She had imagined him waiting for her arrival, as she made the long coach ride from London. He was older than she, and thin-
ner. Not frail, but with a slight stoop. Grey hair. She’d added spectacles, since they always seemed to make the wearer lessintimidating.And a kind smile.A little sad, perhaps, since he’d waited so long after the death of his wife to seek a new one.But he did not seek, she reminded herself. Lady Danbury had done all the seeking, and this introduction had been arranged with his mother. She added shy, to his list of attributes. He was a retiring country gentleman and not the terrifying rake orhigh-flyer that Lady Danbury had been most qualified to warn her about. She would be polite. He would be receptive. Theywould deal well together.And when, eventually, the details of her circumstances needed to be explained, he would have grown so fond of her that he would accept them without any reservations . Without warning, the door opened behind her and she spun to face it. Her heart thumped in her chest and she threw away the image she’d been creating. The man in front of her was no quiet country scholar. Nor some darkly handsome, brooding rake. He entered the room like sunlight streaming through a window.Not so old, she thought. He must have married young. And his face bore no marks of the grief, no lines of long-born sorrow. It was open and friendly. She relaxed a little and returned his smile. It was impossible not to. His eyes sparkled like a glass of tall wine.. And they were as blue as…She faltered. Not the sky. The sky in the city had been grey. The sea? She’d never seen it, so she was not sure.Flowers, perhaps. But not the sensible flowers found in a kitchen garden. Something planted in full sun that had no use but to bring pleasure to the viewer.His hair was much easier to describe. It shone gold in the light from the low fire.‘Well, well, well. And who do we have here?’ His voice was low and pleasant and the warmth of it made her long to draw near to him. And when she did, she was sure he would smell of expensive soap. And his breath would be sweet. She almost shivered at the thought that she might soon know for sure. She dropped a curtsy.He continued to stare at her in puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. You have the better of me. As far as I know, we weren’t expecting any guests.’She frowned. ‘My guardian wrote to your mother. It was supposed to be all arranged. Of course, I was rather surprisedwhen there was no one to meet the coach, but…’He was frowning now, but there was a look of dawning comprehension. ‘I see. If my mother arranged it, that wouldexplain why you expected…’ He paused again and began cautiously. ‘Did you know my mother well?’‘Me? No, not at all. My guardian and she were school friends. They corresponded.’ She fumbled in her bag and removed the damp and much-handled letter of introduction, offering it to him.‘Then you didn’t know of my mother’s illness.’ He took the letter and scanned it, eyebrows raised as he glanced over at her. Then he slipped off his fashionable dark jacket and revealed the black armband tied about the sleeve of his shirt.‘I’m afraid you’re six weeks too late to have an appointment with my mother, unless you have powers not possessed bythe other members of this household. The wreath’s just off the door. I suppose it’s disrespectful of me to say so, but youdidn’t miss much. At the best of times, my mother was no pleasure. Here, now…’He reached for her as she collapsed into the chair, no longer heeding the water soaking into the upholstery fromher sodden gown.‘I thought, since you didn’t know her… I didn’t expect this to affect you so. Can I get you something…scotch…?Decanter empty again…John! Damn that man.’He threw open the door and shouted down the hall, trying to locate themuttering butler. ‘John! Where’s the scotch?’So she’d arrived dripping wet, unescorted and unexpected, into a house of mourning, with a dubious letter of introduction, expecting to work her way into the affections of a duke and secure an offer before he asked too many questions and sent her home. She buried her head in her hands, wishing that she could soak into the carpet and disappear like the rain trickling from her gown.‘What the hell is going on?’ His Grace had found someone, but the answering voice in the hall was clearly not the butler. ‘Archie, what is the meaning of shouting up and down the halls for scotch? Have you no shame at all? Drink the house dry if you must, but have the common decency to do it in quiet.’ The voice grew louder as it approached the open doorway.‘And who is this? I swear to God, Archie, if this drowned rat is your doing, be damned to our mother’s memory, I’ll throw you out in the rain, scotch and girl and all.’Miranda looked up to find a stranger framed in the doorway. He was everything that the other man was not. Dark hair, with a streak of grey at each temple, and a face creased by bitterness and hard living. An unsmiling mouth. And his eyes were the grey of a sky before a storm. Strength and power radiated from him like heat from the fire.The other man ducked under his arm and strode back into the room, proffering a glass of scotch. Then he reconsidered and kept it for himself, taking a long drink before speaking.‘For a change, dear brother, you can’t blame this muddle on me. The girl is your problem, not mine, and comes courtesy of our departed mother.’ He waved the letter of introduction in salute before passing it to his brother. ‘May I present Lady Gwen Lewis, here to see his Grace the Duke of ThornHill .’ The blond man grinned.‘You’re the duke?’She looked to the imposing man in the doorway and wondered how she could have been so wrong.When this man had entered the room, his brother had faded to insignificance. She tried to stand up to curtsy again, but her knees gave out and she plopped back on to the sofa. The water in her boots made a squelching sound as she moved.He stared back. ‘Of course I’m the duke. This is my home you’ve come to. Who were you expecting to find? ThePrince Regent?’The other man grinned. ‘I think she was under the mistaken impression that I was the duke. I’d just come into the library, looking for the bottle of scotch, and found her waiting here…’‘For how long?’ snapped his brother.‘Moments. Scant moments, although I would have enjoyed more time alone with Lady Gwen. She’s a charming conversationalist.’‘And, during this charming conversation, you neglected to mention your name, and allowed her to go on in her mistake.’ He turned from his brother to her.His gaze caught hers and held it a moment too long as though he could read her heart in her eyes. She looked away in embarrassment and gestured helplessly to the letter of introduction. ‘I was expected. I had no idea…about yourmother.‘I’m so sorry,’ she added as an afterthought.‘Not as sorry as I am.’ He scanned the letter. ‘Damn that woman. She made me promise. But it was a deathbedpromise, and I said the words hoping her demise would absolve me of action.’‘You promised to marry me, hoping your mother would die?’ She stared back in horror. ‘I promised to meet you. Nothing more. If my mother had died that night, as it appeared she might, who was to know what I promised her? But she lingered.’He waved the paper. ‘Obviously long enough to post an invitation. And now here you are. With a maid, I presume ?’‘Ahhh…no.’ She struggled with the answer. It was as she’d feared. He must think she was beyond all sense, traveling unchaperoned to visit strangers. ‘She was taken ill and was unable to accompany me.’ As the lie fell from her lips, she forced herself to meet the duke’s unwavering gaze.‘Surely, your guardian…’‘Unfortunately, no. She is also in ill health, no longer fit to travel.’ Gwen sighed convincingly. Lady Danbury was strong asan ox, and had sworn that it would take a team of them to drag her back into the presence of the duke’s mother.‘And you travelled alone? From London?’ He asked curiously..‘On the mail coach,’ she finished.
But that’s ridiculous.’ It had slipped out. That was not supposed to be the answer, she reminded herself. It was the goal, was it not, to get her away from scandal and properly married? And to a duke. How could she object to that.She’d imagined an elderly earl. A homely knight. A baron lost in drink or in books. Someone with expectations as low as her own. Not a duke, despite what Lady Danbury had planned. She had mentioned that the Duke of ThornHill had a younger brother. He had seemed the more likely of the two unlikely possibilities.And now, she was faced with the elder brother. A very unhappy and impatient man. He was definitely more than she bargained for.‘Do you find my proposal ridiculous?’The duke was staring at her in amazement.She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t ridiculous. Of course not. Just sudden. You surprised me.’She was starting to babble. She stopped herself before she was tempted to turn him down and request that his brotheroffer instead.‘Well? You’ve go
Correspondence from Archie, your beloved son. Each letter beginning, ‘Dearest Mother…’Authur marvelled at his brother’s ability to lie with a straight face and no tremor in the script from the laughter as he’d written those words. But Archie had no doubt been asking for money, and that was never a laughing matter to him.No bundle of letters from himself, he noticed. Not that the heart warming letters he was prone to send would have been cherished by the dowager.Letters from the lawyers, arranging estate matters. She’d been well prepared to go when the time had come.And, on the bottom, a small stack of letters in a heavy, cream envelope .Dearest Andrea,It has been many years, nearly forty, since last we saweach other at Miss Farthing’s school, and I havethought of you often. I read of your marriage to the lateduke, and of the births of your sons. At the time, I’dthought to send congratulations, but you can under-stand why this would have been unwise. Still, I thoughtof you
Lady Danbury would have been overjoyed, she was sure. The hardest part of the plan had always been the cooperation of the son. The dowager could be forced, but how would she gain the cooperation of the son without revealing all? Lady Danbury had hoped that one or the other of the two men was so hopelessly under the thumb of his mother as to agree without question when a suitable woman was put before him. But she’d had her doubts. If the sons were in their mother’s control, they’d havebeen married already.To stumble into complete ruin was more good fortune than she could hope for. She smothered her rising guilt. The duke had been right. She’d achieved her purpose and should derive some pleasure from it. She was about to become the lady to a very great, and very dirty, estate. She was about to marry a duke, the heart desire of every young girl of the country. And have his heir.She sat down on the edge of the bed. That was the crux of the problem. To have the heirs, she would have to b
‘Over ten years, ma’am.’ Parton saw the look in her eyes and grinned. ‘We’ve changed the linen since, I’m sure.’‘Of course,’ she said, shaking herself for being a goose.‘And her Grace died…?’‘In childbed, ma’am. His Grace was quite broken up about it, and swore he’d leave the house to rot on its foundation before marrying again. He’s been on the continent most of the last ten years. Stops back once or twice a year to check on the estate, but that is all.’Gwen leaned back in her chair and gripped the arms.The picture Lady Danbury had painted for her was of a man who had grieved, but was ready to marry again. But he hadn’t expected her. Hadn’t wanted her. Had only agreed to a meeting to humour his dying mother.No wonder he had flown into a rage.She should set him free of any obligation towards her. Perhaps he could lend her some coach fare back to London. Her Prospects were black, but certainly not as bad as attaching herself to an unwilling husband. She wasn’t that desperate Do
The Reverend was shaking his head slowly as Authur passed the explanatory letter to him. ‘As you can see, I was just writing to you to invite you to the house so we could resolve this situation.’ His lips thinned as he fought to contain the rest of the thought."Of course I needn’t have bothered.You hitched up the carriage and were on your way here as soon as the sun rose. Cometo see the storm damage, have you, Reverend? Meddling old fool. You’ve come to see the girl and you’re hoping for the worst".The Reverend looked sympathetic, but couldn’t disguise the mischievous smile as he spoke. ‘Most unfortunate. A most unfortunate turn of events. Of course, you realise what your duty is in this situation, to prevent gossip in the village and to protect the young lady’s reputation.’A duty that could have been prevented yesterday, if you actually cared a jot for the girl or for silencing talk.‘Yes,’ he responded mildly. ‘I discussed it with Gwen yesterday and we are in agreement. It only
‘Why not, Authur? She is never far from my mind. Just because you wish to forget her does not mean that I will.’ He flexed his hands and pushed away the image of them closing on Archie’s windpipe, and then placed them carefully on the table. ‘You promised a truce and I see how quickly you forget it. Let us pretend for a moment, Archie, that you have any honour left as it pertains to this house.’‘Very well, brother. One last game of “Let’s Pretend”, as we played when we were little. And what are we pretending, pray tell?’‘That you are planning to go willingly from this house, today, and that it will not be necessary for me to have the servants evict you.’‘Go? From this house? Why ever would I do that, Authur?’ ‘Because you hate it here as much as I do. And you hate me. There. There are two good reasons. I must remain here to face what memories there are. As you are quick to point out to me, whenever we are alone, I am the Duke of ThornHill . And now I am to be married, and chances a
Gwen stood at the back of the chapel, waiting for the man who was to seal her future. When the knock had sounded at her door, she’d expected the duke, but had been surprised to see Archie, holding a small bouquet out to her and offering to accompany her to the chapel. The gown she’d finally chosen for the wedding was not the silk, but her best day dress, and, if he thought to make a comment on the state of it, it didn’t show. It had looked much better in the firelight as she’d altered it. Here in ThornHill, in the light of day, the pitiable state of it was plainly apparent to anyone that cared to look. The hem of Lady Danbury’s green cotton gown had been let down several inches to accommodate her long legs, and the crease of the old hem was clearly visible behind the unusually placed strip of lace meant to conceal it. The ruffles, cut from the excess fabric of the bodice when she’d taken it in, and added to the ends of the sleeves, did not quite match, and the scrap of wilted lace at