The Heiress Gets a Duke

by Harper St. George

  “And the eleven previous men who held the title Duke of Rothschild roll over in their graves to see one of their rank brought so low. Every night I ask why your father left us this way. After William died . . . he seemed to give up.” She touched his hair, brushing it back from his forehead to soften the words. “None of this is your fault. You do know that?”

  Rising to his feet as gracefully as his leg would allow, he hobbled over to the window to escape the tenderness in her gaze. The day was gray and dreary, and a light rain fell onto the cobblestones. Appropriate given his mood. “It hardly matters who is at fault, nor does it change the fact that I have done nothing to improve things.”

  The silk of her gown rustled as she rose and walked up behind him. “You are right. The fault does not matter when we are the ones cleaning up the mess.” Her hand came to rest on his back, and she rubbed a small circle between his shoulders. He closed his eyes, remembering how she would visit the nursery every night to give them a kiss. William was always asleep, but Evan would lie there until she came so that she could rub his back.

  “Believe me when I say that I understand how it feels to have a marriage arranged for you. I hardly knew your father. It was like marrying a stranger.”

  He remembered the often-strained silences between his parents. They had not been enemies, but neither had they been friends. The Duke of Rothschild had been a forbidding man in the best of times. “And, yet, I will have a stranger for a bride,” he muttered.

  Her hand came to a stop, but she kept it in place. “I am so terribly sorry. Your father should have done better, but . . .” Her voice drifted off. What was there to say? There had been no money set aside anywhere. He should know, because he had looked. Clark had looked. There was nothing. “If you choose not to marry now, then the task will fall to your sisters. Only, I shudder to think of the offers they shall receive next Season with no dowries.”

  Evan shook his head. Once the extent of their debts, along with their inability to pay them, became publicly known, there would be no offers. Hell. There were already rumors. It was no secret his terrace had been sold. Had he allowed his sisters to come out this year, he had no doubt their only offers would be from scoundrels and perverted lechers. He had spent the past year in denial, but it was time to face the future. He had to marry to save his family.

  He had grown up naively assuming that the task of marriage to form an alliance with a noble family would fall to William. His older brother would have faced the duty with honor and selected a woman capable of becoming the next duchess. He would have married her gladly and spent the rest of his life dutifully begetting children with her all the while continuing to write his papers dissecting Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics or the finer points of Hellenistic astronomy. And he likely would have never so much as looked at another woman.

  When faced with the same prospect, Evan was fighting a knot in his belly the size of his fist. Swallowing against the thickness of his throat, he turned to face his mother. “Who did you have in mind?”

  “Have you met the Crenshaw family of New York City?” He was not surprised that she already had someone picked out for him; he was only surprised that he knew her. An image of the Crenshaw heiress as he had seen her last night sprang to mind. Evan had been shocked to see her at the fight. Her wide eyes had held an intriguing mix of sharp-witted integrity and questioning innocence. She had clearly been both dismayed and scandalized by the brutality of the fight, but she had also been curious. Curious enough to stay.

  Curious enough to kiss him.

  “Not formally. I saw the family at the ballet last week.” Everyone had been talking about the wealthy American family who had been making the social rounds. They had shared a box directly across from his, which is how he had recognized Miss Crenshaw at the fight.

  “Did you by chance notice their daughter Violet?”

  Violet. He vaguely remembered other people with the Crenshaws in the box, but she had to be Violet. “I saw her,” he said.

  “She is the prettiest young woman I have seen this Season. While I have yet to meet her formally, she appeared very mannered. Not quite as brash as that other American, so obviously from quality stock. I spoke with Mrs. Crenshaw extensively about her and have concluded that she will make you a perfect match.” That American was how many had begun to refer to the Duchess of Hereford; the poor woman had barely stood a chance when she had made her debut in society. The matrons had eaten her alive.

  “You do realize that you could be describing a horse?”

  She gave him a sharp glare. “I would prefer grandchildren who refrain from running wild across Hampshire, but your father did not leave us much choice, so we have to make do. If we have to become involved with an American heiress, then I would prefer it to be a woman of a fine disposition.” Hurrying over to his desk, she opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment. “We will have to come up with a way for you to meet formally . . . a dinner, I think, and if all goes well, a ball to formally announce your intentions. Of course, you will have Clark investigate their actual holdings, but I have heard that the Crenshaws have a net worth that far surpasses the Bridwells’. We have to move fast before someone else latches onto them.”

  “You’ve heard that as well, have you? Perhaps you missed your calling and should look into a position at Scotland Yard.”

  She waved him off and started scribbling on the paper. “Miss Crenshaw may very well have other offers in hand already. But I guarantee you they will not be from a duke.”

  Evan nearly laughed as he watched his mother come alive with excitement for the first time in years. “No, fortunately, we have a title to recommend us.”

  And little else.

  Chapter 3

  Women are the real architects of society.

  Harriet Beecher Stowe

  Marriage?” Violet’s voice was a high-pitched screech that might have come close to peeling the wallpaper in the sitting room of their mother’s bedroom suite. August was too stunned to investigate. Their mother had delivered the surprise announcement with all the aplomb of a woman blissfully unaware of its unwelcome reception.

  Her smile was so bright that August was certain they must have misheard. She was simply overly tired from accompanying Camille to the fight last night. “Pardon me, Mother, but did you say marriage and something about a duke? That Violet is to receive a proposal of marriage from a duke?”

  Their mother paused, preening in the glorious aftermath of her news. Shifting on the settee, she tucked a curl of chestnut hair only lightly touched with silver back up under the silk turban she wore to bed every night. August suspected she was savoring the moment, and her mouth went dry at the implication that she had indeed heard correctly.

  “Oh, if I must say it again, then I will.” Another maddening pause for effect. “The Duke of Rothschild will attend the Ashcroft dinner later this week. If he finds favor with Violet—and I am certain he will—then I have hope that we can expect an offer of marriage to be forthcoming.”

  Violet had gone pale. The announcement had pulled her to her feet, and she stood speechless there before the settee she had shared with August opposite their mother.

  August took it upon herself to ask the pertinent questions on behalf of her sister. “Forgive me, but I am having a bit of trouble putting together how this came about. We have never met this family, much less the duke.”

  “The Ashcrofts have been very good to us this Season. Lord Ashcroft has a fondness for your father and has introduced him around to his men at the clubs. As luck would have it, Lady Ashcroft is very friendly with the duke’s mother. They grew up together. We met at tea several days ago, and Her Grace implied that her son is eligible and in need of a wife.”

  “You mean that she asked you for Violet?” August asked.

  Her mother looked heavenward before shaking her head. “Not in so many words, no. They are
civilized people, August.” Her eyes flashed a warning, before softening as she transferred her gaze to Violet. “But Her Grace expressed an interest in making Violet’s acquaintance. She’s heard nothing but good things about you, my dear.”

  Violet had yet to recover her ability to speak and covered her mouth with her fingers. When it became clear that she had nothing to offer, their mother continued with her explanation. “After Her Grace departed, Lady Ashcroft was kind enough to explain the situation to me. No one knows, you understand, but rumors are that when the elder duke died last year he left them without so much as a penny.”

  “How can that be?” Violet asked. Her voice was soft and faraway. Whether she meant the Rothschilds’ financial state or the proposed marriage, August couldn’t say.

  “It hardly matters,” their mother continued. “The important thing is that they need funds no matter the currency, because they have very little of their own. I suspect their debts are going to be called soon, since the duchess was being a bit forward in her interest. They need us.” There was a distinct gleam in her eye that made August uncomfortable. “Oh, do say something, Violet. This is wonderful news.”

  Violet shook her head slowly and, with a hand on her forehead, made her way to the darkened window that looked out over the garden.

  “Why do the Rothschilds’ financial woes have to involve Violet? Can’t they and Papa work out some sort of arrangement? An investment?” asked August. “Or better yet, if the Ashcrofts are their friends, they can lend them money.”

  “Because that is not how it is done here, August.” Her mother’s voice was sharp again with impatience. “The duke needs an alliance with a powerful family.”

  “A wealthy family, you mean.”

  Her mother’s glare matched the severity of her tone. “Very well, if you insist on mercenary terms, then yes, he needs an alliance with a wealthy family. We are a wealthy family.”

  “This is because of Camille, isn’t it?” August had been wary of the covetous look in her mother’s eyes as Camille had shown them around her manor in Sussex. Now she knew why. It wasn’t the wealth that the manor represented that had caught her mother’s attention. It was the history of the estate and the family. The stench of new money could not linger in a home that had existed for centuries.

  “You have to admit things have worked out quite well for her.”

  Camille was miserable. Anyone could see that. Anyone who cared to look could see that, August amended. “Financially, perhaps, but do you truly think Camille is happy?”

  “Happy?” Mother’s laugh grated as it climbed the ridges of her spine. “Of course she’s happy. She has everything a young woman could ask for.”

  Before August could challenge that, Violet’s voice interrupted what was quickly promising to escalate into an argument. “I still don’t understand. We never came here with the intention of arranging a marriage. The Season was for fun. We were going to return home soon.”

  Their mother smiled. “And aren’t we fortunate that this opportunity arose? Why, it’s nearly been presented to us on a silver platter.”

  “I am sorry, Mother, but to be perfectly frank, I still do not understand how this arrangement benefits us.” August rose and paced around behind the settee, trying her best to work this out. Years of analyzing decisions for Crenshaw Iron Works had taught her to look at every deal from every angle. No matter how she turned it over in her mind, the benefit lay only with the Rothschilds. They would be given a fortune, while the Crenshaws would lose Violet.

  “How can you not see it, child? It’s a golden opportunity for us. Violet will become a duchess. That is very nearly royalty.” She said it as if that were enough. As if Violet marrying a stranger and giving up her entire future to a man they knew nothing about was worth a title.

  “What if Violet doesn’t want to become a duchess?”

  “August, dear, you have to see the opportunities this could bring our way. This could open up doors for us that were previously locked. Why, we are only friends with the Duchess of Hereford, and look at what has already happened. Crenshaw Iron Works could benefit far more than we could imagine.”

  August hated the way her mother referred to Camille by her title now. Despite the fact that Camille had spent hours upon hours playing with August and Violet as children and running the halls of their home, she wasn’t even allowed to be herself anymore. She was a figurehead, a name . . . a wife. Ever since August had learned how much women had to give up when they attained the title of wife, she had been wary of the position. Now she had even more reason to be suspicious of it.

  “I believe that Crenshaw Iron Works is doing fine. More railways are being built every year. Max has our projections increasing annually.”

  “One can hope, but one must not underestimate the value of social connections. If we were to be accepted by some . . .” Her mother’s voice trailed off, and her expression hardened. “We all know that there are places where the Crenshaw name is not welcomed. If that were to change, then we would not have to worry about the Astors of the world making things more difficult for us. This is an investment in our future, our name as a family, as much as it is about Violet.”

  August swallowed thickly, feeling stupid and naive that she had never guessed the depth of her mother’s embarrassment. As new money, there were many families that did not include their name on the guest list. August had always known that this was a sore spot for her mother, but she had never allowed herself to believe that it would come to this. Even seeing Camille walking down the aisle, her shoulders shaking as she had cried silent tears beneath her veil, had not made August seriously consider that this could happen to her or Violet. She had been a fool to ignore her initial misgivings. As a result, anger heated her next words.

  “You are manipulating this arrangement, forcing Violet to marry this man so that you can impress Mrs. Astor.” It wasn’t a question. Her hands clenched into fists so tightly that her fingernails threatened to cut into her palms.

  Her mother nodded. “I am doing what is necessary to secure this family a solid future.”

  “Have you spoken with Papa about this?” She hoped that he would see reason.

  “Your father agrees with me.” Her mother’s usually sparkling eyes had gone glacial.

  A hollow opened up in August’s belly at the betrayal. She had assumed that she and Violet would have his full support. Perhaps her mother was stretching the truth about his agreement.

  Violet made a noise from the window. It seemed she had finally come to some conclusion, or perhaps she had been holding out hope that their father was not in accord on this. “But have you both forgotten about Teddy?” Violet’s voice shook.

  Theodore Sutherland was a darling of their social circles in New York, except he and his family had several fatal flaws. First, his family came from St. Louis and not New York. Second, his family had earned their money in breweries. Third, they, too, were new money, but even newer than the Crenshaws.

  Although nothing had been made official, Teddy and Violet had been close for a while now. Everyone had assumed he would offer for her once he graduated university. Now August understood that her mother had never intended anything to come of the match.

  “What do you mean? What about Teddy?” asked their mother in a tone that seemed deliberately obtuse.

  Violet stomped her foot in a rare demonstration of pique. “We are to be married.”

  This finally brought their mother to her feet. “Violet, dear, that is most certainly not true. The boy is only twenty years old. It will be years before he’s ready to settle into marriage.”

  “It is true. Everyone knows it.” Violet’s eyes were bright with unshed tears when she looked to her sister. “Tell her, August.” Without giving August time to respond, she looked back at their mother. “He’s told me that he loves me.”

  “It’s true, Mother. Everyone know
s that he wants to marry Violet.”

  Their mother shrugged. “Well, I do not know this; your father does not know this. Apparently, everyone does not know.”

  “It’s true.” Violet stepped forward, seizing on this misunderstanding. August had to close her eyes against the desperate hope on her sister’s face. “You have but to send a letter. I am certain he’ll respond and tell you everything.”

  Their mother was already shaking her head. “There isn’t time for that. A letter would take weeks to even reach him.”

  “A telegram, then,” said Violet, but their mother pretended not to notice as she took her daughter by the shoulders and gave her a gentle smile.

  “Besides that, dear, it hardly matters. Mr. Sutherland is no duke. Furthermore, he hasn’t a penny that his father hasn’t given to him.”

  “That makes no sense, Mother. If what you say is true, the duke hasn’t a penny, either.” Violet huffed, shrugging out of Mother’s grip.

  “True, but the duke has a title. It’s not such a bad exchange, that. A tiny pittance of our good fortune for a title.” The woman kissed Violet’s cheek and gave August a nod. The bliss on her face was nearly blinding. “Good night, my dears. I am off to bed. Tomorrow will be an exciting day. Violet, dear, we need to go through all of your gowns. We’ll select a Worth gown for the eventual ball, of course, but maybe something more reserved for the dinner. I can hardly fathom it . . . a duke! And our Violet to be a duchess.” With those words, she disappeared in a swirl of lavender silk into her bedchamber.

  August wasted no time in rushing over to her sister and embracing her.

  “What am I going to do?” asked Violet. “I cannot marry this stranger. You’ve seen Camille. You know how wretchedly her husband treats her. I cannot . . .” She gulped in a deep breath, nearly overcome with emotion.

  “No, you cannot marry him. I don’t know what they’re thinking trying to marry you off like this.” Without letting go of Violet, August leaned back to look her sister straight in the eye. “We’ll stop it.”