Duke of Her Own, A Read online

  LORRAINE HEATH

  A DUKE OF HER OWN

  For my realist

  From your dreamer

  With love, always

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  “What in the devil is this?”

  Chapter 2

  “I didn’t think matters could get any worse.”

  Chapter 3

  “I can hardly signify that you insulted my friends to…

  Chapter 4

  The very thought of marriage sent a chill skittering down…

  Chapter 5

  “I see Hawk has made his diabolically clever move,” Falconridge…

  Chapter 6

  “Men set little store by what is carelessly guarded,” the…

  Chapter 7

  “So you’re the chaperone.”

  Chapter 8

  “Pray do tell me you’re not planning to wear that…

  Chapter 9

  After listening to opera for most of the evening, Louisa…

  Chapter 10

  The two outings with Hawkhurst had signaled the start of…

  Chapter 11

  A week later, with the chandeliers glittering above him and…

  Chapter 12

  What in God’s name had possessed him to take Louisa…

  Chapter 13

  He stood in the corner, watching, waiting, a predator that…

  Chapter 14

  “You were supposed to secure a duke for my daughters,…

  Chapter 15

  “I’m marrying Hawkhurst.”

  Chapter 16

  Sometime later he found his mother in the garden, her…

  Chapter 17

  Louisa awoke that morning to find herself still in Hawk’s…

  Chapter 18

  The rain that had brought such comfort all afternoon had…

  Chapter 19

  “You can’t be serious,” Hawk’s mother said. “Whatever are you…

  Chapter 20

  “What if no one comes?” Caroline asked, fidgeting on the…

  Chapter 21

  “Will you please stop glaring?” Louisa demanded. “You will frighten…

  Chapter 22

  As the coach journeyed back to Selwyn Manor, Hawk knew…

  Epilogue

  “I can’t believe you kept the box all these years,”…

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Books by Lorraine Heath

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  London

  1888

  Gentlewoman of noble birth offers to chaperone genteel American lady in need of social guidance. References provided. Send inquiry to the attention of Lady Louisa Wentworth, in care of this publication.

  The Lady’s Quarterly Review

  “What in the devil is this?”

  Lady Louisa Wentworth jerked her head back slightly to avoid having her nose bruised by the publication her brother was flapping furiously in front of her face. She’d been enjoying her usual breakfast of porridge laced with butter, milk, and an abundance of sugar before he’d come storming into the morning dining room as though he were some avenging angel. Delicately pressing her linen napkin to each corner of her mouth, she summoned up every ounce of fortitude within her in order to confront his belligerence with serenity.

  “It appears to be a magazine,” she said.

  “Not this!” he shouted, frantically jerking the periodical up and down, before slamming it on the table. He pressed a blunt-tipped finger beneath a particular block of words. “This!”

  Glancing at the familiar phrasing, she took a calming breath. “My advert.”

  “Your advert,” he repeated with an unnatural calm that caused a frisson of unease to travel the length of her spine. Then he quite simply erupted in anger. “Your advert! You’re advertising for a position as a chaperone?”

  “Yes, and I have an interview later this morning, so I would appreciate it if you’d cease your shouting so my digestion is not unduly upset.”

  “You are not taking a position as a chaperone. I absolutely forbid it.”

  Her stomach tightened into a painful knot. Having made her decision after much agonizing, carefully scrutinizing her options, weighing the benefits against the disadvantages, and accepting the enormous consequences that would ensue after effectively changing the direction of her life, she wasn’t about to allow him—or anyone else for that matter—to deter or forbid her from seeing her plan through to the finish.

  “I’m twenty-six years old, Alex, old enough to do as I please. Serving as a chaperone is a respectable position for the daughter of a peer—”

  “Unmarried ladies younger than thirty require a chaperone. How in God’s name can you be a chaperone when you need a chaperone?”

  Shoving back the chair, she came to her feet, tossed the linen napkin into her bowl of porridge, and steadfastly met her brother’s blistering blue glare. She wondered if her blue eyes darkened as much as his did when challenged.

  “A lady requires that her reputation remain pristine when there is some chance in hell that a gentleman will seek her hand in marriage. No gentleman is going to ask for my hand, and you damned well know it.” His jaw had dropped at her first bit of profanity; his eyes had bulged at her second. “I have no dowry at all. It is time that I face reality, that you face reality. We have nothing of value—”

  “We have ourselves.”

  “Then allow me to rephrase and be perfectly clear. You have value; you have a blasted title. I have nothing. No dowry, no property, no hope of ever enticing a man into looking past my impoverished state—”

  “Somewhere a man of rare intelligence exists who can see your true worth.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Dear brother, how long shall I wait? I’ve never been courted. Oh, a few men have dallied with me here and there, but it was more for sport than any serious consideration. No one sends me bouquets of flowers. No one sits beside me in the parlor, chatting aimlessly. No one dreads running the formidable gauntlet of asking you for my hand. I’m not seriously sought after—not at all. The reality is that I never shall be. Not as a wife anyway, and I will not stoop to becoming some man’s mistress—”

  “I would kill any man who even entertained the notion of using you thusly.”

  Yet she knew he had no compunction whatsoever about keeping a mistress for himself. Men were such odd creatures. Still, she thought it sweet that he would jump to her defense so quickly.

  “Alex, I’m weary of being without funds, of not being in charge of my life or my destiny, of waiting in vain for some man to decide I’m worthy of his affections or his attentions when I come with nothing.”

  Alex looked down at his shoes, slightly worn, a sight that tore at her heart, because he’d always taken such pride in his appearance. Their situation was becoming very sad indeed when he went so long without replacing his shoes.

  “You are worthy of a great deal more, Louisa,” he said quietly. He lifted his gaze to hers, and she could see how he suffered because the truth of their lives was not as either of them would wish it to be. “But to take a position, to be seen as someone’s servant—”

  “A chaperone is not considered a servant.”

  “Semantics. You will serve at their pleasure.”

  “I shall have pin money.” Making light of the situation was the only way that she could avoid weeping every moment of every hour of every day. She was no happier with her decision than Alex was, but honestly, what choice did she have? She was well past her prime, and now that American heiresses had descended on London like ravenous vultures and were taking the choicest among the lords, she had no desire to settle for the scr
aps—not that any had ever been tossed her way. But still she had to allow for the possibility that it might happen, that some aging lord might see her as a last resort.

  But not the young and virile ones. No, they were taking advantage of the wealthy Americans, marrying their daughters when they could come to terms on a generous settlement. Why shouldn’t the British ladies take advantage as well? Why should only the men benefit from this madness of Americans wanting to elevate their status by becoming titled?

  “Louisa—”

  “Alex, I’m quite determined to see this through. Please don’t make it any more difficult than it already is.” Giving him a gamin smile, she returned to her chair. “I hadn’t expected you to hear of my plan. I didn’t realize you read ladies’ magazines.”

  Pulling out a chair, he sat as well, his anger effectively doused. It always burned so brightly it could seldom burn for long. “I don’t, for God’s sake. My mistress showed it to me. She had quite a chuckle over it, I can tell you that.”

  They were well ensconced in poverty, yet he still managed to keep a mistress, had no qualms whatsoever about asking merchants to extend his credit so he might continue to enjoy all the benefits life had to offer. Louisa detested that particular habit, but it was one all merchants seemed to expect of the nobility—allow them to purchase items in haste and pay in leisure, usually not until the end of the year, if then. And if not this year, then the next.

  She, however, believed one should live within one’s means. Their problem was that their father, upon his untimely death three years earlier—ironically he’d been reviewing the latest figures for debts owed when his heart quite simply had ceased to beat—had left them with no means whatsoever, and Alex had not accepted that fact yet. Although the state of his shoes indicated he might be on the cusp of facing the unfortunate reality of their situation.

  “Your mistress can read?” Louisa asked smugly. “Fancy that. I had no idea you’d chosen a woman based on her intellect.”

  As fair of complexion as she, Alex had difficulty hiding the fact he was embarrassed. Crimson crept over his chin and high onto his cheeks. He cleared his throat as though hoping to distract her attention from his brilliant coloring. “So what do you know about this position for which you’ll be interviewing?”

  “It’s with the Rose family. They have two daughters—”

  “Of New York?”

  “You know them?”

  “Not personally, of course, but I have heard the rumors. James Rose is a banker, from what I understand, and extremely well-off.”

  She nodded, acknowledging the rumors he’d heard to be true. “I’ll know more once I’ve spoken with him and his wife. I suspect they are hoping to land each of their daughters a titled husband.”

  A mischievous smile crossed her brother’s handsome face. “You don’t say? I’ve heard these Americans are more than generous when it comes to arranging a marriage settlement.” Leaning forward, he whispered conspiratorially, “I’m talking thousands. And here I’ll have someone in a position to put in a good word for me.”

  “Would you want to marry an American heiress?”

  “Much less work than serving as her chaperone.”

  She laughed. “Gentlemen don’t serve as chaperones.”

  Reaching out, he took her hand, all teasing gone from his face. “I’m truly sorry, Louisa, that you’ve had to resort to actually working. I feel as though I’ve let you down.”

  “I don’t blame you, Alex. You’re not the reason we have so little, although I will admit I do get cross when I think of your mistress living in what would be the dower house if Mama were alive and you ever did marry.”

  “Thank God, she’s not.”

  She tugged her hand free of his. Their mother had succumbed to death shortly after their father’s passing. The physician had identified the cause as pneumonia, brought on by the damp weather, but Louisa had always believed it to be a broken heart. Her mother’s rather lengthy list of shortcomings did not include an absence of love for her husband.

  “I’m sorry, Louisa. It would only be more difficult if she was alive, and well you know it. Her insatiable appetite for spending went a long way toward putting us where we are today.”

  “A habit you seem to have embraced.”

  He grimaced at her chastisement, but he could not deny the truth of her words. “A man must have his distractions; otherwise, his responsibilities will overwhelm him, and he’ll be of little use to anyone.”

  She rolled her eyes at that ludicrous statement while her stomach rumbled. She did wish she hadn’t tossed her napkin into her porridge. Rather bad planning that.

  “And to whom might I attribute that ridiculous sentiment: Hawkhurst or Falconridge?”

  “I fail to understand why you think so poorly of my friends.”

  “They are a bad influence. Neither has bothered to take a wife and see to the business of his title.”

  “Neither have I for that matter.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Well, perhaps this year will be the one when we’ll each take a wife. A pity the Roses weren’t blessed with three daughters. You could steer them all toward us.”

  “I’d steer them away from you is what I’d do.”

  “Have pity—”

  “On them I shall. If I’m offered the position. I have to endure the interview first and leave them with a favorable impression.”

  “I daresay you shall charm them.”

  “Can you guarantee that my daughters will marry a man with an impressive title and lineage?”

  Louisa fought not to stare at the behemoth who called herself Mrs. Rose. She in no way resembled the delicate buds for which her family was named. Rather she sat in the massive yellow floral-print chair across from Louisa giving the impression that she was queen and failure to provide the right answer would result in her shouting, “Off with her head!”

  Louisa darted a glance at the two young ladies sitting on either side of their mother. Jenny’s deep green eyes reflected amusement at her mother’s question. Louisa had no idea what Kate might be thinking. Her gaze was focused on the novel she was reading, as though she truly couldn’t be bothered with this nonsense of finding a husband.

  Clearing her throat, Louisa met Mrs. Rose’s gaze, a gaze as green as her elder daughter’s. Her hair, however, was another matter. She’d passed her vibrant red hair on to her younger daughter, Kate, while Jenny’s was a muted shade, more like mahogany.

  “I would do my best—”

  “And if your best was not good enough?”

  Louisa could sense she was on the verge of losing this position. Mrs. Rose seemed dissatisfied with every answer she’d given. Louisa’s father had been only an earl. With a haughty sniff, Mrs. Rose had stated she’d hoped for a duke’s daughter to serve as chaperone. Louisa suspected in truth she’d hoped for more than that: the daughter of a prince or king.

  Mrs. Rose thought Louisa dressed dowdily. Well, not every lady could afford to hop across the Channel to Paris and have Charles Worth design her gowns.

  Louisa spoke too quietly. The quiet-spoken Louisa had refrained from explaining that she spoke with refinement, something with which the American mother was obviously not familiar.

  Louisa’s stomach rumbled. Damnation, it always did when she was tense. Mrs. Rose arched a brow as though the low growl emphasized whatever point she’d been attempting to make.

  Louisa fisted her gloved hands in her lap. “I’m well acquainted with the lords. I’m familiar with their character, their heritage, their family scandals, and their family triumphs. I know the value of their titles. I know of their dalliances. I recognize who is suitable and who is not. I would seek a husband for your daughters as I would seek one for myself. One who is kind—”

  “I care nothing at all if he is kind. I care only that he is well placed among the aristocracy. Can you guarantee me his position will be such that other American mothers will look upon me with jealousy and unbridled
envy because my girls have done so well for themselves?”

  With resignation, Louisa shook her head. “I can’t guarantee that, no. I would strive to ensure that your daughters would make a good match, but I can’t guarantee that others would be envious. In all honesty, I’m not certain any chaperone could meet such exceedingly high expectations. We can only guarantee our own actions, not those of others.”

  “At least you appear to be honest.”

  “I am honest,” Louisa quickly countered. She might desperately need this position, but she could swallow only so much pride without strangling, and she’d reached her limit. “I’m striving not to present a false impression or create false expectations.”

  Louisa thought she detected one corner of Mrs. Rose’s mouth twitching, as though she were more amused than annoyed at Louisa’s sudden show of nerve.

  Mrs. Rose tapped a neatly manicured finger on the lace doily covering the arm of the chair. “Were you in a more favorable position, which lord would you select for yourself?”

  Louisa’s stomach tightened at such a personal and intimate question. It was a test. She was certain the nasty woman was giving her some sort of test. She angled her chin only enough to show she wasn’t intimidated without appearing haughty. “Having never been in a more favorable position, I’ve never given the matter a great deal of thought.”

  “Oh, come, come. Every woman fantasizes. Who would be your ideal mate?”