A Christmas Bride for the Duke: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 4)

by Arietta Richmond

  A reputation which Josephine was, in large part, responsible for him having developed.

  He had never been to Upper Nettlefold before – well, not beyond the taproom of the Bell and Whistle Coaching Inn there, as a stop on the way from London to Bath – and he wondered idly what the town might be like. He supposed that it had to be better than London, with the women eyeing him like a thrilling and dangerous challenge, and the men either hating him for it, or sneering at him for the things they had heard rumoured about, with no confirmation.

  Not that those rumours weren’t true. They were – well, most of them. The ones about the four duels, and the near death of one of his opponents were decidedly true. The ones about him being a dastardly rake, who stole hearts and tore them into little pieces before discarding them were less true, but had their basis in truth. He had tried that path to forgetting, as he had tried gambling. Neither had worked, so he had eschewed them as too taxing and expensive. Retreat into brooding gloom had been easier. But sadly, it had only made the ladies trail after him more, as if his very darkness and dangerous, almost threatening manner made him desirable.

  So much so that he had, this past year, heard them whisper of him as ‘the heart of danger’ – a play on his name, and his title, and his ability to attract foolish infatuation. It grated on him, whilst also darkly amusing him.

  There were times when women seemed completely incomprehensible.

  Chapter Two

  Garrett looked at the pile of papers on his desk. How what had started as a simple Christmas Ball had turned into this mammoth effort escaped him. Of course, his mother’s involvement was probably enough to explain it completely. She was, at that moment, sitting opposite him checking through her list.

  “Is it all arranged, Mother? Or are there still things that I will need to miraculously get into place before the first guests arrive this afternoon?”

  The Dowager Duchess looked up and smiled.

  “I believe that everything is in place – everything that we can directly influence, that is. Other things, like your sisters becoming attracted to suitable gentlemen, we can only assist, but not guarantee.”

  “I am certain that, either over this next week or so, or during the coming Season in London, they will both meet someone they can face the idea of marrying – hopefully for love.”

  “Well, given the example that you have provided, I do have some hope… For quite a while there, I despaired of you ever marrying, yet here you are, married and happy. I am not so much concerned about Eugenia – she is younger, and of a less volatile nature – but Isabelle… I worry about Isabelle. She is older – if she doesn’t find a husband soon, people will start to call her a spinster, and ignore her. I don’t think that I could bear seeing that happen to her.”

  Garrett sighed, for once finding himself completely in agreement with his mother. He was also worried about Isabelle. He knew that she found exactly the wrong sort of men appealing – as had been demonstrated by her infatuation with the Earl of Banfield, just this past summer. There was, possibly, not a less suitable man to be found! At least she had ended that association herself, before he had been forced to act. Her short, unplanned visit to London, to stay with her friend, Lady Marguerite Weston, had obviously provided her time and space to reassess things, for she had returned with her decision made, and been somewhat quieter ever since.

  But quieter, for Isabelle, was not necessarily a good sign! He wondered if his mother’s approach of inviting what seemed half the ton to this houseparty and Ball, was the best one – it might provide a chance for Isabelle to meet more supposedly eligible men… but many of those on the list where not men he would choose to see her marry. And most of the ones she would undoubtedly find most fascinating were in that category.

  Some of them he hadn’t even seen since Eton, yet his mother had thought it appropriate that they be invited. All he knew of them now was their rumoured reputations – and many of those were enough to make him doubtful.

  “I would not have that for her either, Mother. But I suspect that we will find it as easy to guide Isabelle in this matter as it would be to guide an unbroken horse on the hunt field! She will be her headstrong self, and we will simply have to manage around that as best we may.”

  The Dowager Duchess nodded, her expression serious. Then she shook her head and smiled.

  “I cannot disagree – and I must admit some responsibility here – for I was very much as she is, when I was her age.”

  Garrett hesitated a moment, a smile playing about his lips, then decided to speak.

  “I would risk saying, Mother, that little has changed – for I believe you to be just as headstrong and determined now!”

  “Well!” There was a moment of silence, then the Dowager Duchess laughed. “Perhaps there is truth in that, no matter how much I might wish to deny it.”

  They went back to discussing the arrangements for their guests – who would likely arrive when, who was staying at the Castle, and who was staying at one of the Inns, or the other major local estates, and which gentlemen might potentially appeal to Isabelle. And, of course, what old disagreements might be brought back to the surface, when so many gathered in close proximity. It would be, Garrett was sure, a challenging week.

  ~~~~~

  Kilmerstan Castle was enormous.

  There was no other word for it. Lyon stared at the huge stone pillars of the gates, and looked out of the carriage window at the building looming above him at the end of the long, gravelled drive. It was far larger than his largest home, and had the typical look of a building which had been repeatedly enlarged over centuries – not quite consistent in style, anywhere.

  For a moment, his uncertainty about this whole rustication thing returned full force, but he pushed it aside – he would take the chance to escape his memories here, and be damned to anyone or anything that wanted more of him than a polite greeting. His heart sank a little, however, as his carriage reached the gravelled sweep in front of the porticoed entrance to the grand building – for the place was as busy as a London street, with a queue of carriages waiting to set down their passengers, and a flurry of servants rushing about dealing with luggage and the disposition of carriages to the stables and carriage house.

  All too many of those carriages bore crests that he recognised. It seemed that he might not escape so many reminders of faithless Josephine and her effect on his life as he had hoped. These people all knew the rumours, and would almost certainly spread them as fast as new ears were available to listen. He sighed deeply, and sat straighter on the carriage seat. He would deal with it with haughty dignity, as always, and spend as little time as politely possible in their company.

  Surely, he could hide in the rooms allocated to him, and walk in the cold winter countryside – or any number of other things – to ensure that people left him alone. His carriage reached the front of the queue, and a footman opened the door, then let the steps down.

  Lyon took a deep breath, straightened his coat, drew on his gloves, and lifted his hat from the seat beside him. His valet, Fulham, would deal with ensuring that his luggage was handled properly. He gave the man a nod, then turned to the open door. When he stepped down onto the gravel, he was composed, elegant, and darkly brooding as always. The footman took a step back when faced by his stern expression, then bowed.

  “Your Grace. Follow me, if you would. Your luggage will be taken to your rooms.” Lyon followed the man, and was soon passing through the grand entryway, where boughs of pine and holly were set about the place as Christmas decoration. It was all, he thought, disgustingly cheerful. “Your Grace, I will show you to your guest suite now, and we will send your valet up to join you as soon as the luggage is arranged. Once you have had a chance to refresh yourself, His Grace of Kilmerstan will welcome you in the main parlour for a drink before dinner. When you are ready, just ring for a footman to guide you there.”

  They proceeded up the grand staircase, and then up another, followed by passing th
rough a long gallery where past Kilmerstan Dukes looked down from their portraits, as if disapproving of this invasion of their home. Lyon looked about him with interest – Kilmerstan’s ancestors seemed about as stuffy and self-important as his own did – perhaps this was common to all of the old and noble families?

  The suite of rooms he was shown into was elegant, decorated in burgundy, cream, and gold – rich, but not overly ostentatious. He breathed a sigh of relief when the footman left him, glad to be completely alone, even for a short while. He strode to the window, and looked out at the sparkling, snow sprinkled expanse of the gardens below him.

  His peaceful isolation was very short lived. Only minutes later, Fulham came bustling in, directing three footmen who carried his trunks. Lyon sighed, and watched with some amusement as the valet directed the placement of the trunks in the adjoining dressing room, and immediately began to unpack, his expression strained as he muttered to himself – ‘only two hours to get everything prepared, before His Grace needs to be downstairs! Ridiculous!’

  He should, he supposed, be grateful for Fulham’s dedication to ensuring that he looked perfect on every occasion, still, the man’s fussiness sometimes drove him almost mad. Lyon turned back to the window. Below him, a movement in the snowy gardens caught his eye. A woman, walking along the paths, slowly, as if deep in thought. For a fraction of a second, he thought it was Josephine, then he saw the differences, but there was still a somewhat shocking sense of similarity. This woman’s hair was dark, and glossy – the kind of hair that felt like silk when it slipped through the fingers, he thought, hair darker than Josephine’s, and, from the look of it, longer. Her skin was pale, although he thought that perhaps her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Who was she? He supposed that, over the next few days, he would find out.

  He turned back to the room.

  “Your Grace, which waistcoat do you prefer?”

  Fulham held up two garments. Lyon considered.

  “Perhaps the red brocade, Fulham. If everything else I wear is black or white, that will stand out nicely, without being garish. And the ruby pin for the cravat, I think.”

  “An excellent choice, Your Grace.”

  Fulham turned back to the dressing room. Lyon settled into the large armchair which was placed near the fire, and waited.

  ~~~~~

  Two hours later, precisely on time, Lyon strode into the large parlour, as the butler announced him. The room was as elegant as his suite, with tones of the same burgundy and cream, contrasted by a rich deep blue. A man came forward to greet him – Kilmerstan, he presumed. The man had grown into his frame – what had been tall and a little ungainly in the boy at Eton had filled out to a powerful and handsome man. A man whose smile seemed genuine – remarkably enough, for a member of the ton.

  “Dangerfield. It’s been quite a few years. I’m glad you could come.”

  “More than a few, Kilmerstan! You’re looking well – I gather that marriage agrees with you?”

  “It does indeed. Which has been as much of a surprise to me as to the people who know me. I never expected to marry so soon, yet here I am, and happy with it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Too many of the men who went to Eton with us married in haste, and are regretting it. They have discovered that a pretty face does not compensate for a lack in character and intelligence.”

  “Ah, so you agree with me on the matter of women’s intelligence? Excellent. I cannot imagine being happy with a woman who thought of nothing but fashion and ostentation. But come, let me introduce you to my family.”

  Lyon followed Kilmerstan across the room, towards a group standing near the fire. As they approached, a woman, whose back had been towards them, turned. Lyon felt the breath leave him. It was the woman from the gardens, the one he had seen from his window earlier. That echo of Josephine was still there, but this woman was more – in all ways.

  He had been ready to judge her simply because of that resemblance to Josephine, but he found, in that instant, that he could not. Somehow, he knew that she was a different quality of woman entirely. She was an undeniable beauty – quite magnificent. A smile spread across her face as they approached. He forced his breath to come again, drew himself up into his best haughty, dangerous, dignified air, and continued beside Kilmerstan.

  “Mother…” Kilmerstan waited until the older woman turned towards them, away from a quick conversation with a footman. “May I present His Grace, the Duke of Dangerfield. Your Grace, this is Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Kilmerstan, Her Grace, the Duchess of Kilmerstan, my wife, and Lady Isabelle Rutherford, my sister.”

  The Dowager Duchess inclined her head exactly to the right degree to show a respectful acknowledgement of an equal in rank. The Duchess smiled in a friendly way, slipping her arm through Kilmerstan’s, and Lady Isabelle curtsied, a fluid movement, elegant and worthy of a court appearance. Lyon greeted them each in turn, and bowed over Lady Isabelle’s hand. For the first time in months, he felt the inclination to flirt, to discover what really lay behind her pretty smile and sparkling blue-violet eyes. He took a steadying breath as he released her hand. Flirting would not do at all – not with his host’s sister!

  Especially as he had resolved to avoid all entanglement, after the pain that Josephine had wrought in him.

  Lady Isabelle eyed him sharply, as if assessing him in some specific way. It was disconcerting.

  She did not simper, and made no attempt to look away bashfully, or do any of the other things that he had come to expect from husband hunting young women of the ton. Yet she must be seeking a husband, for he could tell, at a glance, that she was older than the usual girl making a come out – yet he had not seen her in London the past two Seasons.

  Then it came to him – her father had been dead but 18 months, and had, if Lyon remembered aright, been ill for a year or more before that. So she would not have been out. Which would, he assumed, make her all the more desperate for a husband now. A fact he would do well to keep in mind. Still, there was something about her, apart from the slight resemblance to Josephine. It was almost as if he had seen her before – but where? That seemed most improbable.

  With a start, he realised that he was staring. In fact, their eyes were locked together, and neither of them had moved, or looked away. He shook himself out of his stillness, and dragged his eyes away, to discover the Dowager Duchess watching him, speculatively. That really would not do at all!

  “Your Grace, I suspect that you are responsible for the excellent organisation of this delightful house party – am I correct in that?”

  The Dowager Duchess allowed him to distract her, and smiled.

  “You are indeed correct. I enjoy organising events like this, and the last few years have been far too full of sadness and mourning – this is a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the season of peace and joy with those we have not seen for some time.”

  “A sentiment that I can only agree with.”

  “I am glad. I wondered if you would come, Dangerfield, for from everything I have heard, you’ve been somewhat of a recluse these many months past.”

  Lyon nodded, making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  “One can only bear one’s own company for so long, before it is necessary to venture out again. But do not expect me to be greatly sociable. I have come to be rather out of the habit, I’m afraid.”

  ~~~~~

  Isabelle came back to herself as he looked away from her. She flushed with embarrassment. She had been staring rather rudely – but… how could she not? He was intriguing, and handsome in a way that made her heart beat faster. But she had heard of this man, heard the whispers of his reputation, as a rake and a duellist, and a sometime gambler, in conversations with Marguerite, where Marguerite relayed all of the latest gossip that she had heard. He was exactly the worst kind of man – and therefore far more interesting than anyone she had ever met before. His aloofness only made it more so.

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  Books in the Nettlefold Chronicles

  Books in the

  His Majesty’s Hounds Series

  Claiming the Heart of a Duke

  Intriguing the Viscount

  Giving a Heart of Lace

  Being Lady Harriet’s Hero

  Enchanting the Duke

  Redeeming the Marquess

  Finding the Duke’s Heir

  Winning the Merchant Earl

  Healing Lord Barton

  Kissing the Duke of Hearts

  Loving the Bitter Baron

  Falling for the Earl

  Rescuing the Countess

  Betting on a Lady’s Heart

  Attracting the Spymaster

  Courting a Spinster for Christmas

  Restoring the Earl’s Honour

  From Soldier Spy to Lord (Books 1 to 3 as a set)

  To Love a Determined Lady (Books 4 to 6 as a set)

  Love Heals a Lord (Books 7 to 9 as a set)

  Books in The Derbyshire Set

  The Earl’s Unexpected Bride

  The Captain’s Compromised Heiress

  The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair

  The Count’s Impetuous Seduction

  The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption

  The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress

  The Marchioness’ Second Chance

  A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

  Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish

  The Derbyshire Set Omnibus Edition Vol. 1 (the first three books all in one)

  The Derbyshire Set Omnibus Edition Vol. 2 (the second three books all in one)

  Regency Collections with Other Authors

  Books in the A Duke’s Daughters – the Elbury Bouquet Series