A Duke's Dilemma

by G. L. Snodgrass

  It didn’t matter, he realized. He could never allow her to discover his true identity. No, that would ruin everything. Instead, he would have to hope she returned.

  A sick nervousness filled him as he rounded the Grocer’s only to almost bump into his own secretary. Stephan, grasping that blasted case to his chest.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded as he stepped back.

  Stephan adjusted his coat as he squared his shoulders. “I have brought you papers that need to be signed, Your …”

  “Shush,” Ian exclaimed as he looked in every direction to ensure no one had overheard. “This way.”

  “There is also a letter from Lord Greenville, I know how important they are to you.”

  Ian froze, a letter from Duncan meant his dear friend was still alive. At least at the moment it was written. With this blasted war, though, who could tell? And knowing Duncan, the man would be in the thick of things.

  Not for the first time, a guilty sense of regret washed over him. Here he was painting pictures in the English countryside, while his best friend fought the French in Portugal. It didn’t feel right.

  After, he thought. He would read it when he was alone.

  Stephan followed him up the stairs and into the studio. Once inside, the young man slowly shook his head. “Your Grace, really? I am sure we could find something … more to your station.”

  Ian scoffed, the man would never understand.

  “How did you find me?” he asked, his curiosity peaked.

  Stephan shrugged his shoulders. “The hired coachman informed me of your general whereabouts. Once I was here, a few questions concerning an idiosyncratic painter. And …”

  “Nothing about the Duke of Suffolk?” Ian asked as he stared at his employee intently.

  “No, Your Grace,” Stephan said as he placed his case on the table and unbuckled it. “Although, I did meet a man I’ve met before. A local estate agent, works for Lord Duval. We had met in London last year concerning the purchase of a bull for your Kent estate.”

  Ian sighed heavily as he waved his hand to indicate Stephan should hurry with his story.

  “I simply told him I was in town researching a possible business venture for you.”

  “Nothing more?”

  Stephan frowned, obviously wondering why it was so important. “No, Sir, although, he did wonder if you would be coming to the area and if so, His Lordship is in residence at the estate and would enjoy hosting you for your entire stay.”

  “No,” Ian said as he turned to close the door. “That will not be happening.”

  When he turned back, he was surprised to see Stephan examining the rough drawing of Meg. His brow furrowed.

  “What do you think?” Ian asked. Stephan had never really commented on his art. To the young man, it was an eccentric pastime for a rich man. In other words, a waste.

  “She’s very beautiful,” he said as he gave his employer a strange look. “Who is she? Your Grace. And. when can I meet her?”

  Ian felt a sudden sense of jealousy flash through him. The emotion surprised him. There was little in this world that he cared enough about to get jealous over. This was new, this possessiveness. The realization of how much he had come to care for Meg shocked him.

  “Don’t you worry about it,” he grunted to Stephan as he guided him back to the table and his blasted papers. “You need to get back to London and see to my affairs.”

  “Of course, Sir,” Stephan said as he began removing papers before shooting him a knowing look. “And once these are signed, I will leave you to handle your affairs here in Warwickshire.”

  Ian blanched, then laughed at the cheeky bastard. Don’t react, he told himself. Do not let Stephan know how important Meg had become to him. No, this was a secret he would keep close. And of course, there was always the chance that he would never see her again.

  A thought that worried him more than it should have.

  Chapter Seven

  Margaret sighed internally as she glanced over at Lady Dumont. The dinner was going well. The couples knew each other and were comfortable. But inside, a deep regret tore at her stomach. She had been unable to see Ian. Her entire day had been dedicated to preparing for tonight. What must he think of her? Abandoning him like this.

  The thought sent a second worry through her. What if he left without saying goodbye? He could disappear and she would never see him again.

  “Is everything all right, my dear? Lady Dumont asked kindly.

  Margaret swallowed a cry of misery and put on her best smile. “Yes, My Lady, just a stray thought.”

  Lady Dumont frowned for a moment as she studied her. Margaret put it aside and focused on being a good hostess. She refused to give her father a reason to find her less than adequate. But still, deep in the back of her mind was a sadness. A sadness that she knew would not go away until she saw Ian once more.

  Mr. Thompson, her father’s agent cleared his throat, “I ran into a man today. The Duke of Suffolk’s secretary.”

  “Is he traveling with the Duke,” her father asked, “If so, I do expect His Grace to call on us.” Here, he shot Margaret a meaningful look. Obviously telling her she and the household needed to be ready to receive a Duke.

  One more thing that could keep her away from Ian, she thought with regret. The last thing she wanted was to have to entertain a Duke. If they were anything like her father the man would be hidebound and dull.

  Mr. Thompson shook his head, “No. The man said he was investigating a business opportunity for his Grace but refused to provide details.”

  Lord Dumont’s eyebrows rose halfway up his bald head. “If Suffolk is interested in something, I believe I wish to participate. The man owns half of England and a good bit of Wales.”

  “Dear,” Lady Dumont said to her husband with a knowing look. “You know how I despise business discussions at the dinner table. I believe you men should save such conversations until your port and cigars.”

  The older woman glanced at Margaret to ensure she had not overstepped her bounds. Margaret realized the woman had saved her. By taking the initiative she had stopped the dinner party from sliding into an evening revolving around money, the price of wool, and other boring subjects.

  She gave Lady Dumont a thankful smile to let her know that her act of kindness was appreciated.

  Lord Dumont laughed, obviously not upset at being admonished by his wife. “Yes, you are correct as always. I do apologize Lady Margaret.”

  All she could do was smile, accepting his apology, then turn to ask Mrs. Shaw, the Vicar’s wife, about the local school.

  This was to be her life if she married Lord Evens, she realized. Endless dinner parties. Talking about things that didn’t really matter with people she didn’t know. Once again, a deep sadness filled her. Where was Ian? What was he doing? He was so lucky, she realized. He never had to attend meaningless parties. No, he was able to associate with friends. To discuss subjects of interest to him. Important things.

  She wondered about the people in his life. What would they think of her? A silly girl? A dunce or dull young woman? What if they knew she was a Lady? Would they think less of Ian for being deceived?

  What of other women? Was there someone special? He had indicated there wasn’t but what if? What if he had a mistress in London? The thought sent a sharp pain through her. She understood that men did not remain chaste until marriage. Yet the thought of Ian with another woman made her insides clench into a tight ball.

  It was impossible to put thoughts of him aside. It seemed as if every part of her being was obsessed. How she could talk to him about his work, art in general. What he thought. Then of course her mind focused on his wide shoulders. The feel of his lips on hers.

  Instead, she was hosting a dinner party of older couples. Strangers. None of them interested in what she was interested in. None of them could ever conceive of the trapped feeling she felt on a daily bases.

  Sighing again, she nodded to the butler to begin
the next course.

  Thankfully, this was the country and people kept early hours. The guests departed well before the clock struck ten. Her father surprised her by complimenting her on how well things had gone.

  “You did well,” he told her. “Your mother has trained you well. I must mention it to her.”

  Margaret didn’t know whether to be pleased or affronted until he added - “Lord Evens will be well satisfied.”

  Her world fell in on itself as she blew out a long breath. “Father, I have told you. I will not marry the man.”

  Her father’s brow furrowed into a deep scowl as he stared at her. “You are my daughter. You will do what you are told.”

  “Father …”

  “No,” he yelled. His angry tone made her jump. “You are a silly girl who doesn’t know what is important. Connections, standing.”

  A sick feeling filled her. The man was serious. “You don’t understand. You can’t make me marry him.”

  His face grew red as the anger built. “No, you don’t understand realities. If you do not marry Lord Evens, you will never marry. I will never give my blessing. And if some idiot thought to ignore me, I will call him out and face him at dawn.”

  Margaret gasped, this couldn’t be happening.

  “I assure you,” he continued the seriousness of his tone left no doubt. “You have no options. You have no money. And even if you did, where could you run? Half the world is at war. The continent? The Americas? No, and even if you did, a few days of hunger and poverty would quickly change your mind. I am telling you, this is the way it will be. If you do not marry Lord Evens, you will never have a family of your own. You will live under my roof. Alone, no real contact with the outside world. I have talked to your Uncle John. If I die, he will continue my wishes.”

  She swallowed hard. Her uncle John was an even harder man than her father. She could well imagine that her father spoke the truth.

  “Think of it,” her father said as he stared at her. “A wasted life in a back room of the estate in the heart of Cornwall. Dying alone, forgotten. Or, married to a British Lord, living in London, wealthy, surrounded by your children and grandchildren.

  Gritting her teeth, she turned and stormed up the stairs. How could he do this to her? His own daughter, his only child. The cruelty was unimaginable. Why couldn’t he see that she wanted more? That name, title, money. None of it was important without love.

  An image of Ian danced to the front of her mind. He would understand.

  Susan was waiting for her in her room and gave her a concerned look, Obviously aware of the argument downstairs with her father. There were no secrets in this house, voices traveled like an Irish Gypsy.

  Her maid had already turned down the bed and lain out her night rail. Margaret stared at the night garment and felt a despair wash over her. Ian, she thought. You would understand. Oh, if only she could unburden herself to him. He would understand.

  .o0o.

  Ian leaned back in the chair and reread the letter from Duncan. The man said he was doing well, but Ian could read between the lines. The man was suffering. Dearly. He talked of the bravery of his men in the face of such loss. But Ian knew his friend was feeling that loss even more so.

  He mentioned pretty women and beautiful vistas. Yet interspaced these with comments about rain, mud, and angry flies the size of small birds. No, Duncan was miserable. Doing his duty, but miserable.

  Sighing, he poured whiskey into a pewter cup and took a long sip, savoring the burn as it ran down the back of his throat. He was in a mood for cheap whiskey. The kind that hurt.

  What ghastly things must Duncan have seen? Ian reached back for a memory from their school days. The four of them facing off against Barty’s bigger group. They had held their own, he thought with a smile. More than once.

  But now, Duncan faced Bonaparte and his men all alone. Without his friends at his side.

  Oxford, a duke’s bastard had size, Bedford, a Duke since the age of three was their natural leader. Duncan, however, a duke’s second son, he was the heart of their group. With no looming title, it was as if Duncan had always been free to take risks. Full of fire and daring. Always pushing them to stretch the rules. Always ready to take on any challenge.

  Now, both Bedford and Oxford were married, With Brock’s duchess expecting a child soon. Duncan was off fighting for King and country. But what about yourself? he thought as he poured himself another drink. You spend your time on frivolous pursuits. Thinking of a girl who would run for the hills if she knew your true identity.

  He slammed back the rest of the whiskey and stomped to the dark window. The candlelight threw back his reflection, hiding the night. Where was she? he wondered as he stared into the darkness.

  A lustful thought filled his mind. The way her breasts strained against her dress. Those curvy hips that flared out from a trim waist. The soft innocent smile mixed with knowing eyes. It was enough to create a burning need in a man. A desperate want to take her and never let go.

  Why hadn’t she come? Had he scared her? Granted, being alone with him was so wrong, even for a woman of her class. But he had thought there was more between them. The thought made his stomach clench. Was she afraid of him? Afraid of what she might do? Or, what he might do?

  What was he thinking? Of course, she was. To a girl like Meg, one wrong step and her life was ruined. Employment. Prospects of marriage, a family. All of it was gone in the blink of an eye.

  That thought led to thinking of her in his world. He had nothing to offer the girl. Not really. She would never fit into his world. And heaven knew, any woman who wanted to be a Duchess should probably not be given the opportunity. No, Meg was too innocent for that world. He wouldn’t wish that punishment on his worst enemies.

  She had not been trained for it. Had not been raised to expect that responsibility. The political in-fighting of the ton had destroyed more than one woman. No, not Meg. It would devastate her.

  When he realized he was thinking about marriage, he scoffed and shook his head. He was worse than a schoolboy. Thinking such rubbish. He barely knew the girl. Besides, his mother would die of heart failure. The Duke of Suffolk married to a common Lady’s maid. Half his ancestors would roll over in their grave.

  Yet, just because he couldn’t marry her. Nor would he ever entertain the possibility - he cared too much for her - that did not mean he couldn’t miss her.

  “Why didn’t you come?” he whispered to himself as he turned away from the window.

  The room had grown warm. Reaching over his back he pulled off his shirt, then sat before the portrait of Meg. Besides, it was easier to get paint off of skin than out of a cotton shirt. Smiling to himself, he dipped his brush. He would paint the background. Leaving ‘Meg’ until he had the real subject.

  And if you don’t? he asked himself. What if you never see her again? The portrait would never be finished he realized with a deep sadness. But worse, a deep hole would be left inside of him. A piece of him that he doubted he could ever find again.

  When he’d finished the window portion, he had to step back, it needed to dry so that it would be ready to for when the morning light returned.

  The distant clock tower struck eleven, reminding him that he wished to get an early start in the morning. The light coming through the window had to be perfect. The shadows could only be caught at that moment. Yes, a young woman sitting at a table. A secret smile. Was she remembering the night, or anticipating the day to come?

  And if she didn’t return, what then? It would be useless to try and paint anything else. Not at the moment. Mills, ducks, no, it had to be Meg. A sadness sat at the bottom of his stomach as he thought about her and what it had felt like to hold her in his arms and the fact that he might never do so again.

  He was just finishing cleaning his brush when a thump out the back door drew his attention. Was the Grocer dumping his garbage again? Ian had talked to the man and paid him extra not to be disturbed by the smell of garbage in the alle
y.

  Throwing the door open he froze. Before him, looking as terrified as a rabbit caught in a trap, stood Miss Meg Miller.

  Her eyes locked onto his, silently pleading.

  Ian did the only thing he could do, he opened his arms and swept her into a hug.

  Chapter Eight

  Meg froze, a shirtless Ian. A tall, strong Ian could make a woman’s insides melt. Then, without warning, he pulled her into a hug. Meg had found heaven. Ian’s arms around her made the world feel safe and secure. Like the world should feel.

  Her heart raced as his lips took hers. It was as before, the world disappeared and it was just the two of them. A fire began to build inside of her. A need that began at her very core.

  “Ian,” she whispered as she pulled back from his lips to stare up into his eyes.

  He smiled gently, that delicious smile that squeezed her heart to a full stop. “You came.”

  She returned his smile. “I couldn’t not come.”

  “But how?”

  Her cheeks grew warm under his intense stare. “Everyone is asleep. I need only be back before they waken.”

  He laughed and lifted her up, twirling her before kicking the door closed behind him. He set her down, his eyes grew serious as he looked deep into her eyes, searching, demanding answers. Then, as if finding what he wanted, he leaned down and once again took her lips with his.

  It was as if he had set her body afire. That burning need continued to build inside her. She knew she was risking ruin, but didn’t care in the slightest. No, this once, tonight, she wanted to have what every woman deserved. A man she loved.

  Her hands ran down his strong bare back, pulling him closer, his hard chest against hers sent a tingle through her. “Ian,” she breathed heavily. She realized she had said it before, but it was impossible to not say his name. Such a strong, beautiful name.

  “Meg,” he answered. “Sweet, sweet Meg.”

  Swallowing hard, she stepped back, away, out of his arms. Now! she thought as she swallowed hard, stared into his eyes, and slowly began to undo the top button to her dress. This must happen. It was her only chance to know a moment of happiness.