How to Marry a Duke

by Vicky Dreiling

  “Thank you for caring.”

  “How long ago did your uncle die?”

  “Four years have passed,” she said.

  How had she withstood being all alone in the world? “I take it your uncle provided you with a comfortable inheritance.”

  “I inherited Hollincourt, my uncle’s property.”

  Stunned, he stared at her. “But what of the entailment?”

  “I do not profess to understand all the legal complexities, but I know the settlement ended with my uncle. Since there was no heir, he did not renew it. So he was free to leave the property to whomever he chose. The title of course is extinct.”

  He swallowed hard. Her late uncle’s failure to produce an heir was Tristan’s worst fear. For three hundred years, the earls and dukes of Shelbourne had reigned. His father had nearly beggared the estates, but Tristan had let pride get in the way of doing his duty because he couldn’t stomach marrying for money. He’d been a fool to wait this long to secure the title.

  Tessa knit her brows. “You look troubled.”

  “Your uncle’s predicament is a grim reminder of my own situation.” In his case, the remaining property was entailed upon his future heir. He’d made provisions for his mother and sister, but nothing to equal the security Wentworth had provided for his niece.

  “I am here to help you remedy that situation,” Tessa said quietly.

  Tristan set his brandy aside. “I heard you were an heiress, but the details aren’t common knowledge. I’m surprised, given the unusual circumstances.”

  “Until last year, I did not venture to London. Plenty of people question me, but I do not discuss the matter. I’m considered odd enough for my independence.”

  “I fear I’m being impertinent, but I have wondered why you never married,” he said.

  She smoothed her skirt. “Circumstances were not in my favor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After my aunt died, my uncle’s health deteriorated. I took care of him.”

  “How long was he ill?”

  “It came on gradually. The first two years, he suffered from melancholy, but the last three, his heart weakened.”

  Her words stunned him. She had nursed her uncle for five years. He’d never met a more selfless woman in all his life. “Few young women would give up so much for an ailing relative.”

  “He was all the family I had left,” she said, her voice quavering a little. “My parents died in a carriage accident when I was sixteen.”

  An odd pang, swift and sharp, stung his hardened heart. She’d lost all her family in a few short years.

  “I am lucky compared to most women in my situation,” she said. “Poverty would have made my life much harder.”

  Her uncle must have worried about leaving her alone, but that only made him wonder. “I’m surprised your uncle didn’t make arrangements for you to marry.”

  She hesitated, turning her gaze to the fire. “I had to postpone my presentation at court when my aunt died. The year after, Uncle George could not bring himself to go to London because he still grieved for my aunt. He made arrangements with his friend’s wife to sponsor me.” She paused. “I chose not to go.”

  “You could not bear to leave your grieving uncle.”

  She said nothing.

  “You still miss him,” he said.

  She sighed. “Every day, but when I feel sorry for myself, I remember how lucky I am to have Anne.”

  “You’ve known her for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Since I went to live with my uncle. Her father died shortly after they received the news about her brother. She had nothing at all, so I invited her to share my home.”

  “A generous offer,” he said.

  “No, she was a great comfort to me. Anne insisted on a paid position as my companion. I agreed for the sake of her pride, but she is my dearest friend, as close as a sister.”

  “I suppose you came to London to find her a husband.”

  She returned her attention to him. “No, I came to London because I wanted to experience it for myself. It was so much more than I ever imagined. I love the museums, the theater, and the balls. And the shopping best of all.”

  “Then it is a lucky thing your uncle left you his fortune.” They exchanged smiles. “I find it ironic you chose to make matches when you have eluded marriage.”

  “I am firmly displayed on the spinster shelf,” she said.

  “You cannot be more than four and twenty.” In truth, her full cheeks and button nose made her look even younger.

  She flushed. “You have just earned a lifetime place as my friend.”

  He chuckled. “You can tell me the truth.”

  “Six and twenty,” she muttered.

  “You are far too young to dismiss marriage,” he said, frowning.

  “Now you sound like Anne.” She rolled her eyes and said in a mimicking tone, “It’s not too late for you, Tessa.”

  He suspected the spinster label had wounded her. The ton’s cruelty angered him. By God, she deserved far better. “I think you would make a wonderful wife to some lucky man.”

  Tristan would say something so wonderful, today of all days.

  Tessa kept the smile plastered on her face until he left, and then she sank onto the settee. She clutched her freezing hands in her lap. Her head ached from the effort of keeping her composure. When Anne had handed her that letter, she had not wanted to touch it.

  She glanced at the desk. Dread filled her. She did not want to dredge up the past, but she had no choice. She must honor her promise to Anne.

  Procrastinating would only make her more anxious. She would read the letter now and have done with it. Resolute, she marched over to the desk and opened the drawer. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the letter. The pages were creased from age. She spread it out on the desk and noted the date. It had been written only a few weeks after Richard Mortland had left home and before he’d been stationed on the Continent. He had told his sister not to worry because he would grow accustomed to hardship. Clearly he’d not cared that his words would cause Anne anguish.

  At the end, Tessa saw her name. As Anne had said, he’d claimed to be worried about her. When last I saw Miss Mansfield, she seemed melancholy and wan. Pray, write and tell me how she fares.

  With jerky movements, she folded the letter and shoved it back inside the desk drawer. Tomorrow she would return it to Anne. There was nothing she could tell her friend. Nothing.

  She had known that before reading the letter.

  Today the past had invaded the present. She had locked the door on the proverbial skeletons in her closet, but the letter had served as a window. She had allowed Tristan to peek inside. Ordinarily she avoided all questions about her past, but he had been so kind. He had surmised that she felt guilty because her uncle provided the commission. Because he cared, she had revealed the essential details of her past, but only the essentials.

  His words haunted her. You could not bear to leave your grieving uncle.

  She had said nothing. Uncle George had taught her not to feel compelled to fill the silence. He’d neglected to tell her she would never be able to silence her regrets. She would pay for her mistakes all the days of her life. But she’d been spared the worst.

  Her secrets were safe.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, Tessa’s hands grew clammy as she entered Anne’s drawing room, which was decorated in the latest Chinese style. She planned to dispense quickly with the subject of Richard’s letter. Putting it off would only increase her nervousness.

  “Have you read Richard’s letter?” Anne asked as they sat upon the sofa.

  Guilt seized Tessa at the hopeful expression in her friend’s eyes. With trembling fingers, she retrieved the letter from her reticule and handed it over. She took a deep breath before uttering the words she’d prepared. “I cannot say what your brother meant in his expression of concern for me.” She’d lied by omission out of necessity. “I am sorr
y.”

  “Geoffrey warned me not to hope too much.” Anne carefully added the creased letter to a bundle of missives tied with blue ribbon. “Perhaps Richard was concerned because your uncle had not recovered from his melancholy.” Anne set the packet of letters aside. “Richard was grateful to your uncle, so I am surprised he did not inquire after Lord Wentworth’s health.”

  Tessa wasn’t surprised.

  “Where are my manners?” Anne said. “I haven’t even offered you tea yet.”

  Tessa accepted a cup and took the opportunity to change the subject. “I have an idea. Next week, the duke will court the girls at the opera. You must convince your husband to attend and visit Shelbourne’s box at intermission.”

  “What a splendid idea. Are you certain the duke will not mind?”

  “I’m sure he will welcome you both.”

  Anne sipped her tea, regarding Tessa over the rim of the cup. “Geoffrey and I were both surprised he called upon you yesterday.”

  Tessa shrugged. “He’d made an appointment to discuss the courtship.”

  Anne looked troubled. “I hesitate to say anything, but Geoffrey convinced me it would be better if you learned about the gossip from a friend.”

  Tessa stilled. “What gossip?”

  “Lady Elizabeth is spreading a tale that you are trying to slander her.”

  Tessa inhaled. “Oh, that conniving witch. You would not believe how she is manipulating the other girls.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Anne said, “but use caution when speaking to the girls. Their mothers can ruin your reputation.”

  Anne’s wisdom made her realize she’d acted heedlessly. “You are right,” she said. “I confronted her at Ashdown House. In hindsight, I should have spoken to Tris—to the duke, privately.” Tessa winced at her mistake. It was too much to hope her friend had not noticed her faux pas.

  Anne stared at her. “What did you almost say?”

  “I made a silly mistake.”

  “You almost called him something other than duke,” Anne said. “What was it?”

  She’d certainly stepped into a pile of manure. “His Christian name is Tristan.”

  “I am surprised you even know it,” Anne said.

  “I heard his mother call him Tristan.” She’d uttered another lie of omission. Anne’s disturbed expression indicated she did not believe that explanation.

  “Why would you even think of referring to him in such an intimate fashion? I never even considered using Geoffrey’s Christian name until we were engaged.”

  She decided to tell Anne the truth. After all, Anne was her friend. Surely she would understand. “I know it’s not strictly permissible, but Shelbourne and I are friends. We agreed to a more familiar address in private.”

  “So he does not call you Tessa in front of the girls?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But what does he call you in front of Jane?”

  “He uses the proper address when she is there. Honestly, there is no cause for concern.”

  “But Jane would always be present when he calls.” Anne set her cup aside, and then her eyes widened as if she had suddenly realized the significance of Tessa’s silence. “You have spent time alone with him?”

  Tessa unfurled her fan and applied it to her warm cheeks. “I’m no green girl fresh out of the schoolroom.”

  “You are not an elderly woman at your last prayers, either,” Anne said.

  “What difference does it make? No one knows.”

  Anne’s countenance grew stern. “Jane knows you are alone with him, and I wager the servants know as well.”

  Tessa closed her fan. “I’m not completely ignoring the proprieties. Jane is present until the tea tray arrives. And my servants are loyal.”

  “You are risking your reputation. It is not like you.”

  Tessa moistened her dry lips. “He is more comfortable speaking to me in private. It’s a business arrangement, so there is no cause for alarm.”

  “I have always respected you for keeping your matchmaking efforts confidential, but you have never had a gentleman client before.” Anne looked shaken. “I am very concerned. He is a rake.”

  “You are making entirely too much of the matter.”

  “He insists on being alone with you, and he calls you by your Christian name. I cannot even imagine how he seduced you into that indiscretion.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Seduced me? Indiscretion? These are gross exaggerations.” Indeed, he’d not had to coax her even a little before she’d fallen witlessly into his arms at Ashdown House.

  “I did not mean to cast aspersions on your character.”

  “You must not think ill of Shelbourne,” Tessa said. “He is an honorable gentleman.”

  “I know his reputation, and so do you. I saw the way he watched you yesterday.”

  She’d been so worried about Richard’s letter, she’d not noticed. “You are imagining things.”

  Anne shook her head. “Geoffrey remarked upon it as well. The duke was definitely watching you while you were pouring tea.”

  “He was probably hoping I’d serve cake. He is fond of sweets.”

  “I think he is fond of more than cake.”

  “Anne, your suspicions are fanciful in the extreme.” But he had kissed and touched her. Was it possible he had grown attracted to her? No, she mustn’t even think it. He had apologized and taken all the blame for their indiscretion, but deep down, she knew she had encouraged him. God help her, she had relived his touch and the feel of his lips every night since then. No matter how many times she’d told herself to stop, she’d invariably failed. But where was the harm? No one would ever know about her secret fantasies.

  “Tessa, you’re not in love with him, are you?”

  The question startled her. Once again, her face burned. “How could you even ask such a question? I’m his matchmaker.”

  Anne touched her hand. “I know you would never betray the bridal candidates, but I worry you will lose your heart to him.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. She had not lost her heart to him. She had not. But she had betrayed the bridal candidates when she’d kissed him. She’d stolen one romantic moment for herself and nearly compromised herself and Tristan. If anyone but Lord Hawkfield had come into the library, she would have brought disgrace upon Tristan, his family, and herself.

  Never again, she swore. From this moment forward she would focus all her efforts on encouraging him to choose a bride with his heart. Her heart was in no danger. None at all.

  Hawk lifted his glass. “A toast to your courtship.”

  Tristan glowered at his friend over the rim of his brandy glass, certain Hawk would rib him endlessly when he heard about the opera. They sat at their usual spot at the club. Outside the bow window, the yellow pool of light from the gas lamps looked eerie in the misty night. Male voices rumbled, but in a nearby room, silence reigned as fools sat at the green baize tables risking their fortunes—fools like his late father.

  He shoved aside the useless thoughts about his sire. “Miss Mansfield insisted I invite you to the opera next week. I’ll tell her you have a previous engagement.”

  Hawk’s brown eyes lit with merriment. “The opera? Oh, Lord, she’s insisting you court the chits there, isn’t she?”

  “I told her you hate the opera.” Damnation, he’d agreed because of his guilt. Now he’d committed himself to taking the courtship out in public.

  “Why am I invited?” Hawk asked.

  Tristan traced the rim of his glass. “It’s just another one of her ridiculous notions. Trust me, you don’t want to attend.”

  “And let you down? Never.”

  “Your ballerina will be missing you.”

  “I tired of her hysterics a week ago,” he said. “But now that you mention it, I am in need of a new mistress. I might as well take a turn round the pit while I’m at the opera.”

  “You will not troll for whores in front of my mother and sister.”

 
Hawk laughed. “Right-ho. I’ll be as angelic as a choirboy. But what am I to do? Help your dear mama chaperone?”

  “You’re supposed to converse with the chits and report back to me. But you’re not attending.”

  “I promise not to flirt with them.”

  “I’ll give Miss Mansfield your regrets.”

  “But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Masculine laughter erupted from the center of the room, drawing their attention. Several gentlemen took turns clapping Viscount Hunter on the back.

  “What do you suppose that’s all about?” Hawk asked.

  Tristan shrugged and sipped his brandy. They shared a companionable silence until Lord Westerly approached a few minutes later.

  “Well, Shelbourne, what do you make of this turn of events?” Westerly asked.

  Tristan gave Westerly a bored look and swirled his brandy. He detested the man, finding him a pest and a notorious gossip.

  Westerly grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels. “With nine other gels to court, I don’t suppose you’d miss one.”

  The fine hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. What the devil? One of the girls had quit the courtship?

  “I confess, I never thought Hunter would come up to scratch,” Westerly continued with obvious relish. “He’s evaded Miss Fielding for years. Quite the rake, you know. Everyone knows she’s mad for him.”

  The news startled Tristan. Caroline Fielding had been courting Hunter behind his back? Westerly’s words echoed in Tristan’s brain. Everyone knows she’s mad for him.

  Shock rippled down his spine. Did Tessa know? Surely not. Damn it all to hell, it was her responsibility to ensure the girls adhered to the rules. On that first day, he’d given Tessa his bridal requirements, and he’d expected her to investigate the girls. If she’d done so, she would have known what everyone else knew. Caroline Fielding had held a torch for Hunter—for years.

  Tessa had failed him.

  Loud masculine guffaws erupted from Hunter’s table. Fury burned him like a live coal. She’d let him be made a fool of at his club. Damn her!

  “I say, did you not know of Hunter’s betrothal to Miss Caroline Fielding?” Westerly smirked. “She is one of your bridal candidates, is she not?”