Vivien wondered if it would really be that easy and if Lady Isadora would really be so quick to return any affections that the Duke of Heartwick might offer, but she did not express her doubts. Although she’d resigned herself to a single life, a small part of Vivien still delighted in the potential of falling in love, and if anyone was worthy of His Grace’s affections, it was surely Lady Isadora.
“Everything,” Lady Isadora said, with another longing sigh, “Will be just perfect.”
Chapter 2
Gerard Kahler, the Duke of Heartwick, could always sense when there was something awry in his household. It was difficult to explain precisely how, because as far as Gerard knew, he had no concrete evidence that anything was ever wrong. But he seemed to have something within him, some internal feeling that was unnaturally good at predicting when something was amiss.
Gerard shook his head, sure that the matter would reveal itself soon enough, and instead returned his attention to the mare before him. She was a large Arabian with a pristine white coat, whom he’d recently purchased. Despite her intimidating size, the mare had a gentle temperament, one which Gerard encouraged with gentle pets and treats.
“Your Grace.”
Gerard turned his head. It was one of the housemaids who stood before him, a young and slight woman named Elizabeth. She bobbed her head at his attention.
“The Duchess seeks your presence, Your Grace, if you are not currently occupied.”
The maid arched a questioning, nearly impertinent eyebrow. Elizabeth was never rude, precisely, but she had the distinct misfortune of an expressive face. Every mood and thought were painted across her face with such radiance that Gerard doubted the young woman could possibly lie, even if she wanted to do so.
For all her faults, though, Elizabeth could clean like no one else. She had an unrivaled efficiency and was singularly gifted in making people like her, so her faults were forgiven.
“You say that as though you expect me to lie, Elizabeth.”
Her lips twitched into a sly, clever smile. “I know how fond you are of your horses, Your Grace. That is all.”
“Tell my dear stepmother that I’ll be in directly. Where does she wish for me to meet her?”
“In the drawing room, Your Grace.”
“Very well.”
As the servant left, Gerard returned his attention once more to the horse. He briefly considered going into the stable with the mare and hiding. Perhaps, this was the matter which he’d sensed was amiss.
“Perhaps it is nothing,” Gerard murmured, stroking the horse’s neck. “Or perhaps she is lonely.”
Gerard’s father had married twice. First, to Gerard’s own mother and after she died, to the former Lady Lydia. That occurred when Gerard was six, so for most of his life he’d been raised by his stepmother and alongside his half-brother Samuel. Now that Gerard’s father, the late Duke of Heartwick, was deceased, it left the household in something of an odd position.
The former Duchess of Heartwick, his stepmother, now lived on the estate as the Dowager Duchess, and Gerard suspected being removed from her more powerful position deeply bothered her. As long as Gerard had known her, his stepmother had a burning need to be acknowledged and admired. This transition must be difficult for her, although she’d never spoken to him about it.
Since my father’s death, we’ve scarcely spoken at all.
That made it even stranger that she’d asked to see him.
“But the matter isn’t likely to vanish on its own,” Gerard said, giving the horse’s neck a final pat. “Wish me luck, my dearest.”
As he left the horse, Gerard trudged across the grass. Days before, it had snowed, and the pristine layers of white had since become a muddied sludge that was unpleasant to walk through.
I need to name that horse.
Perhaps it was silly of him, but Gerard took the naming of horses much more seriously than most. And he had yet to find a satisfactory name for the Arabian, who was both so beautiful, and so intimidating, and yet the sweetest mare he’d ever purchased.
Gerard entered the manor house, pausing to shake the snow and mud from his riding boots.
The staff must loathe me sometimes with the messes I make.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, admittedly. Heartwick estates were built in a swamp during the Middle Ages, and although the manor’s condition had improved over the centuries, it was still impossible to keep the grounds entirely free of mud.
But I doubt most lords track in mud as I do.
Sending a sheepish smile to the waiting maid, Gerard headed across the sleek, tiled floor. His boots were mostly clean, and he considered pausing to change. But his stepmother usually preferred haste over social graces, when there was no one save the family about, at least. If there had been company, she’d have been appalled.
Father used to wander into the manor in the same way, though.
Gerard felt an ache in his chest. His shoulders tightened, and his spine straightened. In hindsight, his father had been an eccentric man. A bright man, whose presence lit up every corner of the vast estate.
He was a wild man who roamed the moors and enjoyed nothing more than scaling down the cliff side, a thirty minutes’ ride away, and breathing in the sea air. He’d been a man who liked to wander through the untamed forest, and one prone to tracking in mud, leaves, and debris. More than once, he’d returned with spiders crawling from the pockets of his coat.
It seems unreal that he didn’t die in a hunting accident or on some daring expedition.
Instead, the late Duke had died from—of all things—consumption. The condition took him slowly, whittling the vibrant, lively noble down to a shadow of his former self, and even as Gerard watched his father waste away, he’d been plagued with fears that he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be the Duke of Heartwick. He wasn’t ready to be without a father. But here he was.
Gerard peered inside the drawing room, where his stepmother waited. The Duchess was in her early fifties, but her face and poise still attested to the great beauty she’d been during her youth. She was a plump creature now, her auburn hair turning slowly white, although no one could tell that by looking at her. Gerard only knew because he’d found his stepmother plucking the white hairs from her scalp one morning.
“Apologies for keeping you, Your Grace. I was tending to the new horse. You’ve seen her—the white Arabian?”
The Duchess turned to him and smiled. “I could’ve gathered that from your appearance. You clearly haven’t been in your room managing paperwork.”
Gerard mentally winced at the mention of the seemingly endless pile of paperwork currently languishing in his study. Despite knowing how many obligations his father had, Gerard still hadn’t anticipated spending quite so much of his time seated at a desk.
Carefully avoiding the Persian rug, Gerard crossed the room and took the seat across from his mother. She’d taken the liberty of having someone add wood to the fire. Gerard wondered if she’d anticipated that he’d come from outside or if she’d merely been cold herself. With a sigh, he let himself slouch a little, as the coldness and dampness of the elements sank into him.
“I’ve some news to share with you, and I’m unsure how you might receive it,” the Duchess said.
Gerard arched an eyebrow. “I’m in a pleasant mood, so I suppose it’s an appropriate time for unexpected news.”
“Visitors will be arriving any moment now.”
“Visitors?”
Gerard wondered who would possibly find any appeal in coming to his country estate in the middle of a snowy, wet swamp. He, of course, loved Heartwick and considered it to be better than any place in all of Britain, but Gerard also realized that Heartwick was, for some, an acquired taste.
“Lady Isadora. Her mother is coming, too, but she sent a letter ahead, explaining that she’ll be arriving after her daughter. There was some matter in London which kept her delayed.”
Gerard searched through his mind, trying to recall w
ho Lady Isadora was. “Lord Dewdale’s daughter?” he asked at last.
“Yes, the same one.”
Gerard began to have an inkling of why his stepmother might have been unsure how he would respond to that particular bit of news. “And am I to assume that this lovely young lady and her mother simply wanted to make their winter more miserable than it was in London? At least, they might have enjoyed a frost fair there.”
“What a discourteous remark to make to your beloved stepmother,” the Duchess said.
Despite himself, Gerard smiled. “I’ll grant you that, Your Grace. It was discourteous.”
“I’d just given it some thought,” the Duchess continued. “And I don’t think you’ve given enough attention to finding a suitable match for yourself. You need a Duchess.”
Gerard ran a rough hand through his blond hair. “If I’ve not given it suitable attention, it is because I’m occupied with other matters, Mother, as you well know.”
“Marrying well and siring heirs is also an integral part of managing a dukedom. I found Lady Isadora to be an enchanting young lady, in need of an engagement, and I thought she might make a good candidate for your future duchess.”
“So your plan was to arrange my potential courtship for me, invite the lady to come all the way from London to Heartwick, a week-long journey assuming the weather is good, and then, inform me. You realize, of course, that I cannot turn the lady away after she has come this far.”
The Duchess’s smile wavered a little.
“And you further decided to tell me when she was due to arrive at any moment, so I could not devise some sudden reason for being absent during her visit.”
“Are you angry?”
Gerard considered the question for a second. It was difficult to be truly angry when his stepmother’s criticism was true. He had neither considered looking for a duchess nor attended any social functions during the Season. Despite his father’s tendency to be a social, exuberant Duke, Gerard had become a recluse since taking the title.
“I don’t know whether to be angry or whether to admire your ingenuity,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I wish you’d not done it this way, but I also know that—had you approached me with the idea—I would have denied needing a duchess. Well-played, Your Grace.”
“So you’ll be courteous to her?” the Duchess asked, suddenly cheerful and eager again.
“I will.”
“Thank you. I would expect nothing less of you, truthfully, but I know how difficult your father’s death has been for you.”
“For the both of us,” Gerard said.
The Duchess’s green eyes softened and became slightly misty. “Yes, for the both of us. Harder, though, for you than for me, I should think.”
Gerard glanced at the ceiling, blue enamel painted with delicate flowers. When his mother was alive, he remembered that same ceiling being painted before his wide, marveling eyes.
“Why Lady Isadora?” he asked. “Was she the only one bold enough to ask directly about my hand, or is there something you like about her?”
Despite seldom leaving his manor, aside from visits to his tenants and relevant business partners, Gerard knew that he must be a particularly appealing bachelor. The Dukedom of Heartwick was massive and wealthy, and he was younger than most dukes, something which would doubtlessly appeal to the young ladies still seeking matches.
“She is a charming conversationalist,” the Duchess said. “And I think that she has a very romantic heart. Like you.”
Gerard, who found nothing romantic in his character, raised an eyebrow. Perhaps his stepmother meant something other than what he was thinking, for there was no way she could have so incorrectly surmised his character.
“I see.”
Really, what else could he say? Despite the Duchess’s insistences that he and Lady Isadora would make a fine match, Gerard did not find any evidence of that in his stepmother’s words.
“Your Grace.”
Emma, the housemaid, curtsied at the doorway. “A carriage has arrived.”
With a sigh, Gerard climbed to his feet, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a bear who’d just awakened from hibernating all winter. “Well, I’d warrant that’s our guests. Shall we greet them, Your Grace?”
He offered his arm. The Duchess stood and put her hand at the crook of his elbow. Together, they left the drawing room, Gerard taking extra care not to tread on his stepmother’s blue silk gown. Once they reached the entryway, he and his stepmother gathered in the window, sweeping aside the curtains and watching as the black, sleek carriage pulled to a halt before the manor.
“You’ll like her,” the Duchess said. “I wouldn’t have invited her if I thought you’d hate her.”
Gerard said nothing, but he nodded to acknowledge the words.
Are you trying to reassure me or yourself, my stepmother?
Lady Isadora emerged from the carriage, her hair framed by the setting sun. The red and gold of the dimming light washed over her, illuminating the goldenness of her hair and the rosiness of her cheeks. She stepped down with the aid of her coachman, a visage of beauty in her pale blue cloak.
Gerard thought he might have seen her before. Since he’d taken the title, and ownership over the Dukedom of Heartwick, he’d seldom attended social functions, and even before his father’s death, he’d never been the most sociable of lords. To his embarrassment, though, he realized that he knew Lady Isadora’s title and family far better than he knew her face or mannerisms.
“She is a beautiful young lady,” his stepmother said.
“Aren’t they always?” Gerard asked, before he thought better of it.
When the Dowager Duchess did not respond with a clever remark, he knew he’d upset her.
“I would not anticipate you wanting to wed me to a hideous creature, like a banshee or an old crone who’d crossed your path in the woods, Madam.”
After Lady Isadora left the carriage, another woman emerged. She was dressed more simply, in a dark blue cloak, but somehow, she glowed as much as Lady Isadora. No, more even. The orange sun cast a radiance over her, so that the orange and red caught in the strands of her sleek, black hair. Her tresses seemed impenetrably dark, like a raven’s wing. Even with the heavy cloak she wore, it was apparent that the lady had a delicate build. Her face was creamy white and even from a distance, her eyes were dark and unfathomable.
Her simple, yet elegant, clothing suggested she was a companion, accompanying Lady Isadora to act as chaperone. Gerard felt he might have seen her before, but he—perhaps—had not paid her as much attention as he ought to have. Surely, if he’d really spent time looking at her, he would have certainly noticed such a beauty.
“It would reflect quite poorly on us if I married you to a crone in the forests,” the Duchess said.
“Without a doubt,” Gerard replied, barely listening.
His gaze had fixated on that young, dark-haired woman, and he never wanted to tear his attention away. And that would definitely prove troublesome because that young woman was not the visitor which ought to hold his attention. Not at all.
Chapter 3
When Vivien imagined Heartwick Estate in her mind, she’d imagined something glorious, a modern manor house surrounded by flourishing flowers and green. This was, of course, despite her realizing that Heartwick existed in the middle of the moors and that it was the dead of winter.
Although the cobblestone road leading to the manor entrance was clear, the grounds were covered with dead, withered grass which was presently covered in crusted mud and sprigs of ice. The trees were barren, their branches stretching to the gray sky like bony fingers.
“It looks just like some place in a novel,” Lady Isadora whispered, as she stood before the carriage. “A French one. The French novels always have winter, and country estates, as their settings.”
Vivien had not read many French novels, and looking over the barren landscape, she was unsure if Lady Isadora really meant that the place looked like s
omething in a novel or if she was only trying to reassure herself.
“It is quite charming,” Vivien said, hoping to reassure the lady.
It was odd, though, that a noble as wealthy as the Duke of Heartwick would choose such a gloomy place as his primary residence when his wealth surely afforded him many options.
“We shall see,” Lady Isadora said, striding confidently across the cobblestone pathway.
As Vivien trailed the lady, she let her gaze wander over the grounds. Upon further reflection, the estate might have been more beautiful than she’d first thought. The dreary, gray sky did make the black and white bark of the barren aspen trees appear more stunning than she’d ever seen before.
The butler bowed and opened the door for them, and the moment they set foot in the foyer, a feminine cry of delight split the air.
“My dear, Lady Isadora!”
The Duchess waited for them, the Duke beside her. Vivien suspected that Lady Isadora would prefer to greet her potential suitor first, but before she could, the Duchess took a step forward. She immediately extended her hands to Lady Isadora, who took them happily. The Duchess was a beautiful lady. Her thick auburn hair was pulled back in a series of elegant ringlets. That hair was her most distinctive feature and the one characteristic of the Duchess that always caught Vivien’s attention first.
“Dear Duchess!” Lady Isadora exclaimed. “I am so delighted to see you once again!”
“I hope your journey was pleasant?” the Duchess asked.
“It was quite pleasant,” Lady Isadora said. “Delightful, even. You know that my parents so seldom leave London, after all. Your invitation was quite an unexpected treat.”
While the ladies exchanged pleasantries, Vivien remained still and quiet near the entryway. Her gaze wandered to the Duke of Heartwick’s face. He had yet to speak, seemingly content to let the Duchess and Lady Isadora greet one another.
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