The front door was large and intimidating, and when she started knocking loudly, Gwen Lewis was surprised that the
sound was barely louder than the hammering of the rain on the flags around her. It would be a wonder if anyone heardher knock above the sound of the late summer.When the door finally opened, the butler hesitated, as though a moment’s delay in the rain might wash the stepclean and save him the trouble of seeing to her.She was afraid to imagine what he must see. Her hair was half down and streaming water. Her shawl clung to her body,soaked through with the rain. Her travelling dress moulded to her body, and the mud-splattered skirts bunched betweenher legs when she tried to move. She offered a silent prayer of thanks that she’d decided against wearing slippers or hernew pair of shoes. The heavy boots she’d chosen were wildly inappropriate for a lady, but anything else would have dis-integrated on the walk to the house. Her wrists, which protruded from the sleeves of the gown before disappearinginto her faded gloves, were blue with cold . After an eternity, the butler opened his mouth, probably to send her away. Or at least to direct her to the rear entrance.She squared her shoulders and heard Lady Danbury repeating words in her mind.‘It is not who you appear to be that matters. It is who you are. Despite circumstances, you are a lady.You were born to be a lady. If you remember this, people will treat you accordingly.’Appreciating her height for once, she stared down into the face of the butler and said in a tone as frigid as the icy rain-water in her boots, ‘Lady Gwen Lewis. I believe I am expected.’The butler stepped aside and muttered something about a library. Then, without waiting for an answer, he shambledoff down the hall, leaving her and her luggage on the step.She heaved the luggage over the threshold, stepped in after it, and pulled the door shut behind her. She glanced down at her bag, which sat in its own puddle on the marble floor. It could stay here and rot. She was reasonably sure thatit was not her job to carry the blasted thing. The blisters forming beneath the calluses on her palms convinced her thatshe had already carried it quite enough for one night. She abandoned it and hurried after the butler.He led her into a large room lined with books and muttered something. She leaned closer, but was unable to make out the words. He was no easier to understand in the dead quiet of the house than he had been when he’d greeted her at the door. Then he wandered away again, off into the hall. In search of the dowager, she hoped. In his wake, she detected a faint whiff of gin.When he was gone, she examined her surroundings in detail, trying to ignore the water dripping from her clothes and on to the fine rug. The house was grand. There was no argument to that. The ceilings were high. The park in front was enormous, as she had learned in frustration while stumbling across its wide expanse in the pouring rain. The hall to this room had been long, wide and marble, and lined with doors that hinted at a variety of equally large rooms.But…She sighed. There had to be a but. A house with a peer, but without some accompanying problem, some unspoken deficit, would not have opened its doors to her. She stepped closer to the bookshelves and struggled to read a few of the titles. They did not appear to be well used or current—not that she had any idea of the fashion in literature. Their spines were not worn; they were coated with dust and trailed the occasional cobweb from corner to corner. Not a great man for learning, the duke.She brightened. Learning was not a requirement, certainly. A learned man might be too clever by half and she’d find herself back out in the rain. Perhaps he had more money than wit. She stepped closer to the fire and examined the bricks of the hearth. Now here was an area she well understood. It left a message much more readable than the bookshelves. Therewas soot on the bricks that should have been scrubbed away long ago. She could see the faint smudges on the walls, signsthat the room was long overdue for a good cleaning. She rustled the heavy velvet of the draperies over the window, thensneezed at the dust and slapped at the flutter of moths she’d disturbed.So, the duke was not a man of learning, and the dowager had a weak hand on the servants. The butler was drunk and the maids did not waste time cleaning the room set aside to receive guests. Her hands itched to straighten cushions, to beat dust out of velvet and to find a brush to scrub the bricks.Didn’t these people understand what they had? How lucky they were? And how careless with their good fortune?If she were mistress of this house…She stopped to correct herself. When she was mistress of this house. That was how Lady Danbury would want her to think.When, not if. Her father was fond of myths and had often told her stories of the Spartan soldiers. When they went off to war, their mothers told them to come back with their shields or on them. And her family would have the same of her. Failure was not an option. She could not disappoint them.Very well, she decided. When she was mistress of this house, things would be different. She could not offer his Grace riches. But despite the dirt, the house and furnishings proved he did not need money. She was not a great beauty, but who would see her here, so far from London? She lacked the refinements and charms of a lady accustomed to society, but she’d seen no evidence that his Grace enjoyed entertaining. She had little learning, but the dust on his library showed this was not his first concern.What she could offer were the qualities he clearly needed. Household management. A strong back. A willingness to work hard. She could make his life more comfortable. And she could provide him an heir.She pushed the thought quickly from her mind. That would be part of her duties, of course. And, despite Lady Danbury’s all-too-detailed explanations of what this duty entailed, she was not afraid. Well, not very afraid. Lady Danbury had told herenough about his Grace, the Duke of ThornHill , to encourage her on this point. He was ten years a widower, so perhaps he would not be too demanding. If his needs were great, he must surely have found a means to satisfy them thatdid not involve a wife. If his needs were not great, then she had no reason to fear him.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 fa
‘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