A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “Admit it,” she hissed. “I am nothing more than a glorified broodmare. That’s the only reason you rescued me. Out of some sense of – of obligation! You would have done better to have left me in the field.”

  “Left you to be eaten by wolves?” he said incredulously.

  “At least they wouldn’t have toyed with me first!”

  “No, they would have devoured you in two bites. One if they were particularly hungry.” He raked a hand through his hair, pulling the ends taut. Then the hard lines of his countenance abruptly softened. “Caroline–”

  “Don’t,” she warned, pointing her finger at him. “This is not going to end with my heels up by my head!”

  Roguish interest stirred in his gaze. “We haven’t tried that position before.”

  “And we are not going to!” She stomped her foot. “Stop looking at me like that!”

  “Like what?” he challenged huskily as he stepped forward, crowding her back against a side table. A vase filled with red holly berries wobbled and nearly fell over when Caroline bumped the table with her hip. She crossed her arms over her chest; a pitiful defense against his scorching stare but it was the only one she had.

  “I know exactly what you are doing and I am not going to fall for it. Not this time.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said quietly. “Because I am falling for you.”

  “I meant what I said in my bedchamber and I – what?” she said blankly when his words finally registered through the angry fog she’d wrapped herself in. “You’re what?”

  His blue eyes never leaving hers, he reached out and took her small hands into his larger ones. “I am falling for you,” he repeated, gently squeezing her fingers. “I am sorry it has taken me this long to realize it. I know I have not been a good husband, but if you give me the chance I can do better. I will do better.”

  Caroline felt a flicker of hope blossoming amidst the broken shards of her heart…but then she remembered everything he had done, and everything he had said, and she grabbed the hope and yanked it out before it could take root.

  “I don’t believe you.” Snatching her hands away, she side-stepped around the table and began to edge towards the door. “You’re just saying those things so I will be intimate with you again.”

  “No I’m not. Well, yes I am,” he admitted, cupping the back of his neck, “but if you would just hear me out–”

  “I am not interested in anything you have to say.”

  He scowled at her. “I am trying to bare my heart to you. The least you could is listen.”

  “The least I could do? What makes you think I owe you anything?” she said incredulously.

  “You’re right. You do not owe me–”

  “You have made my life miserable since the moment you placed this ring upon my finger!” Firelight reflected off the plain gold band when she lifted her hand. “Did you honestly think a few words are enough to fix everything? I meant what I said before. You are a cold, callous, cruel man. And it was my fault for believing you could ever be anything else.”

  Before she could change her mind, she yanked the ring off and threw it at the fire with all of her might. Cursing, Eric leapt forward and tried to catch it before it fell into the flames, but she didn’t bother to wait and see if he had. For all she was concerned, it could burn right along with the rest of their marriage.

  She was done.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christmas morning dawned cold and bright. Having spent a restless night tossing and turning, Caroline considered pulling the blankets up over her head and sleeping the day away. But it was Christmas, and even if the last thing in the world she felt like doing was celebrating, she couldn’t ignore the holiday. Not when it was the only bright spot in an otherwise dismal month.

  “Anne,” she called out, muffling a yawn as she sat up. “I’d like to get ready now.” Her pale eyebrows knitted together when there was no response. “Anne?” she said uncertainly. “Are you there?”

  Perhaps the maid was down the hall. But when she hurriedly tiptoed across the freezing floorboards and opened her door, she didn’t see hide nor hair of Anne. In fact, she didn’t see anyone.

  “That’s peculiar,” she muttered, casting a quick glance left and then right. The main hallway, usually a bustle of activity in the morning, was completely empty. Ducking back into her bedchamber, she quickly pulled on a pair of thick wool socks and knotted her dressing robe closed at the waist. Leaving her hair trailing down her back in a tangle of blonde curls, she went downstairs to discover the first floor was just as devoid of servants as the second had been.

  “Hello?” Confused, she turned in a slow circle. Where was everyone? “Is anyone here? Anne? Mr. Newgate? Cook?”

  “I gave them all the day off.”

  Caroline nearly jumped out of her socks when Eric suddenly appeared behind her. “Oh,” she gasped, slapping a hand over her racing heart as she whirled to face him. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t look very apologetic. “That was not my intention.”

  Casually dressed in a white linen shirt and a pair of gray trousers with his hair damp and curling from a recent bath, he looked as handsome as she’d ever seen him. Not that she was looking. Because she wasn’t. Not at all.

  Well, maybe a little bit.

  “What – what is going on?” she demanded, forcibly tearing her gaze away from the V of golden skin at the base of his neck. “Where is everyone?”

  “Follow me,” he said mysteriously, before he turned and started walking briskly in the direction of the library.

  “Wait! I do not understand – stubborn man,” she broke off under her breath when it became clear he had no intention of stopping. Picking up the hem of her nightgown she hurried after him, feet slipping and sliding on the polished floor.

  Slightly out of breath, she managed to catch up to him just as he reached the library. “What are we doing here?” she asked. “And why is the door closed? It is never closed. Are Anne and Mr. Newgate in there?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “To answer your second question no, your maid and my butler are not in there. As for your first, I thought this would be a fitting place to have it. After all, aside from your bedchamber this is where we’ve spent most of our time together. Granted the majority of it has been spent arguing, but I hope after today that will begin to change.”

  She shook her head. “A fitting place to have what?”

  “Christmas, of course.” He pushed open the door and then stepped to the side, allowing her an unfettered view of the library. What she saw took her breath away. There, taking up most of the fireplace, was the largest Yuletide log she had ever seen. And tied around the middle was a bright red bow.

  “I don’t…I don’t understand.” Eyebrows pulling together in bewilderment, she looked back at Eric over her shoulder. “Where – where did this come from?”

  “The forest.”

  “I know that. I meant what is it doing here?”

  He walked past her into the library and then turned so they were standing face to face. “I cut it down and brought it here for you,” he said simply as he reached out and gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear. For a moment the back of his hand lingered on the soft curve of her cheek and it took all the self-restraint she possessed not to close her eyes and lean into his touch.

  It’s an act, she told herself fiercely. It’s all an act. Do not let him play you for a fool. Not again.

  “If you did this as some sort of trick to try and seduce me–”

  “I did this,” he interrupted, “because you were right.”

  She blinked. “I – I was?”

  “Yes.”

  “About what?”

  His grin was charmingly sheepish. “Everything, mostly. But especially what you said last night about a few words not changing anything. I meant what I said, Caroline. I am falling in love with you. Or maybe I already have.” He shrugged. “I’ve never been in love
before, so I’m not really sure.”

  “Your Grace–”

  “Eric,” he said. “If we are going to become engaged, I think you should call me Eric.”

  “Engaged?” she echoed, truly at a loss. “But we’re already married!”

  “No we’re not. You married the Duke of Readington.”

  “You are the Duke of Readington.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she took a step back. “Are you foxed? Is that why you’re acting so oddly?”

  “I am not foxed and I am not the Duke of Readington.” His gaze hardened. “The Duke of Readington is a cold-hearted bastard who wouldn’t know what love was if it ran him over in the street. He doesn’t deserve his wife, and she bloody well doesn’t deserve him. His wife is kind, and intelligent, and beautiful, while he is–”

  “A dolt?” she suggested.

  “Yes,” he agreed without hesitation. “He’s a right proper dolt.”

  “And who is Eric?” she asked softly as a tendril of warmth began to unfurl inside of her chest, spreading up through her lungs and surrounding the ice that had hardened around her heart.

  “Eric is a man who wants a second chance. He knows he’s not entitled to it, but he prays to God you’ll give it to him nevertheless. I love you, Caroline,” he said huskily. “I am sorry it took me this long to realize it. And I am sorry, so bloody sorry, that I’ve treated you as though you meant nothing to me.”

  “Eric–”

  “You were never nothing, Caroline.” His blue eyes steady on hers, he closed the distance between them. “You were always everything. And that terrified me because I didn’t want to end up like my father, in love with a woman incapable of loving him back. But what I understand now, that I didn’t before, is whatever my parents had, it was never love.” He took her hands. Squeezed them tight. “This is love.”

  “What – what about having a marriage of convenience?” She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe him so desperately that she ached. But for better or for worse, she was no longer the naïve girl who had blindly believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters. She was stronger. Braver. And she would never again settle for anything less than what she deserved.

  “I don’t want convenience.” He laced their fingers together. “I want you. I want you not because of what you can give me, but because you make me happy. You bring light into my darkness, Caroline. So I want you. Just you. For the rest of my life.”

  “What are you doing?” She stared at him in disbelief when he dropped down to his knee and pulled the gold band she’d tried to throw into the fire out of his pocket.

  “Asking you to marry me. Properly, this time.” He looked up at her countenance, and whatever he saw in the swirling depths of her gray eyes made him smile. “Lady Caroline Elizabeth Wentworth, would you do me the great honor of being my wife?” He paused. “Again.”

  “Well at least you remembered my name this time,” she said, blinking back tears.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.” She dashed her knuckles beneath her lashes. “Yes, I do believe it is.”

  He gently slid the ring onto her finger and then leapt to his feet to pull her into a hard, lingering embrace. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “I love you so bloody much. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

  “I love you too,” she said, smiling through her tears. “I love you too.”

  Together they lit the Yuletide log and stood wrapped in each other’s arms as it caught fire and started to burn. With a contended sigh Caroline rested her head on Eric’s shoulder, and he pressed his lips to her hair. It wasn’t the Christmas either one of them had been expecting.

  But that was what made it so perfect.

  Quick Author’s Note

  During the reign of Henry VII (1485 – 1509) wolves were hunted to extinction in England and records indicate the last Scottish wolf was killed in 1680 by Sir Ewen Cameron (although people claim to have seen wolves in Scotland up until the 18th century).

  So if the last wolf was killed in 1509, how did a pack of them threaten Caroline’s life in 1791?

  Well, I might have used just a liiiitle bit of artistic license. While I try to make my historical romances as factual as possible (yes, women actually DID wear bird nests in their hair!) this was one instance where I chose to stretch the timeline a little bit to suit my needs. Because what’s scarier than being trapped in the woods with a pack of wolves nipping at your heels?!

  I hope you can forgive me.

  Prologue

  “Hopeless,” Mrs. Ascot declared flatly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

  As she watched her daughter flounce about the room in something that vaguely resembled a waddle (but looked nothing like a waltz), Lady Ward was forced to agree. Eleanor was a sweet-natured girl. Always happy, if a bit too optimistic at times. Pretty, if one didn’t mind orange hair and freckles. And absolutely, positively, horrendously hopeless.

  “Ellie, dear, that’s enough,” she called out, waving her gloved hand like a white flag of surrender in the hopes of catching her daughter’s attention before she twisted her ankle and fell into the pianoforte. Or knocked over the bookshelf. Or sent the tea service crashing to the floor.

  The first time Eleanor’s clumsiness had revealed itself Lady Ward had attributed it to an uneven floorboard. The second time she’d blamed the wind (even though every window in the drawing room had been tightly closed). But when it happened a third time she was forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, the fault lay with Eleanor. Wanting a second opinion before her daughter’s debut into high society, she’d immediately sent for Mrs. Ascot, an old friend from boarding school who now ran a distinguished training academy for young debutantes. If anyone could help Ellie, it was Mrs. Ascot.

  “There is a girl in my class with a wooden leg who moves more gracefully than your daughter,” Mrs. Ascot declared. Her thin black eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch when Eleanor began to flounce about in a circle, her arms waving madly in the air. “Send for a doctor at once, Helena. The poor thing is having a seizure.”

  Lady Ward really shouldn’t have laughed, but it was either that or dissolve into a puddle of tears, and when had tears ever solved anything? “I – I believe she is attempting a simple rotation. I’m sure if she had a partner it would look more seemly.”

  “Nothing could make what your daughter is doing appear seemly.” The corners of Mrs. Ascot’s stern mouth tightened into a disapproving frown. “I’m sorry, Helena. Truly I am. But there is nothing I can do.”

  “Oh, but surely there is something.”

  “Do you want my advice?”

  “Yes.” Lady Ward nodded so enthusiastically her lace cap almost flew off her head. “Yes, please. I know Ellie may seem a bit rough around the edges, but she really is a lovely girl. It’s just that dancing…well, as you can see dancing is not one of her strengths.”

  “What are some of her strengths?” Mrs. Ascot asked bluntly.

  Lady Ward smiled gamely. “There are almost too many to list, I’m afraid. She’s always had a brilliant head for numbers. Just brilliant. And she loves to read. Lord Ward has always said that if you are looking for Ellie just find the nearest book, and there she’ll be! She also has a great affinity for animals, and is a skilled rider.”

  “What about the gentle arts? Painting? Singing? What instrument does she prefer?”

  “Well…ah…You see, her pursuits have always been a bit more academic in nature.”

  Mrs. Ascot’s frown deepened. “It almost sounds as if Eleanor is a bluestocking.”

  “No, no, no” Lady Ward said, horrified at the very idea. “Certainly not!”

  “I sympathize with you, Helena. Truly. But there is nothing I can do. Sometimes we must simply accept someone for who they are…and who they are not. Your daughter is not destined for a great match, but perhaps with a bit of luck she might find a suitable widower or the third son of a baron.”

  “The – the third son of a bar
on?” Lady Ward sputtered. “Surely she can do better than that!”

  Unfortunately, Eleanor chose that precise moment to lose her balance and fall back into the curtains. With a muffled shriek her feet flew up above her head and she disappeared into the heavy drapes. Lady Ward smiled weakly at Mrs. Ascot.

  “So sorry to have wasted your time. Let me see you out.”

  “Are they gone, Henny?” Waiting until the sound of disappointed footsteps had faded away, Eleanor untangled herself from the curtains and carefully scooped Mrs. Hensworth, her beloved pet hedgehog, out of her pocket.

  She’d found the little insectivore – contrary to popular belief, hedgehogs were not rodents – in the garden stuck in the bottom of a pot. The victim of an attack from above, the little hedgehog had been missing a large chunk of her quills. After nursing her back to health, Eleanor had attempted to release her back into the garden. But Henny (having grown fond of warm milk and blueberry scones) had stubbornly refused to leave her pocket. She’d become Eleanor’s first pet, but not the last. Unbeknownst to her parents, Eleanor had quite the menagerie living in the old garden shed behind their townhouse.

  Her beloved collection of orphaned animals, all of which required her daily attention, was one of the main reasons she’d just made an utter fool of herself in front of Mrs. Ascot. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be shipped off to some training academy for distinguished young women! Eleanor wasn’t distinguished. She was happy. And she saw no reason why her entire life should have to change just because she was now a debutante.

  Debutante.

  How she hated that word! Up until two months ago she’d only heard it a couple of times. Now it felt as though it were being thrown in her face every time she turned around.

  “Debutantes do not slouch.”

  “Debutantes do not eat in the stables.”

  “Debutantes do not read during supper.”