The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “My lord, let us race.” With a nudge, she set a blazing pace but tempered Astraea’s gallop. In a mere flash, Anthony sped past, and she laughed in his wake.

  Of course, she would ensure her man won the contest, and she would savor his prize.

  Epilogue

  Sunlight kissed the earth, bathing the lush gardens of Glendenning in a blanket of gold. In the sky, nary a cloud marred the vibrant blue tapestry. In the distance, a lone tern swooped and soared, dancing on the wind. Standing before the window in his study, Anthony smiled and reflected on the simple pleasures of life, which he relished in the quiet moments of his peaceful existence.

  After the birth of his heir, a proud moment that would sustain him to the grave, and an extended period of recovery under Dr. Handley’s astute care, Anthony and Arabella remained at the ancestral seat of the marquisate. There, they focused on strengthening their relationship, and they planned their child’s future. And he paid particular attention to the conception of more babes, every morning, noon, and night, much to the expressed appreciation of his spirited bride.

  “Darling, I am sorry to intrude, but His Grace is just arrived.” Ah, how he loved when she addressed him thus. When he faced his wife, she frowned. “Shall I prepare the guillotine?”

  “You would do that.” He chuckled and strolled to sit behind his desk, in a position of power. “I do not doubt you for an instant, because you are formidable, Lady Rockingham.”

  “Why should you? And you knew that before you married me.” She shrugged, then furrowed her brow. “Do you really believe this is a good idea? While he is your father, I don’t trust him.”

  “Neither do I,” Beaulieu added, as he entered the study. “And Lady Rockingham is an uncommonly wise woman, though I am loath to admit it.”

  “We second and third that.” Lord Greyson followed with Lord Warrington, who nodded, and they occupied positions near the hearth.

  “I concur,” replied Lord Michael, and he perched like a sentry near the door. “While I support you, and always will, I have no faith in His Grace. He merits none, based on past actions, but I defer to your judgment and follow your lead.”

  A knock preceded his father’s entrance, and Anthony steeled his nerves. With a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders and motioned to Arabella. Without hesitation, she assumed her place at his side.

  “Anthony.” Father dipped his chin. “You are looking quite well.”

  “No thanks to you,” Arabella responded with a sharp tongue. When he gripped her hand, she quieted but scowled, and how he adored her temper.

  “You requested this meeting.” Despite an overwhelming desire to rail at the injustice of his imprisonment, Anthony mustered an air of unimpaired aplomb, but anger simmered just below the surface. “What brings you to Sussex?”

  “I came to apologize.” With an expression of contrition, the once mighty duke appeared a mere shadow of his former self. A pale complexion emphasized dark circles beneath his eyes, and he had lost weight. When he sat before Anthony’s desk, he fidgeted and adjusted the hem of his sleeve. “But my intentions were honorable. I only wanted to help you, and what is my reward? I have lost my duchess and my closest friend.”

  “You think yourself deserving of recompense for almost getting Anthony killed? The only reason he survived is because I challenged you.” Arabella clenched a fist, and never was a husband prouder of his bride. He would express his appreciation of her defense, later. “If it is a reward you seek, I shall be too happy to give you—”

  “It is all right, darling.” Biting his tongue against laughter, because he could only imagine what his fiery hellion might say next, Anthony stretched upright, and she quieted. Oh, he would put all that energy to use, that afternoon. Then he gave his attention to his father. “I have no business interfering in your quarrel with Lord Ainsworth, so I advise you to take it up with him. As for my mother, she is here at my invitation, visiting her grandson.”

  “A right I am owed but denied.” Father sniffed. “Am I to be forever punished for a minor mistake?”

  “A minor mistake?” Arabella shot from her chair. Just as quick, Anthony tugged her skirt, and she reclaimed her seat. “The only thing we owe you is a sound horse whipping and a swift kick in the arse.”

  The Mad Matchmakers chuckled in concert.

  Fighting for control of his emotions, Anthony remained stock-still. After a moment of reflection, during which he carefully considered his words, he inhaled a deep, calming breath.

  “You know what you did, and it was rather more than you imply.” A series of brutal images flashed before him, and he reached for his wife. At once, she twined her fingers in his. “However, the birth of my heir softens my position in your favor, and I am prepared to be charitable where you are concerned, although I am not certain you deserve such consideration.”

  “Anthony, as God is my witness, I thought I was doing right by you.” Father splayed his arms in contrition. “I was led to believe you would receive proper care and treatment. Never did I suspect nefarious motives, else I never would have placed you in the asylum. Please, forgive me.”

  Silence blanketed the room, and he mulled his father’s request. The hurt and the pain of the previous summer resurfaced, and he closed his eyes against the vivid memories. The bugle sounded, horse’s hooves thundered, and Napoleon’s men charged, executing a perfect flanking manoeuvre sur derri res, Boney’s favorite tactic.

  Arabella caressed his hand.

  In an instant, his wife’s face, and that of his newborn son, came to him. Their smiles, their joy trounced the angst, brushing aside the agony. It was then he realized he had to forgive his father or risk forever being tied to the horrors of his past. He shook himself alert.

  “You wish to see your grandson. A reasonable request I am inclined to allow. You may even speak with Mama, provided she is amenable.” Anthony pointed for emphasis. “But I will have you thrown out of this house, head over heels, if you upset her. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.” Father slumped forward.

  “And I would have your word, as a gentleman, that you will make no attempt to take custody of my son.” Anthony pounded his fist on the desk. “On that I will not relent, and you may leave, at once.”

  “I say, that is wholly unfair, and I am offended by the mere suggestion.” Father thrust his chin and glanced at Arabella. Beneath her scowl, the duke shrank. “Be that as it may, know that you have my word, as a gentleman, I will not infringe upon your duties as primary caregiver for your heir, in any capacity.”

  In rigid motion, which underscored her displeasure with his actions, Arabella reached behind her and tugged the bellpull. When the butler appeared, she huffed. “Merriweather, show His Grace to the nursery.”

  The butler bowed. “This way, Your Grace.”

  When Father stood, Arabella snapped her fingers, and the Mad Matchmakers surrounded the duke. Anthony narrowed his stare and studied his beloved bride.

  “Is this necessary?” Father asked with more than a little incredulity.

  “It is if you wish to see my son.” She folded her arms, and how he loved her stubborn streak. Anthony would put that to good use, too. “Lord Rockingham may forgive you, but he is a better man than most. I, on the other hand, know no such affinity.” To Beaulieu, she said, “If His Grace makes one false move, shoot him.”

  “Aye, Lady Rockingham.” Beaulieu clicked his heels and saluted. Then he gave the duke a none-too-gentle shove. “Move, Your Grace.”

  The awkward party departed, with Arabella trailing in their footsteps. At the door, she secured the oak panel and set the latch. A particularly protuberant part of his anatomy roused to attention, especially when she turned and bit her bottom lip.

  “Are you vexed with me?” Ah, she deployed the charming pout he could never resist. When he slapped his thigh, she walked to him. After stepping about his knees, she eased to his lap and rested her head to his chest. “I’m sorry, my love, but I may never forgive your father.
”

  “It is all right, sweetheart. Your loyalty does you great credit.” With his nose, he gave her a gentle nudge. To his delight, she threw her arms about his shoulders and claimed his mouth with her usual fervor. After a few groping, heated, achingly desperate minutes, he broke their kiss. “I needed that.”

  “Oh?” She nipped his chin and wiggled her bottom. “I never would have guessed.”

  “You tempt me, Lady Rockingham.” Anthony pressed his palm to her hip, leaving her in no doubt of his desire. “You may regret it when we adjourn to our chambers, shortly.”

  “Is that a promise?” Arabella scored her nails across the nape of his neck and nibbled the curve of his jaw. “Or do you require additional encouragement?”

  “You are in a mood, and I like it.” He bent his head and suckled her lips. “What got into you?”

  “Well, I was thinking of Lord Michael.” That was like a splash of cold water, and he eased back in his chair. “I rather fancy the idea of finding his true love, given the success of our union. Indeed, I want to see all the Mad Matchmakers similarly situated.”

  “Then why do I detect a note of hesitation?” Anthony squeezed her derrière, and she squirmed. “Has he spoken to you about a possible candidate? Has a particular lady caught his eye?”

  “No, he has said nothing, and it’s not that.” Once again, she reclined against his chest and sighed. “Please, don’t be angry with me, but I suspect one of your friends presents far greater need at this time, although he would never admit it. Therein is where we should focus our efforts.”

  “Someone who helped us, when we most needed him.” He smiled when she shuffled to meet his gaze. “While they all deserve love, and I vow to find each one of my fellow soldiers a wife, this particular individual is in immediate peril, and we must act, now, if we are to save him.”

  “Do you know what haunts him? He often rattled the rooftops, late at night, while guarding me in your absence.” Arabella framed his face with her delicate hands. “Have you any idea what chases him in the wee hours?”

  “Aye, but it is not my story to tell, because he is unaware that I know the truth.” And it was a tragic tale, but he would take his friend’s story to the grave. “So, have you a target bride, in mind?”

  “I do.” With a mischievous grin, she nodded. “And I believe she could be his salvation, with his cooperation.”

  “I wager an afternoon of delight that I can guess your mark.” Anthony waggled his brows and stood, carrying her with him. He extended his arm, which she accepted. “As for his cooperation, I predict his courtship will be about as easy as peeling a turtle.”

  Together, they strolled from the study and down the hall. In the foyer, they turned right and ascended the stairs. At the landing, they continued through the gallery to their private quarters. When they neared the double-doored entry, Arabella inclined her head.

  “Then we are agreed?” she asked.

  “Indubitably.”

  “Our next Mad Matchmaker to marry will be…”

  Anthony paused to usher his delectable bride into their domain, and he handed her over the threshold. In their sitting room, where they often took their meals, where they discussed their future, where they shared a book, and where he made love to her in every conceivable position and place, she stopped and squared her shoulders. He mimicked her stance and caught her stare. In unison, they smiled and said, “Beaulieu.”

  About the Author

  A proud Latina, USA Today bestselling, Amazon All-Star author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller, but it was a weeklong vacation to Bethany Beach, Delaware that forever changed her life. The little house her parents rented had a collection of books by Kathleen Woodiwiss, which exposed Barbara to the world of romance, and Shanna remains a personal favorite.

  Barbara writes heartfelt historical romances that feature not so perfect heroes who may know how to seduce a woman but know nothing of marriage. And she prefers feisty but smart heroines who sometimes save the hero before they find their happily ever after.

  Barbara is a disabled-in-the-line-of-duty retired police officer. She earned an MA in English and continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.

  Connect with Barbara Devlin at BarbaraDevlin.com, where you can sign up for her newsletter, The Knightly News.

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