Dismissing the Duke

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “Yes, sir,” he nodded back, solemnly, mentally bidding his employer goodbye for the very last time.

  His feet felt like anchors as he made his way to the door, along the corridor, down the stairs, and finally to the drawing room where the duke awaited him. He stepped over the threshold to find Danby standing at a window, his back to him.

  “Close the door,” he said without even turning around.

  Timothy did as he was told and then waited.

  “Care for a drink?” The duke finally turned, his presence intimidating but his expression far softer than Timothy had expected.

  “No, thank you, Your Grace,” Timothy replied, his voice cracking as if he were a young boy going through his change.

  The duke scrunched his face up, and said, “Me neither. I prefer to drink at night, myself.” Then he gestured to the cluster of chairs nearest him. “Join me.”

  Timothy took his seat, his mind and heart racing, waiting for His Grace to deliver the bad news. It seemed foolish he’d even asked him for an interview. Why not just send a footman to tell him to pack his bags?

  “I’m sorry to have ruined your plans this morning.”

  Timothy blinked at the man, trying to make sense of the words he’d just spoken. He was sorry? “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

  The duke took a deep breath and lifted an arm to rest over the back of the small sofa he occupied. “But before I can let you run off with my great-niece, I simply must know your intentions with her. No, that’s not what I mean to say. I clearly know your intentions, and truth be known, you’ll not be allowed to run off with her…Let me start over. If you want to marry my great-niece, you’ll have to do it the proper way.”

  Was he dreaming? Or were his ears so filled with the sound of his own heartbeat that he’d misheard the man? It couldn’t be. The Duke of Danby couldn’t possibly be giving his blessing for Timothy Hargood, a valet, to court Esther Whitton, the great-niece of one of the most powerful and influential members of the aristocracy. It just wasn’t possible.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Timothy finally managed after re-hinging his jaw.

  The duke gave a hearty laugh. “Why? Are you daft? I’m telling you that you may not haul Esther off to Gretna Green, but that if you’d like to have a proper courtship and get married at St. George’s, you may. And I’m quite certain Esther would be amenable to that plan as well.” Danby winked at him. Did that mean he’d already talked this through with Esther?

  “And what of her parents?”

  “What of them? They only want their daughter to be happy, and truthfully, they’re growing weary of watching her struggle through season after season with little success.”

  “But I…I’m only a valet,” Timothy couldn’t help but point out. Surely they knew, but clearly they weren’t thinking.

  Danby laughed again. “There are worse things a person could be. You’re a good man, Timothy. I’ve watched you grow up, I knew your parents, your uncle, I know your brother and I heard of the valiant way he set his own feelings aside to help facilitate Gabriel and Sara Beth’s marriage. I couldn’t have chosen better for Esther myself.”

  Timothy didn’t want to cry in front of the duke, but he was certain he’d be sobbing his eyes out as soon as they parted ways. His blessing. He was giving his blessing, and more.

  “However,” the duke went on, and Timothy couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut. He hadn’t been expecting a “however,” though he probably should have. “I would like to offer you a different position, Hargood.”

  “Different, Your Grace?”

  The older man nodded, leveling him with those sharp, blue eyes. “Come work for me. I’ve an empty cottage on my land, and my solicitor is in need of a trustworthy clerk.”

  Timothy could hardly believe his ears. “I am humbled and honored, Your Grace,” he managed.

  “So I take it that’s a yes?”

  Timothy nodded and shoved his hand forward. The duke took it and they shook as Timothy confirmed it was indeed a yes.

  “I trust you to take good care of her.”

  “You have my word, Your Grace,” Timothy choked out.

  The duke stood, and so did Timothy, though the older man still towered over him. “I’ll see to the banns—you see to my great-niece.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Right away.”

  The duke turned as if to go, but stopped short, his brow creased into a frown. “And if anyone asks, I’m not in Town as of yet.”

  Timothy nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Danby made his way to the door of the drawing room and stopped once again. “Oh, and Hargood…”

  “Your Grace?”

  “Welcome to the family.”

  Esther paced back and forth, her feet practically forging a ditch on the dirt path in the garden. When would he be here? What was taking Danby so long? After forcing her to go with him the night before, he’d informed her on the carriage ride home that he had no qualms about her marrying a valet, especially since it was Hargood, but that he did take offense to the fact she’d plotted to elope to Gretna. No words could have been more shocking to Esther. She’d been horribly wrong all along about Danby and her parents and their expectations.

  Now, with all that cleared up, Danby had promised to go directly to Hargood and offer his blessing on their courtship. No special license for them—it was their punishment for trying to sneak away in the dead of night. So they would wait for the banns to be read and they’d have a proper wedding at St. George’s in six weeks. A bit longer than the 5 or so days she’d been planning with a trip to Gretna, but that was all right. They had their whole lives to be together as husband and wife.

  Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she stopped dead in her tracks, her breath short and spasmodic as she prayed to find Timothy standing behind her.

  When she didn’t move, the familiar voice of her love said, “Aren’t you going to look at me?”

  She turned slowly, meeting hazel eyes that sparkled in the sun that danced between the tree leaves above them. Her heart swelled and tears pooled in her eyes. Perhaps she was being overly dramatic due to lack of sleep, but truly, she was happier in this moment than she’d ever been in her entire life. He had changed her. He had brought out the parts of her she’d always kept hidden. He was the missing piece to her puzzling life, and now they could be together. Not in secret, not by elopement, but with the blessings of those they loved and respected most.

  “Danby came to see me,” he said, but he hung back, rooted to his spot.

  “And?” she prodded, eager to hear him say that Danby had given his blessing. She needed to hear it from him.

  “And…” He straightened his spine and, with purposeful steps, closed the gap between them. “Esther Whitton—” He took her hands in his— “will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  She squeezed his hands back, a squeal erupting from her that she’d never heard from her own mouth. “Yes!” she giggled, unable to keep the giddiness at bay. She’d always thought the moment someone asked for her hand in marriage would be a tender, but civilized moment. But she couldn’t have been further from the truth. She was feeling anything but civilized just then. As a matter of fact, she was feeling so very reckless that she threw herself at Timothy, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing herself against him like some kind of hoyden. But she didn’t care. Propriety be damned. She was marrying her one true love.

  About Jerrica Knight-Catania

  USA Today Best Selling Author, Jerrica Knight-Catania, knew from an early age that she was destined for romance. She would spend hours as a young girl sitting in a chair by an open window, listening to the rain, and dreaming of the day Prince Charming would burst in and declare his undying love for her. But it wasn't until she was 28-years-old, tired of her life in the theater, that she turned her focus toward writing Regency Romance novels. All her dreaming paid off, and she now gets to relive those romantic scenes she'd dreamt
up as a child as she commits them to paper. She lives in sunny Palm Beach with her real life Prince Charming, their Princess-in-training and their aristocat, Dr. Snuggle.

  Visit Jerrica's official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what's new in her writing world!

  Connect with Jerrica

  @JerricaKC

  princess.jewel

  www.jerricasplace.com

  Also by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  A Gentleman Never Tells

  More Than a Governess

  The Wary Widow

  The Bedeviled Bride

  The Temptation of the Duke

  The Robber Bride

  The Gypsy Bride

  The Stage Bride

  Loving Mister Lockwell

  The Marriage Trap

  A Penny For Your Thoughts

  All He Wants For Christmas

  The Haunting of Lord Wolf

  The Husband Hunt

  Claudia Dain

  Chapter 1

  Julia Whitton was ready to be married.

  Her elder sister Jeanne had married, most abruptly in Julia’s opinion, during the Christmas season and had been scarcely seen since.

  It was all very annoying. Julia happened to be one of those younger sisters who actually enjoyed her elder sister’s company, as she enjoyed her younger sister Judith’s company. It was only that Judith was not as intrepid a conversationalist as Jeanne. Judith did distract so easily and rarely had anything surprising or intriguing or even interesting to say. She was a sweet, lovely girl, make no doubt, yet she was not a brilliant conversationalist. No one would ever accuse Judith of being that. Judith actually sighed in delight whenever she spotted Jeanne and Achilles when they thought they were unobserved. Julia had once caught them, completely by accident, in the west wing corridor right under a rather dreary portrait of some Danby or other, nearly devouring each other. It was not a sight she would ever forget.

  Julia was very ready to be married, though not as Jeanne had been, marrying Danby’s choice on Danby’s schedule. Never that. Overall, Julia was disgusted with Judith, Jeanne, the Duke of Danby, and all of Yorkshire.

  She was also disgusted with herself, but only mildly, as all of her stronger disgust was saved for everyone else.

  Julia, not shy by any measure, had firmly encouraged her father, Lord Humphrey Whitton, the Duke’s youngest brother, to take a house in Town for the Season. Her father, who also seemed not indisposed to leave the house of the Duke as soon as reasonable, had agreed with her. The three of them, Judith having come along after a five minute pout as she had found Danby Castle charming and, to hear her tell it, bewitching beyond all description, had arrived in London only yesterday and were to see two houses in Marleybone. A Mr. Peter Grant, recommended by a cousin, one of dozens, was to show them the first house under consideration.

  Marleybone was just north of Mayfair, that most fashionable of addresses. Marleybone was equally fashionable, with a specific set; those who had made their fortunes in the Indies, either east or west. As her father had been employed by the East India Company for many decades, and as he was very good at being an East India man, and as his eldest brother was the Duke of Danby, Julia expected that they would let a very fine house indeed. Perhaps even purchase one. True, her father had not said he was leaving the employ of the East India Company, but he was a very mature man of over sixty years. Certainly he was due rest from his labors. Certainly his two unmarried daughters deserved a lovely Season in Town and the opportunity to peruse the gentlemen available for matrimony.

  Julia had lost one betrothed and she was not going to lose another.

  There was something quite peculiar about the fact that each of the three sisters, each in her turn, had become betrothed and had their future husband die before accomplishing the marital deed. In India, it had threatened to become something of a curse, an actual curse that had weight, form, and words. Julia’s betrothed, a quite lovely, healthy-seeming man, had died just days before they left India. Naturally, she had been heart-sore about it. She had loved him, in her way. Naturally, she had also seen the wisdom of finding another man to take his place and in finding this man some place far away from India and unkind, uneducated, damaging rumors; rumors of the sort that made it extremely challenging for a girl to find the right man to do his duty and marry her.

  The timing, once she had thought it through, had been ideal. What was hardly ideal was the fact, the absolute fact, that Danby, her entirely too energetic, exceptionally aged uncle, gave every indication that he had an addiction to arranging marriages for every unmarried person in his family.

  It was beyond revolting. Surely a man of his years should think of other ways to occupy his time. Didn’t all men love to hunt things down in field, forest, and stream? Couldn’t he develop an interest in coin-collecting? There was something very nearly lurid about an old man with such a keen interest in marriage.

  Julia, for one, had no intention of allowing Danby to choose a husband for her, and she just knew that he intended to do so. There was hardly anyone who could argue against the fact. Danby was known to be troublesome and high-handed; no one pretended otherwise. Achilles Munro had been sent by Danby himself to marry one of Lord Humphrey’s daughters, a bit of high-handed nonsense that still rankled. Jeanne had accepted the burden and cast herself upon the altar of sisterly duty and matrimonial sacrifice. That Jeanne had fallen in love with Achilles, who was a very handsome man and that always helped in these instances, had softened the blow. For Jeanne, at least. But none of them had been clever enough to outwit and outmaneuver Danby, when all was said and done.

  Julia proposed to do better. There should be nothing to it. All she had to do was find a man, a suitable man of suitable years and suitable purse. What affection she would, she was certain she eventually would, develop toward this nameless man would grow in direct proportion to how beautifully they lived. She was certain of it.

  Jeanne lived rather too severely as the wife of a naval officer. Julia had no interest at all in living severely, with anyone.

  A home in Marlybone, perhaps in either Portman Square or Cavendish Square, both rumored to be the last word in elegance, would surely put her on the right path to finding the right man. The right address was so important in these matters. The thing was, it had to be done as quickly as possible so that Danby didn’t find out and make a scandal of it, as he surely would. Find the house, move in, meet the right people and make the right connections, attend the very best functions during the Season . . . why, she should be the mistress of her own affairs in almost no time at all. It would be so lovely to get out from under the thumb, even lovingly applied, of her father, not to mention her meddling uncle. To be mistress of her own life, how wonderful that would be. All that was left was to find the man.

  “I can’t think why we should live way out in Marlybone,” her father said, interrupting the pleasant circuit of Julia’s thoughts about home, husband, and yearly income.

  “It doesn’t feel far from things,” Judith said, her expression as pleasant as usual. “It’s very pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Inhabited by the West Indian crowd, isn’t it?” Papa said. “I don’t know what I could possibly have in common with anyone from that corner of the world.”

  Papa, charmingly, could be quite superior in his self-appraisal.

  “That was ages ago,” Julia said. “Years and years ago.”

  “I shall not be gouged on the terms, I am quite firm about that,” Papa said, adjusting his waistcoat. Papa had put on some weight, all about his middle, since arriving in England. Julia had lost weight she could ill afford to lose. She simply did not care for English cooking, and she could not admit she did not care for it, not without looking extremely odd. But her bosom was simply ghastly now. She had been betrothed; she knew how important a proper bosom was.

  “I don’t think Mr. Grant intends to cheat you, Papa,” Judith said. Judith’s blond hair was done up quite fetchin
gly with thick curls tumbling against her cheeks and around her nape. Judith’s hair took the curling iron quite well. Julia’s blond hair did not. Julia had given up the fight with the iron and wore her hair in a simple bun with a tendril or two twined near her ears. Even those minor efforts with the iron fell to limp strings by tea time. It was terribly annoying, especially as she had a dwindling bosom to contend with as well. At least the English climate agreed with her skin; her complexion had never looked as dewy as it did now.

  “Of course he does. He’d be a fool not to try and a poor man of business if he did not succeed now and again,” Papa said. “But not with me, and not today.”

  Julia had noticed more than once that Papa had become far more irritable since being in England. She blamed Danby’s influence for that entirely.

  “Why are we dealing with a man you don’t trust? That seems most foolish to me,” Julia said.

  “Why am I leasing a place in Town? Why are you girls insisting on a Season? Ridiculous misuse of funds. You can find husbands in York, for far less silver than a Season in London costs, I assure you.”

  Judith and Julia, sitting side-by-side in the coach, facing Papa, did not have the opportunity to actually share a glance of dismay, horror, and outrage, but, being sisters, they felt each other’s dismay, horror, and outrage.

  “I should think you’d want us to make good matches,” Julia said.

  “Of course I do. What else does a father want for his girls? But there are fine men in Yorkshire, fine men from stellar families, who’d do the job for a third the price.”

  “Oh, fine,” Julia snapped. “Reduce us to an expenditure on the balance sheet. How delighted Mama would be to hear you.”

  Mama had died when they were little girls. Papa was most sensitive upon the subject of his duty as their father. Julia had understood that early on, and used it as necessary. It was necessary now.