A Duke for the Defiant Lady (Preview)

Chapter One

Lady Charlotte Hamilton was just starting to nod off, when the carriage she was riding in jerked abruptly and began to tilt to the right. She awoke with a start as the book she’d been reading—Philidor’s Analyse du jeu des Échecs—flew across the carriage and hit the other wall with a loud thwack. At the same time, her lady’s maid, Jane, let out a screech.

“Milady!” Jane shouted, as the carriage tipped more to the right, and both women slid down their seats toward the side of the carriage. “We are crashing!”

Charlotte barely had time to make sense of what had happened, let alone to form a response, before the carriage righted itself again, and she was slammed back onto the bench with a hard thump.

Well, that’s going to bruise later, Charlotte thought wryly. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to slow her frantic heartbeat. Jane still looked to be in shock, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Charlotte, meanwhile, heard the driver outside shouting something, while the horses whinnied angrily.

“What happened?” Charlotte whispered. “Did the driver say anything?”

“I don’t know,” Jane said, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “One second, we were traveling along at a normal, steady pace, and everything was calm and placid. The next second, there was a shout, and then we tilted!”

“My goodness!” Charlotte shook her head. “What a catastrophe! I hope the carriage isn’t damaged. We should still be a few hours outside of London, and I don’t fancy having to stay in a roadside inn for the night.”

Jane’s expression became, if it were possible, even more horrified. “A roadside inn? But milady, it isn’t safe!”

Charlotte chuckled. “It’s perfectly safe. Although not the most comfortable, perhaps.”

Truthfully, Lady Charlotte had never stayed in a roadside inn before, but there was a part of her that was intrigued by the adventure of it. Still, she would prefer to get back to London that night. She had an important match tomorrow and wouldn’t like to have to reschedule.

Scooting over to the window, she glanced out at the road. She couldn’t see anything amiss from there, so she opened the carriage door.

“Don’t go outside, milady!” Jane shrieked. “What if there are bandits come to rob us? They’ll surely take all your jewelry if you go outside!”

“If it’s bandits, they’ll find my jewelry whether or not I go outside to greet them or wait in here for them to find me.” When Jane continued to look at her in horror, Charlotte shook her head. “Don’t worry, Jane. I’m sure nothing is seriously wrong. We probably just hit a pothole. I’m going to speak to the driver.”

She pushed open the door, ignoring Jane’s protests, and had just begun to descend the stairs when a man rounded the corner, a furious look on his face.

It was clear at once that this man wasn’t a bandit. He was dressed casually, but a quick glance told her that the materials he wore were of the finest quality, and there was an air of gentility about him that marked him as a gentleman. This was a relief, because from the angry look on his face, Charlotte could tell he wasn’t at all a pleasant sort of man. At least he isn’t going to rob me, though!

The man came to a halt the moment he saw her and glowered at her.

“Are you the owner of this carriage?” he demanded, without so much as an introduction.

“I am,” Charlotte said, stepping down all the way and drawing herself up to her full and considerable height. She was very tall, although this man still dwarfed her. This was unusual. Charlotte was used to being taller than or as tall as most men she encountered. “Lady Ch—”

But the man cut her off before she could continue.

“You need to have a word with your driver! In my opinion, he should be fired at once.”

“Oh?” Charlotte glanced toward the front of the carriage. The driver appeared to have dismounted and was now trying to calm the horses. “And why is that?”

“He wasn’t paying attention and he nearly plowed right into me at the crossroads!” The man seethed. “He could have killed me—and my horse!”

“Oh dear, well, I am very sorry,” Charlotte said. “I am sure it was an accident. Bromley is an excellent driver, but we have had a long ride today from—”

“It doesn’t matter if it was an accident!” The man interrupted. “He is still responsible for his egregious carelessness! I want your assurances that you will have him fired!”

Charlotte frowned. This wasn’t the first time a gentleman had condescended to her and told her how to handle her staff, but it was certainly the most aggressive instance.

“I didn’t say he isn’t responsible for his actions,” she said, as calmly as she could. “Of course he is. And I will speak with him. But I am not going to fire a member of my staff, especially one who has a wife and children to feed, without hearing his side of things first.”

The man puffed out his chest. “Why should you need to hear his side of things? Do you not believe me? The word of a gentleman?”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason I should believe the word of a gentleman over that of my loyal servant? I do not know you, and I have no reason to think you are any more trustworthy than the man who has been driving my family’s carriage since I was a little girl.”

The gentleman’s face went red. “You would dare to question my honor,” he began in a low voice, but Charlotte wasn’t having that.

“I’m sure your honor is unimpeachable, however—”

“There is no however!”

“Please, do not interrupt me.” Charlotte said this very forcefully, and she was unsurprised to see the ripple of shock that went across the gentleman’s face. In her experience, men like him were not used to ladies who stood up for themselves. “I understand you were scared by what happened, but it does not give you license to interrupt me and to speak to a lady so rudely!”

“You think I am speaking rudely?” The man looked outraged. “You are the one who is speaking to me without a shred of politeness!”

At this point, Charlotte had to work very hard not to roll her eyes. She’d dealt with her fair share of unreasonable gentlemen, but this one might be the worst.

Fortunately, she was saved from making a cutting reply by the arrival of the driver, who had calmed the horses and now hurried over to her.

“Milady, are you alright? Were you harmed? Is Jane well?” He removed his hat and looked her over with worry. “I’m so very sorry. To the both of you.” He bowed to the gentleman. “You see, a small animal, I think it was a rabbit, ran out across the road, and I swerved to avoid it. I didn’t see you coming, Milord, and I am so very sorry.”

“You see?” Charlotte said, turning to stare at the gentleman and putting her hands on her hips. “Bromley had a perfectly reasonable excuse, just like I knew he would!”

The gentleman did not look mollified. “I did not see any small animal,” he snapped. “I think your driver is lying to try and excuse his carelessness.”

“Please, milord, I am telling the truth,” Bromley said, lowering his eyes in shame.

Charlotte, meanwhile, felt her temper snap. “How dare you!” She breathed. “How dare you call Mr. Bromley a liar simply because you cannot countenance being wrong! You, sir, might dress like an aristocrat, but you are no gentleman!”

The man’s mouth twisted, and for a moment, she thought he was going to shout something back at her. But to her surprise, he simply narrowed his eyes, bowed stiffly, and turned and walked away. His horse was standing several feet away, pawing the ground nervously, and he swung up onto him, touched the side of his neck, and whispered something in his ear. Then, without a backward glance, the gentleman began to trot away from them.

“Well, I never,” Charlotte said, staring after the gentleman with wide eyes. “What a disagreeable man! In all my years in London Society, I have never encountered a gentleman with so little honor.”

Bromley sighed, and Charlotte got the distinct impression he had encountered similarly rude, entitled gentlemen. “It was my fault, milady,” he mumbled.

“Nonsense,” she said at once, shaking her head. “You were very quick to try and avoid the bunny. It’s just bad luck that Lord Curmudgeon happened to cross our path at that exact moment.”

Bromley gave her a weak smile, and she sent him a reassuring one. “Don’t worry, all will be well,” she said. “Now, do you think we can still make it to London tonight?”

“Yes, milady, that should be no problem. The horses are unharmed, and the carriage looks to be as well.”

“Very good. Let’s get going then, before Lord Curmudgeon calls the Bow Street Runners on us!”

She was heartened to see Bromley smile at her joke, but underneath her lightheartedness, she was still seething.

Who was that man? She wondered as she slipped back into the carriage. And how do I make sure I never cross paths with him again?

***

At least Champion is alright, Edward Cavendish, Duke of Hartford thought as he rounded the corner away from the horrible lady and her careless driver. I don’t know what I would have done if Champion had been harmed. 

He touched the neck of his horse again and felt the stallion’s warm, reassuring aliveness. Champion had been spooked, but he had reared up just in time to be saved from colliding with the wayward carriage. Edward sent up a silent prayer of thanks. This horse had been his closest friend for years, the only creature who never made demands of him or made him feel inadequate. Not that the others in his life did so on purpose; but it was hard not to feel constantly inadequate when you’d spent your whole life expecting to be nothing but a minor lord, only to find yourself thrust into the position of duke.

Edward let a long, slow sigh, and with it, his anger seemed to dissipate as well. He’d been scared for his horse’s life, and it had made him blind with rage. But now that he was away from the situation, he felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t like him to speak to ladies with so much anger and impoliteness.

Then again, that particular lady gave as good as she got! She had been the rudest, most headstrong, most unapologetic young lady he’d ever encountered. And while it still made him bristle to remember, he also felt a grudging interest.

Who is she? I’ve never seen her before. It was probably best he try to figure out her name so that he could avoid running into her again at all costs. He wouldn’t want to have to humiliate himself by apologizing, but he knew apologies would be in order.

He should also probably learn her name so that she wasn’t put on the list of ladies his mother and sister were conspiring to marry him to. Edward let out an audible groan as the memory of his mother’s last letter came to him. He’d been in Paris this past fortnight dealing with some business ventures his late uncle had been working on—more like driving into the ground!—when he’d received the letter. In it, his mother had expressed her wish that he marry.

It is essential that once you return home, you begin your search for a wife and your duty of siring an heir, she had written. If the events of the last two years have taught us anything, it is that no one’s future is certain, and it is of utmost importance that you secure your line, now that the duchy is yours. 

Secure your line. Those were words Edward never would have expected to hear, years ago, when he was the son of the living younger son of a duke. His uncle had still been young, young enough to have children, when he’d died suddenly, leaving the dukedom to Edward’s father. Edward had only just begun to accept that one day he would also be duke when his father had succumbed to a quick and bitter illness, leaving the grief-stricken Edward the Duke of Hartford. And now he was being forced to consider marriage and children.

It wasn’t how Edward thought he would marry. Dukes married to secure an heir. They considered things such as the pedigree of the lady and her suitability for childbirth. They did not marry for love. His uncle certainly hadn’t. But his father had. That had been the privilege of being a younger son. And Edward had seen firsthand the happy, loving marriage his parents had enjoyed. He had wanted that for himself.

But now…

Now he had to marry whatever girl would be the best duchess and who would bring forth a long line of dukes.

He swallowed. It was hard, in moments like this, not to mourn his old life. He’d been happy, carefree, and hopeful that one day, after he was done adventuring, that he would marry for love and enjoy a quiet, comfortable, unobtrusive life. Now he was being forced to think about his legacy when he didn’t even know how to be a good duke himself.

No, he didn’t want to think about that now. He cast around for something to distract and landed back on the tall, elegant young lady who had fire in her eyes and a sharp tongue. Irritation welled inside of him, and he allowed himself to revel in it. It was much better to think about the infuriating woman than about the fate that awaited him once he returned to Hartford Hall and his role as Duke of Hartford.

Chapter Two

Charlotte had barely walked back through the doors of her townhouse and handed her cloak to the butler when the arrival of Miss Amelia Sampson was announced.

“Really?” Charlotte said, as her best friend swept into the hall, a look of excitement on her face. “Visiting hours are long over, my dear,” she said with a sly grin.

“You’re not exactly one to stand on ceremony,” Amelia pointed out as she kissed Charlotte’s cheeks. “And once you hear my news, you will be very glad I so rudely invited myself over at suppertime.”

“Do you want to stay for supper?” Charlotte asked as she guided her friend into the parlor. “You might as well, considering the hour.”

She suddenly felt a little annoyed at Amelia, but she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t until she had seated herself on the sofa and let out a deep sigh of contentment that she realized where her irritation had come from: it was at Amelia’s use of the word rude. It had reminded her of the gentleman on the road earlier today, and it made her bristle with suppressed anger.

“What’s the matter?” Amelia asked, sitting down across from her, the excitement on her face replaced with concern. “Are you well? Was it a good trip to see your aunt?”

“Yes, it was,” Charlotte said at once. “It always is. I’m merely tired. There was an incident on the road… We almost hit a gentleman, and he was very angry.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry.” Amelia leaned toward her. “Were you harmed? Is Bromley alright?”

“We’re all fine. Just a little shaken.”

Amelia sat back and bit her lip. “Well, maybe this will cheer you up,” she said. “Miss Mariah Thorton is engaged!”

“What? Mariah, engaged?” This news was so surprising that Charlotte immediately forgot about the unpleasant gentleman. “You can’t be serious! But she was always so adamant that she would never marry!”

“I know,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “But she said that she’s very much in love!”

“My goodness…” Charlotte could barely wrap her mind around it. Mariah was a friend of theirs. She was a few years older and a committed spinster. She didn’t even feel bad about it; in fact, she wore it as a badge of honor. To hear she was engaged was shocking. “Who is the gentleman?”

“Mr. Gregory.” Amelia shrugged. “I always thought he was a bit dull, but…”

“…he is kind,” Charlotte finished the sentence for her. “Which is more than can be said for most gentlemen of the ton.”

“I suppose so.”

Both women sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Amelia had a faraway look in her eyes. “I can’t believe it,” she said after a moment. “If Mariah can find love, then there is hope for all of us!”

“My dear, there was always hope for you,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “You are young and beautiful.”

“But not wealthy,” Amelia pointed out. “All of my suitors have begged off once they realized my dowry was so low.”

Charlotte felt another stab of anger: gentlemen really were all scoundrels!

“You will find a wealthy man who adores you,” she promised. “I just know it.”

“I hope so.” Amelia sighed. “I so long to know what love feels like. Speaking of which… Lord Burke was asking about you at the Winterson Ball two nights ago.”

Charlotte frowned. She didn’t like the sparkle in Amelia’s eyes. “You know I have no intention of being courted by Lord Burke,” she said. “I will not marry, and that is that.”

“But Charlotte…” Amelia knew of Charlotte’s intention not to marry, but she never seemed to accept it. She was always bringing up gentlemen she thought would be perfect for Charlotte. Her latest was Lord Burke, whom Charlotte had never found to be a particularly good conversationalist, although he was handsome enough.

“I don’t need to marry, and I have no desire to lose my independence and be controlled by a husband,” Charlotte insisted. “My father’s fortune will be enough to ensure that I am comfortable, even as an old maid.”

“But won’t you be lonely without a husband and children?”

“I’ll have you,” Charlotte pointed out, smiling mischievously. “And of course, my chess.”

Speaking of which… she really needed to start preparing for her match tomorrow at the London Chess Club. She’d be competing against Lord Hubert, and he was said to be better than he looked. And as women were not usually allowed into the LCC, and an exception was being made for her, she couldn’t afford to embarrass herself.

“If you’re not staying for supper, I really should start preparing for my match tomorrow,” Charlotte said.

Amelia shook her head. “Chess is not the same as a man,” her friend said as she rose to leave.

“No, it’s not,” Charlotte agreed, and she smiled, thinking of the gentleman from the road. Chess is much, much better.

***

It was late by the time Edward arrived home, but nevertheless, both his mother and sister were waiting for him when at last he’d brushed down Champion and made his way inside Hartford Hall.

“My love,” said his mother, Lady Margaret Cavendish, the Dowager Duchess of Hartford, rising as the butler showed him into the parlor where they were waiting for him. “We are so excited to have you home from Paris.”

“Hello, Mother.” He said, kissing both her cheeks. “It’s good to be home. Ophelia, how are you? Did you stay out of trouble?” he asked, turning to his younger sister.
Ophelia gave him a scornful look. “Of course I didn’t,” she said, and he laughed, then hugged her. “I missed you,” he said, releasing her and looking her over.

“I doubt that. You were in Paris! Meanwhile I’ve been bored out of my mind here…”

“Believe me, Paris was not a pleasant trip,” Edward said, sighing as he settled himself into the sofa. “Uncle Norton’s business there was in worse condition than his businesses in London are, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, dear…” Margaret’s brow creased with worry as she sat down opposite him. “Another failed business? How is it that your uncle managed to bankrupt every single one of his business ventures?”

“I don’t know.” Edward shook his head. “I’m meeting with our solicitor tomorrow to get the full report from him, but things do not look good.”

“I’m very sorry you have to clean up your uncle’s mess,” Margaret said. “Your father had just started to uncover all the debt and failing businesses when he took ill. I know he would rather have taken on the burden of his brother’s failures than leave it all to you.”

“It’s alright,” Edward said automatically. “It’s my duty.” He didn’t want to talk about his father right now. It was too painful to think about his sudden death, and Edward was already exhausted from his travels.

Ophelia flopped down next to Margaret, looking bored. “Must we talk business right now?” she asked. “It’s so dreary!”

“You’re right,” Margaret said quickly, giving Edward a look that clearly said, We shouldn’t discuss this in front of her anyway. “Edward, why don’t you go and get cleaned up? Then we can have a late supper all together as a family.”

“You’re right.” Edward stood. “I will make haste, then we can have supper.”

It had been important to his mother, ever since the passing of her husband, that they all spend as much quality family time together as possible, and Edward agreed. She and Ophelia were dearer to him than ever, now that his father was no longer with them.

Edward headed upstairs, where his valet drew him a bath. He bathed quickly, enjoying the hot, soapy water after so many days on the road, then dressed in simple but elegant evening attire. He knew it would make his mother happy to see him put in an effort.

Then he headed back downstairs to join his sister and mother. They were still in the parlor, because he could hear voices coming from it, and he was just about to push open the door when he heard a familiar name, and he stopped short.

“…and then she told me that Simone is out of mourning already,” his sister was saying, a note of disapproval in her voice. “I couldn’t believe it, so I went to see her myself, and, sure enough, she was already out of blacks when I visited.”

“Out of blacks already?” His mother sounded shocked. “But her husband died not two months ago!”

“I know, I could hardly believe it. But she was unapologetic. She said he would have wanted her to enjoy her life, and that, as a young woman still, she hopes to remarry.”

“Upon my word, she is brazen.” His mother sounded angry now. Meanwhile, Edward’s mouth had gone dry. Simone is out of mourning! It cannot be. But why? Did she do it for me? 

His sister seemed to be thinking along similar lines because she said, with a slight hesitancy, “You don’t think that she will set her cap at Edward again, now that he…”

She trailed off, but Edward didn’t need her to finish the sentence. He knew what she’d been about to say: Now that he is the Duke of Hartford. 

Suddenly, Edward couldn’t bear to hear a word more. He moved quickly and silently away from the door before his mother could reply. As quietly as possible, he tiptoed across the hall and pulled open the door to his study, then slipped inside.

Only once he was alone in the quiet and solitude of his study did he allow himself to breathe out. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest, and there was a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

Simone, the woman he had once loved more than life itself, the woman he had sworn he’d marry, the woman who had broken his heart when he’d proposed because she wanted “to marry a man with a real title,” was out of mourning. He’d heard that her husband had died, of course, and he had known he’d have to face the day when she was free to marry again, but he hadn’t thought it would be so soon. He’d hoped that by the time she was out of mourning, he would be married to someone else and wouldn’t have to consider the possibility of courting her again.

Mother must be outraged, he thought dully. She never liked Simone, and as a woman in mourning herself, she must be insulted. 

It was true his mother had never cared for Simone. And ever since she had broken Edward’s heart, Margaret had despised her even more. She and Ophelia both loathed her. They took every opportunity to remind him of how unfeeling and cruel she had acted toward him. Neither would be happy if Edward courted her again.

But do I even want that?
For a moment, Edward let himself remember what it had been like, all those years ago, when he had loved Simone. He’d been completely obsessed with her, hanging off her every word, following her around like a puppy, writing bad poetry and staying out late drinking to dull the feelings inside of him. It had not been a good feeling, that love, although it had certainly been intoxicating.

He looked up and took in the portrait of his father, which was still hanging out the wall above his desk. It would be replaced soon, he knew, with a portrait of himself, the new Duke of Hartford.

No, Edward told himself, as he met his father’s eyes. Simone is the past. I’m a new man now with a new role. I cannot let myself go back down that road. 

His thoughts flickered to the lady he’d met that day, and he frowned. Anyway, I’ve had quite enough of unfeeling young ladies. 

From here on out, he promised himself, he would involve himself only with pleasant, kind young ladies who knew when to hold their tongues.

Chapter Three

“To put it frankly, you’re completely out of money.”

Although Edward had been expecting this, it didn’t make it any easier to hear the words. And as he stared at his solicitor, Mr. Harold Jones, Edward felt as if a lead weight had been dropped into his stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. He had known it ever since he’d arrived in Paris to find the manager of his late uncle’s business drinking a bottle of bourbon, while a line of creditor’s yelled outside his office door. But he still needed to hear his solicitor say it.

Mr. Jones looked at Edward’s estate manager, Mr. Henderson, then back at Edward.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jones said, his expression very serious. “I am sure.”

Edward sighed and leaned back in his chair. He put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, taking it all in. It was late morning, his favorite time of day to ride. Back before he was the duke, he would have been out at this time of day, putting Champion through his paces. Instead, he was sitting in the Duke of Hartford’s office, his office now, listening to how his uncle had driven the duchy to the brink of collapse.

“The ledgers spell it out plain and simple, Your Grace,” Mr. Henderson said. “We can go through them one by one, if you like…?”

“There’s no need,” Edward agreed, looking back at the two men sitting across from him. “I have already come to the same conclusion; I just didn’t want to believe it. I thank you for going through the ledgers yourself, and summarizing them all so carefully for me.”

They’d been at it since eight that morning. It had taken three hours for Henderson to explain everything. Hours that Edward had sat at the desk, trying to wrap his mind around all the figures and sums. Now he just wanted a break.

Jones seemed to sense this, because he said, “Perhaps we can come back to this after you have your midday dinner, Your Grace?”

“That might be wise,” Edward said, nodding. “I need some time to wrap my mind around it all.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Henderson stood and bowed. “Perhaps this afternoon I can go over rents and strategies for how you can start to recoup the loss, through raising the rates.”

“Yes, sure,” Edward said distractedly. The last thing he wanted was to have to raise the rents on his tenants, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Henderson left the study, leaving Edward and Jones alone together. His solicitor took a long moment to take out a cheroot, light it, and then take several puffs, before offering one to Edward. Edward shook his head. He wanted his mind clear.

“So, Jones,” he said, giving the solicitor his most serious look, “what am I going to do? My uncle has left me in a difficult position. He bankrupted the duchy with his spending, tried to start several businesses, all of which failed because he had no head for it, and then inconveniently died, leaving it all to my father and now me.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jones said, nodding. “Although, if you will forgive me, I almost think it a good thing that your uncle did not live longer. If he had, the duchy might have been beyond repair. But your father was able to staunch some of the worst bleeding before his death, and now, you are in the lucky position to be able to save the duchy; something that your uncle could not have done.”

“Really?” Edward sat forward, intrigued. “How?”

“Well…” Jones took another puff on the cheroot. He looked as if he were trying to think of how to put this delicately. “Your uncle was married.”

“So?”

“So, in my expert opinion, the one thing that could unequivocally and, more importantly, quickly save the duchy would be a large infusion of capital. Capital that comes without strings attached. Capital that would allow us to pay off our creditors and have some leftover for new and wiser investments.” Jones’ eyes bored into Edward’s. “And the best and easiest way to get a large infusion of capital is if you marry an heiress.”

Edward felt his stomach fall out of him. His heart suddenly seemed to be beating inside of his head. Sweat was prickling on the back of his neck and under his arms, and his mouth had gone very dry.

Marry an heiress. 

It wasn’t that different from what his mother had suggested, but coming from his solicitor, the thought of marrying quickly and for material gain was even more unappealing than ever. He felt trapped, like an animal that a hunter had back into a corner, facing down the long barrel of his fate.

Edward sat back in his chair and tried to collect his thoughts. Licking his lips, his mind swirled with solutions and possibilities. “What will happen if I don’t marry an heiress?” he asked, looking back up at Mr. Jones.

“If you don’t find an infusion of capital quickly,” Mr. Jones said, spreading his hands wide, “then you will be forced to start selling off the estate. Considering the amount of work Hartford Hall needs to keep going—as you know, houses of this size take a tremendous amount of upkeep and money to maintain—I would suggest you sell this residence first. You can then begin parceling up the different lands. Some of them are entailed and cannot be sold, but others would be within your right to sell.”

Hartford Hall. The seat of the Hartford Duchy. His uncle had been one in a long line of dukes reaching back to the conquest of England. Keeping the dukedom going had been one of his lifelong missions. But he and his first wife had been childless, and after her death, he had married again, and quickly, but the marriage had also not produced an heir. And while Edward had never had any desire to be the duke, he felt the weight of its responsibility settle over him as he thought about what it would be like to lose it.

“If I were to sell Hartford Hall, I would be a duke without a seat. And without the lands, a duke without a duchy.”

Mr. Jones nodded. “Of course, you could try your hand at different business schemes, but none would be quick enough to ensure the survival of the duchy. Perhaps…” Jones gave him a desperate look. “Are you a deft hand at cards?”

Edward shook his head. Gambling had never been his pastime. “Anyway, I doubt I could bet enough to pay off our debts.”

“No,” Jones agreed. “It would be difficult. Which leaves marriage.”

Edward said nothing. He suddenly had the strong desire for a stiff drink, but he resisted the urge.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I will think it over.” He stood, and Jones stood as well.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings,” Jones said, and he really did look apologetic. “But I believe this is the safest and fastest way to save the duchy.”

Edward nodded dully. He needed time to think it all over. He couldn’t make a decision yet. He escorted the solicitor out into the entrance hall, where they found Edward’s mother, Margaret, just leaving the parlor on her way to the dining room.

“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, Jones?” she asked, before Edward could get the solicitor out the door. When he hesitated, she took his arm. “Actually, I must insist. It would be abominably rude if I did not invite the family solicitor to dine with us.”

“You’re very kind, Your Grace,” Jones said, smiling genially as he allowed the dowager duchess to steer him to the dining room.

Edward followed slowly, dread building inside of him. If Jones let slip what they had discussed, he had a bad feeling his mother would leap on the opportunity to insist Edward marry at once.

And he was right to be worried.

Not ten minutes into the meal, Margaret asked Jones if he thought the duke would benefit from marriage, and Jones was repeating the information that he had told Edward.

“It is a financial necessity,” Jones said, as he dug into his salad, a very serious look on his face. “I know it is not a comfortable conversation to discuss while dining, but I fear for the future of the duchy, not to mention this family, without a hasty marriage to a young lady of means.”

Margaret set her fork down, her eyes darting from Edward to Jones. “Are things really so dire?” she asked in a faint voice. “My late husband hinted they might be, but I didn’t want to believe his brother had let things get so bad.”

“I’m afraid it is that dire,” Edward said, reaching for his wine. He had allowed the footman to serve him a full-bodied red with his noontime meal—perhaps not a stiff drink, but something was needed to get him through this conversation. “But I want to explore all our options before jumping into marriage. It is such an extreme, not to mention permanent, solution.”

“But it is the perfect solution!” His mother stared at him as if he were the most simple-minded man she had ever met. “You are in need of a duchess, to secure the family line. Marrying a wealthy heiress will, excuse the phrasing, kill two birds with one stone!”

“It’s not that simple, Mother,” Edward said, setting down his wineglass rather more forcefully than he’d intended. “I do not want my marriage to be done in order to kill two birds with one stone. I was not planning to marry so quickly, nor to choose a bride simply based on her dowry and inheritance.”

“Well, you were not planning to be the Duke of Hartford,” his mother pointed out. “But life, my dear, sometimes has other plans.”

“I know that, but—”

“I will make a list of names,” his mother said, ignoring him. “There are many young ladies that would be suitable. Several come to mind already! And you don’t have to choose solely based on wealth. There are enough heiresses in the ton that you will be able to consider compatibility as well.”

“And what about looks?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Am I allowed to consider that?”

“I bet all the rich ladies are also the ugly ones,” Ophelia said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“That’s not helpful, Ophelia,” his mother said, frowning at her daughter.

Privately, however, Edward thought his sister had a good point.

“Don’t you think—” he began, but his mother overrode him again.

“And of course, I will facilitate all the introductions. Several ladies have already reached out to me about whether you would be interested in meeting their daughters. Of course, it’s not always possible to know exactly how much money a young lady brings to the table, but I believe we can find several that are sure bets.”

“This is not what I want!” Edward slammed his fist down on the table, making the cutlery closest to him jump into the air. His mother grew silent at once, and even the servants seemed to freeze in what they were doing. Jones looked down at his plate, embarrassed, while Ophelia glared at him.

Lady Hartford, however, folded her hands, and set them down in front of her on the table.

“I know, Edward,” she said, and her voice was surprisingly calm and kind. “But we don’t always get what we want in life. Do you think your uncle wanted to die childless? Do you think your father wanted to become the duke? I am convinced the responsibilities and stresses of it sent him to an early grave! Do you think I wanted that? To become a widow so young?” Her voice caught, and she had to look away for a moment. Guilt and shame blossomed in Edward’s stomach.

“Mama…” he murmured, and she turned back to him.

“You and your father became duke because your uncle died without an heir,” she said, her voice stoic once more. “Do you really want to do that to someone else? Or do you want to take your responsibility seriously and step into the role that was thrust upon you?”

The shame welled inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, something strange happened: it seemed to steel itself inside of him. It was like sap hardening on the outside of a tree as it came in contact with the air. He hardened; he felt himself close off the part of him that longed for a happy, loving marriage; the part of him that still wished he had never become duke; the part of him that wanted to run away from this all. And he accepted, in that moment, that this was what he had to do.

Life is disappointing, he reminded himself, as he gazed into his mother’s eyes. But we have to accept it, because it’s the only one we get. 

“You’re right,” he said into the silent room. “I must marry. Quickly, in order to save the duchy, and in order to secure the line. But I do request a little bit of time in order to figure out exactly how to find the right bride.”

His mother nodded. “You can take the time you need, but in the meantime, I will organize an intimate house party here at Hartford Hall. If you haven’t come up with your own bride by then, then I will ask you to consider the ladies I invite to the party. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes,” he agreed. It was fair. As fair as life was, which was to say, not at all.