The Duke That I Marry: A Spinster Heiresses Novel

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You are jealous,” Cassandra noted, as if it was a mark in his favor.

  “I am not,” Willa insisted. “Women can stare at him all they wish.”

  “Some have done more than stare.”

  “You are speaking of Lady Bainhurst.” Willa’s appetite left her. She set the cake back on the tray. “I’m not pleased about that.”

  “I don’t blame you. He was besotted with her. But I was under the impression she gave him his marching orders weeks before your betrothal. Is he still trailing after her?”

  “I don’t know. Her name was linked with someone else’s, but they say her husband is watching her closely. Father insisted on inviting them to the wedding breakfast. He adores currying favor wherever he can.”

  “Lord Bainhurst is quite powerful, but still, to have her here on your wedding day?”

  “I know.” Willa shrugged her opinion. “Thankfully, they are out of town and not scheduled to return.”

  “Then that means Camberly hasn’t been around Letty.”

  “I don’t know if he has or not.” The subject made her physically ill. Cassandra had set the book on the table by the tray. Willa had a strong desire to knock it to the floor. She stared at the cover as she said, “Letty is married. An honorable man respects those boundaries. I find it disgraceful. Disgusting, actually. If I hadn’t read those poems, I would have seen Camberly sooner for the man he is.”

  Cassandra sat quiet.

  Willa met her eye. “I don’t want to marry someone like my father. He disrespects my mother with the women he keeps. Please tell me Soren does not do this. Would you tolerate it if he did?”

  “I would skewer him on a spit and roast him alive if I caught him behaving like your father.”

  Willa nodded. “I fear I’d do the same thing. You worry that I’m ruining my reputation with this decision. I believe I’m rescuing myself from being charged with husband skewering.”

  “The law does frown on it,” Cassandra had to agree with a smile.

  “Pity,” Willa answered. “I think my mother would have enjoyed skewering my father years ago. Now she just ignores him. After all, it is what is expected, but her life seems so empty.”

  “Many women take on their own lovers.”

  “You and I have always agreed that it seems a shabby way to live.”

  Cassandra nodded and returned to her list. “Finally, I must remind you that the duke is young. Young, titled, and very, very handsome.”

  “And broke. You forgot he barely has a shilling to spare.”

  “Yes, but you have plenty, and your father is determined to use his money and his power to marry you to a title.” Almost gently, she pointed out, “He will marry you off, you know, one way or the other. With or without your permission. You could find yourself with worse than Camberly. You could be married to the Marquis of Ellmore who is in his dotage and impossibly crotchety. I can’t imagine seeing him naked.”

  Willa’s mind revolted at the image as well.

  “Or to the Viscount Longford, who I hear is looking for a mother for his twelve children. They also say he is anxious to breed an even twenty.” Her voice dropped to a whisper to add, “His first and second wives died in childbirth, poor women.”

  Children were an uncomfortable topic for Willa. Last week, she’d overheard her mother’s friends speculating about whether a woman as petite as Willa could successfully bear the child of a man as big as Camberly. Their prognosis, and the stories they had shared with one another, had been alarming.

  And it was a cruel way to die.

  However, Cassandra’s reminder that her father would marry her off was sobering.

  Leland Reverly never left an asset untapped. A daughter was definitely to be used for his advantage.

  Willa shifted in her chair. “Do you know what I’ve been doing since I sent that message to Camberly this morning? I’ve been trying to consider what I wish to do with my life. I mean, ever since I can remember, my sole purpose has been, as you point out, to marry well. But shouldn’t there be something more in life?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are starting a school. You’ve always had a dream to create new ideas and now you are doing it.”

  “But that is just the person I am.”

  “Did you know Leonie is becoming an authority on roses? Lady Vickery was telling me she’d sent a cutting of one of her prized bushes to Leonie.”

  “She’s written about her interests in her letters to me,” Cassandra answered.

  “You both have purpose. You are clever and you do meaningful things. What can I do?”

  “You are very good at needlework. Far better than I am.”

  “Ah, I can darn socks.”

  “Don’t mock it. Sock darning is an important skill for most of us.”

  “But not a rich man’s daughter.” Willa shrugged. “Servants have always taken care of matters for me.”

  “Interests will come to you,” Cassandra said soothingly, “once you start living your life.”

  “I don’t know if that is true. I have a deep fear that there is nothing of substance about me. I spent most of this day trying to imagine what I could devote myself to.”

  “And what did you decide?”

  “Nothing,” Willa answered. “The paper on my desk is blank. It is as if I can define myself only in terms of attracting a husband. It is all that has ever been asked of me. I offer nothing else to the world.”

  “You are being too hard on yourself.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t been hard enough.”

  Cassandra leaned forward, reaching a hand out to her. “Willa, you are a strong, vibrant woman. You will find your meaning in time.”

  Willa wasn’t certain. “If I don’t I shall be like Kitty Pakenham.”

  Cassandra wrinkled her forehead. “Kitty Pakenham? Isn’t she the General Lord Wellington’s wife?”

  “Finally! He’d promised himself to her ten years before he actually showed up to marry her. She said he asked and then he disappeared and left her alone. For ten years,” Willa had to repeat.

  “Wellington didn’t really disappear,” Cassandra said reasonably. “Wasn’t he in the military all that time? He was quite busy fighting for our king. She knew where he was.”

  “If he was going to go dashing off, he shouldn’t have extracted a promise of marriage from Kitty, leaving her to wait . I swear, men have all the fun.”

  “He was shot at, and war is ghastly.”

  Willa shook her head. “So is standing around ballrooms waiting for someone who you want to believe cares about you to put in an appearance. And Wellington hasn’t been completely alone while he’s been shot at. You know his reputation—even married.”

  “He is not the most attentive of husbands.”

  “Exactly. Just like my father and so many others. The men go off into life while the women . . . wait. And for what? Death?”

  “You are being a bit dramatic,” Cassandra warned.

  Willa came to her feet. Pent-up frustration moved her to pace the room. It was also a blessing to finally be able to speak her mind to someone she trusted. She had her own list to tick off. “Camberly left right after our betrothal ball. It was as if the clock chimed midnight and he vanished. That was months ago, and it was the last time I saw him. We danced three times, he walked me around the garden, and then he was gone. He didn’t even say good-bye. He just disappeared and then word comes to me that he is at Mayfield.”

  “Has he at least written?”

  “No, not even to tell me he is alive. I feel like a dairy cow he has purchased. He has contracted a sale with my father and plans on showing up tomorrow to milk me. One doesn’t write letters to dairy cows.”

  Cassandra choked back laughter. “That is a terrible image.”

  “A humbling one.”

  “It is, and surprising. Matthew Addison is one of my husband’s friends. Soren speaks highly of him. I can’t believe he’d be so . . .” She paused as if search
ing for a word.

  Willa supplied one. “Thick?”

  “I was going to say absent.”

  “Yes, he has definitely been that. Then my path crossed Lady Wellington’s. Kitty saw me wandering around ballrooms alone and took pity on me. She said I reminded her so much of herself.”

  “Why were you wandering?”

  “Because I don’t fit in anywhere. Usually, once one is promised, you attend events with your intended. I was alone. Obviously alone. I am no longer one of the debutantes. I have my duke. If I was around them for the simplest of reasons, their mothers hissed at me like old geese, as if I will chase away prospects for their daughters. I can’t join the matrons. All they do is gossip and discuss their children and their husbands. Oh, Lord, how they carry on.”

  “There are other women at these events than in those two groups.”

  “A single woman cannot roam around the card room.”

  “Isn’t your mother usually there?”

  “You know how she is with her friends. She has also made it clear that now is her time. She no longer needs to chaperone me the way she did before I was promised. According to her, she’s done her part—I’ve landed a husband.” Willa’s mother was not the doting sort. “And you know Father. Always too busy and important for mere ballroom floors.”

  No, he saved the best of himself for his mistresses, something Willa had promised herself she would never tolerate. Especially after witnessing how happy Cassandra and Leonie were with men who valued them . . .

  And yes, Camberly’s infatuation with the adulterous Lady Bainhurst had been a strong mark against him.

  It still was.

  “But certainly, you have friends,” Cassandra protested.

  “I don’t. You and Leonie were my friends. The others . . . ? Even Lady Bettina distances herself from me now that I am to be married to a man she has let everyone know she’d wanted. She has said some ugly things.”

  “I don’t doubt it. She was always whispering about us.”

  “Until we brought her into the game,” Willa reminded Cassandra. “The other evening, she informed me I shouldn’t even be seen in Society without the duke since I had ‘won’ him.”

  The game had been a way for Willa and her friends to save themselves from boredom and to make light of the tedium of courting. Leonie had devised it. A suitable male of their choosing was singled out as the prize for the Season, and points could be earned for different actions of successful flirting. Being introduced to the gentleman was a point. Being asked to dance, three points.

  Cassandra smiled ruefully at the memory. “You are right. She was eager to play, especially at flirting with Camberly. As I remember, you scored the highest points the year before with Lord Stokes. He was anxious to marry you.”

  “Until his mother caught wind of his plans. His family didn’t approve of my family, no matter how much money Father has. However, Stokes was nice man.”

  “He was a bore, Willa.”

  “Very well, he was a nice bore. But he did pay attention to me.”

  “I remember you hiding from him once you realized how serious he was. Boring is boring,” Cassandra assured her. “I’ll also remind you that you won this season’s game, too. You do have Camberly—”

  “Did ,” Willa emphasized, wanting there to be no doubt. “I have thrown him back, and I refuse to be sorry. It is the most liberating decision I’ve ever made in my life.”

  Or so she hoped. In truth, Cassandra’s objections were giving her second thoughts.

  “Society will not take kindly to your jilting Camberly, Willa,” Cassandra warned, her voice commiserating. “You might be ostracized.”

  “Better to be ostracized than ignored.”

  “They are the same thing,” her bookish friend pointed out.

  “Oh, no, they are not. Being ignored is much worse. It means I don’t matter. And I want to matter. I want to be important to someone, just as you are important to Soren.”

  “It might be hard to find a husband after basically leaving one at the altar.”

  “It might even be impossible. Father could even cut me off. Then I would have to darn my own socks. But I refuse to settle. I want what you and Leonie have found. I want a husband who doesn’t mind my shortcomings.” Something her father did not offer her mother. He was always picking at her perceived flaws. “I want a husband who will be my friend—”

  “Yes, that is very important,” Cassandra agreed.

  “And I don’t want to be lonely, not in my marriage. You know, Father treats me like a princess in that he is willing to buy anything I desire, and yet, since you and Leonie left London, most of my conversations are with the servants. This morning, I woke very early and realized I can’t go through with this marriage. I don’t wish to continue living this same life. I want to matter.”

  “Then you had best talk to your father and tell him what you’ve done.”

  Yes, there was that. “I will . . . when the moment is right.”

  “You exchange vows on the morrow,” Cassandra said, as if prodding Willa’s memory. “The house will be full of guests. The moment is now.”

  “We can still have the party . . .” Willa suggested meekly.

  “Or Soren and I can have a coach waiting out front for when you tell your father and the roof explodes with his fury. We will whisk you away to Cornwall with us and you won’t have to face the scandal.”

  The scandal . “Yes, there will be one.”

  “It is the price you will have to pay,” Cassandra said.

  “Mother will not be happy, either.” Her parents would punish her for her defiance, and yet, Willa knew she would not back down. She couldn’t—

  A knock interrupted them. Annie’s lilting accent said through the door, “Excuse me, Miss Willa, but you have a visitor. The Duke of Camberly requests a moment of your time.”

  The Duke of Camberly?

  The title seemed to form in the air between Willa and the door. She rounded on Cassandra. “He’s here? ”

  “Of course. After receiving your letter, I’m certain he will want answers. And, to be honest, you owe him an explanation. It is only right. Besides, you did wish his attention.”

  “I wished it two weeks ago.”

  “Willa?” Cassandra said patiently, her voice laced with the wisdom of experience. “Men rarely ever do what you wish, or expect.”

  Chapter 3

  The trip to London had not been an easy one. The overcast day had given way to rain and mist, and the only horse available to Matt from Mayfield’s stables had been a difficult mare with her own mind. Matt and the blasted animal had argued from the moment he’d left his stable door until the reins had been turned over to a street lad to keep the mare walking to cool her down.

  So Matt was not in a conciliatory mood.

  Especially toward females.

  He had also not bothered to stop at his London home to change. He wasn’t afraid to let Miss Reverly see him in his mud-splashed boots and breeches. Let her know that he had taken her letter seriously.

  And he had.

  Her terse wording was branded in his mind: We are not suited. I am releasing you of any obligation to me. Sincerely, W. Reverly .

  What was she, a solicitor? She was releasing him with two sentences?

  Miss Reverly’s curtness was not how a woman should write to a man to whom she’d been promised. She hadn’t minced words but had been clear she was willing to mince him.

  The closer he’d come to London, the more he’d wanted to know why . What had he done to set her off? He hadn’t even been in London since the evening of their betrothal party.

  And now here he was cooling his heels in Reverly’s palatial London home that spoke of money and power. All the furniture was gilt-painted wood. There wasn’t a worn carpet or threadbare pillow in sight. The air was scented with beeswax and the room showed the meticulous care of dozens of well-paid servants.

  Gracing the walls were as many paintings as could
be found in any stately house. A few were of landscapes or good horseflesh. Most were portraits, although Matt doubted if any were of Reverly’s ancestors. The man had supposedly come from humble roots, worked hard, and married well.

  Matt suspected some of those paintings could have been those sold from Mayfield. Reverly was known to have a fondness for a bargain. He’d turn any agreement in his favor. “Greedy as a fox,” one lord had warned Matt.

  Well, God willing, the man would be his father-in-law.

  Matt paced the length of the receiving room, struggling with his pride and temper and considering how best to approach the rebellious Miss Reverly.

  Someplace in the house, footsteps could be heard. A clock chimed the hour. Late afternoon. He’d made good time from Mayfield.

  A footman had taken his greatcoat and hat. However, his hair was damp. He combed it back from his face with his fingers just as he heard voices, feminine ones. He squared off with the closed double doors.

  One half opened—and Miss Reverly seemed to float into the room.

  For a moment, he was caught off guard. He’d forgotten how graceful she was. She reminded him of a petite opera dancer. Perfectly formed, no movement wasted, comfortable in her own skin.

  And lovely. Far prettier than he remembered.

  Four months ago, Matt had still been preoccupied with thoughts of Letty. Now, he was struck by what he hadn’t noticed about his intended.

  Yes, Willa Reverly was a mite of a thing . . . but there was something about her presence that made her seem taller and stronger than her size indicated. Dark, thick hair and clear skin made her conventionally pretty. What set her apart was the intelligence in her snapping blue eyes and the determination in her attitude.

  For the first time, Matt realized perhaps one shouldn’t underestimate an heiress.

  She was not alone. To his surprise, Cassandra, Soren’s wife, was with her. Any other time he’d be delighted to see her because this meant his good friend was in town.

  However, now he struggled not to frown. He had no desire to have an audience for this interview. At least he liked Cassandra. Soren had chosen well. And yet, there was nothing he could do about the matter of her presence but play his part.