Never Doubt a Duke

by Regina Scott

  Now, here she sat, leaving her former life behind, riding into a new bright future.

  She hoped.

  “Such a lovely creature,” Gussie said, eyeing Fortune, Miss Thorn’s cat, as she cuddled against Patience’s chest. “I don’t suppose she has any scrofulous eruptions.”

  Miss Thorn put her nose in the air. “Certainly not. And you may not experiment on her either. Surely you remember our agreement.”

  Miss Thorn had been very precise in her terms. Patience was to receive her own room, generous compensation, and a half day off every week in her role assisting Gussie in developing salves and lotions to improve the skin. The work could be no messier than tending to the ailments of a quarrelsome lady and with so much more purpose! Miss Thorn had even insisted on traveling out to the Orwell estate to make sure everything was as Gussie had portrayed it. She had been determined that the matter be settled quickly and precisely, and Patience was rather glad of it.

  If everything happened quickly, she had no time for regrets or second thoughts.

  “Of course I remember our agreement,” Gussie said with a sniff. “I remember everything. You might take note of that Miss…Thorn.”

  Patience’s benefactress turned toward the window, but not before she saw her cheeks brighten with pink. Embarrassment? Impossible. Surely nothing could discompose the indomitable Miss Thorn.

  As if she thought otherwise, Fortune roused herself and leaped across the space to rub her cheek against her mistress’ arm. Miss Thorn glanced down at her gratefully.

  Gussie nudged Patience. “Look there, up that hill. That’s your new home.”

  Patience turned to the opposite window. Though the sun was nearly at the western horizon, the air felt suddenly warmer, the day brighter. The fields had given way to fens and marshes, their grasses undulating in the breeze from the water. Close at hand rose a promontory studded with trees and topped by a sturdy, square manor house. The red brick glowed in the spring sunlight; the multipaned windows gleamed. She drew in a breath and caught the scent of the sea.

  The proximity to the waves was even more obvious as they rolled across the causeway that led toward the promontory. To her right lay miles of tide flats, brown and muddy; to her left, the twisting maze of creeks and channels that made up the marshes.

  “It floods on occasion,” Gussie said with a nod to the track. “I can remember springs when we didn’t see another person until after Easter.”

  Patience’s stomach dipped, but she managed a polite smile. Since her parents had died, she had always been alone. The isolation of the house would make no difference.

  They followed the drive to stop in front of the stone steps leading to the front door. A manservant in a navy coat and breeches came out to open the carriage door and then went to help the coachman with the horses. Patience followed Gussie and Miss Thorn up the steps, through tall white columns and the wide, red-lacquered front door into a spacious, dark-wood-floored entry hall. More white fluted columns held up the sweeping stairs leading to the second story, and opened doors in all directions invited her to explore the house further. But the portraits hanging from the high ceiling against the creamy stuccoed wall, life-sized and rich in their gilded frames, stopped her movement. Miss Thorn paused to eye them as well. In her arms, Fortune twitched her tail as if finding the portraits equally compelling.

  “My grandfather,” Gussie said as if she’d noticed them staring at the swarthy fellow standing with his hand on a globe as if he owned the world. “He earned the baronetcy through some effort that pleased the Crown. A merchant, they say, making his fortune on the high seas. A pirate, if you ask me.”

  Patience blinked. So did Fortune.

  “That is my father,” she continued with a nod to the next gentleman, who was seated beside a green baize table. “Nearly gambled away our entire fortune before his untimely death. My brother attempted to take up the challenge. He was killed in a duel over the accusation he had cheated at cards before we ever had the opportunity to have him painted.”

  Patience swallowed. Fortune turned her face away.

  Gussie’s censorious look eased into something warmer as she motioned to the final portrait of a man standing gazing out a window that looked very much like the ones on either side of the front door. “And then there’s Harry. I raised him as my own. They say heredity will out.”

  Patience frowned. This fellow boasted a shock of mahogany hair, curling against his brow; blue eyes that gave no quarter; a solid chin that brooked no disobedience; and shoulders broad enough to take on any challenge. It seemed Sir Harold Orwell had inherited his forefathers’ chiseled good looks. How sad if he had inherited their less attractive attributes as well.

  Through one of the many doors came a small fellow in the navy livery that must belong to the house. White hair, short cut, sat like a wreath about his head, leaving his dome bare. His round face was as wizened as a winter-nipped apple, and nearly as red. He hurried up to Gussie. “Your ladyship. I regret that you have guests.”

  Miss Thorn turned from their perusal of the portraits. “Invited guests, sir.” Fortune drew back as if just as insulted by the comment.

  He inclined his head in their general direction. “My apologies, madam, but I was referring to the other guests. The ones who arrived earlier this afternoon.”

  Gussie frowned as she removed her hat and offered it to him. “Other guests? What other guests?” Suddenly, her eyes widened, and Patience would only have called the look horrified. “Cuddlestone, no! Please tell me it isn’t so.”

  He sighed, so gustily that his chest deflated. “I wish I could, your ladyship. They claim to have been invited to stay for Easter. Sir Harry had already left. I could not in good conscience send them away before consulting with you.”

  “You could, and you should,” Gussie insisted. She rubbed her forehead. “I will not allow this.”

  Miss Thorn took a step forward, holding Fortune protectively close. “Is something wrong, Miss Orwell?”

  As if in answer, there was a cry from above. Patience looked up to find a lady about her age on the landing. She rushed down before Patience could register more than pale blond hair and big eyes.

  “Gussie!” She enfolded the lady in a hug. “You’ve returned! How marvelous. And with company.” She pulled back and aimed a happy smile all around. Every bit of her trembled with obvious joy, from the ringlets beside her creamy oval face to the pink satin bow under her bosom, to the double flounces at the bottom of her white muslin skirts.

  Gussie drew in a breath as if overwhelmed to find someone even more effusive than she was. “Yes. Miss Thorn, may I present Miss Villers. I imagine her brother is about somewhere.”

  “Taking a walk in the garden,” Miss Villers confessed. She inclined her head to Miss Thorn, who returned the gesture, and beamed at Fortune. Then she turned expectantly to Patience, who smiled dutifully. Would Gussie even think to introduce her? In the Carrolton household, she had become used to being overlooked. Good companions, as Lady Lilith had enjoyed saying, should be invisible.

  “And you must meet Miss Ramsey,” Gussie said. “She’s going to marry my Harry.”

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  About the Author

  Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. She now has more than forty published works of warm, witty romance.

  Alas, she cannot have a cat of her own, as her husband is allergic to them. Fortune’s Brides came about because her critique partner and dear friend Kristy J. Manhattan is an avid fan of cats, supporting spay and neuter clinics and pet rescue groups. If Fortune resembles any cat you know, credit Kristy.

  Regina Scott and her husband of 30 years reside in the Puget Sound area of Washington State
. Regina Scott has dressed as a Regency dandy, driven four-in-hand, learned to fence, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Learn more about her at her website.