by Jen YatesNZ
The Perfect Duchess
‘Lords of the Matrix Club’ Series Book 2.
Spicy Romance set in the Regency Era.
~~~*~~~
JEN YATESNZ
Dedication:
To my ancestors who came from England. Your legacy lives on.
Title: The Perfect Duchess
Author Name: JEN YATESNZ
Publisher: Gyneva Books
Genre: Regency Romantica
Copyright Notice: Copyright© 2017 by Jen Yates
Cover Design: www.SelfPubBookCovers.com/Shardel [JY1]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning to a computer disc, or by any other informational storage and retrieval system without express permission in writing from the author and publisher. This work is protected under the statutes of the copyright act.
Disclaimer
The characters and events in this book are the creation of the author, or are used fictitiously and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental. Towns and places are used as settings and have no relation to any event or actual happening outside the author’s imagination.
CONTENTS
Also by Jen Yates
Newsletter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3.
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16.
Author’s Note
Sneak Peek at ‘The Virgin Widow’, Bk.2. in the series.
Acknowledgements
Also By JEN YATESNZ
Other books in ‘Lords of the Matrix Club’ series:
Prequel & Sequel to: Lords of the Matrix Club - www.amazon.com/dp/B07DTHGT2W
The Earl of Windermere Takes a Wife - www.amazon.com/dp/B01ENSMA2A[JY2][JY3]
The Virgin Widow.-.
www.amazon.com/dp/B073X5LLX3
Her Dark Lord.-.
www.amazon.com/dp/B079C4NGJ6
Contemporary Romance set in New Zealand
A Deal with the Devil.-.
www.amazon.com/dp/1517592739
Fallen Angel.-.
www.amazon.com/dp/B014NB9PWA
Token Bay.-.
www.amazon.com/dp/B015Y80P9I
Anthology of Short Erotic Romance.-. www.amazon.com/dp/B01BHE3GFS
NEWSLETTER
If you want to join JEN YATESNZ’s email list to be informed when a new book is due out, send your details to: [email protected]
You will receive a free, 30,000 word, Regency Romantica novella, ‘Lord Devil’s Bond-Maiden’.
This slightly wicked novella is set on the Isle of Wight where piracy and smuggling were a way of life, and where rules could be ‘bent’ and values were a little different to those upheld by members of the best society in London.
Lord Deverill Buchanan, aka Devil/The Pirate, rues the day he’d committed a dishonorable act with one sister in the youthfully mistaken belief he was behaving honorably towards the younger. Maturity, the hungering of his heart, and her brother’s fear for Lady Gypsophila’s safety causes him to concoct an elaborate tissue of lies, the only way either of them can think to prevail upon Gypsy to even speak to the man who devastated her 16 year old heart.
After that, it’s down to the fall of the cards—or is it?
Chapter 1
He was like a bloody moth to a flame.
Dominic Beresford, Duke of Wolverton, dragged his eyes from the compelling allure of Lady Jassinda Windermere—yet again. It was a year since the night he’d shared with Rogue and Jassie, a night in which he’d been given so much, yet nowhere near enough, of the woman he loved. The woman who loved his best friend, Windermere, more. Sharing their marriage bed that night had enabled them to overcome Rogue’s obsession with punishment, enabled them to have a normal marriage and now a son.
Today that son, Lord Jonathan Wyldefell, had been christened and endowed with god-parents, himself and Lady Sherida Dearing. The guests promenaded about the gardens or stood in groups chatting in the afternoon sunshine.
Radiant in a rose and cream striped afternoon gown with a rose-trimmed cream straw bonnet on her golden curls, Jassie stole his senses, as always.
It was almost a year since that night when he’d come so close, and yet achingly nowhere near close enough, to having with Jassie all he’d dared to hope for with a woman. Somehow he had to get himself in hand and the only way he could think of to do that was to find another to take her place in his mind. He had no illusions about anyone taking her place in his heart. That organ had been tortured and denied once too often and he’d not expose it for more of the same.
And protecting it with discreet liaisons with beautiful widows or his occasional duties as Master of Virgins at the Matrix Club would not beget him an heir.
He needed a wife. It was three years since he’d inherited the bloody title with all its duties and responsibilities, including the siring of the next generation. Last night he’d realized he was ready, more than ready, to be a father.
And that had been Jassie’s doing. After dinner, she’d insisted he accompany her upstairs to the nursery, at Windermere’s instigation apparently. Then she’d torn his stupid heart from his chest by settling in to feed her son in his presence—albeit with the perfectly modest covering of a linen cloth.
‘Jass! Don’t do this to me!’ What was meant to be a roar was little more than a harsh whisper. ‘I can’t sit here and watch you—you can’t—I can’t—’
‘I can! And—you—will!’
His whole body had stiffened. He’d never heard that tone in her voice before.
‘It’s been a year, Dom!’ she’d said, her voice suddenly deeper, softer. ‘We need to move on, but we can’t because we know you’re suffering and we know what we owe you—and we don’t know how to fix it. You should’ve moved on. And you are the only one who can make that happen.’
He’d stared at her for long moments, the Madonna-like picture of mother and child another privilege that should’ve been exclusive to her husband she’d gifted to him. Jonathan could have been his son, and his heart had almost burst with the need for the reality of his own child.
‘We were meant for one another, Windermere and I, and can never thank you enough for your part in making it possible for us to be together. You and I could’ve been happy, for a time—but long term? I think in time you’d weary of—what Papa used to call my ‘hoydenism’. I’d wear on your nerves. It’s neither here nor there anyway for it can never be. But until you move on, marry, we’re all stuck in this kind of—vortex—watching and waiting. It’s time you relegated me to—last year’s cast-offs. Please Dom, cast me out of your dreams and make room for someone else.’
Was she right about her effect on him long term? She wasn’t serene, cool, poised—like her best friend, Lady Sherida Dearing, who’d never irritated him in any way and he couldn’t imagine ever would. In fact, Lady Sheri had all the requirements for the perfect duchess; breeding, beauty, poise, serenity, intelligence—
But the picture of Jassie nurturing her child was emblazoned on his mind. How could he concentrate on courting anyone else? Move on, she’d said, but he was still caught in the web of her allure, an allure that now included a babe.
But he’d had to agree.
‘I hear what you’re saying, Jass. I’ll go forth and find a wife! It’s a wonder Aunt Ge
orgiana hasn’t started on me.’
He’d stood and winked at her, hoping to lighten the moment. There must be no more deep emotion between the three of them, just an abiding friendship.
Jassie had breathed an audible sigh of relief then said, ‘I think Lady Baxendene has a challenge enough with her own son without worrying about you.’
…
Still focused on Jassie across the lawn, he was jolted back to his senses by a warm hand slipping into the crook of his arm.
‘Walk with me, Dominic.’
‘Aunt Gussy! Well—certainly! Where shall we walk?’
‘Towards the lake will do fine. I want to talk to you!’
‘Sounds ominous,’ Dom quipped, still struggling to get his mind off Jassie. Focus returned with the thought Aunt Gussy might be ready to talk of her family scandal.
Lord Hadleigh, Chief of Intelligence under whom he’d worked from time to time in that other life before he’d inherited a dukedom, had coerced him back into service to find the missing Walsingham heiress. Born twenty-three years ago in America. Sylvaine Walsingham had vanished without trace before the age of two and the only clue he had to work with was that she bore an ugly birth mark across her chest. He’d called on Augusta and her daughter, Lady Sherida, because the girl would have been Augusta’s great niece. He’d been stymied by Aunt Gussy’s distress when informed that Maynard Walsingham, the child’s father and Augusta’s nephew, had died some sixteen years ago.
The man would have been a similar age to Gussy, given his father was her much older brother, and had absconded to America in the wake of a terrible scandal. He’d eloped with the Duke of Halcombe’s youngest daughter and refused to fire when he faced the Duke on the field of honor. Nevertheless the Duke had collapsed and died of a heart attack.
The babe’s mother had died in childbirth and Augusta had claimed no knowledge of any child.
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘You, my boy,’ she said in her forthright way, immediately dashing his hopes of new information. ‘I was very close to your Mama. I’m going to talk to you as I think she’d want me to.’
Damn. She was Windermere’s aunt, not his, but he’d always accorded her the courtesy title. He knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say, but because of his deep respect for her he’d listen. Nevertheless, his response when it came was a little stiff.
‘And what do you think she’d want you to say?’
‘It’s not healthy—for you or Jassinda—the way your eyes follow her all the time. You must find another focus, another woman. Jassie was never for you. You have to accept that and look elsewhere!’
Just what Jassie had said; what he told himself several times a day. But the chasm between knowing and doing seemed too vast to bridge. Especially when he was anywhere in Lady Windermere’s vicinity.
‘What woman would want me? My obsession with Jassie is no secret. Given that fact, it’s unfair to even court another woman.’
Augusta made that inelegant sound he’d heard her make before and he wondered if she knew she snorted when she was annoyed. And she was just getting into her stride!
‘You have wealth and a prestigious title. Few in the ton would expect to marry for more! For goodness sake, Dominic! You could have the pick of the season! The first woman you ask will fall at your feet with delight.’
Dom shuddered.
‘Would you want that for Sheri? A title and wealth and a cold, loveless marriage?’
Augusta came to a halt by a seat facing the lake and the amazing sculpture of Zeus and his chariot appearing to skim across the surface of the water that Windermere had commissioned for his wife shortly after their marriage. She plopped down and by dint of a gentle but firm hand on his sleeve, urged him down beside her.
‘Of course I don’t want that for Sheri! She doesn’t want it for herself! It’s why she’s still unwed at almost twenty-four! But she’s running out of options. Holding out for love is not getting her anywhere. Now, she would make the perfect duchess.’ Augusta said, turning urgently towards him as if the idea had just struck her.
He’d lay a monkey it’d been her agenda all along.
‘You look stunning together, you so dark and her so fair. The Pirate and the Princess!’
‘Now you’re getting carried away, Aunt,’ he said drily, then fell silent.
‘Think about it, Dominic. You need a wife. An heir. You need to move on from this unhealthy obsession you have for Windermere’s wife.’
‘You would encourage the match, knowing the lay of my heart?’
‘Sheri needs a husband.’
As they walked back towards the house he couldn’t help wondering what Sheri would make of the conversation. It also struck him Augusta was the third or fourth person lately who’d pointed out what a perfect duchess Lady Sherida would make. She would. If he were to make a list of the eligible women available to him, her name would be first on that list.
He’d already thought he should get serious about courting her.
But—and his eyes drifted across the lawns, seeking the flash of a rose gown or the dance of gold ringlets.
…
For the rest of the afternoon and all through dinner, Dom tried to focus on the icy perfection of Sherida Dearing. He’d been partly successful, he supposed. The third child in a family of four, he’d never been one to follow the herd or fall meekly into line. But with the number of his friends who’d been at pains to wake him up to the duchess-potential of Lady Sheri, he was beginning to think even the Universe was conspiring to bring him into line.
His natural inclination was to tell them all to let him go to the devil in his own way. Then he thought of Windermere and how he’d still be wallowing in his dark pit of despair if a friend hadn’t cared enough to interfere; really interfere. He’d been that friend for Windermere. He’d spoken and acted because he cared, not just wanted to interfere. Perhaps he should allow his friends the possibility they too only spoke because they cared.
Currently his older cousin, Ajax Beresford, Earl of Knightsborough, stood first in the line of succession. Knight was not, and had no intention of becoming, that which a Duke was made of. Nor was he likely to breed an heir for the succession. That, Knight was inclined to remind him frequently and forcefully, was his job.
Thus he needed an heir and therefore a wife, and there was none more suited to the role than Sherida Dearing. As a daughter of an Earl she had breeding, wealth, beauty and the regal bearing required of a duchess. Best of all she was intelligent, easy to talk to and comfortable to be around.
Could he bed her? She wasn’t Jassie, but she was beautiful, shapely. A man would have to be dead not to desire her. Perhaps he should’ve tried kissing her during their ride down to Windermere on Saturday. It might’ve done what he hadn’t been able to do for himself, take his mind off Jassie.
Hopefully the weather held for the ride back to London tomorrow and an opportunity might present itself. Though he’d have to find some way of ditching the groom! Old Carter was excessively diligent in the care of his mistress.
The gentlemen had returned to the salon after their port and the ladies were being entertained by his and one of Bax’s sisters singing a duet to Sheri’s accompaniment. Lord Baxendene immediately ambled over to perch on the stool at Sheri’s side and turn the pages for her. It was exactly where his rakish lordship had been when Dom had returned to the salon after talking with Jassie last night. What the hell was his cousin up to?
‘You’re very quiet this evening, Wolf,’ Rogue said at his elbow as they took their stance against the mantelpiece to survey the room. ‘You’re not upset with Jassie and me, are you? After your chat last night?’
Dragging his hand down the scar on his cheek, which tonight was aching like a bastard, he said calmly, ‘Everything she said was valid and only reiterated by several others who’ve taken it upon themselves to advise me on the direction they perceive my life should proceed. And they’re right, dammit! It is time I mov
ed on—and—what the fuck is Hades playing at?’ It had finally registered Bax was sitting close enough his body touched Lady Sherida’s from shoulder to knee and she had an unusual and very becoming flush in her cheeks. ‘Sherida Dearing’s not some barque of frailty for him to dally with!’
Rogue observed the pair on the stool more closely then said, ‘She’s just the sort of challenge he’d enjoy. I’m surprised the Great Bax hasn’t set out to thaw the Iceberg before now.’
‘He’ll set Sheri up for ruin over my dead body!’ he snarled, surprised at the vehemence of his feelings on the matter.
‘She’s managed to look after herself very well until now,’ Rogue noted, turning a lively gaze on his cousin. ‘Bax is honorable enough not to risk his handsome hide by hunting on another’s preserves—or dallying with family. It’s to be expected he’d seek her out. She’s the only single, unattached female present who’s not directly related. What did you think of the portraits she did of Jassie and me?’ he asked, patently trying to divert Dom’s attention from their cousin and his amorous pursuits.
As a ploy it was well judged. He appreciated good art and was impressed with Lady Sherida’s skill. Dom turned to where the two portraits which Sheri had given the Windermere’s yesterday now hung over the fireplace, The Earl and Countess of Windermere posed in the ancient and partially crumbled stone archway, all that remained of the original Abbey church at Windermere.
‘She’s good, don’t you think?’
‘Better than good,’ Dom muttered, leaning forward to examine the one of Jassie more closely. Something about the style, the brush strokes, the layering of the color reminded him of the set of three smaller exquisite semi-nudes he had on the wall in his study. They weren’t nudes in the classical sense, being back views only. Entitled ‘Innocence’, ‘Awakening’ and ‘Awareness’, they were a delightful portrayal of a young woman growing in confidence in her own sensuality. He’d come across them at an exclusive little gallery on Bond Street.