duchess: A Sweet Victorian Gothic Historical Romance (The Boston Heiresses Book 1)

by Ava Rose

  Not Quite a Duchess

  The Boston Heiresses

  Book 1

  by

  Ava Rose

  Not Quite a Duchess (The Boston Heiresses) © Copyright 2020 Ava Rose

  All rights reserved

  Published by Flourish Books

  Cover design by Milktee Studios

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and events portrayed in this work are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Wrexford House, Boston

  October 1891

  “Do you know if His Royal Highness, Prince Penforth, will be in attendance tonight, Your Grace?” Edith Harper asked as she accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing footman.

  Anna rolled her eyes at Edith’s formal address. Saying she disliked being called your grace would be putting it mildly. Yes, Anna Trevallyn was now a duchess in her own right and the daughter of one of England’s most influential dukes, the late Duke Wrexford, but she would rather be called Anna. Or Lady Anna, if one insisted on formality. She had made that clear to everyone in her circle since the day her father received the rare permission to pass the coveted title down to his daughter. Edith, however, was the obsequious type and always used formal address.

  “I don’t know,” Anna answered, glancing around. Would Penforth attend? He usually did, but then locked himself away somewhere private seemingly to avoid everyone. The prince was an enigma that Anna had not yet managed to solve.

  Edith turned and tapped the shoulder of their companion, Elizabeth Armstrong-Leeds. Libby was far more agreeable than her enigmatic brother, and had been Anna’s best friend for many years. “Will your brother be in attendance tonight, Your Highness?”

  Libby, whose debate with Lord Remington had just been interrupted, huffed out an annoyed breath. “How would I know?”

  “Oh, but why not? He is your brother.”

  “I hardly know what is in my brother’s mind,” she replied with an impatient air, before turning her attention back to Lord Remington.

  Edith ignored the obvious rebuff and turned back to Anna. “How does my dress look?” She smoothed the skirt of her pink satin evening dress.

  Anna’s eyes did a slow assessment of the woman’s appearance. The dress was too colorful for the current moment, when women preferred the sophistication that blues and greens gave them. The mint green flowers on the dress did nothing to beautify the garment. If anything, the whole ensemble clashed with Edith’s pale complexion.

  “Pretty as a cake,” Anna lied, plastering on a false smile as she scanned the guests. She loved hosting parties like this, but they could veer toward the tedious when proper conversation was lacking, and ladies like Edith Harper often talked nonsense.

  “Lady Anna,” Lord Remington called her attention. “Since you love to discuss politics, who do you think will win the coming mayoral race for our fair city of Boston?”

  Anna sighed before replying with a stiff smile, “I hardly think this is the place to discuss such matters, sir.”

  He scoffed, “You are afraid, you mean?”

  Anna raised a brow. Ever since she’d shown awareness of any subject other than painting, sewing or looking for a husband, men challenged her just to prove their own superiority and remind her that, as a female, her opinions were worthless.

  “Sir, I am loathe to discuss the topic in a crowded ballroom. As the hostess of tonight’s soiree, it is my duty to ensure everyone has an enjoyable time.”

  He tugged down his vest and pushed his chin forward, ready to engage. “I rather think—”

  “Please excuse me, I think my attention is required elsewhere.” She cut him off, leaving him standing with his mouth opening and closing like a washed-up fish. Not a good look, my Lord.

  As she swiveled away from Remington, Anna collided with someone. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. She could feel his strong energy shrouding her, pulling her into its mysterious depths. Firm hands shot out to steady her.

  “You need to watch your step,” came his deep voice, finally drawing her gaze up to his.

  His Royal Highness, Prince Penforth Armstrong-Leeds’ dark eyes arrested hers, trapping them in a hard stare that sent a slight shiver through her body. As always, he unsettled her. She could not understand why she always reacted to him so strongly. He was not a nice man, and neither was he in possession of any particular charm.

  Penforth was a hundredth or so in line for the throne of the tiny principality of Eskoania, but he was still a prince nevertheless. A Baron, too. Though one could hardly discern his ties to senior peerage unless advised of them.

  “Penforth,” she said, trying to sound insouciant. He released her immediately, bowing slightly in greeting.

  “Your Highness, how wonderful to see you!” Edith came up to them, offering her gloved hand for a kiss.

  Anna mentally rolled her eyes. The woman must have been anticipating this moment since her arrival.

  To his credit, Penforth placed a soft kiss on Edith’s knuckles and murmured, “Likewise,” before giving Anna a glance of dismay.

  She grinned at him, suddenly enjoying herself, and his brows came down.

  “I would have been most disappointed had you not turned up tonight,” Edith simpered.

  “I am sure,” he said brusquely, his obsidian gaze still on Anna.

  Save me, those eyes pleaded. At least, that was what Anna imagined. The prince would never plead with anyone, but it was evident he wanted to get away from Edith. With an impertinent wink and a smile she hoped was suggestive, she slipped away, but not before her ears caught his frustrated groan. For once, Edith had done something good for Anna; rescued her from having to suffer the company of such a man.

  ***

  As expected with any gathering of Boston's finest, there was a confounding need for everyone to converse with the hostess. Anna had graciously taken it upon herself to play that role while her widowed mother was staying with family in England, and Pen watched with growing frustration as Anna was accosted at every turn by either a society matron seeking to match her with a son who had just come into his title, or a gentleman aiming to challenge her views on worldly matters. Or even worse, in Pen’s view—wanting a dance.

  It seemed as if everyone wanted a piece of the unusual Duchess Wrexford. It wasn’t often an unmarried woman inherited a title such as hers. It was testament to the strength of Anna’s personality that Boston society had not turned their backs on her for the controversial decision by her late father, but rather, had stepped up their efforts to ingratiate themselves.

  It annoyed the devil out of h
im that there did not ever seem to be a spare minute in which he could talk with his sister’s greatest friend.

  “There are people out on the terrace. Shall we step out for some fresh air, Your Highness?” Miss Harper asked, squeezing his arm.

  He’d almost forgotten her existence. “I would rather remain indoors. It looks like a storm is coming,” he replied, still keeping his eyes on Anna. She was dancing now with a gentleman he did not recognize.

  There were very few moments in which he wished his injury did not impair his ability to dance…this was one of them. He did not like Anna Trevallyn—he hardly liked anyone—but she moved with so much grace he felt the urge to be the one holding her, twirling her, having those lovely blue eyes gaze up into his.

  “Oh, you don’t like storms?”

  “On the contrary.”

  “Then why don’t you want to go out onto the terrace?”

  He tore his eyes away from Anna long enough to study Miss Harper’s face. “I do not wish to get wet. Would you like another drink?”

  Her green eyes glittered as she breathed a hearty, “Oh, yes! Perhaps, champagne this time?”

  Pen steered the woman toward the refreshment table where he picked up a fresh glass and handed it to her. After she’d taken several sips, he pulled her hand out from the crook of his elbow and gave it an avuncular pat.

  “It was nice seeing you, Miss Harper. Please excuse me.” He turned and left.

  “What about the terrace?” she called after him.

  Pen ignored her. He should feel guilty for abandoning her like that, but his conscience had long since been squelched into non-existence. He had little patience for women who were not his mother or sisters, and even less for women such as the simpering Miss Harper.

  His mood was already dark; add the dull pain in his leg to the mix and the beast within began to stir. Exiting the ballroom, he made his way to the room where he often spent time while at Anna’s social events—the empty salon down the hall. He poured himself a glass of the fine brandy that sat on a sideboard.

  Much more suitable to his mood than lemonade or insipid bubbles.

  “Remind me again why I attend these dratted parties,” he muttered out loud.

  The answer hovered in his mind but he would rather be shot than admit the truth.

  ***

  After a waltz that had felt infernally long, Anna gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing footman. She had just taken a sip when she heard her name called. She turned to see Libby approaching.

  "Look." Libby pouted and pointed down at her emerald-green dress. The front, from the middle of the bodice right down the skirt, was soaked.

  "What happened?"

  "Edith happened," Libby ground out. “I don’t know why I tolerate that stupid woman.”

  Anna's head swiveled to look for Edith. She found her standing by the refreshment table, looking forlorn.

  "Didn’t I leave her with Pen?" Anna asked.

  Libby rolled her eyes. “You know my brother. He dumped her over there, and in her distress she poured champagne all over me."

  Anna huffed out a breath. "What a waste of fine silk. Though I am sure she didn’t do it on purpose."

  “I know. I am just very irritated right now. I'll go upstairs and change."

  Libby was staying with Anna while the latter’s mother was away. Not that she was much of a chaperone. The two friends were as bad as each other when it came to adventure. Even though Libby lived only a short distance away, they had half-lived in each other’s homes since the moment they first met.

  “Feel free to grab one of my dresses,” Anna called as Libby left to change.

  She looked out the window briefly before she was asked to dance again. It was windy and the overcast night sky foreshadowed a storm. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a footman—one of the newly hired ones—exiting the ballroom with several full glasses of champagne on a tray. It was quite unusual for that many full glasses to be taken out when nearly all the guests were either in the ballroom or on the terrace which extended from the ballroom, but she decided not to worry about such things tonight.

  By the hour of midnight, Anna's head was spinning and there was a harrowing storm outside that none of the guests seemed concerned about. If one more gentleman asked her to dance, she was going to faint. Well, her robust constitution would not exactly permit her body to swoon, so she would have to feign it.

  Looking once more at the rain-pelted windows, a chill went through her, causing her to wrap her arms around herself. The storm did not look like it would let up any time soon. If anything, the rain and wind appeared to be increasing. The almost deafening sound of thunder made her jump.

  Then seconds later, everything went dark.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Pen blinked in the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust before he moved from his chair. Presumably the storm had somehow caused damage to the new-fangled gas lighting system. There was something to be said for the old ways. A candle and sconce could always be relied upon. He remembered seeing a taper and a matchbox on the escritoire by the window somewhere to his left and, feeling around, he found and lit the taper. He made his way back to the ballroom intending to find his sister and check on her welfare before heading home. Surely all the guests would now wish to depart, and perhaps he could beat the crowd and leave before the roads became too congested with carriages.

  He found chaos where before, order had reigned. The music had stopped, and the ballroom exits were choked with everyone trying to get out all at once. Pen could feel their collective panic thickening the air. It was just a blackout, and candles had been relit and still illuminated the hallways of Wrexford House. He could not understand their panic. That said, he could not understand why the Boston Brahmins did half the things they did.

  After what seemed like a long wait, the ballroom doors cleared enough for him to pass through. He looked around for Libby but could not see her. He looked for Anna next and found her talking to an elderly matron. Again, he had to wait, this time for the old lady to finish complaining about how wet it would be outside.

  "Have you seen Libby?" he brusquely asked, as soon as the lady was out of earshot.

  She looked around the room, a frown of concentration stilling her usually animated face. "I think she must still be upstairs in her room. Her dress was ruined earlier and she went up to change. I don't think she's come back down."

  "She's probably tired," he surmised. "Tell her good night from me. I’m heading home shortly."

  A wry smile lifted the corner of her mouth and her vivid blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "You do have it in you, after all, don't you?"

  He immediately put up his defenses. "What do you mean?" If he let her, Anna would pick him apart sinew by sinew.

  "You can be sweet when you want to be."

  "Yes, well, Libby is my sister."

  "I suppose that doesn't count, then."

  "Have you finished nattering? I must leave."

  When most women would have been outraged by his deliberate crassness, Anna only looked amused.

  "I take back my statement, sir," she said. "Perhaps you are not sweet at all."

  "It’s the reason we never talk. Besides, I have no obligation to be nice to anyone."

  She quirked a brow. "You wanted to see Libby and bid her goodnight before you leave. That is not nice. Not nice at all!"

  "She is my sister," he ground out.

  She grinned. "Exactly my point."

  The little minx had just twisted the situation around and made him inadvertently admit things. "Goodnight," he said and swiftly turned on his heels without so much as a bow.

  ***

  As much as she loved baiting Penforth, it was time to put him out of her thoughts. What had happened to Libby? It was unlike her to not return to the ballroom after changing. Pen might be right and she was tired, but she'd not looked it. The more Anna thought about it, the more an unsettling feeling found its way to her stomach. It
was unexplainable, but something did not feel right.

  She took a lit candlestick from a side table in the hallway and went upstairs. It might be nothing. It also might be the storm, or the darkness, or even the champagne she’d had, that was causing this feeling of dread to settle deep within her bones.

  With tentative hands, Anna opened the door and stepped into the room. The wind hit her first, blowing out the candle in her grip, and her arm came up to shield her face. She put the candlestick down on the carpeted floor and went to pull the shutters closed. Once done, she turned to look around the darkened room, not quite seeing anything clearly.

  "Libby?" she called, quietly at first.

  Silence was the only answer.

  "Libby, are you in here?"

  The faint dread that had foreshadowed this moment came back with full intensity. Trying not to panic, Anna found a match and relit the room’s candles before searching the area and adjoining chamber for her friend.

  Everywhere was empty. Yes, the princess had obviously been here, because her ruined dress lay on the bed.

  But Libby herself was missing.

  ***

  Pen pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. So much for beating the crowd. There was a long line at the front door with most guests reluctant to step out into the rain. He’d been waiting for a quarter of an hour for the entrance to clear. Sadly, things had only gotten worse with the gaggle of ladies dominating the area insisting on waiting until the rain let up.

  Had they failed to recognize that this was a storm? One that certainly did not look like it would be subsiding anytime soon. There was a simple solution that no one seemed to be thinking about.

  He stepped forward, cleared his throat, and said in a clear, loud voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, it isn’t safe to journey to your homes in these stormy conditions. Perhaps if we all return to the ballroom, I am positive Lady Anna will see to our comfort.”

  “Oh, what a splendid notion,” he heard a gentleman call out from the back. There was a rush of murmurs as the guests agreed. Then in a very civilized manner, the crowd began a procession back toward the ballroom.