Never Doubt a Duke

by Regina Scott

  The footman’s brows shot up, but he hurried to obey.

  Alaric was looking forward to his next duty, but Parsons was not in his usual spot in the entry hall.

  “Afraid to face me, the scoundrel,” he said.

  Jane gave his hand a squeeze. “Let him be for now. You need to talk to Larissa.”

  He shuddered, and she laughed. “Now who’s afraid?”

  “Guilty. Perhaps we could wait until after dinner.”

  “You just called me your bride in front of the footman. By dinner, the entire island and half the county will know the Duke of Wey is marrying his governess. Larissa deserves to hear it from you, before Callie reports it.”

  He could not argue that. Taking a deep breath, he went to confront his daughters.

  He found them in his mother’s sitting room, listening to Her Grace read from the Book of Ruth. The landowner who took pity and married a widow. Rather appropriate. If Boaz had felt half for Ruth what Alaric felt for Jane, it would have been a happy union.

  They all looked up as he came into the room.

  Belle scrambled to her feet. “Did you find her, Father?”

  “I did. Your unicorn led me to her. I am pleased to report that Mrs. Kimball is back in the castle and changing into dry clothes even as we speak.”

  Callie rose as well. “But Betsy said Mr. Parsons sacked her.”

  Belle frowned. “Why would Mr. Parsons put Mrs. Kimball in a sack? She wouldn’t like that.”

  Alaric motioned them back into their chairs and went to sit on the floor among them. Interesting that Larissa hadn’t said a word. She was frowning, but over Jane’s return or his informal posture, he wasn’t sure. Very likely dukes were not supposed to recline on the carpet.

  “Sacking means discharging, Belle,” he explained. “Mr. Parsons told Mrs. Kimball she could not work here anymore.”

  Callie nodded, setting her pale curls to swaying. “Which is why Grandmother sacked him.”

  Alaric’s look veered to his mother. Her Grace raised her chin. “I never liked that man. Entirely too full of himself. He had no right to discharge dear Jane.”

  Belle nodded too. “I want Mrs. Kimball to work here. I love her.”

  “Me too,” Callie said.

  Alaric turned to his oldest. “What about you, Larissa?”

  She shifted on her seat. “Mrs. Kimball isn’t a very good governess. But I like her anyway.”

  “Then why did you tell Mr. Parsons it was all her fault?” Callie demanded.

  Alaric frowned as Larissa squirmed. “Is this true, Larissa? Did you lie about Mrs. Kimball?”

  Larissa lifted her chin. “I didn’t lie. It was her fault. If she hadn’t yelled at Simmons, you wouldn’t have sacked him, and he wouldn’t have wanted to punish everyone by breaking the lock.” She slumped, hands worrying before her gown. “I truly like Mrs. Kimball, Father. I just wanted her to learn her lesson. You must follow the rules.”

  “Ah, yes.” Alaric glanced at his mother, who also squirmed. “The rules. Who makes the rules, Larissa? Who says they must be obeyed?”

  She blinked. “Everyone.”

  Callie nodded. “Miss Carruthers, Miss Waxworth, Miss Durham, Lady Fredericka, Grandmother.”

  “And Mother,” Larissa murmured.

  So that was the problem. Even from the grave Evangeline was exerting her influence over her daughter.

  “I grant you there are rules that keep people safe,” Alaric said carefully. “Those are important to follow. There are also guidelines to polite behavior. We should generally follow them so that everyone feels welcomed and valued. But sometimes, doing the right thing means breaking the rules.”

  Larissa frowned. “Like when?”

  “Like when you insist that your son marry a woman he doesn’t love for the good of the family,” his mother put in. “The right thing to do is to let him find someone he can love, who still fits in well with the family.”

  Alaric gave her a grateful smile. “Like when you become so busy with your duty you forget you have three daughters more precious to you than life. The right thing to do is make sure they know it.”

  Belle wiggled out of her seat and climbed into his lap. “I love you, Father.”

  “Me too,” Callie said, pasting herself against his side.

  Larissa slid off her seat and put her arms as far around him as she could reach. “Me too,” she whispered.

  He held them close a moment, marveling at the gift he’d been given, a gift he might have overlooked but for Jane.

  “I love you too, girls,” he said, throat tight. “And I love Mrs. Kimball, that is Jane. I’ve asked her to be my wife and your mother.”

  His mother beamed, eyes tearing. Belle and Callie pulled back and exchanged delighted glances.

  Larissa sighed as she disengaged, and he readied himself for a fight.

  “Oh, how marvelous,” she said, smile forming. “We’ll have a mother, and we can get a real governess.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jane glanced up as Alaric entered the library. She was afraid to admit how much she was looking forward to discovering the treasures around her. The poor man would think she’d agreed to marry him for his library!

  The smile on his face told her everything she needed to know.

  “You did it,” she said, moving away from the bookcases to meet him.

  “We did it,” he corrected her, taking her hands. “The girls already fell in love with you, just as I did. They needed no convincing to accept you as their mother.”

  Jane cocked her head. “Even Larissa?”

  “Even Larissa,” he insisted. “It seems she can see you as a mother much easier than a governess.”

  Jane laughed. “I always knew that girl was smart. So, what now?”

  He released her hands. “Now I have to hire a butler.”

  Jane raised her brows. “You sacked Mr. Parsons? I would have liked to see that.”

  He chuckled. “Mother beat me to it. I take it he’s already left the castle. You will never have to see him again, Jane.”

  She couldn’t help the relief that thought engendered, though she did spare a moment to pity the fellow for his overzealous ways.

  “I have a suggestion,” she said to Alaric.

  “Someone else Miss Thorn represents?” he asked.

  “No,” Jane said. “Someone who cares about you and the girls. We’ll move Mrs. Winters here.”

  His smile broadened. “You are going to make an exceptional duchess.”

  Her cheeks heated. “As to that, only time will tell, but I intend to do my best to make you proud.”

  He gathered her close. “And I intend to do my best to make you happy, Jane. Whatever you want, you have only to ask.”

  “In that case,” Jane said, turning up her face, “I’ve been wanting to ask for another kiss since the day you gave me the first one.”

  His mouth quirked, as if he fought to stay solemn. “It would be my pleasure.”

  He lowered his lips to hers, arms cradling her against him. In his touch, she knew herself loved, cherished. Home.

  After all, one should never doubt a duke.

  ~~~

  Meredith Thorn sat in the coffee shop on the corner of Bond Street and Piccadilly, one hand stroking Fortune’s back, the other holding a letter from Jane.

  “The Duchess of Wey,” she murmured to the cat. “Who would have thought?”

  Fortune raised her head to eye her, blinking copper eyes.

  “Oh, you knew all along, did you? A shame most people don’t have your sense.”

  The shop bell rang as a young lady entered. Neat grey redingote wrapped about her and simple hat on her honey-colored hair, the woman moved into the shop with the grace of a willow swaying in the breeze. She glanced right and left, as if suspecting spies in each direction, then hurried toward Meredith.

  “Miss Thorn?”

  Meredith inclined her head. “Miss Ramsey, I take it.”

  Patience
sank onto the chair. “Yes. I haven’t much time. I’m only given a half hour off every other week.”

  “As much as that?” Miss Thorn picked up her cup of coffee. “However do you fill the time? I take it you’d like a more generous position.”

  “Please,” Patience said with a sigh. “And somewhere I could do something more useful than carry handkerchiefs.”

  Meredith glanced down at Fortune. The cat sprang up onto the table and stalked up to Patience.

  “Oh, what a beautiful creature.” She extended her hand as if for a kiss. Fortune sniffed at the worn leather glove, then rubbed her back under the long fingers.

  Meredith smiled as she set down her cup. “Yes, I think we can find something for you. Sir Harold Orwell’s aunt is seeking a young lady to help with her scientific experiments. She is in town at present. Let’s pay her a call.” She gathered up Fortune and rose.

  Patience scrambled to her feet. “Now?”

  “Certainly,” Meredith said. “No time like the present. With any luck, we’ll have you settled by tea. We can discuss terms on the way. Fortune will have to approve of Sir Harry, of course.”

  Patience put a hand to her forehead, but she accompanied Meredith to the door. “I thought it was his aunt who needed help.”

  Meredith raised an arm to hail a hack. “It never hurts to consider your options, my dear. Now, come along. We mustn’t keep your baronet waiting.”

  ~~~

  Julian Mayes slipped back into the shadows of the alley off Piccadilly. It had been her, his Mary Rose; he was certain of it. Had she any idea how he’d searched for her after learning her cruel cousin had turned her out? He’d once pledged undying devotion, offered to plan his life around her desires. Why hadn’t she reached out to him, then or since? Her expenses were being met somehow, if that fashionable gown was any indication. And Wey had said she was indeed living in Lady Winhaven’s former residence on Clarendon Square. Renting from the heir, perhaps?

  Yet why change her name? If she had married, she’d be Mrs. Thorn, not Miss Thorn. And why go into trade? He could not credit her employment agency was overly successful if she had no permanent business address, no client he could find save Jane and the young woman she was with now.

  Then there was the way she’d disappeared, just when he began searching for her again. He was thankful to have spotted her now. He’d been passing the coffee shop twice a day for weeks in the hope of catching her.

  Now she hailed a hack, young lady in tow, before he could renew their acquaintance. But this time, he resolved, she would not escape him. He called for a coach himself and set off in pursuit. Wey had sent word he intended to marry his Jane. Against all odds, against all reason, love had triumphed. His suspicions had proved groundless, just as Alaric had predicted. For the first time in a long time, he felt the brush of hope.

  Now to renew his acquaintance with Mary.

  ~~~~~~

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for reading Jane and Alaric’s story. When Jane rode onto the page with all her wit and wisdom, I couldn’t stop myself from giving her a well-deserved happily-ever-after.

  If you enjoyed the book, there’s several things you could do now:

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  Post a review on a bookseller or reader site to help others find the book.

  Discover my many other books on my website.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of the second book in the Fortune’s Brides series, Never Borrow a Baronet, in which Patience Ramsey gets her wish for a more meaningful position as she agrees to pose as a baronet’s fiancée to keep others from discovering his secret life.

  Blessings!

  Regina Scott

  Sneak Peek: Never Borrow a Baronet, Book 2 in the Fortune’s Brides Series by Regina Scott

  Essex, England, March 1812

  My, but life could be unpredictable.

  Patience Ramsey peered out of the window of the elegant coach, gaze on the greening fields they passed, hand stroking the fur of the grey-coated cat in her lap. Raised in the country, spending the last three years as companion to the sickly Lady Carrolton, she had become accustomed to routine, solitude. A genteel lady fallen on difficult times could expect nothing more. At least, that had been her impression until she’d met Meredith Thorn of the Fortune Employment Agency, and Miss Thorn had introduced her to Miss Augusta Orwell.

  “Gussie,” the tall, spare daughter of a baronet had proclaimed the moment they’d met at the family’s London town house on Clarendon Square. “Everyone calls me that. Well, everyone I like. And I like you. You have presence.”

  Patience still wasn’t sure why the older woman had said that. She had never noticed a particular attitude when she looked in the mirror. Her long, thick, wavy hair could not claim the glory of gold nor the biddable nature of brown, and it was hardly visible in the serviceable bun behind her head. Her brown eyes could never be called commanding. And while her curves might be a tad more noticeable than Gussie’s, she was in no way approaching the status of an Amazon. Besides, a presence was not required to serve as a companion. Lady Carrolton would only have seen it as an impertinence.

  But, before she was even certain she would suit in the new position, she had resigned her post with Lady Carrolton, packed her things, and boarded the Orwell coach for the journey to the Essex shore.

  “As soon as we reach the manor, I must show you my laboratory,” Gussie said beside her now, continuing the rather one-sided conversation she’d begun when they’d left the inn that morning, having spent the night after leaving London. “I’m itching to try the gypsum I purchased in town. It will be just the thing for scrofulous eruptions. I know it. I don’t suppose you have any we might test the preparation on.”

  Patience hid her shudder from long practice. If she could humor her previous employer, who had been convinced she suffered from every illness imaginable, she could surely deal with the irrepressible Gussie. After all, were not the peacemakers called blessed?

  “Unfortunately, no,” she told her new employer. “But perhaps we can find some poor soul in need of help.”

  Across the coach, Miss Thorn cleared her throat. She had presence. That raven hair, those flashing lavender eyes. And she had an enviable wardrobe. Today it was a lavender redingote cut away so that the fine needlework on her sky blue wool gown showed to advantage. Nearly all Patience’s clothes were grey or navy—Lady Carrolton had insisted on it—and none draped so neatly around her figure as the fashionable gowns Miss Thorn wore.

  Then again, Gussie had insisted on having Patience fitted for new gowns and purchased accessories before they had left London. The dresses should arrive in a week or two, to be finished by the local seamstress, and the jaunty feathered hat, ostrich plume curling around Patience’s ear, sat on her head now. The entire wardrobe had seemed an extravagance, but Patience had learned not to question the vagaries of the aristocracy.

  “I believe we agreed that you would not experiment on Miss Ramsey,” Miss Thorn said, looking down her long nose at Gussie.

  Gussie waved a hand. “Of course, of course. It is merely my enthusiasm for the task speaking.” She turned to Patience. “You must tell me, dear girl, when I overstep. I want ours to be a long and happy association.”

  How different from Lady Carrolton. Her constant complaints, her bitter spirit, had tried Patience in ways she had never imagined. She would be ever in the debt of her friend Jane Kimball, soon to be the Duchess of Wey, for suggesting that Patience might have the opportunity to change her circumstances.

  She and Jane had sat together along the wall every week while Lady Carrolton took tea with her long-time friend, the Dowager Duchess of Wey, at the castle belonging to the duke’s family. Jane had served as governess to the duchess’s three granddaughters. Patience could only admire her dedication to the
little girls. That and Jane’s bravery. Patience had been taught that silence was a virtue, that one should never state one’s opinions in company. Nothing stopped Jane from speaking her mind, not fear of losing her position, not concern that she might be deemed impertinent or a rudesby.

  “If you ever want another position,” Jane had said on one occasion when Lady Carrolton had been particularly difficult, “I may know someone who could help.”

  Even though something had leaped inside her at the thought, Patience hadn’t accepted Jane’s offer that day. Lady Carrolton had been kind to hire her when she had never worked before, had no reference other than the supportive words of the vicar. Surely she owed the lady loyalty, forbearance. Do unto others as you would have done unto you.

  And then had come that terrible day when Lady Carrolton’s daughter, Lilith, had lashed out.

  “How dare you presume to advise my mother on her medications?” she had spat, pale blue eyes drilling into Patience. “You have no education, no family of merit, absolutely nothing to recommend you. If you dare to contravene my suggestions again, I will see you up on charges. How well will you fare sitting in jail with no one to plead your case?”

  It had been all Patience could do to hold back her tears until she had left the withdrawing room. All her selfless service, all her care, and this was her thanks? She had a gentlewoman’s education, little different from Lady Lilith’s. Her father and mother had been good, kind people who hadn’t deserved their deaths of the influenza. She had only been trying to help her ladyship over the illnesses that plagued her. It seemed none of that mattered in the Carrolton household.

  There had to be some place she might earn respect, some work where she could find purpose and honor. A position under an employer with integrity, an ounce of human kindness, and an unwillingness to berate those around her.

  Miss Thorn had been all understanding. Patience had thought it might take some time to find a new situation, especially as, once again, she had no reference. But she hadn’t been in Miss Thorn’s company more than a quarter hour before the woman had whisked Patience off for an interview with Miss Orwell. And Gussie had only asked a few questions before declaring Patience perfect for the role as her assistant.