A Bride for the Cold-Hearted Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

June 1815, Whitmore Chapel 

 Lady Clara Whitmore, at only twenty-two years old, took her first nervous step down the aisle. Her wedding day was the most terrifying undertaking she’d ever experienced, but she’d had no choice.

Her mousy brown hair was pinned back, exposing more of her plain face than she’d liked. All her freckles were on display as her deep brown eyes searched the room for any sign of content. 

There were few family members other than her father who wanted to be there that day. That included the bride. 

Her thoughts swirled like a toxic mess as she walked the distance toward her groom. It felt as though the walk would take a lifetime. Seconds dragged on hopelessly, as she searched for any sense of excitement in the event. 

Her hands trembled, and her knees were weak. Clara swallowed hard, her mouth dry and her stomach tight. She could hardly breathe. 

The grin her father had worn when he’d told her that he’d finally found her a suitable husband still lingered in her mind. She saw it in her memory each morning when she woke up and each night when she went back to sleep. Now, as she walked toward her future, she saw it again, rather literally on her father’s face. 

She’d met the man who was meant to be her husband only once. He’d come by their family estate for tea, and the visit had been to confirm the arrangements of their marriage agreement, rather than to spend any time with his future bride. She was fortunate enough to have greeted him and seen his face. 

Her fear had started the moment the wedding was announced. His Grace, Edward Ashford, Duke of Greystone had a clear reputation. Everyone knew him as a man who was cold and difficult. He barely smiled, never attended any ton events and was known for having poor social skills. That was the man her father had chosen for her. 

Her father must have been overjoyed at the prospect that Clara would be marrying a difficult man. That was the sort of lifelong punishment a man like her father was happy to bestow upon her. He’d spent her entire life making her as miserable as possible. 

When the conversation of arranging her marriage first came up, she’d been eager for it. She’d imagined a future where she could leave home and spend her days with a gentler man. That she might marry someone, who perhaps, was kind to her and happy to see her in the morning. 

However, as she made it to the end of her long walk to the front of the chapel, she knew with a fair amount of certainty that she was headed from one cruel man to another. Not much would change for her, she didn’t think. 

They would be strangers in a house together. The Duke never courted her. They knew nothing about each other, little more than their titles and a vague memory of appearances. 

There were more people than she would have liked in attendance. It would have been preferable to feel hidden that day. Clara’s father and mother were there, along with her sister, Lydia. The Duke’s mother was there, along with a man she assumed was either friend or family. Then there were various members of the ton, and others who were there out of curiosity and a desire for socialization. Clara didn’t know any of them. 

Clara felt on display as she walked, like a porcelain doll not to be played with—merely looked at. 

She glanced up at those who watched her, too nervous to look at them for longer than a moment. They might see her nervousness and fear. What kind of wife would she be if she was already afraid on her wedding day? 

Weakness was what worried her. So, she kept her eyes in front of her, not on her future husband, not on anybody, rather, against the furthest wall. She held her gaze on one spot where she knew she could focus and it helped her stay on stable footing. 

That, once again, had been her father’s doing. He’d reminded her each day for the last two weeks as the wedding came closer that she was nothing more than a plain woman with nothing to offer the world. He told her to be quiet and invisible in the Duke’s home so that she would not make a fool of herself. 

Clara had nodded, as if she was eager to take on the instruction. However, what was the point to her life if she lived in the shadows, making no difference? 

Her spirit felt heavy that morning. She knew that wasn’t how a bride was meant to feel. Her dress was simple, her father insisting that her dress should match her looks and personality, so that she would not be presented as a lie to her future husband. 

What made The Duke agree to the marriage remained a mystery to Clara. He wasn’t the sort of man anybody expected to marry. He seemed perfectly content living alone just as he pleased, apart from society and all those he deemed beneath him. 

So, why had he decided that Clara would be a worthy bride? 

She took a deep breath and hoped that it would steady her heart. While it wasn’t what she’d always dreamed of, she at least hoped that she could wipe the look of fear off her face before she made it to the altar. 

The pins that kept her veil to her head started to press into her scalp, and she was certain she’d have bruises. Her shoes were tight and new and hadn’t been broken in. Her corset had been pulled an extra bit tighter in order to make her more presentable to her new husband. 

She felt as though she was walking on a tightrope between a life she hated and a life she wasn’t sure she wanted. It didn’t matter which way she fell; she would be unhappy. That was her father’s goal, and her punishment. 

His belief that Clara wasn’t truly his daughter had turned him cruel toward her. For her entire life he made Clara pay for it, rather than her mother, the woman who would have truly been responsible if there had been any truth to the matter. 

Clara had been seen as a burden to him, someone he never wanted to have in the home, but was forced to keep in order to look good in society. The only good thing she offered her family, according to him, was the possibility of marrying her off to someone who could improve their family’s wealth and status within society. 

There were only a few more steps to go when she heard the blood rushing in her ears. 

She was in front of him then, looking into his green eyes. There was no glimmer of eagerness to see her. While he’d worn a perfect gray suit without a single speck of dust, it seemed like a task to him. Something he had to check off his list for the week. 

His tall stature loomed over her, and she tilted her head up to see him better. His wild brown hair had been combed back, showing his stark features. He was a domineering man to say the least. 

When he spoke to say their vows, his voice was low and strained.

“I take thee, Lady Clara Whitmore, to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he said, as if he were reciting a poem to a crowd of bored spectators. “In sickness and in health, for better or worse, until death does part us.” 

That was all. The entirety of their promise to each other. The starkness of his voice, and monotony of his promise had frightened her. 

When it came time for Clara to speak, she struggled to find her voice. The first words came out like a mumble, and she was forced to clear her throat and start again.

Speaking hardly clearer than before, she recited, “I take thee, His Grace Edward Ashford, Duke of Greystone, to be my lawfully wedded husband.” Her words felt trapped in her throat. “In sickness and in health, for better or worse, until death does part us.” 

It felt like a large promise to make, but she’d squeaked it out somehow. 

Beyond the Duke, she could see her father’s angered scowl at her need to try again. She struggled. Each promise spoke felt like a lie, like a task she wasn’t sure she was ready to take on yet. 

She should have run. Clara could have raced from the chapel and found a new life for herself somewhere. Perhaps she could seek out the old stable hand that her father often claimed was Clara’s true paternity and become his problem instead. 

But it was too late. The final words of their vows were spoken and she was married. She was no longer Lady Clara Whitmore, but rather Her Grace, Clara Ashford, Duchess of Greystone. 

The announcement of their successful marriage echoed through the chapel with finality, like the swipe of an executioner’s blade. Clara’s stomach turned. They were to walk out together as husband and wife, two perfect strangers with little in common and no desire to be there. 

The Duke held out his arm, his face forward. She took it gently, glad that he could not see the tremble in her hand as she did so. There had been no cheer for them, no clapping or smiling or crying. Her father seemed pleased, he had finally been rid of her and likely stood to gain much from their arrangement. 

“You look afraid,” the Duke said quietly, through his smile. “It might be beneficial to seem as though you want to be here.” 

Her chest seized. He sounded just as cold as everybody warned her he would be. They were barely married for a few seconds and already she was doing something not to his liking. 

Clara did her best to smile warmly, but she suspected it only made her look more afraid.

She wanted to cry out for help as they stepped into the light outside. It didn’t warm her but rather burned her. They would head to a wedding breakfast at the Whitmore Estate where her mother had planned a perfect breakfast including all of The Duke’s favorite foods and none of Clara’s. 

She truly was a ghost moving through her life. Clara’s attempt at a quiet moment to herself on the far end of the garden was unsuccessful. Breakfast had been shared and soon, she would be leaving for her new life. All she needed was a moment to breathe, but her father simply couldn’t allow it and approached with a wicked smirk on his face.

“You’re no longer my problem,” he began,. “I only ask that you don’t embarrass me. You need to make this marriage work if it is to be worth our while.” 

Clara nodded. “I can be a wife,” she said. “It can’t truly be that difficult.” 

“You must produce an heir,” her father said. “That is your purpose here, don’t forget it.” 

She swallowed hard. “I’m not yours to control any longer,” she reminded him. 

Her father’s face turned bright red with fury. An Earl, his only dream had been to marry his daughters into higher nobility. “You’ll not speak to me that way,” he snapped. “Do not forget who arranged this new comfortable life for you. The least you can do is show me some respect. I could have sent you out on the streets if I wanted to. You could have been the daughter of a stable hand, not an Earl.” 

Her mother’s presence did nothing to soften her father’s hatred toward her. There had never been any sign of defense from Lady Whitmore, which had only made her father’s suspicions seem more concrete. 

“Don’t say things like that,” her mother said. “Her new husband might hear you. Don’t you think such a conversation could cause trouble?” 

“Yes, of course,” her father said, cooling down. “It’s just that your daughter has a way of angering me with every word that falls out of her mouth and every look of those dull little eyes.” 

Clara’s body ached and so did her mind. She was desperate for the day to end so that she could sleep and escape her reality for a while. More than that, she hoped for the chance to get to know her new husband. It had to happen eventually. 

She’d barely spoken to anybody that day. The guests seemed to only speak to each other. 

“Where is Martha?” Clara asked. “Is she packing?” 

“Martha is doing her duties around the house, her position has been adjusted now that you won’t be here,” her mother said. 

“What do you mean?” Clara asked. “She’s my lady’s maid. She’s the only person in this world I get along with. Surely, she will be coming with me.” 

“She is needed here,” her father said with finality. 

Clara swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Please. I’ll be so lonely. Let her come with me.” 

“There will be plenty of staff at the Greystone estate,” her father snapped. “Don’t be so childish.”

“We have plenty of staff,” Lydia started, but coming to her sister’s defense only heightened her father’s anger. 

“We need more,” her father said. “You’ll be attending your first Season soon. There is much to prepare, and we’ll need all the help we have.” 

Lydia was different from Clara. Not only in appearance, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, but also in her manner and the way she was treated by the family. 

Lydia could do no wrong, while Clara did everything wrong. 

She was going to speak again but saw that the Duke was approaching. Clara glanced at the house, wondering if she’d even get the chance to sneak back in and say goodbye to Martha, the only person who had ever shown her true kindness. 

“Thank you all for all the arrangements and the lovely breakfast,” the Duke said, interrupting their conversation. “But I believe the morning is growing late and we should be on our way if we’re to make good time back to my estate.” 

“Yes, of course,” Clara’s father answered. “I very much look forward to watching your carriage carry my daughter away from here. I am such a proud father.” 

The last sentence sounded strained, as if he hated saying it. However, the part where he mentioned being happy to see her leave had significantly more authenticity to it. 

“May you both have a wonderful and happy marriage,” Lady Whitmore said with a kind smile, looking at Clara. 

“Thank you,” the Duke said coldly. 

“Thank you,” Clara whispered. 

The Duke offered Clara his arm and she took it again, leaving her family behind with nothing but a short goodbye. 

The carriage awaited, and she was eager for rest. The end of the day was nearing. She would see her new home for the first time, too. Nerves fluttered through her, bouncing around between her stomach and her heart as the door to the carriage opened. 

He helped her in, and she took her seat, doing her best to remain as poised and ladylike as possible. She looked at the small carriage and wondered what the ride might be like, in such a confined space with him. Would they finally have the chance to speak? Would she learn something about him? Would they find each other interesting? 

“I’ll meet you at the estate,” he said. “Then I will give you a tour before I need to return to my desk.” 

“You’re not riding with me?” the words burst from her lips. 

“I’ll be taking my horse,” he said. “It is a beautiful warm day. It would be a shame to miss the chance for some sun on my skin.” 

The door to the carriage closed and she was alone. Martha was not there to see her off or cheer her up or wish her goodbye. The decision to let Clara know at the last minute that Martha wouldn’t be coming along was likely a calculated one, too. 

Clara’s life had been turned entirely upside down that morning, and she had no familiar face with her to ease her through it. 

There was no guidebook for what she could expect going forward, or what she was supposed to do. She’d had the same education as any other lady, a gift that her father constantly reminded her was something she didn’t truly deserve. 

That was all she had. And a new family. One that she barely knew. 

The Dowager Duchess of Greystone had left in her own carriage that would ride ahead of Clara. It wasn’t the start she’d always imagined for her new future. Growing up, Clara had dreamed of a hero that would take her away from her father’s cruel version of care and give her a better life. 

That dream had diminished into nothing. All hope she’d once had was missing. 

If she was lucky, her new husband would leave her alone rather than be cruel as he was known to be. She would take a lonely life over a harsh one. 

She heard the drag of the Dowager Duchess’ carriage as it took off ahead of her, knowing that the time had come for her to leave her old life behind. She would take one last look at all she’d ever known as she prepared to face something she was wholly unprepared for. 

Her parents had not come out to wave her a last goodbye. As she peered out the window, the carriage jerked forward, and she watched her life shrink into the distance.

Chapter Two

GreystoneGreystone

Edward had seen the fear in his bride’s eyes, just as he’d seen it in the eyes of other young women before. His reputation for being a stern and difficult man had clearly affected her more than he’d liked. 

He wasn’t sure what to do about it, if he needed to do anything about it at all. 

In truth, his self-conscious thought and behavior was only there because he regretted his marriage, even though it was only a few hours old. He’d regretted it the minute he’d seen her walk down the aisle. She’d looked so beautiful, so well put together. It was clear that she’d taken her time to choose her gown and her hair and her jewelry, only for a handful of people to see her. 

Meanwhile, Edward sent out a servant with his measurements to get him any sort of gray suit that seemed worthy of a wedding. He’d treated it as if it was just another meeting scheduled for that morning. Meanwhile, she’d treated it as if it was a major life event, because it was. 

Edward slowed his horse, noticing that he’d run ahead of the carriage entirely. 

The conversation over their wedding breakfast had been painful. Lord Whitmore had gloated about his achievement marrying off his daughter, something that Edward knew must have horrified his mother. Meanwhile, the sister of the bride had rolled her eyes every time anybody laughed or showed any notion of having a good time. 

It was clear that Lady Clara’s family had little faith in her ability to manage her own life and well-being. Either they were mistaken, or Edward had signed himself up for more work than he’d initially realized. 

His estate wasn’t far from the Whitmore Estate, despite being in a different town. However, it meant that Edward needed to ride past a corner that he did everything in his power to avoid. But he had no choice. There was no other route. 

He closed his eyes a moment and thought about the sunshine and his favorite spot in the estate gardens in an attempt to calm his nerves before the dreaded spot arrived. It was of no use. He could think of nothing other than the sight of the broken carriage wheels, the shouting crowd of people, and the tufts of fabric that had stuck out from beneath the crumpled carriage. 

He saw the corner within view and sped up. There would be no lingering for him. He could imagine the feeling of his horse slipping out from under him, the scrape of the gravel against his skin, the scream of those around them. It happened every time he approached that spot. 

Sometimes, if he went by too slowly, he thought he saw the faces of his brother and father as they stood on the corner, waiting for someone to pick them up from their final resting place. 

Edward held his breath and nudged his horse along even faster, until he was at a full gallop. He would not slow until he had passed, and he would look nowhere but straight ahead of him. Just as he rounded the corner, a woman stepped out into the street. Still, he didn’t slow. He tugged on the horse’s reins just in time to veer around her. 

He missed her by a mere few inches. The woman shrieked and shouted after him as he passed, but he could think only of making it out of the bend alive. 

He had been the only survivor that day. Sometimes, when Edward went to sleep, he could still smell the dampness of the rain that had fallen, and heard his father’s voice as he commented about how wet the roads had been and when last they’d been maintained. 

When he slept, he dreamed about the feeling of the carriage as it slammed into the ground. They’d lost control and Edward had been sent flying out of the door that hadn’t been properly latched. He had been on the road, getting to his feet, when he watched the carriage lose its center of gravity and roll. 

It crashed and shattered and he never saw his brother and father again. 

Six years since the accident and that very bend still had the strength to weaken Edward and bring him back to his deepest fears. 

It was his task to ensure that the estate had an heir now, something that had always been expected of his brother. That was why Edward had agreed to the marriage. It had long been clear to him that searching for a wife during the Season, and among the women of the ton was not his best option. 

They all looked at him with fear, and he wasn’t sure how to change his behavior suitably. When Lord Whitmore made his offer, it had come as a surprise. They’d met at a dinner party arranged by a friend, one that Edward hadn’t been eager to intend, but felt obliged to. Lord Whitmore had kept him company most of the night, speaking of his daughters in a way that was similar to an advertisement in the newspapers. 

It was uncomfortable, but memorable. Then, surprisingly, Lord Whitmore arrived at Edward’s home with a proposition to marry one of his daughters. It was easy enough for Edward to accept and both got what they needed out of the arrangement. 

Edward needed a wife to produce an heir. He was getting older and most of his time was spent in the office. Each new year he felt more tired and soon he would have too little energy to be a father.

While he was only thirty-one, the responsibilities and experiences in his life had him feeling well beyond his age. Thankfully, that had not translated to his appearance, although the first glimmer of graying hair was visible at his temples. There was no more time to waste. That was something that his mother often reminded him about. Much to his dismay. 

Now, in Henry, his problem was solved. His new bride still seemed afraid of him, but they were married and perhaps with time that would change. 

He saw no need for them to develop a true relationship with any emotional attachment. However, he intended to be a good husband. He would join her for dinner, and they would attend events together. Whatever was expected of him as a husband, he would be happy to do. 

It was inevitable that they would eventually get to know each other. 

He could not help that when he spoke, his natural tone took on a serious cadence, like someone who is constantly making business arrangements, no matter how friendly and casual he was attempting to be. Edward could not control the fact that his smile didn’t come easily, and his eyes showed no spark even in the nicest of light. 

There had been a time when it had. Before the death of his brother and father, Edward had known nothing but freedom. He’d been free to choose whatever he wanted to do and go wherever he wanted to go. The pressures of taking over the estate responsibility had never weighed on him. 

In those days he had laughed often and smiled always. He had spent his nights with large circles of friends as they drank and played cards and enjoyed all that life had to offer. He’d felt invincible, as if life was a gift and he’d been given the best one. 

After the accident, he knew that life was a privilege and that it could change at the drop of a hat. He stopped laughing and smiling as the weight of grief and responsibility took its toll on him. He saw little that inspired him anymore. 

Instead, all he did was think about the work he still had to get done before he could retreat to his bed and escape to his dreams. It hardly seemed fair. 

Everything was about the estate. Even the visitors that came to see him were only there to discuss business. There were no circles of friends in that world, only people he kept closer than others because they were better for him than the others were. 

He longed for his old life. He hadn’t known how good he had it until it was gone. 

There were days that he wished he could ride away from his life and do something different. Then he remembered how hard those who came before him had worked to preserve that legacy. What would happen to it if he abandoned it all? 

As much as he’d been happy to be the second born once, the history of Greystone Hall was important to him. He understood the strength of that family name and wanted it to continue for generations to come. 

For that reason, he had to get married. He chose the most convenient option. and now considered that perhaps the woman he was marrying didn’t agree that their arrangement was a good one. 

But it was too late. 

Greystone Hall came into view, and he felt himself catching his breath. The carriage, by then, was quite a distance behind him. That left him just enough time to get his horse back to the stables and comb his hair back into place before meeting her carriage as it arrived. 

Edward opened the carriage door, holding out his hand to help his wife down the small steps. 

When she saw him, she seemed surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to be there. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

“Of course,” he answered.

He’d tried to make the words sound as kind and gentle as possible, but instead they sounded stern and annoyed. He wasn’t sure what he could do to change that. 

He held out her arm so that they could walk to her new home together. 

He wondered what it would be like to have her around every day, to catch glimpses of her in the hallways and the library. They would eat dinner together each night and exchange conversations about their day. 

They took the small steps up to the front door and it opened. Warm smiles from the members of staff welcomed them. Clara greeted them all kindly, with a smile that hid the fear he had so clearly seen in her eyes just hours before. 

“I’ll show you around,” Edward said. “Then Mrs. Hensley will help you get settled.” 

“Mrs. Hensley?” Clara asked. 

“She’s the housekeeper here,” Edward answered. “There isn’t a woman in existence that I trust more than her. She’ll get you anything that you need to make you comfortable here.” 

Clara gave him a curt nod. 

He watched her closely as he gave her the tour of the hall. She looked at everything closely, choosing her words carefully when she spoke, as if she was afraid her opinions might anger him. She was a timid woman. There was nothing wrong with that, it only surprised him compared to how outspoken and forward the rest of her family had been. 

“My study is just at the end of this hallway,” he said, concluding the tour. “And this is where I’ll leave you. Mrs. Hensley has already arranged for your luggage to be sent up to your room. I’ll let her handle any further questions you might have. If you need me, you’ll find me in the study.” 

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes downcast. 

He was not a cruel man, but his reputation had made him so. He hated that his wife expected it of him. However, his own nerves at her presence had gotten the better of him. He had work to do. It was never ending. 

For now, he would allow her time and space to become comfortable with their new lives. The marriage was in place, there would be time for everything else eventually.