Only a Duke Will Do

by Tamara Gill

  “Miss Hart tricked me, made me believe it was you who came to my room. I couldn’t see. I didn’t kno–”

  She hit him. The crack of the slap echoed loudly in the room, and remorse swamped her the moment she’d done so. Never in her life had she hit anyone. Damn them both to hell for making her someone she was not.

  Merrick didn’t say a word. He just looked at her, his eyes brimming with tears. “Please. I can’t live without you. You’re my everything.”

  “I am nothing to you.” She shook her head, despair rippling through her like a tremor. “Trickery? Being foxed? That is your excuse? How could you do this to me?”

  Merrick shook his head, no words forthwith. Isolde turned to Miss Hart, a woman whom she’d considered as close as a sister. “And you,” she seethed. “We’ve supported you in Society, given you friendship, considered you a member of our family, and this is how you repay that debt?”

  “I didn’t know I owed you anything,” Miss Hart said, raising her brow.

  “You did not, but loyalty doesn’t cost anything. I would never have done this to you.”

  “I love Merrick, and now that your betrothal is at an end and I am well and truly ruined, I will marry him. I, Miss Hart, a vicar’s daughter, will be the next Duchess of Moore.”

  “The hell you will be.” Merrick’s fist clenched at his side, and Isolde feared that he would strike Miss Hart, but after taking a deep breath, he seemed to acquire some semblance of control. “I will never marry you, Leonora.”

  “You will marry Miss Hart, and it’ll take place tomorrow. You can deal with any legalities when you return to London.” Her father turned a disgusted look at Miss Hart. “Get out of that damn bed and get dressed before I remove you myself. Have some respect for yourself and others.”

  Miss Hart quickly did as he bid, not bothering to hide her nakedness from those in the room. Isolde’s cheeks burned. When had her friend become so crude? When had she stepped away from all that was good and proper, to become this vile cheating woman who’d do anything to get what she wanted?

  A duchess’s coronet.

  Her friend over the past months had been acting odd. It all fell into place now. What Leonora had said was true. Merrick had been sleeping with her friend for some time, declaring sweet love to Isolde, while making it with someone else. Any wonder she’d often caught her friend glaring at her, looking mulish whenever she was in Merrick’s company. Miss Hart was jealous, and rightfully so, it would seem.

  Merrick paled, looking to her father. “I cannot marry Miss Hart. I love Isolde.”

  The unmasked dread in his voice was surprising. Either the cheat was a brilliant actor, or at least some part of him cared for her a little. As a friend perhaps, as it was obvious he did not desire her enough to ruin her. They’d been betrothed for a year. And there were times when they’d been alone. He could’ve had her if he wished, and she wouldn’t have stopped him had he tried.

  But he had not.

  “You will marry me, Merrick, and I wish for Isolde and her family to stay and watch.”

  “I would rather die than stay and see you marry the duke.”

  The comforting presence of her mother came up beside her, taking her arm. “We will be leaving at dawn. You may marry the Duke of Moore tomorrow or next week, but we shall take no part in it,” her mother said, her voice stern.

  “You will,” Miss Hart said, lifting her chin in defiance. “Or I shall tell everyone that the Duke of Penworth has been taking advantage of me for years. Touched me inappropriately as a child and passed me about to all his friends as a toy. I will say that when Merrick heard of this little arrangement, he wanted to partake in it as well.”

  “How dare you.” Isolde’s father blanched, his eyes wild with anger. “We have given you everything you desired when your own father was unable to. How dare you slander us with such little regard to what your words could do to a family who has loved and cared for you.”

  “Pfft,” Miss Hart said, her visage one of disdain. “If my story will win me the Duke of Moore as my husband, I will have no regrets. But I am the daughter of a respected vicar, even if he’s poor. People shall believe me, not all, but most, and it will be enough to ruin both your households.”

  “To hell with my reputation and what costs this would have to my name. I will not marry you, Miss Hart. I loathe you.”

  “You will, Moore, because if you do not, your denial of me will hurt Isolde, and you’d never wish that now, would you.” Miss Hart smirked, meeting each of them with a level stare.

  Isolde wanted to believe Merrick, but she could not deny what her own eyes had seen. “I wish you both very happy,” she choked out, trying to take a calming breath.

  “Isolde…” Merrick’s voice trailed off as her mother pulled her toward the door. The passage beckoned like a savior; anything would be better than the room they now found themselves in. A room she’d once longed to see now made her wish she could burn it to the ground.

  “You know what you mean to me.” Merrick’s voice broke on a sob, and Isolde paused at the threshold.

  The image of them both naked left her physically ill, but so too did Leonora’s words. Who to believe? Merrick seemed genuinely upset, but Leonora may have tired of being a secret, playing to the Duke’s rules, and had forced Merrick’s hand. Had he been playing her a fool, too? Or did Leonora trick them both? Nothing made sense, and all of it was cruel. Heartbreakingly so. She had trusted them. Never did she believe either capable of inflicting such pain. But they had, and now she didn’t know what to do. How could he have done this to me?

  “Isolde, please don’t…please don’t leave me. I love you.”

  Her father followed them to the door. “You, Miss Hart, have proven yourself tonight to be the worst kind of person. You have no qualms in bringing people down whose only fault has been to love you. We shall attend your farce of a wedding tomorrow to the Duke of Moore, because I shall never let anything hinder my children’s prospects or allow lies, such as you sported tonight, to tarnish my family’s impeccable reputation.” The duke turned to Moore, shaking his head a little. “You, Moore, shall marry Miss Hart without any fuss, if only to make some small amends to the woman who loved you and witnessed that love thrown in her face as something worthless and dispensable. After the ceremony tomorrow, we shall take our leave and never have anything to do with one another again.”

  “Take Isolde back to her room. I shall fetch a maid to make up a tisane to help her sleep.”

  Her mother nodded, and Isolde did as her parents bid. The solid wooden door of her room loomed before her, and with it came a little relief. Isolde sat before the hearth, only a flicker of warmth coming from the blackened coals. The embers slowly died, and so too did her heart.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and it was only when her mother patted her face with a handkerchief did she realize how much she was crying. “Mama, what am I going to do?”

  “Shush, darling. Do not tax yourself any further. All will be well, although not tonight, not tomorrow, or even six months from now, but one day you’ll be yourself again. I promise you.”

  Thinking of Merrick, she started to cry, great gasping sobs that hurt her chest and made it hard to breathe. “I’ve lost him. And I love him still.” Her voice broke at the realization.

  Her mother shushed her, pulling her into an embrace. “I know, darling. I know you do. But there is nothing for it now. You will have to return with us to Dunsleigh.”

  Isolde thought of all she had lost, not just Merrick, but her future, their plans. Their trip away to the Continent, Paris, Rome, and all the delightful places in between that they were going to visit, crumbled in her chest like her heart. “He’s really going to marry her, isn’t he?” Even saying such a thing sounded absurd, and yet it was the truth. The truth as she would know it from tonight onward.

  “Yes, he is.” Her mother’s face was a mask of concern and pain. “I’m so sorry, darling. You did not deserve this.”


  Isolde strove to calm down before her sobs woke her sisters and they started with their meddling questions. Her body hiccupped for breath; her eyes, so swollen and sore, hurt when she blinked.

  “Come, you must sleep.” Her mother helped her stand, and Isolde didn’t fight her decree. Tiredness would succeed over her mind and, for a sweet moment, she’d forget what had transpired this night. It was enough to make her lie down and try.

  She settled under the blankets. The maid knocked on the door and her mother ushered her into the room, taking possession of the glass of whisky and a cold compress. Isolde downed the drink in one gulp, grateful for the burning amber liquid and the cooling cloth against her eyes.

  The tears started afresh when the comforting embrace of her mother wrapped around her, pulling her close and holding her as if to never let her go. Not since she was a child had her mother acted in such a way, and some of the despair left her, knowing she had the support of her family.

  She would need them in the months to come.

  She took a shuddering breath. How could a night once filled with so much excitement and anticipation twist into such despair and horror? Rolling onto her side, the ring Merrick had given her pressed into her cheek.

  She held out her hand and looked at the cluster of five round diamonds, each of them encased in a bed of silver and sitting on a band of gold that was etched into a leaflike pattern. The ring had been Merrick’s grandmother’s, and it had been the most beautiful gift Isolde had ever received.

  But no longer. Now it represented a fractured circle of trust, pulled apart and unfixable.

  She yanked it off, unable to throw it no matter how much she longed to. She reached over and placed it on the cabinet beside her bed, looking at it as it twinkled prettily under the candlelight. The ring and its beauty were as fickle as its owner.

  “I’m not going back to Dunsleigh, Mama.”

  “But darling, I think this is the best option for you, considering the circumstances.” Her mother rubbed her back.

  “I’m going to stay at Avonmore. I cannot remain here and watch their union while being looked upon with pity.” At least in Scotland she could escape members of her Society and their false sympathy. And seeing Merrick married would surely bring her to her knees. Of that she was sure.

  “I will talk to your father about it and, although I cannot promise, I will try to give you your wish.”

  Isolde sighed in relief. “Thank you. That is all I ask.” She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of her whirling thoughts—horrible thoughts of Merrick and her friend in a compromising position. Of the sounds that had greeted her upon approaching his room.

  She swallowed the bile that threatened and prayed she had the strength to get through this pain. And yet, how could life go on when your soul mate married someone else?

  It cannot.

  …

  Merrick stood at the altar before the priest, Isolde’s brother at his side, no longer acting as a witness, a close friend in support and joy, but a sober reminder of a future that was no longer in his control.

  He loosened his cravat, his body uncomfortably warm in the small church. The guests who had arrived for his and Isolde’s wedding were all gathered behind him, and yet none of them were aware of what was about to transpire.

  Instead of the long-awaited wedding uniting two great families, now he was about to marry a woman he’d never looked at in anything other than friendship. It didn’t bother him that Miss Hart was only a vicar’s daughter. If he’d loved her, he would’ve married whomever he chose. But to marry anyone other than Isolde, the woman who held his beating organ in the palm of her hand, was the veriest of torture.

  Isolde’s brother mumbled something unintelligible beside him, but it wasn’t hard to decipher. Isolde’s family was upholding the threat that Miss Hart had dispensed on them all. To think that in only a few short hours his life would become something he’d never thought possible. It was unfathomable. No matter how much in his cups he had been, this whole situation was his fault.

  How had I not known…?

  A woman started playing the piano, and he turned to watch as Miss Hart glided toward him, the triumph on her face not slipping as the startled gasps of the gathered guests exploded in the small church. She walked proudly toward him, in a gown of the lightest blue silk, her chin high.

  This cannot be my reality.

  He sought out Isolde and met her gaze. The pain he read on her sweet face tore him in two, and he wanted to go to her, comfort her, and assure her what he’d done was a mistake. A trick played on them both by someone they had trusted. But he could not. The threat hanging over Isolde would ruin her family. Merrick did not care for his own reputation as the Duke of Moore, which could be rebuilt. But he would protect Isolde’s with his life, even after this farce.

  He noted her eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen, no doubt from copious tears. He fisted his hands, his own vision blurring, hating himself for the cad he’d been. What had possessed him to drink so much? He turned back around and faced the priest. In fact, thinking over his night with the Duke of Penworth, he’d not drunk that much, and yet he’d been extremely dizzy and tired… Had Leonora put something in his drink he did not know of?

  Miss Hart came beside him and placed her hand upon his arm. The priest’s lips thinned in disdain before commencing the service. The man had been displeased when woken early this morning and notified of the change and what was expected of him with accompanying funds to sweeten the agreement. Merrick’s stomach roiled.

  He would have his lawyers look into the legalities of this marriage once he returned to London, but for the moment, it kept Miss Hart from ruining them all and allowed Isolde to leave with some morsel of respect to start her life again.

  Without him…

  His stomach heaved at the thought, and he shut his eyes, breathing deep, lest he vomit on the altar. A selfish part of him never wanted to see Isolde again, for to see her marry another—as he was doing—would kill him stone dead. The thought of some other man kissing her sweet lips, of touching her in any way, drove him to the point of madness.

  The priest cleared his throat, and Merrick realized he’d been asked a question. Taking pity on him, the priest repeated the words, and Merrick answered, feeling Miss Hart beside him relax a little.

  The remainder of the ceremony quickly followed, and he was glad of it. The sooner this travesty was over, the sooner he could try to forge some semblance of normalcy to his life.

  Although, when he looked down at Miss Hart, reading the triumph in her cold gaze, normalcy would not be in the cards for him from this day forward. Not after her escapades of the night before, which had shown what she was capable of. The loathing was unsurmountable. Never would he be able to treat her with respect such as he should. They would be husband and wife, but in name only. He would not forgive her this treachery or his own stupidity.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said, smiling a little to buffer what the words meant to Merrick.

  He turned to the congregation, not able to look at Isolde, and with a strength he’d not thought he possessed, walked his new wife down the aisle and outside. There were no claps of congratulations. No smiles or happy tears. Just shocked visages of those who’d witnessed something that they had not had the time to process. Merrick understood the feeling well, for he, too, could not believe what had transpired.

  Nor would he ever.

  Chapter Three

  Five years later—Avonmore, Scotland

  Isolde sat on a large tree stump overlooking Loch Lochy and clasped the latest letter from her family. Today marked the five-year anniversary of living in Scotland. Could it have really been that long since she’d left Dunsleigh for Avonmore after what had happened with Merrick? She pushed the thought of him aside and broke the seal, wanting to hear what everyone had been up to the past month.

  Avonmore Estate loomed behind her and gave her comfort, but it wasn’t filled with
the sounds of her family, of her sisters bickering, or of discussions over the latest on-dit or a risqué new gown design from France. Her home here was quiet and peaceful, but lonely. Situated on the loch’s shore, Avonmore was a medieval dwelling, made up of large dark gray stone that looked imposing on the green landscape and yet indoors, it was anything but hostile; it was beautiful, comfortable, a home fit for a duke.

  Since her arrival, she’d made amendments to its gardens that had softened the home’s harsh exterior, making it less daunting and more appealing to the eye. Her father, God rest his soul, had bestowed it upon her in his will, and she would be forever grateful for the gift. She looked over the loch, marveling at the beauty of the highland country. She would never leave. Scotland was her home now, and she was content. Well…almost.

  She looked back to her letter, the latest from her mother, and continued to read. It seemed her brother was coming to visit. She smiled at the thought of her little brother, now the Duke of Penworth. A strutting peacock always came to mind when she thought of him, grand and full of airs over his stature. Bless his heart, she could only laugh at some of the antics he got up to.

  He was always such fun when he came to see her, and a tremor of excitement raced through her veins at the thought of someone to talk to. Elizabeth was happy and settled and lived not far from here, only a two days’ carriage ride. Isolde often contemplated going to visit her sister, who also called Scotland home, but with a young son and expecting their second child any moment, she didn’t wish to impose on them too much.

  The sound of crunching stone beneath boots snapped her attention behind her. She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket just as her friend Anne, the Countess of Kinruth, came from behind a large bush. Isolde waved in welcome and stood, meeting her along the graveled path.

  “Good afternoon, Anne. I didn’t expect to see you so soon, what with you preparing to leave for London.” Isolde noted her friend’s bright eyes and reddened cheeks and wondered what had her in such a hullaballoo.