In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1)

by Christi Caldwell

  In Need of a Duke

  Christi Caldwell

  Copyright © 2014 by Christi Caldwell

  Cover Art & Formatting by GraphicsForAuthors.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  christicaldwellauthor@gmail.com

  www.christicaldwellauthor.com

  Prologue

  1805

  Lady Aldora Adamson really supposed she should be attending her friends’ excited chattering with a bit more attention. But then, when one’s world hung in a very precarious place, well then the sight of a man spewing fire like a demon, and swallowing swords seemed so very silly.

  “You seem rather distracted,” Valera said, bringing her back to the moment. “Are you paying attention, Aldi?”

  And here Aldora had thought she’d giggled and chatted at all the right moments today.

  “Er, yes,” she lied. She supposed she should be more grateful at the invite issued her family by the Marquess of St. Aidans’ but it seemed rather hard to be anything other than terrified when thinking about the trouble Father had wrought upon their household.

  Her friend snorted. “No, you aren’t. We were talking about Elle’s betrothal to Langley.”

  “Must you continue to spoil my fun,” Eleanor groused. “I’d rather not think on Langley tonight.”

  The four girls looked to Aldora almost expectantly. Her mind spun as she tried to come up with any suitable response. She took Elle by the arm. “I agree. The very idea of marriage and Langley makes my skin crawl.”

  “Aldora!” Valera frowned.

  Aldora lifted her shoulders in a desperate shrug. “It is just that he’s…” A powerful duke. “He’s…” Her friends continued to stare. Wealthy. “He’s so old,” she finished lamely.

  Her response set off a whole flurry of discussion on Langley’s age, and somehow Elle’s brother, and well…Aldora just welcomed the diversion.

  She continued to trail along behind her friends, past colorful tents, and vibrantly attired gypsies.

  Then her friends drew to a stop. Aldora bumped into Charlotte’s back. “Forgive me,” she murmured.

  Valera spun to face her. A smile wreathed her face. “We are going to have our fortune’s told.”

  “Our fortunes told?” She detected the heavy skepticism in her own question.

  “Oh, yes,” Valera said on a nod.

  Elle poked her head inside a nearby tent. “This is the fortune-teller tent, isn’t it?”

  Aldora glanced up and bit back the urge to point out the sign hanging on a post above that read “Fortune-Teller”.

  A young gypsy woman peeked her head from outside the tent, and the girls jumped backwards. However, she only waved them forward. “Come in. I am Nadya.”

  The girls shuffled inside with varying levels of enthusiasm.

  Nadya motioned to the old woman seated on the floor. The old, serious-faced gypsy woman greeted them. “Come in, chav,” she urged when they hovered at the entrance of the tent. “I am known to the gypsies here as Bunică. And I will tell your future.”

  Aldora didn’t need a fortune-teller to know that her family was one step from financial ruin, and certain disaster.

  Eleanor marched head held high deeper into the tent. “I already know my future, but everyone should be able to boast about having had her fortune read at least once.”

  The old gypsy smiled and urged the others closer

  “Perhaps you will be,” the gypsy paused, “surprised,” Her gaze lingered a moment on Aldora, and then returned to Eleanor. “Eleanor,” the woman finished.

  In spite of herself, Aldora’s eyes widened. A chill stole down her spine. For an infinitesimal moment, before she’d gone and directed her attention toward Eleanor, it had seemed as though the old gypsy spoke directly to Aldora.

  “How does she know Elle’s name?” Charlotte whispered.

  Valera shot a look in Charlotte’s direction. “She is magic. That’s how she knows her name.”

  Lady Eleanor pursed her lips, obviously doubtful of Bunică’s powers. “Papa has paid for their services. Everyone knows who I am.”

  Envy tugged at Aldora’s insides. There had been a time when she too had been confident in her own Father’s wealth and power. The dream of that life had disappeared as quick as one could utter the word faro.

  The young gypsy woman, Nadya, glowered at Eleanor, as though offended by the girl’s pomposity.

  “I have magic, too, and I will use it to decipher all of your names.”

  Aldora would far prefer the kind of magic that could convert a pence into the fortune Father had lost at cards, but still, feigned an appropriate level of awe and interest in the exchange between the young gypsy and Eleanor.

  “Very well then.” The arching of Lady Eleanor’s delicate brow demanded Nadya show her proof.

  The woman’s jaw hardened. Then, she placed her fingers against her temples, closed her eyes, and began humming and swaying.

  Aldora pointed her eyes to the ceiling of the tent. Surely her friends didn’t believe…

  “What is she doing?”

  “Shh.”

  Yes, it appeared from Charlotte’s questioning, they did believe this great act.

  Nadya snapped her eyes open. She pointed a finger at Valera. The bangles on her wrist jangled like chimes. “I see a letter.”

  Charlotte hurried to the pillows and plopped beside Lady Eleanor. “What letter is it?”

  “There is no such thing as magic,” her sister mumbled and came to sit too.

  “I see a V,” Nadya said, slowly in her thick Romany accent. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers over her temples.

  Aldora peeked from the corner of her eye at her friends, wondering if they intended to part with their coins on a gypsy’s tricks. Her own hands tightened reflexively about her reticule, as the contents within had come to be all the more important in light of her family’s financial circumstances.

  “It’s becoming clearer. I see a second letter, an A.”

  “She is guessing,” Alison grumbled.

  Aldora rather agreed.

  Nadya’s eyes opened. “It’s Vallie. Your name is Vallie.”

  Valera’s response was lost to the loud humming in her ears. Surely the gypsy’s act was all for show. Surely…but what if it is not, Aldora, a voice needled?

  What if the gypsy possesses knowledge of what awaits you in the future?

  Did she really want to know?

  Her back straightened. As the eldest of her siblings, she did not have the right to bury her head from the truth of Father’s gaming, or the creditors calling. She had an obligation to confront her future with courage and strength. After all, she was fifteen.

  Nadya waved her hand over a spot at the old gypsy’s feet. “Come, come,” she urged.

  The girls hastened over to take their sea
ts.

  Aldora paused a moment. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose and hurried over as well.

  Her friends handed their coins to the old woman. Aldora hesitated, and then registered the six sets of eyes trained on her. Heat climbed up her neck and she dropped her attention to her reticule. She fished around inside for several coins, and pulled them out.

  “Come on, then,” Eleanor urged.

  Aldora dropped the coins into the gypsy’s waiting hands. The woman stuffed them inside a purse, pulled the cord tight, and then tucked it into her lap.

  Then Aldora waited.

  The gypsy took several deep breaths. She grasped the sides of a nearby bowl and peered into the smooth water.

  “I see a duke,” she said. “I see the heart of a duke for those of you bold enough to believe, and brave enough to embrace it.”

  That would certainly be convenient considering Aldora’s circumstances.

  The old gypsy directed her focus on Eleanor.

  Aldora sat there wanting the old woman to turn to her, wanting her to share some optimistic view of her future, but in a specific way.

  Alas, the gypsy spoke quickly, and curtly to Eleanor, and then the magic of the moment was ended.

  Aldora stood on a sigh, and followed her friends from the tent. She cast a longing glance backwards as she thought of the coins she’d lost this afternoon.

  They started down the fairway as one and reached the spillway. “Wait! Lady Eleanor, wait!”

  Aldora and her friends turned back.

  The young gypsy, Nadya unclasped a necklace about her neck, and hurried after them. Reaching them, she held out the pendant. “There is more. My grandmother forgot to tell you about your necklace.”

  Aldora’s eyes widened. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is,” Lady Eleanor said. “But it isn’t my necklace.”

  Nadya’s brows lifted. “Aye, but it could be yours.” She looked at each girl gathered around her. “Or yours, or yours, or yours, or even yours, Charlotte.”

  Unable to resist the lure, Aldora leaned closer to better examine the pendant. Nadya lowered her voice as if to share some great secret. “Whoever wears this necklace shall win the heart of a duke.”

  Aldora chewed at her lip. Weren’t all duke’s wealthy? She would greatly welcome a powerfully wealthy…

  Lady Eleanor burst out laughing and her friends joined in, pulling Aldora from her musings. “I guess it is my necklace,” Eleanor said. “My betrothed is a duke.”

  Nadya snatched her hand back when Eleanor reached for the pendant. Anger flared in the woman’s dark eyes.

  “Aren’t you going to give me the necklace?” Lady Eleanor asked.

  Nadya’s jaw clamped tight. “Seven shillings.”

  Aldora considered the precious coins she’d already parted with. She could ill-afford to lose any more shillings this day.

  Lady Eleanor bit her bottom lip. “I only have two left. Please tell your grandmother thank you, but I cannot afford the necklace.”

  “But Elle, you must have it,” Valera said. “You can have my left over shillings.” She dug into her reticule and pulled out a coin.

  Valera looked to her, and Aldora fumbled with her reticule as well. “Er, you may have mine, too.” Did her friends note her obvious regret?

  “And mine.” Charlotte thrust her coin toward Lady Eleanor.

  Next, Alison handed over her shilling, bringing the total to seven.

  Lady Eleanor smiled at her friends. “I will purchase the necklace, but it will belong to all of us. When I no longer need it, I’ll pass it along.”

  Valera nodded. “Yes, everyone should have a chance to wear it.”

  They made a pact, swearing their loyalty to each other. Eleanor passed the pendant around to each friend.

  When Valera placed the golden bauble in Aldora’s hand, she froze. She turned it over and studied this trinket that promised each of them the heart of a duke.

  Aldora didn’t necessarily need the heart of a duke. She just needed any duke.

  And a wealthy one at that.

  Chapter One

  1810

  She wasn’t exactly sneaking. No, the rather brisk pace she’d set for herself would hardly be conducive to a clandestine meeting.

  Nor for that matter did well-bred daughters of late earls sneak. Why, she was merely…

  Lady Aldora Adamson frowned and drew to a stop, glancing down the long row of hedges.

  She was sneaking. There was no way around it.

  Her heel sunk into a particularly moist patch of soil, and she wrenched her foot free. If she weren’t so out of breath from chasing after her quarry, she would have groaned aloud at the reward for her efforts. With the precarious financial state she and her sisters found themselves in, it didn’t do to go about ruining anything—especially a costly pair of slippers. Aldora studied her muddied soles and bit back a curse. The ivory silk would be ruined beyond repair.

  The sound of morning birds chirping replaced the normal cacophony in Hyde Park, the sweet song the soothing balm she needed.

  Aldora swiped the back of her hand across her brow and giggled as she imagined the horror in her mother, the Countess of Wakefield’s, eyes if she saw her eldest daughter. She could all but hear the high-pitched squawk in her mind.

  Aldora, ladies do not run…

  And they most certainly did not dash around until moisture marred their skin. For the better part of her life, the rules of proper decorum had been drilled into Aldora’s ladylike head, but then in the span of a moment, her life had changed and other things had begun to matter more.

  Survival.

  Aldora had run out of time.

  Or rather, they had run out of time…her entire family: one mother, two younger sisters, and one brother whose security rested on her rather diminutive shoulders. She’d learned at the age of fifteen Father’s weakness at the gaming tables and learned he’d wagered away most of his wealth. However, it hadn’t been until he died two years ago that she’d learned the extent of the damage he’d wrought upon the family.

  For nearly two years she and Mother had done an admirable job of holding off the unknown man who possessed Father’s vowels while also keeping at bay the many creditors her wastrel father had left them indebted to. Thankfully, the truth of their circumstances was not known by the ton.

  Not yet. It was only a matter of time before their carefully constructed world fell down around them.

  Aldora pulled out the slip of paper and strained to read it. Fortunately, she’d committed the words to memory.

  The Marquess of St. James. Black hair, dark eyes, two inches past six feet. You can find him riding in Hyde Park at dawn.

  She sighed and slipped the note into her cloak pocket. It was hard to say which was more humiliating; pursuing one’s future husband or receiving information about said future husband from his chambermaids.

  She’d risen at an ungodly hour, dressed in her finest gown, and then sought to run into the mighty lord. Where her dearest friends had their hearts and minds set on a duke, Aldora had altogether different, more realistic goals in her quest for a husband; goals that included the Marquess of St. James. She had done extensive research, the level of which would have impressed her scientific friend, Lady Alison.

  Fact: St. James was obscenely wealthy.

  Fact: The bulk of eligible ladies had set their gazes on the bachelor dukes still on the market.

  Fact: St. James served on the board of several hospitals and orphanages, which spoke to his commitment for the less fortunate.

  Fact: Lady Aldora and her siblings were very close to being amongst those less fortunate.

  Fact: The Marquess of St. James’s family had skeletons of their own.

  Which made him the perfect match.

  All of Society knew the tale of St. James’s scapegrace brother who’d killed young Lord Everworth in a duel and then been banished to some far-flung region of England. If the rumors were true, and they oft
entimes were, the marquess’s brother had then immersed himself in trade.

  Aldora pushed her thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. It had all been so cleverly orchestrated. She’d waited patiently for one hour before she spied his magnificent black mare. Except she’d gone and lost him.

  And her maid, Isabella. She’d lost poor Isabella, too. It hardly seemed right, considering all the effort Isabella had put into finding out information from staff members in the Marquess of St. James’s household. With the exception of the butler Ollie and Cook, Isabella had been in their employ longer than any other servant and thus retained her position. Advanced in years, the poor graying woman was hardly of a state to be racing through Hyde Park while Aldora tried to secure a husband. If it hadn’t been for Isabella, there would have been no clandestine meeting.

  She looked around. Then again, it would appear there would be no ‘meeting’ after all.

  Aldora fought an overwhelming urge to stamp her foot.

  This wasn’t for her. She was no coquette or flirting miss who could gracefully stumble upon a gentleman, swoon in his arms, and gain his notice and attention. At twenty she was the eldest of her siblings but even with Katherine and Anne, the lovely twin girls, being five years younger, they could still do a far more convincing job of landing one of the ton’s most eligible bachelors.

  Alas, Aldora was in the market for a husband.

  If the scandal sheets were to be believed, the elusive Marquess of St. James, who’d gone out of his way to avoid every marriage-minded miss, had finally entered the market for a wife—and Aldora was determined to secure that spot.

  So what if she’d never set sights on the marquess?

  The rumble of a horse’s hooves thundered in the distance, and drew her attention. Like a practiced hunter, which she was not nor ever would be, her ears perked up. The steadily increasing rumble indicated a rider’s swift approach. “Oh, please let it be him,” she whispered.

  With a determined huff, she picked up her pace, a pace that would have appalled any lord or lady out for an unfashionably early morning stroll.