by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel
She composed herself, though Hardcastle could feel the effort that required as she sank into a lovely curtsey.
“Sir, I would be honored.” Then she bounced up and grabbed his hand. “Did I do that right? When can I talk to Ellen? I will hug her so hard she’ll burst, and we’ll laugh, and then she’ll cry, and I’ll hug her all over again.”
“She’ll hug you back, I’m sure,” Hardcastle said. “As soon as this dance is over, you must hug her as hard as ever you can.”
Emily let him lead her to the dance floor, while Sedgemere appropriated the same honor from Ellen. She shot Hardcastle incredulous, wondering glances, which he hoped meant he’d guessed correctly.
The music started, and within sixteen bars, Emily was trying to lead, laughing, stepping on Hardcastle’s toes, then laughing some more. The hours he’d spent twirling her around her mother’s music room had been a pointless undertaking, for no amount of patient instruction could have curbed her exuberance.
“The music will soon end,” Hardcastle murmured, several athletic minutes later. “Do you recall what comes next?”
“You bow, I curtsey, and then we get some punch, which I must not spill on anybody, and I must only sip, delicately, like a bird at the fountain in the garden. I want to talk to Ellen first. She’ll think I’m vexed with her, but I’m not. I never could be.”
“Neither could I. What say we meet her at the punchbowl?”
“I like that idea. I like you. No wonder Ellen has let you be her friend. You’re very sweet.”
Hardcastle bowed. “As are you, Miss Emily.”
She sank into another curtsey, though this time Hardcastle was ready for her when she shot to her feet and grabbed his arm.
“Ellen!” she shouted. “Meet us at the punchbowl! Bring your duke, and I’ll bring mine!”
The ballroom grew momentarily quiet, until the Duchess of Sedgemere called out, “Save a glass for me!”
“For me as well!” the Duchess of Oxthorpe called, only to be echoed by the Duchess of Linton.
A hundred conversations broke out as Emily dragged Hardcastle to the punchbowl, then flew from his side into Ellen’s arms.
“Oh, Ellie, I have missed you so. I have missed and missed and missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, Em,” Ellen said, blinking madly and hugging her sister back. “You look very pretty.”
“I look all grown up,” Emily said, stepping back and holding her skirts out as she twirled. “I know how to waltz. Did you see me? Hardcastle taught me this morning. He’s very serious, but I like him.”
“You like everybody,” Ellen said, snatching another brief, tight hug. “I like Hardcastle too.”
“Perhaps you’d introduce us, Miss MacHugh,” the Duchess of Sedgemere said. “Miss Emily is our guest, after all.”
At Hardcastle’s request, Sedgemere and his duchess personally took Emily around and introduced her to half the Midlands nobility.
“I don’t know whether to hug you, or smack you,” Ellen said. “What could you be about, Hardcastle? Emily will think she’s making friends, and instead, she’ll be a laughingstock.”
“No, she will not,” Hardcastle said. “I’ve enlisted the aid of the duchesses, and they are very pleased to ensure Emily will have an enjoyable evening. She will be an original, you see, and you will be my duchess.”
Emily made a lovely bow before the Dowager Duchess of Alnwitter, who then laughed heartily at something Emily said.
“You sent the coach for my family, didn’t you?” Ellen asked. “You invited them in person and then made sure Emily would have a partner for the waltz.”
“Are you listing my transgressions, Ellen, or reconstructing my day? If the latter, you’ve stopped short of the best part.”
The first violinist of the little orchestra had resumed his seat and was tapping his bow on his music stand.
“The part where I welcomed you back,” Ellen said, while across the ballroom Mr. Greenover, sober for once, bowed over Emily’s hand.
“That was lovely too, but rather than refer to an aspect of my schedule best left private, I allude instead to what follows now. Come with me, if you please.”
Hardcastle left Ellen no choice, tugging her out onto the dance floor.
“Your Grace, I’d rather keep an eye on Emily.”
“I’d rather you let your sister enjoy herself, and let the duchesses enjoy themselves. Now pay heed, my dear, for you won’t often see the spectacle you’re about to behold. And mind you, I’ve already spoken with your parents, and matters regarding any settlements are quite well in hand.”
“Settlements?”
Hardcastle untangled their arms and went down on one knee. He waited, because Ellen deserved for everybody to hear what he’d say to her. Within moments, a circle had formed around them, and quiet descended.
“Ellen MacHugh, dearest lady of my heart, will you make me the happiest duke in the realm—even happier than that strutting jackanapes, mine host, His Grace of Sedgemere—the happiest of all men, and accept my proposal of marriage? I will have no other but you, for you are the home my heart has longed for, the mother I would have for my children, and the wife I would have ever at my side. I love you, I need you. Please marry me, Ellen.”
“Say yes, Ellie!” Emily bellowed, and the chant was taken up by the duchesses, and then by the entire crowd.
“Hardcastle, you’d best get up,” Ellen muttered. “I assume you’ve already hired a companion for Emily?”
He sprang to his feet. “Not yet, because she’ll live with us, though I expect your parents will want to visit frequently, and you and Emily will interview appropriate candidates. I’ll warn the footmen about her propensity for kissing handsome men, but I don’t expect them to be saints. The MacHugh women are formidable creatures.”
The shouting and clapping were dying down, but Hardcastle’s heart was thumping as hard if he’d just rowed to victory in the Dukeries Cup.
“You don’t look happy,” he said. “I have overstepped, I know, but you were determined to leave me, and I cannot very well be the Duke of Lesser Swaddlepie, now can I? Will you be my wife, Ellen, not simply my duchess—for you’re right, prospective duchesses are thick on the ground—but my wife, my love, the mother of my children, and the only lady for me?”
Damnation. He’d made her cry. That couldn’t be a good thing.
“Of course, I’ll be your wife,” Ellen said, pitching herself against him. “And you will be my husband, and my love, and the father of my children, and if you absolutely must, you shall be my duke too.”
She kissed him, right in the middle of the ballroom, kissed him resoundingly and for such a protracted period that even the debutantes and drunken viscounts would realize the Duke and Duchess of Hardcastle were a love match.
When Ellen let Hardcastle up for air, Sedgemere called for a toast to the newly engaged couple and a betrothal waltz. In the minstrel’s gallery, from among Sedgemere’s three ruffians, Christopher sent a thumbs up, while Emily, laughing hugely, dragged a dazed Mr. Greenover onto the dance floor.
“I do love you,” Ellen said, as Hardcastle offered his hand. “You didn’t have to do this. A simple ‘Will you marry me? I promise to provide for your sister’ would have done.”
Hardcastle bowed, Ellen curtseyed. A commotion at the other end of the ballroom suggested Emily was explaining to Mr. Greenover who would lead whom for the duration of the dance, or perhaps simply for the duration.
“I tried asking you to marry me, tried ordering you to marry me,” Hardcastle said as he drew his prospective duchess into a cozy version of waltz position. “That left only begging, but a fellow likes to ensure the odds are in his favor if he’s to make a spectacle of himself; hence, I paid a small call on your family. I did not want you to worry.”
“I think we should be worried about Mr. Greenover.”
The music started, Mr. Greenover yelped, Hardcastle leaned closer to his beloved. “I think we should be worried
about sneaking out of the ballroom at the end of this set and repairing above stairs to celebrate our betrothal.”
Ellen appeared to consider that suggestion as Hardcastle turned her down the room. She looked every inch a duchess tonight, regal, lovely, and all his.
“I have a better idea,” she said. “Sneak me out of the ballroom now, Hardcastle.”
“In this, as in all things, I will be pleased to heed my duchess’s guidance.”
Hardcastle twirled her down to the French doors, danced her out into the cool night air, and happily ever after, Ellen danced in the arms of her beloved duke.
To my dear Readers,
I hope you enjoyed Gerard and Ellen’s story, because I certainly had fun writing it! I have more Regency romance releasing shortly, including Tremaine’s True Love (August 2015), the first in my True Gentlemen series. This summer also saw the launch of the Jaded Gentlemen trilogy with Thomas (June 2015), whose story is set in the Lonely Lords world. Matthew’s story, the sequel to Thomas will follow in September.
If you’d like to stay current with all my latest news and upcoming releases, you can sign up for my newsletter here.
Now back to the Dukeries, for more happy reading!
Grace Burrowes
Waiting for a Duke Like You
by
Shana Galen
About Waiting for a Duke Like You
There’s no such thing as the perfect hero…
Nathan Cauley, tenth Duke of Wyndover, is so handsome ladies swoon—literally swoon. His blond hair and blue eyes certainly draw attention at the Duke of Sedgemere’s house party, but Nathan doesn’t want a fawning young miss for his duchess. When he stumbles upon a filthy young woman sleeping under Sedgemere’s bridge, his protective instincts are raised. And when he recognizes her as the woman he was in love with eight years before, he’s determined to win not only her affections but her heart.
Or is there?
Princess Vivienne is the last of the royal family of Glynaven. After revolutionaries massacred her family, she and the head of her guard fled to England. Before they could reach London to beg asylum, assassins track them and kill her protector. Vivienne is all alone and on the run when the Duke of Wyndover comes to her rescue. Vivienne barely remembers meeting him years before. She doesn’t like men who are prettier than she. But Nathan is more than a pretty face, and when the assassins return, he might just prove to be the man she’s been waiting for.
Contents – Waiting for a Duke Like You
About Waiting for a Duke Like You
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
About Shana Galen
Books by Shana Galen
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my friend Gayle Cochrane for her help with Nathan and Vivienne. And thanks to my co-authors, who challenge me and inspire me.
Chapter One
‡
Vivienne stumbled into the clearing and fell to her knees. The wet grass soaked through her skirts, but she barely noticed. Darkness still shrouded what she imagined in the sunlight were rolling green hills and manicured lawns.
Daylight was long, terror-filled hours away.
And she was so very, very tired.
She’d been running all night, running and hiding. She couldn’t afford rest. The assassins were right behind her, hunting her. But for that hollow under the tree in the woods, they would have her now. She could not pause, not even for a moment.
She needed water. Her throat felt coated with sand, and it took effort to swallow. Since Masson had been murdered, she’d been constantly hungry and thirsty. She’d come this way because she thought she smelled water, and now looking out over the lawn that sloped down from the woods, she spotted a small pond with a charming bridge crossing it. The pond was not big enough to warrant a bridge, but it was probably an idea one of the British nobles had liked and commissioned. These nobles had more money than they knew what to do with.
Once, she had been the same.
Looking left and right before moving farther into the clearing, Vivienne made her way toward the pond. She had to restrain the urge to rush to the water and gulp great handfuls as soon as she reached the bank. Instead, she circled the pond until she faced the woods and her back was to the bridge. The shadows cast by the bridge in the weak light from the crescent moon would hide her, shield her, give her a moment to recover her strength.
With a last look at the woods, she removed her quiver and bow, set them against the bridge. She knelt and cupped the cool water, sniffing it and then drinking. She cupped more water, drinking and drinking until her previously empty belly roiled. Splashing water on her face, her arms, she rinsed some of the mud from her skin. Vivienne had hidden in a pigpen most of the day, and though the sow and her piglets had not seemed to mind her company, she was eager to leave reminders of the pigs behind.
She leaned against the bridge, bracing her weary body against the smooth, round stones. She’d been safe hidden under the pig muck. It wasn’t until she’d tried to sneak away from the farm that the assassins had spotted her and come after her. Vivienne harbored no illusions that if the three men had caught her they’d leave her alive. They’d slit her throat just as they’d slit Masson’s.
Poor Masson, she thought, closing her eyes against the sting of tears. He’d given everything he had to save her. She would not diminish his sacrifice by failing now. She had to reach London and the king. How far was Nottinghamshire from London? Hours? Days?
At the moment, London seemed as far away as the moon.
She leaned her head back, eyes still closed. She would rise in a moment. She would keep moving south, south toward London. She would not rest until she reached the capital. She…
Vivienne slept.
*
Nathan Cauley, the Duke of Wyndover, swirled the port in his glass. “I already have more money than I need. What I don’t have is an heir. How I envy Hardcastle that nephew of his. Why can’t I find a nephew and heir? Instead, I’ve a cousin in the bloody Americas. My mother is on the verge of faking her collapse in order to hurry me along.”
His host for the house party, the Duke of Sedgemere smiled. “There are worse things than matrimony, Nat.”
“Says the man already leg-shackled. Besides, Elias, your duchess is one in ten thousand. Where am I to find a lady like her?”
“Do you know what your problem is?”
Wyndover drained the last of his port. “I’m sure you will tell me.”
“You’ve had it too easy. You’re a duke, and not just a duke, a young duke. Add that pretty face to the package, and the ladies faint at your feet. All you need do is crook your finger.”
“I object.”
“On what grounds?”
“I have never crooked a finger at a lady.”
Elias inclined his head, conceding the point. “My argument still stands. You have never had to woo a woman, never had to work to make one take notice of you.”
“And you have? You’re a bloody duke too, you know.”
“If you think Anne merely fell into my arms, you don’t know her very well. She led me on a merry chase, and I’m a better man for it.”
“I’m too busy for chasing. Love and all that rot is fine for the likes of you, Elias, but I have estates to manage, solicitors at my door, stewards with rapidly multiplying rabbits.”
“Rabbits?”
Wyndover waved a hand. “I need an heir, not romance.”
“Then you haven’t found the right woman yet. When you do, you’ll welcome both the romance and the chase. You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Nathan shook his head, but Elias did not stay to hear his protest. He stood. “I see Greenover is retiring for the night. There was an incident with a maid earlie
r. I think I’ll make sure he finds his room without incident. I shall see you bright and early for the scavenger hunt, Nat.”
Nathan gave his old friend a pained expression. “Scavenger hunt? Will your bride be very offended if I pass?”
“Try it and I’ll call you out,” Sedgemere said in a tone Nathan thought only half joking. “This is her hostessing debut. You will cheerfully attend every single event and activity, be it archery, embroidery, ices in the garden, or a scavenger hunt.”
“Embroidery?”
“Be there with needle and thread.”
Nathan gave a mock salute and watched his old school chum follow the lecherous Greenover out of the Billiards Room. If he’d been an intelligent man, he too would have sought his bed. Instead, Nathan poured another glass of port and settled back to watch Viscount Ormandsley lose yet another game of billiards.
The next morning came too early, and despite his tacit agreement with Sedgemere to act the dutiful guest, he was late for the start of the scavenger hunt. By the time he made it to the breakfast room, the other guests had already departed, all but a Miss MacHugh. He relaxed when he saw her. She had not fainted at his feet upon meeting him the day before. The same could not be said of two other ladies at the party—a Miss Frobisher and a Miss Pendleton. Miss MacHugh, however, had not seemed particularly impressed by him, but then he’d seen her gaze slide to the Duke of Hardcastle one too many times.
Best he left Miss MacHugh to find her own amusements this morning.
He exchanged pleasantries with her, then made his way to the drawing room to ask after the rest of the party. The butler informed him they’d already embarked on the scavenger hunt and handed him a sheet of foolscap on which had been listed a number of items he was to acquire.
“They have not been gone long, Your Grace,” the butler said. “I am certain you will have no trouble catching up to one party or another and joining their ranks.”