"I'll marry you, Will," she murmured, moving in to kiss him. She could feel his smile under her mouth.
Voices drifted through the loft window. "We need to test the angel part again, Randy. Get the goat," Freddy called.
"Do we use a pulley?" Charles asked.
When Will's hands began to move over her, reality faded away. Her last coherent thought was, this time, Rosalinda the goat is on her own. She sank into the love of her farmer earl.
The End
About Caroline Warfield
Caroline Warfield grew up in a peripatetic army family and had a varied career (largely centered on libraries and technology) before retiring to the urban wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania. She is ever a traveler and adventurer, enamored of owls, books, history, and beautiful gardens (but not the act of gardening). She is married to a prince among men.
Website and Blog: http://www.CarolineWarfield.com/
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Other Books by Caroline Warfield
Dangerous Works
A little Greek is one thing; the art of love is another. Only Andrew ever tried to teach Georgiana both.
Glenaire, Will, and Catherine all appear in this book.
Dangerous Secrets
Jamie and Nora will dare anything for the tiny girl in their care, even enter a sham marriage to protect her. Will love—and the truth—bind them both together?
Will and Glenaire both appear in this book
Dangerous Weakness
How far will Lily run from her fears? How far will Glenaire go to protect her?
This is Glenaire's book. Will and Catherine both appear in it.
Joy to the World
Nicole Zoltack
Eliza Berkeley, second daughter of a baron, thought snaring a duke was too good to be true. And she was right. With her wedding in ruins, and a stranger as her betrothed, she faces an uncertain future.
When Stephen Huntington, Duke of Wyndale, arrives to catch the imposter who has proposed in his name, the man has flown. A betrothal to the abandoned bride may be his best chance at tracking the villain down. His challenge will be to keep his hunt secret and his heart untouched.
Chapter One
Eliza Berkeley adjusted her bonnet as best she could, despite her trembling hands. She, the second daughter of a baron, marrying a duke. Sometimes, she felt her life belonged in a storybook—unbelievable and too impossible to be true.
In just over an hour, she would be leaving the church to return here for a wedding breakfast as a married woman. The thought should have sent a thrill through her, yet her stomach twisted in knots. Stephen Huntington, Duke of Wyndale—that tall, dashing man—would soon be her husband.
Her fingers traced the engraved edges of the gold brush he had given her. "For your beautiful hair" he had whispered. She had giggled nervously behind her fan, eyes lowered, when he touched a blonde curl and placed it behind her ear. A simple touch. A sweet gift. A tender phrase.
And yet, they had known each other for only five days before he asked her parents for her hand. Now that the banns had been read, they could be wed, and with Christmas nearing, he wished for them to spend the holiday together as husband and wife. How could she—or her parents—refuse a duke? Not that she wanted to, of course, but now that the day had come, she could not help but reflect on their every encounter and conversation. Could she be certain her love was true, that she was not blinded by his title and promises of lavish treasures?
To her horror, a tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away with a gloved hand—blue, to match her dress. It was not as if she did not believe in love at first sight. She did. Her mother often told her the tale of how she and her father had fallen in love at a ball. That night, they had shared every dance after they literally bumped into one another, though that was far from proper.
"Love is magical," her mother would always say, to finish the recounting.
Did she feel that magic with His Grace? Of course she did. Nerves were surely common.
A soft rap at the door had her climbing to her feet. She adjusted her best dress and called out, "Do come in."
Her older sister, Jean, waddled in. For a year now, she had been married, and the arrangement suited her well. Her dress had been let out to accommodate her growing midsection.
"How are you feeling?" Eliza asked.
Jean's laugh sounded like a bell. "Should not I be asking you that same question? How are you, my dear sister?"
"Quite well." Eliza faced her mirror and pinched her cheeks. No matter how she tried, her face remained almost too pale.
"Come along. The coach is waiting."
A deep breath did little to calm her nerves, and she placed her hand to her forehead.
"Are you certain you are all right?" Jean looked at her strangely.
"Positively." Eliza forced a smile and weaved her arm through her sister's. "Let us go. It will not do to keep them waiting."
The ride to the church was a short one, and Eliza barely had time to think before they arrived. Her family ushered themselves inside, her father giving her a smile that looked almost more grim than happy. He will miss me, and I him. A lump formed in her throat, and she hesitated once more. From the lack of other coaches, it seemed none of the duke's relatives would be there to witness their union. The thought pleased her. A small and intimate wedding. Yes, that would do rather nicely.
Their butler opened the church door for her, and she gave him a smile. Every familiar face she saw helped to settle her stomach, until her fears and trepidation left entirely. Everything was as it should be.
Her sister stood beside her as they waited for her cue to walk forward. Minutes passed by, a full quarter hour, and then a half. Those nerves returned full force.
Jean patted her arm. "I will go and see what is causing the delay. Perhaps the clergyman has been called away for some reason. Do not fret."
Eliza nodded, her tongue too heavy for speech. She bore the solitude for only a moment, but the atmosphere was too stifling, the heat unbearable. She burst out of the church, and gulped down the fresh air out of doors.
Where was the duke? She did not see his coach anywhere. Her trembling fingers touched her lips, and she willed herself to continue breathing, to not cry. Surely there was an explanation for all of this.
At the sound of hooves, she whirled around, her giddy sense of relief fading at the sight of an unfamiliar coach. The horses halted in front of her, and the door opened before the coachman could even climb down to assist whomever rode in back.
A tall gentleman, dressed in finer clothes than she had even seen on the duke, stepped down and faced her, his familiar, and yet unfamiliar, face wearing a blank expression. "I presume you are Miss Berkeley?"
She swallowed hard. Even his voice sounded familiar: like that of the duke, only deeper, richer. Most of his features appeared similar as well, save his eyes. The duke's were a pale blue, but this man's were a beautiful blue-green.
Heat rose to her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze and stepped back. How improper for them to be speaking without a chaperone present! What had she been thinking, coming out here by herself?
Eliza risked a peek at him through her lowered lashes. He still waited for her response.
"I am," she said softly. "And you are?" Perhaps he was the duke's brother or another relative. That would explain the resemblance. Yes, that must be the case. She clasped her hands to her chest. "Do you know where His Grace is? I am not quite certain he is here yet and—"
His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Oh, I do assure you, he is here."
"Where?" She glanced around so wildly, her veil lowered slightly from her bonnet.
"Why, the man before you." He bent and grasped one of her hands. "I do believe the rumors state we are to be wed this morn."
She snatched her hand free. "I… I do not und
erstand."
A wave of dizziness washed over her, but she refused to faint. Not now. Not in front of this man… who claimed to be the duke. "You are not Stephen Huntington, Duke of Wyndale, are you?" The last two words were merely a whisper that the cold wind seized.
"I am afraid I am." He straightened, and any sign of mirth in his eyes died away, leaving them cold. "It has come to my attention that a charlatan, who happens to look a little like me, has been traveling around the land, pretending to be me, buying clothes in my name, food, lodging… even offering my hand, it would seem."
"My hand," she corrected. She could hardly get the words out. Her chest ached. What a ruin this would be, for her and her family. How could she have been so easily duped?
"I have come to find the man and settle the matter between us, but as you are not yet wed…" He pointedly looked at her ringless hand. "I gather he is not here."
"No." Eliza raised her chin. "How do I know you speak the truth? How do I know you are truly the duke?"
The man had the audacity to look aghast.
"Yes." She stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them, drawing strength from her boldness. "Prove to me you are who you claim to be."
"I—"
"Your Grace, there you are!"
Eliza jumped back as Barrow, her maid, and her sister, Jean, approached.
"Come now," Barrow fussed, gesturing violently toward the church. "You should not be out here."
"I am glad you are here," Jean said to the man. Eliza refused to think of him as Stephen. "Hurry on inside. Everyone has been waiting on you."
"Oh, but…" Eliza began.
The man lifted his chin and straightened his back, the mask of his face breaking into a wide, lopsided smile. A winsome smile. He was nothing if not attractive, and; flustered, she turned away from him. "Yes. I will be right there."
Jean clapped her hands and returned to the church. Barrow started along the path but paused. Eliza had not moved. Neither had the duke.
"What are you doing?" Eliza whispered.
"You came here to be married, did you not?"
The man was far too calm for her liking. Her entire world had been destroyed, and he spoke as if nothing was the matter.
"Yes," she said slowly.
"To the Duke of Wyndale."
"Yes." Her head swam. What was he hinting at?
"Because that is what will happen on this day."
With that, he strolled down the path and entered the church.
All Eliza could do was follow reluctantly in his wake, her steps dragging, head bowed. Her mind seethed with questions. Just who was this man? And who was the man she had expected to marry this day? She could not have said how she felt—betrayed, shocked, confused, uncertain. All of these overwhelmed her till she could only stumble into the church, wondering at the drastic turn her life had taken. And to think, she had not even been wed yet.
Chapter Two
Stephen Huntington had not known what to expect when he climbed out of his coach. The strikingly sad lady he found before him had certainly startled him. The wicked man who bore his face must lack all heart. To harm a lady such as her; why, no one could be more despicable. And Christmas was only a fortnight away. Now should be bells ringing and caroling and wassailing. Now should be smiles, not the tears she'd been ready to shed.
Poor girl. He had been too abrupt. But he had to let her know who he was; she needed to know the truth concerning the imposter immediately. He had not at all planned this, his walking into the church. Would he truly go through with this? Would she?
A wife. Marriage. Something his father had long wished for him, yet something Stephen had not truly ever considered. He enjoyed spending his time with his friends, out drinking and gambling and wenching, sharing his attentions between mistresses and lovers, not beholden to any one person. Currently, three ladies vied for his attentions back home: Lady Uriana, Lady Susan, and Lady Barbara. Ever since his mother had passed away seven years ago, his father allowed him to do as he wished, too stuck in the shared pain and happiness memories brought him. Then his father had joined her three years later.
Love gave too much heartache, he had learned. Perhaps it would be better to marry without love. He could marry this Miss Berkeley, save her reputation, and, still have free reign to live as he wished. The daughter of an obscure country baron could not expect him to change for her when he was the one doing her a favor.
Plus, he still had to find the imposter and deal with the ignorant, pompous—
Perhaps such thoughts weren't proper here in church.
He halted abruptly as he took in the faces of the couple he assumed to be her parents. Lord and Lady Welles, so rumor said. The mother was beaming, any signs of the distress she must have had moments ago were gone, vanished, as if they had never been.
The father approached and clasped Stephen's hand, his face grave, his eyes oddly intent. "Your Grace, we are so relieved you are well. We feared something dreadful might have happened to you."
"I am sorry for the delay." He waited for a flash of hesitation, of uncertainty, but none came. Did the imposter sound like him too?
"Come now," fussed Eliza's mother. She was of middling years, yet retained some beauty. "Everyone has been waiting."
'Everyone' was a bit of an exaggeration. The parents, a few servants, the pregnant lady who had come to fetch him and Eliza—Eliza's sister, perhaps?—and a man beside her, obviously her husband. Plus the clergyman and the parish clerk. These were the sum total of those who would bear witness to their vows.
Stephen took his place at the front of the church, frowning a little. Surely Eliza deserved better than this.
Eliza's parents took their places once more. A hymn started, and Eliza proceeded down the aisle. She looked lovely, although her dress was somewhat plainer than he would have expected for the daughter of a baron. Second daughter, he corrected himself mentally. What had the imposter seen in her that he would risk detection by marrying her? Or had his intentions been as dubious toward Eliza as towards Stephen—nefarious and ill? Had he meant to ruin the poor lady's reputation?
Stephen's fingers curled into fists at his side. The clergyman coughed slightly, and he forced himself to relax. He was not accustomed to such feelings. Indeed, he normally devoted his attention to seeking his own satisfaction and comfort. Anger was foreign to him—until he had learned someone was stealing his life and his reputation.
Eliza now approached the middle of the church. Her steps were small and slowing, until she completely stopped well before she had reached the front, or him.
Her dainty mouth opened.
Frowning, he shook his head.
Her eyes flashed before she lowered her head.
He cleared his throat. She would ruin everything, including his chances of learning all he could about the imposter and where he might have gone next. "This will not do."
His voice rang out, loud and clear, and the pianoforte player halted mid-note.
Stephen approached Eliza and took both her hands in his much larger ones. "You, my dear, deserve so much more. I beg you. Give me more time to be able to give you the wedding and the honeymoon you deserve."
Her mouth opened and shut several times.
His arms pulled her close, a hug to the onlookers, in truth, a means for him to whisper in her ear undetected. "You can decide then if you wish to marry me after all, rather than rush into it."
She stepped back, holding his hands once more. "How much time would you need… Stephen?"
The way her tongue curled around his name slapped him. Here was a lady in pain, and he would use her if he could. While the arrangement might serve them both, did she truly wish for it?
Did he care if she did or not?
"Christmas is in a fortnight . Two days after, if you will."
She nodded. As an afterthought, she glanced toward her parents. While her mother appeared shocked, her father looked was inscrutable.
The clergyman huffed.
"So there will be no marriage this day?"
"I'm afraid not." Stephen smiled down at Eliza.
Her full lips tugged downward. She whirled away from him, but not before he saw confusion in her eyes.
And maybe a trace of fear.
He swallowed hard. The last thing he wished was to add to the lady's bewilderment and fright, but she had forced his hand. What other recourse had she left him?
Her father invited him back to their house. "The wedding breakfast… all the food needs to be eaten."
Stephen agreed. He had left as soon as he had learned of his supposed wedding, though his friends had argued against it. Even then, he had almost been too late. What if he had arrived after she and the man had wed? What if he had come during their vows? But the coward had run off. That was undoubtedly best for Eliza, although running would not stop Stephen from locating the scoundrel and seeing him charged for his crimes.
His stomach grumbled the entire ride to the baron's modest house. He had not eaten a morsel since the previous afternoon, too wrapped up in his gaming.
A good thing he had been playing at dice, or, he might not have heard the rumor concerning himself and a certain lady.
All throughout the meal, servants and the rest of the household cast glances his way with open curiosity, though none suspiciously or accusingly. They, no doubt, thought him a fickle man, for having chosen a date and then delayed it after arriving late.
The lady's maid paid special attention to him. Protective of her charge. It seemed Eliza was surrounded by people who cared for her. Just who was she? He would have to get her alone somehow and speak with her, first, to learn what she wished for her wedding day, and second, to learn who he would be tied to for the rest of his life, should they go through with a marriage.
Maybe the whole notion was preposterous, but then again, what about this situation was not?
Chapter Three
Throughout the meal, Eliza kept her peace, held her silence, wielding them like shields to protect herself. Every so often, her mother glanced her way… and Stephen's. Couldn't she see the man at their table was not the same one who had been there previously? Yes, the two men—from their looks to their mannerisms, even their voices—were remarkably similar, but this man was far more refined. That refinement, added to his opulent coach and fine silk clothing, all supported his claim of being the real duke.
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