His chest would be a reminder for a long time to come of the consequences of arrogance, consequences that could have been dire.
“What are you doing here, Charlotte? A duel is no place for you.” Drake kissed her temple.
“My place is by your side.” She nuzzled against him. “I never meant to cause you or your mother pain. I was ashamed, and because I turned away from you, I nearly lost the love my life. I can’t say I don’t care what people think, but I don’t care enough to live my life by their opinion. Not if it means losing you.”
“Ah, Charlotte,” he murmured. “No apology is needed. I would have scaled the wall if you hadn’t returned home by this evening. There was no need to expose yourself to this violence.”
“I had to! I couldn’t let you die over something as silly as reputation. Being together is more important than what others think. I rushed here because I had to stop you before you did something foolish, risking your life over an insult that meant nothing. But I think I’ve made things worse.”
“Worse? How could you ever make anything worse?” He asked.
“I kissed you wearing groom’s clothing! That man and all his friends saw.”
“The joke is on him, my dear. No one could mistake you for a boy. Your, er, assets aren’t disguised.”
He waited for her to realize her bosom was attractively accentuated by the snug groom’s coat. She hid her face against his shoulder.
“Know this,” he said, lifting her chin to lock eyes, “I couldn’t care less what Stroud or anyone else thinks. No one’s opinion matters but yours.”
“But what of his words from the soirée? Weren’t you hurt?”
“All these years, I thought I would be. But truly, I care only for you. You’re my perfect duchess.” He touched her cheek with bruised knuckles.
“I’ve wanted to hear those words for so long, but now, I don’t want to be perfect. I only want to be yours.”
“Good, because I love you as you are.” Drake traced her lower lip with his thumb, her cheek cradled in his palm.
He took a moment to admire her, smiling until she returned the expression. His eyes drifted lower, settling on her petite frame outlined by the breeches. Heavens, her legs were amazing. His moan of appreciation turned to a groan, his torso burning.
It wouldn’t take much effort to play up the wound, he thought, given how much it really did pain him. What a perfect opportunity to be pampered in bed by his wife, nursed back to health by her affectionate ministrations. Would she believe him if he said he needed her to hand bathe him?
Charlotte ignored his roaming gaze. “Now, we must make something perfectly clear. Don’t defend me again. Let me slay my own dragons from now on.”
“Mmm. Slaying dragons. Will you do it wearing nothing but stays and stockings? Nay, make that nothing but stockings.”
The swift, playful kick to his shin took him by surprise. Franticly apologizing, she punctuated each plea with a kiss along his neck. He howled with laughter and drew his wife closer to him until his wound protested.
“And so, you risked all to stop me from dueling. You’re quite the heroine, Charlotte.”
“Do be serious. I was scared you would die!” she said.
“Against Stroud? Nonsense. Give me more credit than that. The only reason he touched me was my own arrogance.”
“What if it had been pistols? I couldn’t let you die without telling you I believe in happy ever afters. You don’t even know how much I love you, all of you, the reckless fool and the tender composer,” Charlotte said, placing her hand to his bandaged chest, then cringing when he winced at the contact.
“So, how much?” he asked.
When she looked at him in confusion, he smirked. “Tell me how much you love me.”
“You’re incorrigible!” She swatted his arm. “It doesn’t matter now because you’re not going to die.”
“My wound could fester. I could be at death’s door. Once infection sets in, I’m a goner. You better tell me while you have a chance.”
She blushed, looking at him beneath sooty eyelashes. “Enough to wear breeches to stop a duel.”
“Convincing. Will you love me if this leaves a scar?”
“Silly. It’ll make you more dashing.” She kissed the hollow of his neck, the bare flesh exposed above the bandage.
“Mmm. In that case, love me enough for a romp in the carriage on the way home?” he asked.
“Drake!” she exclaimed. “Didn’t you say you could be at death’s door?”
Drake wagged his eyebrows. “Then we better do it quickly. Just in case.”
He leaned in to entice her with a kiss.
Epilogue
April 1791
The curtain fell, signaling intermission.
Rising from their seats in the duke’s box at the King’s Theater in London, Charlotte and Drake followed their family into the crowded corridor.
Footmen with trays circled the opera goers, tempting those with fine taste. A din of voices surrounded the couple.
“Incredible first act,” said one voice.
“Why isn’t the composer conducting the opera himself?” questioned another.
“It’s too sentimental to be considered tasteful,” rebuked a nasal tone.
“Yes, we will see it every night if you wish, darling,” assured a husky voice.
“And you say it is his first opera? I do hope we see more of his work,” commented another.
Mixed accolades and criticisms greeted Charlotte and Drake as they stood with their family, celebrating the opening night of Drake’s first opera.
The crowning glory of the evening was that Charlotte and Drake had arranged for all proceeds to be donated to the Foundling Hospital. Drake had wanted to do something for the people, and Charlotte had the idea for the hospital in honor of Sebastian’s sister. It wouldn’t be the only place to benefit, as they’d collaborated with the steward to set up multiple charitable accounts. With each performance, profits would be distributed across the country to fund orphanages and foundling hospitals.
Tonight was only the beginning.
Before long, they were accosted by members of the beau monde, gentry and nobles alike, all wishing to bask in the couple’s success, for both received compliments on this most auspicious of evenings, Charlotte for hosting the most successful squeeze of the Season the night before and Drake for shocking them all with an opera that defied musical conventions.
Charlotte stepped away from Drake to join her sister who was standing with Aunt Hazel, Sebastian, Cousin Walter, and Papa Cuthbert.
Slipping her arm through Lizbeth’s, she asked, “Is the corridor too hot? Should we return to the box?”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I feel superb!” Lizbeth reassured Charlotte.
“I’m surprised you came to London. I was confident you’d stay home for your confinement,” Charlotte said, patting her sister’s arm.
“And miss seeing family and the opening night of the opera? No, I’m only five months enceinte, hardly ready for confinement. Everyone is too busy ogling over Sebastian’s marriage to notice his wife is in a delicate state, not that I feel remotely delicate. Besides, Sebastian said he couldn’t possibly stomach the Season without me.” Lizbeth’s eyes twinkled, her smile warm.
As difficult as it was for Charlotte to believe the moody Sebastian could bring his sister happiness, she recognized far more than contentment in her sister’s face. Lizbeth radiated the joy Charlotte herself felt, as deeply in love with her own husband.
Charlotte said, “I’m so pleased Aunt Hazel, Papa, and Walter will spend the summer in Northumberland. Are they staying until the birth?”
“Yes, of course. It will be good to have them with us, especially when Sebastian forbids me to leave home. My midwife is already conspiring with him to hold me hostage insid
e the castle. I must enjoy these lively times while I can, Charlotte!” Lizbeth laughed, touching a hand to her increasing waistline. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re positively glowing.”
“Am I?” Charlotte blushed. “It comes from being happy, I suppose.”
“And are you? Happy, that is,” Lizbeth asked, lacing her fingers with Charlotte’s to offer an affectionate squeeze.
“Oh, I am, Lizbeth. I truly am. My life is a dream come true,” admitted Charlotte. “It’s difficult to believe Drake and I will be married a year at the end of this Season.”
Before Lizbeth could reply, Drake joined them.
“May I steal my wife?” he asked Lizbeth with a wink.
Lizbeth slipped her arm from Charlotte’s so Drake could take her place, but not before she leaned closer to him, a hand on his elbow.
“Thank you, Drake,” Lizbeth whispered. “Thank you for bringing my sister happiness.”
Though Charlotte didn’t hear all Lizbeth whispered to him, she caught enough of the words to know that she bestowed the highest compliment of his evening, above even those he received for the opera.
As soon as Lizbeth was safely returned to Sebastian’s side, Drake escorted his wife back to the box before the chimes sounded. Drawing the curtains on one side, he pulled her to his chest and kissed her.
Charlotte pushed him away with fervor. “Drake! Someone will see!” she rebuked.
“Good,” he replied, pulling her back against him. “Let’s cause a scandal, Charlotte,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.
She relaxed against him and returned his affections, willing all the world to see what happiness looked like, what love looked like. When he loosened his hold on her, his arms still encircling her waist, Charlotte placed both hands on his cheeks and fell into his blue eyes.
“I never expected my life to turn out like this,” she said.
“That sounds ominous. Like what?” He scowled.
Charlotte wrapped her hands around the back of his neck. “Happily ever after, of course. You’ve even shown me a part of life I never dreamt possible.”
“I like where this is going after all.” He chuckled. “So, tell me what part of life you never thought possible.”
“Love,” she answered, tip-toeing to kiss him.
Only when the box door opened did he release her, whispering as he did so, “You are love itself, my duchess. You are perfect.” After a slight hesitation he added, “And don’t scream when I fondle you in Act 3.”
And thus, this tale ends with a new beginning. The duke and duchess have found their happily ever after, for they have each other, and in their eyes, their imperfections are nothing short of perfection. Even in the darkest of times, they will know their love to be true.
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing and reading this book. Supporting indie writers who brave self-publishing is important and appreciated. I hope you’ll continue reading my novels, as I have many more titles to come, including the continuation of this series.
I humbly request you review this book on Amazon with an honest opinion. Reviewing elsewhere is additionally much appreciated.
Connect with me online at www.paullettgolden.com, www.facebook.com/paullettgolden, www.twitter.com/paullettgolden, and www.instagram.com/paullettgolden, as well as Amazon’s Author Central, Goodreads, BookBub, and LibraryThing.
All the best,
Paullett Golden
If you enjoyed The Duke and The Enchantress, read on for a sneak peek of the next book in The Enchantresses.
The Baron and The Enchantress
Available Autumn 2019
Miss Lilith Chambers stepped onto the stone bridge with renewed determination. She swallowed against the brewing anxiety. They would not best her today, she resolved, nor best her again.
She strode across the bridge that separated the parish from Sir Graham’s property, chin held high, spine rigid, and bag braced against her chest, marching more confidently than she felt.
And then she saw them approach. They saw her. Her grip tightened around the bag.
Two ladies on horseback cantered down the path ahead. The bobbing of the plumes on their cylindrical hats would be comical in any other situation, but Lilith didn’t laugh. One of the ladies smirked and flicked her reins, urging the mount to pick up the pace.
Lilith hastened her steps. The quickening of her stride spurred them to match theirs.
Just as she reached the dirt path after the bridge, the two riders veered towards her. One woman with bouncing blonde ringlets tittered as her mare darted forward, nearly knocking Lilith off her feet. Lilith wobbled backwards onto the muddy river bank to avoid being trampled.
“I can’t imagine what could have startled my horse,” said the woman, laughing to her companion.
“Must have been a distasteful horsefly,” the other woman added.
The two ladies continued towards the estate without a backward glance. As usual, they did not acknowledge Lilith with their eyes or words, rather loudly declared their feelings with actions.
Lilith stepped back onto the dirt path, wiping her muddy boots against the stones of the bridge and surveying the damage to her dress. Could be worse, she concluded. Only her dress and shoes were muddied. At least she held her own and hadn’t careened into the river again, and best yet, her bag of midwifery herbs and tools remained clean and safe.
A smug smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She hadn’t given them a wide berth, rather stood her ground, challenging them to push her off the path, which they did, but she smiled proudly that only the horses had forced her movement. Orphan or not, Lilith would bow to no one, least of all those leeches who called themselves aristocrats.
She resumed her trek back into town with a confident spring in her step, despite the mud-drenched hem of her dress clinging to her half-boots. All in all, a successful morning, the quiet victory at the bridge, and before that, the visit to Arbor House, the home of Lady Graham.
That morning, Lilith had seen to the health of the twins, nearly one-year of age, and to Lady Graham’s growing belly, ripe with her third child. Lady Graham was the only peer of the realm in Allshire parish who did not treat Lilith as a pariah. Despite Lady Graham’s blue-blood lineage, she respected Lilith, and Lilith esteemed her in return. Since Lilith succeeded where several doctors had previously failed—aiding Lady Graham in carrying a child to term—the woman showed Lilith the utmost deference as the parish’s midwife.
The remaining walk through town could only be described as pleasant, the sun drying the previous three days’ worth of rain. The milliner and her husband waved from their shop window as she rounded the bend into town. Other familiar faces smiled greetings. Even a group of farmers walking out of the Black Bull Inn nodded to her.
Through a lifetime of effort, she had earned her place in the parish, a trusted member of the community.
Just past the church, her cottage stood, a welcoming sight for tired eyes. She loved the cottage with its walled terrace and herb garden in front, hilly paddock in the back, and wisteria climbing the stone façade of the one and a half story building. True, it was small inside with only a single parlor and kitchen down, and a set of curved wooden stairs from the kitchen leading to the bedchamber upstairs, but it was all she needed. It was home.
Her first order of business was to change into a fresh dress and wash the caked mud from her dress before it hardened. At least that was her plan until she saw her visitor.
The Reverend Harold Sands, fourteenth rector of Allshire parish, paced in the terrace. She knew at the agitated sight of him that he had likely waited for some time, as he always did. His brows furrowed over a frown twitching with impatience.
With a sigh, she approached.
“Miss Chambers!” exclaimed the rector, wiping away all
evidence of agitation. “What a lucky coincidence that you should arrive just as I decided to pay you a visit.” He scurried to greet her at the gate, his youthful face lighting with exaggerated, and feigned, exuberance.
“Yes, a lucky coincidence, I’m sure,” Lilith replied, shifting her bag under one arm so she could reach for his outstretched hand. “How are you, Harry? Would you like a cuppa?”
“Your kindness knows no bounds! I would love tea,” he released her hand and tugged at his forelock before following her to the front stable-door of her cottage.
Lilith opened the door and invited the rector inside, feeling more obligated than cordial. Closing only the bottom half of the stable-door, she left the top open for the breeze and the welcome view of the deep purple wisteria trailing up the terrace wall. Setting her bag next to the door, she invited the Reverend Sands to sit at the table while she went to the kitchen to setup a tea tray.
With a hardy stoking of the dying embers in the kitchen grate, she managed to rouse the remnants enough to heat the kettle. A quick glance to the parlor won her the view of Harold’s expectant and watchful visage.
Harold’s visits weren’t quite daily occurrences, but they felt that way, especially when Lilith had plans and little time for his flirtations. While he appeared to believe their union inevitable, she resented his determination to wed her and his abuse of power.
“Packed for your grand adventure?” he asked, raising his voice more than necessary given the short distance from the parlor to the kitchen.
She replied, her eyes trained on the kettle, “I will this evening. I leave at first light, so I can no longer procrastinate.”
Stealing a handful of currant cakes from the basket she made for the orphanage, she set up the tray.
“I do wish you would reconsider my offer before parting. Think how grand to arrive at your brother’s home an engaged woman!” Harold exclaimed.
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