He blinked. “What?”
“I said yes. I will be your duchess. You may get off your knees now and kiss me.”
He didn’t need urging, and her response to his kiss was all he had dreamed it might be, but the hearty laughter and applause that broke out behind them pulled him too soon from her delectable mouth. Florence held two fingers to her lips and giggled as he turned from their embrace to see the entire assembly watching with acute interest. He shook his head and gathered Florence to him with a sheepish grin. “I had not realized we’d become such figures of entertainment.” More laughter greeted him.
Lord Edmund called, “Duke, I just won a fiver.”
Duncan scowled at his half-brother. “What? Point out the scoundrel who bet against me.” More hilarity ensued, though, in the general confusion and hearty congratulations, he never did get an answer to his question.
Miles poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to him and one to Florence. Returning to where he had placed his own, he raised it in the air. “Ladies. Gentlemen. To His Grace and his duchess-to-be, Lady Lloyd-Smith.” As everyone held their glasses up, waiting for their host to complete the toast and drink, Miles turned and steadily regarded Eleanor until, with a start, she realized that her husband’s unwavering gaze fixed upon her. She smiled back, a somewhat quizzical look on her face, and Miles continued, “May their union be graced with the depth of love and delight I have found in mine.”
A sweet murmur swept the gathering, and all in attendance raised their glasses to their lips with a quiet, “Here, here,” and took a sip while Eleanor turned crimson and swallowed the entire contents of her glass in two gulps.
“Will that be us in a year’s time, do you think?” Duncan murmured to Florence.
“I believe so, Your Grace.” Florence radiated joyfulness, her manner the furthest thing from the lifeless woman he’d conversed with weeks ago in the Rutledge morning room. She took his arm, slipped hers through and began to amble in the direction of a section of the garden that was entirely private, being separated from the rest by a dense hedge of holly bushes.
“A special license sits on my desk at Chelsony Hall, has done for the last three months. The Archbishop is weary of seeing me as it has to be renewed every three weeks. Will you be terribly upset if I suggest we marry immediately? I know… before… you had grand plans for…a…ah…”
Florence smiled up at him. “How immediate is immediate?”
He hemmed a little. “Yes, ah… today is Tuesday. What say you to Friday? In the chapel at Chelsony Hall. We will keep it quiet and small so that Eleanor might attend. I imagine you will want her there.”
“Yes, I do. It is kind of you to consider her mourning. Friday will be suitable. It’s sufficient time for my steward and his wife to join me. I wish Mr. Greyson to give me away.”
“Mr. Greyson… I’ve much ground to win back with him.” He sighed.
“He will come around.” They walked a few steps and her nose wrinkled. “Probably.” They strolled several more, and she shrugged. “Eventually.”
“Right. I am inspired with confidence.”
Florence gave an amused snort at his tone of dry disbelief, and they sauntered several more steps in silence.
“You won’t mind the lack of pomp and ceremony? You may have another ceremony in London should you wish something grand.”
Florence shook her head with a light laugh. “No. No, I won’t miss the kerfluffle. I can think of better ways to spend our time.”
“Such as?”
“How many children do you want, Your Grace?”
He had leaned down to hear her. When what she was suggesting hit home, he straightened with a laugh. “Ten. That’s a good round number.”
She coughed. “Ten!”
He chuckled at her alarm. “What number had you in mind?”
She regarded him with a sideways tilt of her head. “Why don’t we start on the first one and let God and nature decide the rest.”
“Excellent suggestion. Would you like to begin immediately?” He didn’t look at her, simply strolled further into the garden. He’d give half his newly gained fortune to have her in his bed this night. He craved her with an intensity he’d thought at times would drive him mad.
“You are very impatient.”
He shot her a quick glance. “You may consider it in the nature of a reward.”
She flashed him a laughing smile and shook her head. “Is this your promise not to run from the house before we get to the very best parts?”
He dropped his head back and laughed. “Yes, I promise.”
She grinned. “Then, yes, I would like to start immediately.”
He was afraid to ask, but his need to know begged an answer. “It seems you have put our recent past from your mind and are at ease within yourself. I had not given myself great odds of that ever happening. Might I ask why you forgave me?”
She stopped and turned to him, suddenly quite serious. “I received a proposal of marriage while we were apart, and I discovered I do not want anyone else. I am in love with you, Duncan Everleigh. Though I tried hard to deny it, my heart is yours now and ever will be, and I believe you love me as well. It always came back to that.”
She had never said those particular words to him, and their import moved him deeply. “If you believe nothing else, believe me when I tell you I am desperately in love with you.”
“I know. When I was able to see past my hurt, it was the only possible explanation that made sense of all your actions. In all my life, I have hungered for a man who loved me above all else. I was simply slow to recognize how such a love might manifest itself.”
They walked some steps in thoughtful silence.
“I understand how you would not consider my jilting you an act of great love, but it was. I broke my heart as well as yours that day. Thank you for forgiving me.”
Her blue eyes raised to his. “You are welcome.” She sighed and snuggled closer.
“What bastard asked you to marry him?”
“Don’t growl at me,” she protested with a laugh and pushed away. “You don’t need to know. Indeed, you owe him a debt of gratitude for it was his proposal which re-awakened my heart and sent me back to you.”
He set that conversation aside for another time. She smiled, took his arm again and began to stroll toward what he now recognized as a back gate out of the garden. She’d make a fine military strategist. He’d wondered how to escape the garden without encountering the throng once more. She’d been moving them toward it all along.
“Duncan, did you drive Lord Miles’ greys to Rutledge?”
“Yes?” He regarded her warily. The mischief in her eyes boded ill.
“We could be at the Black Feather in less than two hours. It is on the road to Chelsony Hall. I took the liberty of reserving their finest rooms for this evening.”
The entire meaning of her words struck him abruptly and inflamed the violence of his desire to have her. It took every ounce of his restraint not to pull her into his arms and take her there in the grass. The reins of control began to slip through his fingers. He sternly reminded himself of the comfortable bed to be had at the Black Feather, and rigid with the effort to resist her, he clasped his hands behind his back and stepped from her hold, putting a slight distance between them. “I’ve been that predictable, then?”
She shrugged.
“I’ll order the horses put to.”
“And so will I.” At his frown, she grinned. “I bought a matched pair of chestnut Thoroughbreds from Lord Seville. They have wings. I asked about Miles’ greys because they are the only chance you have of staying with me.”
“Woman,” he groaned. “Will I be chasing you our entire marriage?”
“Probably. You know I have a horror of the sedate.”
“At least have a care for yourself whilst you are breeding. I have not yet excised the horror of those bays bolting. Should Lord Seville not have been with you…”
Head cocked, she stopped to co
nsider his request and then returned to their slow amble. “Agreed.”
He shook his head, and one side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. It took no mystic sight on his part to paint his future clearly. He would never again know a moment’s peace. He suspected his life as a spy would prove to have been more restful. “You give me all the more incentive to keep you with child.”
She responded with a low, throaty, chuckle, and purred, “Promises, promises.”
Epilogue
With ever-expanding joy and thankfulness inhabiting the length and breadth of his soul, Duncan watched the young altar boys go about extinguishing the many candles lit in the small chapel at Chelsony Hall. Puddles of color dotted the flagstone floor from the late morning sun shining through the stained glass windows. Florence had married him. With his Eve, he had found his Garden of Eden, and unlike Adam, he wouldn’t be tempted into leaving. The wedding service concluded, most of their guests, at the bride’s direction, had already left the chapel and now enjoyed the sumptuous delicacies to be found in Chelsony Hall’s great dining room.
His upper staff and gardeners had erupted in horror when told they had only three days to prepare Chelsony Hall for a wedding of this magnitude, but they had surpassed themselves. He had never seen the house look so stately, nor his dining table so magnificent, adorned as it was with the heirloom ducal silver service and family china and crystal.
He now stood by the thick, arched doors of the chapel and waited for Florence to finish giving instructions to the footmen as to where in the dining room to place the masses of flower arrangements used to decorate the private chapel. He had told her repeatedly they had servants to take charge of that sort of thing but…well… Florence was Florence.
Mr. Greyson and his wife walked down the aisle toward him. With a pat on her hand, Mr. Greyson, murmured, “Go on dear. I’ll be along shortly.” His wife curtsied to Duncan and left the two men alone.
Duncan straightened to his full height and squared his stance. He had no idea what the man wanted to say, but he’d give good odds he wouldn’t like it.
Greyson held out his hand and shook Duncan’s with a neutral expression. “Felicitations on making it to the altar, Your Grace.”
“Thank you. I told you I would. Florence insisted you be here to give her away. I feared for a moment you would not release her hand to me.”
A twinkle of devilment lit Greyson’s eyes. “She did have another choice.”
“So she said. I am surprised you did not sway her to him.”
Greyson looked down and smiled before lifting his head and fixing his gaze on Duncan. “I told her if she was not to marry for love, he was an excellent choice.”
Duncan looked over the man’s head, struggling with his temper.
“I also advised her to follow her heart. I was not in the least surprised when she refused him.”
Duncan regarded Greyson with a raised eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“She loves you fervently. It is why she was so inconsolable. I have come to believe you love her with equal ardency. You will have a fine marriage if the two of you can keep from killing the other… and as for you and I, Your Grace? We will abide peacefully side-by-side, each of us doing our best to keep her from harm as she pursues her grand adventures.”
More than a little startled by Greyson’s to the point observations, Duncan considered the man standing before him from an unfamiliar perspective. “Do you think it possible we could become friends, Mr. Greyson?”
Greyson smiled slightly. “I think it quite probable we will be, Your Grace.”
It did not happen all of once, of course, but as is the nature of brothers-in-arms, the Duke of Chelsony and Mr. Greyson became quite good friends, indeed—but that is another story for another time.
The End
Thank you!
Gentle reader, if you have made it this far, you have stayed with Duncan and Florence through to their new beginnings as The Duke and Duchess of Chelsony, and seen Miles and Eleanor become the Earl and Countess of Rutledge and the new parents of a baby boy. I have a good feeling about those two couples. *grin* I do wonder if Eleanor will start to call Miles “Rutledge” as her mother did her father. What do you think? Duncan is quite convinced Florence will never give him a moment’s peace. He is probably right, and Florence has her hands full with her surly but adoring Duke. While he loves her, he is no one’s patsy.
As with any book, this has been ably assisted by many, many people. Marilyn Lakewood you are the best cheerleader and critique partner in the history of forever. Thank you, sweet Em, for all those phone calls and emails and re-reads ad nauseam. Hugs and kisses also go out to Kris Michaels who took a whole day off to read my manuscript and give me feedback (if any of you know Kris, you know she never takes a day off), Elizabeth SaFleur, who dragged the manuscript to Washington D.C. to read when on business, Carol McKibben for the help on the blurb, as well as Diane and Kari for being fabulous betas readers. To Monica “eagle-eyes” Moore for her feedback on character arc and line proofing, and Stephanie McKibben for being the best publisher ever. Thank you to Mr. PAK. I bet you never in your wildest imagination thought you would be reading a Regency romance every evening for six months. Thank you for your thoughtful and on point suggestions. You made A Destitute Duke vastly better. Thanks to all of my readers for your emails of praise and encouragement. It moved this manuscript along just a little faster. And finally, a huge thank you to all those Regency authors who have gone before me and dug into the history of the times to produce such informative and fascinating research about etiquette and customs, address and attitudes. I hope I got it right.
All books need editors and this one had a great one. Josephine Henke. JJ, what can I say that I haven’t already said? You have trekked with me through every story I’ve written. You are fabulous and versatile and indispensible! Plus, you have fur-babies with personality disorders. Gotta love a woman with weird pets. To go from Verdantia in a different galaxy to London, England in the 1800s is quite a stretch but you always bring useful suggestions to the party. And finally, if there are grammatical errors in this copy, they are mine. Josephine can only do so much with an author who ODs on ellipses and removes commas when she’s not looking.
So what is ahead for the Everleigh brothers? Book three in the Heirs & Spares (working title: Lessons For A Lady) will concern our ne’er-do-well and youngest of the Everleigh brothers, Lord Edmund or “Ned.” We will see the Everleighs some years down the road when Ned’s good looks and ability to charm his way out of any problem have simply improved with age. While he has gotten a little older and much wiser, he cannot outpace his reputation and sometimes running from one problem leads you straight into another more complicated. Until then,
Happy reading!
Patricia
P.S. If you enjoyed A Destitute Duke (or even if you didn’t), please consider leaving a review wherever you buy your books. One or two lines is sufficient. It helps the author but most of all, it helps readers like yourself find books they will enjoy.
Notes
From The Author
On investment banking in the 1800s,
The British East India Company, and
the appalling lack of property rights for women
in 19th century Great Britain.
When I originally began this story, Florence was going to be in search of investors for the newly-born British rail system. Unfortunately, I discovered when I began my research that the British rail system was only hatched in 1825 and used only for hauling ore. The first passenger railroad began in 1832. Well…shoot. Not going to help me in 1814-1815.
I knew that England had an extensive maritime fleet and that vast sums were made importing cotton, silks, spices, perfumes, porcelain and that staple of all good British households, tea from the far east (think all of Asia, Indonesia and China). Most everyone has heard of “The Silk Road” i.e., the overland trade route to the far east from Europe. Not everyone knows that there was also a Silk
Road for seagoing merchant vessels. It was defended rigorously by the British East India Company. They held a monopoly on this route for simply ages—from the time of their royal charter in 1600 until the break up of the company in 1832 by order of Parliament as an example of what happens when you get too big for your breeches. By the late 1700’s The British East India Company was, for all practical purposes, the sovereign ruler of much of India and Asia with a standing army and navy that rivaled that of the British government. It is understandable that England felt threatened by what was started as a strictly commercial enterprise by a few men in London.
At the time of this story, The British East India Company’s complete monopoly of the maritime Spice Road was slipping and independent merchants were beginning to make inroads. Enter Lady Lloyd-Smith. Her merchant ships of new design, built of teak from Java and Sumatra, and with hulls clad in copper sheeting, would revolutionize the industry of maritime shipping. This actually happened. Built in India, usually Calcutta, these new merchant ships rose to be in such high demand that at one point, eighty percent of them were registered in London to British owners. The other thing to remember when you think of these merchant ships is that there was no Suez Canal linking the Mediterranean Sea and the Red Sea as there is today. It would be another fifty years before the Suez Canal was inaugurated. In 1814, ships sailed completely around the African continent and through the Indian Ocean to reach India. China was to hell and gone. A fast trip was six months. Pull up a map and take a look at it. You will be impressed.
With this background, I knew the business that I wanted Florence to invest in, but where would she get the money? Now…investment banking. Hmmm. It didn’t exist. Particularly not for women. Under the common law doctrine of coverture, single or married women could not open bank accounts in their own name. They could not buy, sell or convey property in their own name (even if it was property that was originally owned by them when they married, i.e., their dowry). They could not vote. They could not make and execute, contracts, wills, or take part in other legal devises. They did not control their own wages. On the up side, their fathers and husbands were responsible for their debts. Forgive me if I don’t cheer.
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