The Reluctant Marquess: The Duke's Daughters - Prequel

by Rose Pearson

  The Reluctant Marquess

  The Duke's Daughters - Prequel

  Rose Pearson

  © Copyright 2018 by Rose Pearson - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  The Duke’s Daughters Series

  A Rogue for a Lady

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  My Restless Earl

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Rescued by an Earl

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  In the Arms of an Earl

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

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  More Romance Stories by Rose Pearson?

  Chapter One

  “Come back here!”

  Marquess Hugh Seaworth, heir to the Duke of Westbrook, laughed aloud as his friend Viscount Stevenson, stumbled after a well-dressed lady who, with a shriek of laughter, managed to dodge him without too much difficulty. The ball had come to a close an hour ago, but the crowd of guests had not dispersed all that much. Hugh himself had very little intention of leaving Lord Carson’s home any time soon, particularly as the host himself was now lying under a table in the card room, having drunk rather too much.

  “Stevenson,” he laughed, as his friend stumbled back towards him, his quarry now arm in arm with him. “You managed to catch her after all, I see!”

  “So he did,” the lady purred, looking up at Viscount Stevenson with a warmth in her eyes that told Hugh his friend would not be long at the ball now that he had his desired treasure by his side. “He is very persuasive.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Hugh muttered, with a chuckle. “I don’t think I have made your acquaintance, my lady.”

  She bobbed a curtsy, not looking in the least bit abashed to be so obvious in her regard towards Lord Stevenson in front of Hugh. “Lady Hardcastle,” she murmured, her eyes glinting as she looked up at him.

  “Ah,” Hugh replied, recognizing the name at once. “May I say how sorry I am for the loss of your husband.” The lady had lost her husband, Viscount Hardcastle, a year and a half ago, but given that he had been twice her age, Hugh did not think that she would be all that upset over his death. He knew her by reputation, of course, for she was both wealthy and generous with her favors. Little wonder that Lord Stevenson had been so eager to have her in his company.

  “You are very kind, Lord Seaworth,” she replied, evidently aware of who he was without any need for an introduction. “Although you may spare your sympathies. I felt nothing for my husband and he felt nothing for me. It is only now that I am free of him that I find myself free to live the life I want.”

  Hugh, finding himself a little uncomfortable with how bluntly the lady was speaking, cleared his throat and tugged at his collar with one finger. “I see,” he mumbled, looking helplessly towards his friend who was gazing at Lady Hardcastle with a rather obvious longing in his eyes.

  “Do excuse us, Seaworth,” Lord Stevenson mumbled, not so much as sparing a glance towards Hugh. “I will see you tomorrow evening, I’m sure.”

  “I’m certain of it,” Hugh replied, dryly, well aware that his friend would wish to brag about his latest conquest of Lady Hardcastle, even though it was obvious she was more than willing to favor Lord Stevenson with her warm company. “Have a pleasant evening, Stevenson.”

  It was ridiculous to call it evening, Hugh reflected, as he slowly made his way through the rest of the crowd towards the card room. The early morning light was already sending cold grey fingers in through the windows, bringing light to what had previously been a rather dark room, filled with some rather dark deeds as the hours had gone on. Not that it had not been an enjoyable evening, of course, for it was just what Hugh had expected from a London ball. The Season was not yet in full swing and he was already alive with anticipation and expectation as to what this year might bring.

  The firstborn son to the Duke of Westbrook, Hugh was enjoying life to its fullest, knowing that, at some point in the future, he would have a great deal of responsibility and expectation hoisted on his shoulders. He already bore the secondary title of Marquess of Seaworth and was referred to as such, but it would be nothing compared to the responsibilities of a dukedom. It was not a life he was particularly looking forward to, often thinking of his younger brother, Rodger, who had nothing but freedom to look forward to in his life. Since he was the second son, he bore the family name of Wilson and, whilst being referred to as ‘Lord Wilson’ held no kind of responsibility to the family, although Hugh often thought that Rodger would do better than he as Duke. For Rodger, it would be a life of leisure. There would be no title for him to bear, no expectation of matrimony and the production of children chasing his heels. It was almost a little frustrating, although Rodger often reminded Hugh that to bear the title of Duke was one of the biggest blessings of his life, as though God himself had ordained such a thing. Hugh had never taken his brother’s words seriously, silently thinking that Rodger would never be able to understand the pressure and difficulty that came with being the heir to the Dukedom.

  Seeing the card room practically empty apart from a few snoring gentlemen and a cloud of cigar smoke, Hugh sighed and turned away from the door. There would be no more pleasures here tonight, and were he honest with himself, he was growing exceptionally tired. He could either go to Whites or return home to his bed until it came time to rise, dress, eat and start the evening all over again, albeit at a different location. At the start of the Season, there was plentiful liquor, more than enough ladies, and a huge number of card games to choose from. In a few short weeks, London would be filled with debutantes, each looking to make an impression on the gentlemen of London, hoping to secure a marriage that would benefit them as much as possible. It was something Hugh had experienced the previous two years, but, as yet, Hugh had very little interest in matrimony. Of course, it was always a rather enjoyable experience to dance with a debutante, to smile and laugh and tease, but there was nothing serious in any of his interactions with the young ladies of the ton.

  “Another ball tomorrow, I think,” he muttered to himself, finding his hat and cloak and throwing the latter over his shoulders. From what his fuzzy mind could remember, it was Lady Derbyshire’s masquerade ball, which, no doubt, would end in even more revelry than this one. His lips twisted into a crooked smile as he remembered the mask he had already purchased for the occasion. Masquerades were always a memorable event.

  Walking out
into the fresh air, Hugh paused for a moment and looked up at the sky, taking in the clouds that covered the early morning sunshine. His eyes grew weary, rubbing them with the back of his hand as he adjusted to being out of the gloomy ballroom and into the open air.

  “Time to go home,” he mumbled to himself, walking down the graveled path that led to the London streets, thinking he would hail a hackney to return him home. He never kept his coachman and horses waiting for his return, given that he was, most often, away from home for a good many hours. To ask his staff to wait for him would be unfair, and the one thing Hugh had learned from his father was that a gentleman always treated his staff with consideration.

  Yawning widely, and not even bothering to hide it, Hugh waved down one of the hackneys that were already beginning to rumble through the streets of London. Climbing inside, he gave directions to his townhouse and then sat back with a sigh.

  Idly, he wondered what his sister would have to say about his behavior. Most likely, she would say nothing, simply purse up her lips and turn away as she had so often done before. Their mother had died when Olivia had only been a few years old, and without her to guide them, Olivia had tried her best to become the matriarch of the family, and even now she appeared to believe that her consideration of Hugh’s behavior would have an effect on him. Of course, it did nothing other than making Hugh despise his sister. Olivia was everything a Duke’s daughter ought to be – perfectly behaved, well mannered, graceful – and married to Geoffrey, Marquess of Kingsley, within a few months of her come out. She was the one child Hugh’s father always said he was proud of. Even now, that knowledge grated on Hugh’s conscience.

  “My perfect sister Olivia,” he muttered, passing a hand over his eyes. He had not seen her in some years, nor his brother who kept himself away from London deliberately. It was as though he had seen Hugh’s descent into revelry and had chosen not to follow, although Hugh could not understand why. Rodger Wilson had always been infinitely more sensible, more level-headed than Hugh, but as far as Hugh was concerned, that life did not have any kind of excitement or joy within it – and he was determined to have as much of that as possible before he was forced to settle down. So far, his life had been made up of nothing more than studying at Eton and being tutored by his father in what responsibilities he would have one day. And now, in the precious years he had until the title of Duke passed to him, Hugh wasn’t going to waste that time in serious living.

  “Here you are, my lord.”

  Stumbling from the carriage, Hugh rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and paid the hackney driver what he was due. The front door of the house opened for him as he stepped inside, mumbling a greeting to his butler who, as ever, had been waiting patiently for his return. Of course, he had most likely gone to bed for the hours Hugh had been out, which explained the lack of tiredness in his eyes.

  “My lord,” the butler murmured, as he took Hugh’s rather battered looking hat. “You have a visitor.”

  Looking up, Hugh frowned heavily, wondering who would have called on him on such a ridiculous hour. “Well, I hope you sent him away and told him to return during visiting hours.”

  “I could not do that, my lord,” the butler replied calmly, without even the slightest hint of apology. “Not when your visitor is your brother.”

  That stopped Hugh in his tracks. His brother, Rodger, was at his house in London?

  “I made up a room for him at once, my lord, but he made me promise to awaken him the moment you returned home. He was most insistent, and of course, I agreed. He would not let me leave until I did so. For some hours, he paced the drawing room in the hope that you would return home in time, but I believe he grew rather weary in waiting for you. He traveled a long way, I believe, my lord. Shall I go to him now?”

  Hugh shook his head, ignoring the warning that surged through him at the butler’s words. “No, I think not. Let him sleep. I am much too tired to hold any kind of conversation with anyone I think.” In the back of his mind, Hugh wondered if his brother had come to deliver some kind of rebuke from his father in the hope that he might inflict enough guilt on him that he would consider leaving London. “Come the morning, I will, of course, speak to him as soon as I can,” he finished, pushing such thoughts away. “For the moment, I need to rest.”

  The butler frowned, an unexpected look of concern on his normally stoic face, but no words of dissent came from his lips. Instead, he simply nodded and closed the door, locking it carefully.

  “Let me sleep until he awakens,” Hugh mumbled, making his way towards the staircase. “For as long as possible, Matthews. There cannot be anything too urgent, I am sure of it.”

  “Of course, my lord,” the butler murmured, his voice devoid of expression. “I hope you rest well.”

  Ignoring the questions that began to ring through his mind, Hugh stumbled up the stairs and into his room, glad that the curtains were still drawn. Making sure to lock the door, he turned the key in the lock firmly so that he could not be disturbed until he chose. He had no desire to speak to his brother, not when his mind was fuzzy and his body exhausted. Pulling off all the clothes he could, Hugh fell headfirst into his large pile of pillows, his body sagging into the soft mattress.

  Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

  Chapter Two

  Something was thumping. Hard.

  Groaning, Hugh turned around in bed and threw the pillow over his face, groaning loudly.

  “I know you can hear me, Hugh!” came a strangely familiar voice that Hugh slowly recognized as Rodger’s. “Get up, will you? Unlock this door!”

  “Go away!” Hugh tried to shout, his voice hoarse and throat filled with brambles. “I’m sleeping.” Muttering darkly to himself about the perils of having a younger brother, Hugh pulled the blanket up over his head to drown out the noise.

  The thumping did not stop. Instead, it only intensified. It was as though, now that he had answered, Rodger was determined to have him up and about as soon as possible.

  Realizing that he was not about to get any kind of sleep, Hugh groaned aloud again and thumped the pillow, hard, with his fist. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he paused as his world slowly began to right itself, his head swimming with pain.

  “This had better be good, Wilson,” he muttered to himself, referring to his brother by his last name as he had always done. Squeezing his eyes shut, Hugh drew in a sharp breath as his head rolled with the agony of too much liquor and not enough sleep.

  Meanwhile, the knocking at the door kept up its persistence.

  Growing more and more frustrated with almost every moment that passed, Hugh finally managed to stand up, feeling incredibly ill for a second or two as he hung onto the poster of his bed. Drawing in three deep breaths, one after the other, he waited until the nausea had disappeared before making his way to the door and unlocking it.

  It opened at once and Rodger came storming in, followed immediately by a very apologetic butler.

  “Just get me coffee – and a bath in the next room, if you please,” Hugh instructed, sending the butler away almost at once as his brother folded his arms and glared at Hugh from across the room.

  Aware that he was clad only in his shirt and stockinged feet, Hugh grasped a blanket from his bed and wrapped it around his waist before making his way to the chair by the fireplace. He winced as the maid opened the curtains and threw open one of the windows, idly wondering how badly he smelled.

  “Aren’t you going to sit down?” he muttered, looking up at Rodger with a lazy eye. “After insisting on waking me up, the least you can do is sit down instead of glaring at me like that.” A stab of pain made him wince again, rubbing his forehead in an effort to reduce the agony running through his skull. “You woke me much too early. I told the butler –”

  “It is one in the afternoon, Seaworth,” his brother interrupted, crisply. “I was not allowed to go near your room, thanks to your butler and a couple of footmen, but I wasn’t about to wait any long
er.”

  Hugh allowed a chuckle to escape from the corner of his mouth. “They are very loyal to me, Wilson.”

  “Did they not tell you that I had to speak to you urgently?”

  Hugh shrugged. “I would not call it urgent to come and give me a dressing down from father.”

  There was silence for a moment or two as Rodger stared at him.

  “That is why you are here, is it not?” Hugh asked, brusquely. “Father is tired of telling me to come home via his letters and so has sent you instead, in the hope that I will do what he wants.” He lifted one eyebrow and held his brother’s gaze steadily, quite sure that he was correct.

  “No, indeed not,” Rodger said, quietly. “I came to fetch you home, yes, but not for the reasons you think.”

  Laughing aloud, Hugh scoffed at his younger brother. “You are being quite ridiculous now, Rodger. You cannot seriously believe that I will accept any kind of excuse from you in order to take myself home again.”

  “Father is ill.”

  The words rang around the room, echoing into Hugh’s soul. His world seemed to tilt, the breath leaving his body and freezing his limbs in place.

  “I wanted to tell you yesterday so that we might return home together as soon as possible, but instead I was forced to endure your selfishness and incivility, being told to wait until you had deemed yourself ready to greet me.” The corner of Rodger’s mouth pulled into a sneer, as though he truly did despise Hugh, and, for a moment, Hugh felt the same revulsion deep within himself.