Pretty Little Lies for the Duke's Heart

by Leah Conolly

The next morning, Charles was found dead in his chair, the embers of the fire still smoking, and the glass beside him empty. It was quickly deduced that the cause of death was heart failure.

  But there was one who knew very well that heart failure was not the true diagnosis…

  Chapter 1

  “Elizabeth, have your senses left you entirely?”

  Elizabeth Gladstone continued her march through the house even as she heard her father’s footsteps echoing directly behind her. Despite his presence, she was determined to put as much space between her and the parlor as possible. “I have my senses completely about me, Father,” she replied. “It was my senses that told me just how distasteful, vulgar, and rude the Duke was.”

  There was a beat of silence that Elizabeth expected. She could well picture her father’s expression; the way his gray brows would furrow, his green eyes would darken to emerald, and his lips would pucker into an exaggerated frown. When he eventually spoke, exasperation was evident in his voice. “Child, a duke!”

  “Yes, and it is only because he is a duke that I refrained from saying anything more. Comparing him to a raisin was the kindest compliment I could have bestowed upon him.”

  What she would not tell her father was that she only just stopped herself from slapping the duke after he had privately uttered an improper comment on her appearance. Because he was a duke, he could get away with it. If one had a title, one was entitled to anything, it seemed, but it did not mean Elizabeth had to put up with it.

  Elizabeth came to the end of her march when she entered the library at the extreme opposite end of the house. She turned to face her father with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Her father’s expression was that of a storm waiting to erupt but interspersed with the anger was also confusion and exasperation, as if, even after all these years, he still did not understand his daughter. “Please,” he pleaded, “just return to the duke and apologize.”

  “Why would I tell the duke I am sorry when I am not? That is nonsensical.”

  A tinge of red crept into her father’s cheeks, and his hands shook at his sides. “You are nonsensical, child!” His voice reached a crescendo, as he gestured to her dress. “Your appearance is not even presentable! You knew he was coming, and yet you entered with your dress dirty and your hair a mess. You are not fit to be seen by anyone in such a state!”

  Elizabeth followed her father’s gaze and looked down at the hem of her dress, which was splattered with mud from her morning walk. Her long blonde hair trailed halfway in front of her shoulder and halfway behind, running all the way down her back. Why should it matter if the duke knew she had been out walking? She would not change out of a perfectly good dress just because it had been used for its intended purpose.

  Elizabeth’s resolve only hardened at her father’s disapproval. “I am not a child, Father, and I will not apologize for being honest!”

  He ran his hands through his hair and clenched his jaw. After a few seconds, he breathed out a long sigh. “Elizabeth,” he began in a gentler tone, “I have not hidden from you that my estate is near ruin. If you do not marry…” He shook his head, sorrow in his eyes. “I fear what will happen to you.”

  Some of Elizabeth’s anger ebbed at the sight of her father’s anxiety. “I understand, Father, but I will not marry someone like him,” she said, gesturing toward the sitting room. “I want a man to marry me for who I am, not who I pretend to be.”

  Her father’s frown deepened. “Then you must become a lady. Now, all you are is a child.”

  Elizabeth glared at him, but, as she had no more to say, she stormed off, walking straight past her father and making her way outside. She knew that nature was the only thing that would not criticize her in all of this, and, since her father had taken such a dislike to her appearance, she decided she would take care to make it even more unladylike as she walked through the muddiest patches of ground.

  Determined to put distance between herself and the house, Elizabeth made for the fields that were more familiar to her than the father who was her only family. Out among the rolling hills of grass, she recognized every tree, every flower, and every bird. They were her only friends and confidants. Who else would dare interact with the infamous Elizabeth Gladstone who spoke her mind and did not care what people thought?

  Elizabeth’s spirits sank as she continued her walk. Despite her show of bravado, she admitted to herself that she was lonely. Her father could hardly be called a parent, as he had never shown her anything like love since her mother had died. She had no other family close by, and the only friend she’d ever had, Felicia, had moved to London only a short time ago. Elizabeth felt the loss of her companionship every day.

  As the sun began to set, Elizabeth made her way back to the house. She did not encounter her father and refused to join him for dinner. Instead, she went to bed early. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t let herself. If she were to be lonely, she would not let anyone else know of her weakness.

  * * *

  Several mornings later, Elizabeth joined her father for breakfast. All was silent, as had the last few meals they had eaten together. Elizabeth could feel the uneasiness of the servants as they stood ready to serve. She wondered, briefly, what they really thought of her.

  Almost the whole of breakfast passed without a word being spoken. As Elizabeth’s father finished, he sat back in his chair, cleared his throat, and finally met Elizabeth’s eyes.

  “My dear Elizabeth,” he began.

  Elizabeth froze. The endearment was always a sign of something terrible to come. She remembered him using it when her mother had died.

  “In light of your recent behavior,” he continued, “I decided to write to your godmother Mrs. Kinsley. This morning I received her reply.”

  Elizabeth set down her teacup. “What did you write to her about, Father?”

  His gaze shifted away from her, as if he couldn’t bear to directly deliver the punishment. “You are going to live with her in London. Mrs. Kinsley agreed that you must adapt to the customs of fashionable society. She is an agreeable woman, and she will house you and teach you.”

  Elizabeth dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter that broke the moment of silence. “Live in London? Father, I have hardly been a few miles away from Deuney Keep my whole life!”

  Edward Gladstone’s face remained free of emotion.

  “Elizabeth, this is long overdue. You have needed a guardian like Mrs. Kinsley for some time, but your unforgivable behavior toward the Duke forced my hand. It is all settled. You will be leaving in a fortnight.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes stung with tears. Her father had always been distant, but this was the ultimate betrayal. “Father,” she whispered, “how could you do this?”

  His gaze softened, and his expression transformed into a troubled frown. “You gave me no choice, child. I want the very best for you. If you continue as you are, no man will ever see fit to marry you.”

  Elizabeth balled her hands into fists. “I would rather end up an old maid than marry some rich, pompous man who is only pleased with me for my beauty and your title!” She shot to her feet and left the room immediately, running straight upstairs to fall on her bed. She cried until she soaked her pillow through. Her father knocked on her door and called to her, but she ignored him.

  Eventually, Elizabeth began to reason with herself. Her tears dried, as she focused on the positive parts of her situation. Her father could have sent her somewhere worse, like a nunnery, and really, it was a wonder that he hadn’t. And though she was grieved to be leaving home, at least it would get her away from her overbearing father.

  Elizabeth brightened considerably when it occurred to her that she would see Felicia again in London. If nothing else, at least there was one happy circumstance to come out of this exile

  Chapter 2

  James awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window. Already, he could hear the sounds of city dwellers beginning their day. Horses’ hooves clopped
along the street, and voices called out to each other in greeting and confrontation. James stretched, feeling acutely the absence of somebody beside him.

  Once he was dressed and had taken care of some early daily duties, James went to the drawing room where he saw that his mother had already started breakfast. “Good morning, Mother,” he greeted her, bending over to kiss her cheek.

  “Good morning.” She waited until he was seated across from her to continue the conversation. “I wanted to wait for you, but Oscar woke early this morning and claimed he was so hungry that he could eat one of your books.”

  James chuckled. “I assume he ate rather quickly?”

  “I attempted to slow him down, but he ate a few cakes and ran off with poor Miss Ludwig chasing after him.”

  James took a cake himself and smiled at the story. “He has his mother’s spirit.”

  Mrs. Wordsworth nodded. “He has yours, too. Miss Ludwig tells me that he is quite serious when setting up his toys, just as you were.”

  On cue, a little boy with a mop of curly brown hair darted into the dining room, followed closely by his governess. A wide grin broke out on his face when he saw James.

  “Father!” he exclaimed. He ran up to his chair, his eyes shining with excitement. “May I have another seed cake?”

  James met Miss Ludwig’s eyes. “He has already eaten three this morning, sir,” she informed him.

  “Is this true?” James asked, looking Oscar in the eye.

  Oscar’s eyes focused on the ground. “Yes ... but I am still hungry.”

  James held his chin in his hand, made an exaggerated thinking face, and hummed in thought. “Perhaps, if you can show me how to eat like a gentleman, you will be allowed another cake.”

  Oscar’s eyes widened. He clambered up into the empty chair at the breakfast table, solemnly picked up his knife and fork, and lifted a seedcake onto his plate. He cut a small piece from it and ate it, intent on his own progress. Once he swallowed, he looked up at James for approval.

  “Well done, sir,” James said with a smile. “I expect you to finish the rest of the cake in the same manner.”

  Oscar nodded and eagerly went to his task, carefully cutting off bite-sized pieces and consuming the cake. James nodded approvingly once he was done. Miss Ludwig took Oscar and left James and his grandmother to their breakfast.

  “Ah, it is Wednesday!” Mrs. Wordsworth said suddenly. “I know you enjoy your visits with Isabelle, but you must invite her to come here for tea sometime. It has been many weeks since I have seen her!”

  “I will be sure to tell her.” James looked out the window and noted that clouds were gathering in the distance. “It seems like there will be rain later, which will make for a rather unpleasant journey,” he noted with a sigh. At least he knew the rough carriage ride would be worth it. Isabelle, his closest friend, always knew just how to cheer him up.

  James excused himself from breakfast and went about his day, watching the dark clouds collect over London. Just before he left for Isabelle’s house, the rain came pouring down.

  As the carriage rocked back and forth in an uneven rhythm, James looked out onto the streets of London. There were few people about in the rain, and those who were walking along the street were in an obvious rush. James was thankful that the inside of his carriage was warm and dry. The gentle sound of the rain on the roof even made seem it peaceful.

  Rainy days always made him think of Braith. Contrary to everyone else’s complaints about bad weather, she had always loved the rain. It brought life to the Earth, she had said, so why should it not bring life to people too?

  It had been raining the day she died, as if God had sent it just for her. The gentle drizzle, just like today’s, had seemed peaceful and melancholy, almost as if the world had stopped turning. Braith had turned her head towards the window and smiled. Her last smile.

  James’ eyes stung as he dwelled on the memory. He turned his mind instead to his son Oscar who loved to play in the rain. The small droplets falling on his face made him smile and laugh like nothing else.

  Yet those thoughts turned melancholy, too. Just when he had needed someone to help him be a father, his own father, the Duke of Darrington, had died, leaving his estate and title to James. Though it had been eight years ago, the wound was still fresh. James would give up his title in a heartbeat to have his father back.

  The streets of London ran on, seemingly never-ending. James wondered why everything else had to end. Though he had his mother, his constant friend and confidante, James couldn’t help but admit that he was lonely.

  The carriage slowed and then stopped in front of a large house on one of the most fashionable streets in London. A servant opened the carriage door, and James shivered as the cold rain fell on his cheeks. He knocked on the door and was greeted by a butler who took his coat and hat. He was shown into the drawing room, where a woman with long blonde hair was sitting by the window with what looked like complicated needlework in her lap.

  “The Duke of Darrington, my lady,” announced the butler.

  Isabelle Kinsley stood, putting aside her work, and greeted him with innocent blue eyes and a charming smile. “James,” she said, “it is so fortunate that you are here.”

  James hid a smile at her words. One of the reasons he enjoyed Isabelle’s company so much was because her worries seemed so trivial, and they took his mind off his own burdensome troubles.

  “I am here at this time every week,” James reminded her.

  “Yes,” she admitted, taking a seat at a small table, “but there have been some developments since I extended the invitation.” She turned to the butler and ordered that tea be brought in. James sat across from her.

  “Indeed? What has befallen you this time, Isabelle?”

  She let out an overly exaggerated sigh. “It is the matter of my goddaughter. Her father, Edward, has written and asked that she come and stay with me! I could hardly refuse. The poor Earl of Waymouth has hardly known what to do with Elizabeth since his wife died.”

  James felt as if something had struck him through the heart. Isabelle’s mouth dropped open, as if she had only just realized what impact those words would have on James. “Elizabeth is rather wild, I’m afraid,” she said, quickly. “She has always been very...spirited.”

  James again felt his lips twitching of their own accord. No doubt, Isabelle was trying to say that her goddaughter was very far from being an accomplished young woman as politely as possible.

  “She has had no success at all in securing a marriage, so her father has asked me if I will teach her how to behave properly in society.” She sighed again. “It is impossible, James! The last time I saw the girl, she did not even use the correct utensils at dinner. Her hair was a disaster, and she insulted the man she was sitting next to.”

  James hummed in thought, as the tea was brought in and set before them. “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen. Her father tells me she has not really grown up at all since I saw her when she was fourteen.”

  James frowned. It wasn’t appropriate for a young woman so grown to act in such a manner. “It was good of you to agree to take charge of her.”

  Isabelle’s eyebrows furrowed together in worry. “She really is a good sort of girl, underneath it all. She just needs some refining.” She met his eyes. “I need your help, James. I am looking to hire someone to help with Elizabeth, a companion who will stay here so that I will not have to handle this all by myself.”

  James frowned. He tried to think of someone he could recommend, but he had so few acquaintances, and even fewer of those were women. “I cannot think of anyone at the moment.” After a second of thought, he realized that he did know one person, though she was long gone. “If only Braith were here.”

  Isabelle’s eyes saddened. Her expression drooped, and the worry drained from her face. “My dear friend,” she murmured. “She would have been the perfect person to help.” She looked out the window and shook her head. “I always think of
her on rainy days.”

  “I do, too,” James said quietly, his thoughts drifting back into melancholy. He sat still for a moment, lost in thought, thinking about how much the world was still mourning Braith even after five years.

  “When does your goddaughter arrive?” James eventually asked. He took a sip of tea and relished the comforting taste.

  “In one week. I have had a room readied for her use.” Her teacup clattered, as she set it down on its saucer. “I am so very nervous.”

  James smiled at her. “If anyone can help her, Isabelle, it is you.”

  Isabelle smiled in return. “Thank you, James. Edward told me the same thing when he wrote with his request, but it is so hard to consider reforming this child that everyone else has failed to tame.”

  James relaxed, as the conversation turned to lighter subjects. He found himself drinking several cups of tea and realized that he was more troubled than he had thought. Eventually, he stood and said his goodbyes.