Enchanting the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 11)
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Enchanting the Duke
Book of XI of
The Seven Curses of London Series
A Victorian Romance
Lana Williams
USA Today Bestselling Author
Enchanting the Duke
The Seven Curses of London Series
By Lana Williams
A Scrooge of a Duke bound by duty, responsibility, and a vow to his grandfather...
A merry lady who entered into a marriage of convenience with her secret crush...
Can this unlikely pair find their happily ever after?
Eleanor Slade, the Duchess of Rothbury, was certain marrying her secret crush would be the start to a future filled with love. But her new husband is taking the definition of a marriage of convenience to another level. His focus on duty is legendary and apparently he doesn’t intend for a wife to change that, no matter how much she longs to.
Douglas Slade, the 9th Duke of Rothbury, was taught at his grandfather’s knee that honor and responsibility are all that matter. Especially after Douglas’s lovesick father attempted to bleed the estates dry to please his wife. Now that his family is gone, it’s up to Douglas to restore the duchy and care for those who depend on him. Never mind that Eleanor is everything a man could want in a wife--beautiful, intelligent, and so desirable. He only needs her money and an heir, not her love. But that lie is becoming more and more difficult to believe when her enchanting kisses warm his cold heart.
A house party at Christmas is Eleanor’s last hope. Can she convince Douglas that love will make them stronger and they’re better together?
Other books in The Seven Curses of London series:
TRUSTING THE WOLFE, a Novella, Book .5
LOVING THE HAWKE, Book 1
CHARMING THE SCHOLAR, Book 2
RESCUING THE EARL, Book 3
DANCING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, Book 4, a Novella
TEMPTING THE SCOUNDREL, Book 5, a Novella
FALLING FOR THE VISCOUNT, Book 6
DARING THE DUKE, Book 7
WISHING UPON A CHRISTMAS STAR, a Novella, Book 8
RUBY’S GAMBLE, a Novella
GAMBLING FOR THE GOVERNESS, Book 9
REEMING THE LADY, Book 10
ENCHANTING THE DUKE, a Novella, Book 11
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Table of Contents
Other Books in The Seven Curses of London Series
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Other Books by the Author
Copyright
Prologue
London, England, September 1872
“Take good care of her, won’t you?”
Douglas Slade, the ninth Duke of Rothbury, stilled in surprise at the request as he prepared to add his signature to the paper before him. Good care? His thoughts swirled at what that meant.
Mr. Taylor’s eyes watered suspiciously as he continued, “Eleanor is my only child, you know. The light of my life.”
Yet the man had signed the marriage settlement as if eager to strike the deal and be shed of her.
“She’ll receive the same care all of those who depend on me receive.” That much Douglas could promise. Nothing more. Never mind the odd kick of his heart at the thought of having Eleanor Taylor as his wife. He gave himself a mental shake. It shouldn’t make any difference that he’d have one more person dependent on him.
This wasn’t a love match, after all, but a marriage of convenience. A trade of sorts. Eleanor would have the title of the Duchess of Rothbury, and Douglas would gain a fortune along with a wife to give him an heir. There was no doubt he was receiving the better part of the bargain.
The money would go far in restoring the duchy to its previous glory—to the grandeur it embodied before his father had done his best to ruin it without ever having inherited. But it wasn’t about glory for Douglas. The only thing that mattered was his responsibilities—the lives of his tenants, his duty to Parliament and to the Queen.
Now he would have one more duty to add to the list—husband.
Marrying Eleanor was no particular hardship. She was beautiful, intelligent, witty, and merry. They should suit rather well, except for the last part. Merry was not in his vocabulary. He wasn’t known as the Dour Duke for nothing. He had no time for frivolity when so much rested on his shoulders.
He was a man of discipline and honor, qualities drilled into him at his grandfather’s knee. Hours spent reciting his duties and assisting his grandfather while other boys his age were outside fishing or playing in the woods. There had been no time for frivolity nor was there now. Duty first. Self never. His personal motto was a reminder to make certain he never became his father or broke the vow he’d made to his grandfather.
“The same care as your tenants? But she’ll be your wife.” Mr. Taylor’s brow crinkled as if he were displeased with Douglas’s response. “Your duchess. The mother of your children.”
“The same.” That was all Douglas could permit. If Taylor’s expectations were unrealistic, did that mean Eleanor’s were as well? If so, that was unfortunate, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—change his response. No purpose would be served in making false promises as to what he intended the marriage to be. He only hoped Eleanor could understand that.
Did she already detest him? Think him cold? Unyielding? Many of the fairer sex seemed to. Was the title of duchess something she desired so much that she was willing to agree to this arrangement and marry a man who considered laughter a waste of energy? Who rarely smiled because life held little that amused him?
They’d only spoken a few times. Enough for Douglas to be certain she would act appropriately and do the title justice. He wanted her to be the opposite of his own mother, who’d spent far too much time seeking her pleasure above all else. At least, according to his grandfather. He didn’t remember enough of her to know.
Yes, Eleanor Taylor would suffice as his duchess.
Never mind that something stirred within him when her warm brown eyes the color of melted chocolate met his, as if she had a secret she couldn’t wait to share. That his lips twitched oddly when she offered her bright smile. That her vivaciousness fascinated him, and he’d hardly been able to take his gaze from her the few times they’d been together.
Those were only temporary feelings. No doubt they’d dim once he came to know her better. Or rather, once she came to know him, the Dour Duke.
If only—
But no. Wishful thinking led nowhere. He firmed his mind as he tossed down the pen and rose from the table. “She will be a duchess. Surely that’s enough.”
Chapter One
London, England, December 1872
Eleanor Slade, the Duchess of Rothbury, ignored the whispers and stares as she walked down Bond Street with Babette, her maid, in tow. The crisp air hadn’t discouraged shoppers eager to find the perfect Christmas presents for loved ones.
“There’s the duchess who married the Dour Duke.”
“Her father sold her for a title.”
“Poor dear. She’s nothing more than a broodmare.”
Did they think she couldn’t hear them? That their remarks didn’t hurt? A glance at Babette showed sympathy reflected in her dark eyes.
That was the last straw.
&nbs
p; Eleanor halted then turned to glare at the three women who’d paused outside a haberdashery shop to watch her pass, looking at each of them in turn. Hopefully, that was enough to make them realize she’d heard and would quell their terrible behavior. Then she turned on her heel and continued toward the toymaker shop to look for a gift.
“How tragic. Now we also have a Dour Duchess.”
The whispered words chased Eleanor into the shop.
Oh my goodness. Was it true? Was she turning into her husband? That truly was tragic, considering she’d been known for her joyful demeanor and good cheer prior to her marriage.
The tinkle of the bell heralded her arrival to a waiting clerk, but Eleanor ignored him and strode toward the nearest display, complete with miniature Christmas trees and a rosy-cheeked Father Christmas, to gather her thoughts.
This was ridiculous, she silently reprimanded herself. She was a duchess, and therefore no one to be pitied. Never mind that much of what those women had said was true.
A broodmare. That remark hurt the most. She sighed. The sting was made worse by the fact that she’d thought—
She closed her eyes, ignoring the brightly painted wooden train before her. The truth was hard to admit but the time had come to be honest with her situation.
Douglas Slade had been her secret crush for nearly a year before he’d noticed her. His proposal had made her giddy with hope even though he needed her fortune as much as he needed a duchess. But that hope was dying a slow, painful death. It had become clear in the eight weeks, three days, and four hours since they’d been married that he didn’t return her regard.
His weekly conjugal visits to her bedchamber were delightful. But the one or two—once it had been three!—hours of passion didn’t carry over into any other part of their life together.
‘Life together’ being a relative term. They might be married but in reality, they didn’t have a life together. It was merely an existence in the same residence.
“Is there something with which I can assist you, your grace?”
She popped open her eyes and turned toward the clerk. “I’m looking for a gift for a friend’s baby boy.”
The clerk adjusted his spectacles as he gestured toward several options, explaining the merits of each.
Eleanor forced herself to pay attention. After all, the gift was important. Lillian Waters, the Duchess of Burbridge, had become a dear friend this past year. The fact that they were both duchesses had bonded them further. Her excitement over the son she’d given birth to just last month was delightful.
A pang of envy slid through Eleanor. The idea of expecting a baby filled her with longing. But she had a sneaking suspicion that the moment she announced a pregnancy to her husband, what little time they spent together would come to an abrupt halt.
She couldn’t allow that to happen. Not yet. Not until she’d done all in her power to convince Douglas that he was madly, deeply in love with her. She nearly scoffed at the thought.
As if that were possible.
Blast her girlish dreams of love. Why had she kept the hope of love and a lifelong partnership when such things rarely came to pass?
Lillian was partly to blame as well. She and her duke were so in love that it made one’s teeth ache to watch them together.
Her lips twisted at her churlish thoughts.
“If you don’t care for these, I have additional ones over here,” the clerk offered hastily.
She glanced at him, realizing he’d taken her expression as a sign of displeasure. Mayhap she was changing, becoming the Dour Duchess because of her unhappiness with her marriage. Unhappiness might be too strong of a word. Dissatisfaction was more apt. If her father knew her thoughts, he would be the first to tell her that if she didn’t like her circumstances, she should do something to change them. Her parents had a deep regard for each other, so she’d grown up knowing it was possible.
But how?
“Actually, I like this one.” The small wooden train might not be right for a baby, but the child would grow quickly. Eleanor liked to plan ahead. Unfortunately, that trait had done her little good in her marriage thus far. Didn’t that mean it was time for a new plan?
She requested the present be wrapped and delivered to her waiting carriage then departed to complete her other errands, including a stop at Madame Daphne’s, a seamstress shop that was one of her favorite’s. Rumors swirled of a romantic tale about a seamstress who’d owned the shop with her aunt only to have an earl from the north sweep her off her feet. And she’d done the same to him.
The story never failed to make Eleanor sigh with longing. She hoped it was true and the couple was living happily ever after.
At Madame Daphne’s, she selected a lace-edged, embroidered handkerchief for Lillian. New mothers surely deserved a gift to help celebrate their new status. Eleanor was looking forward to having tea with her friend on the morrow, even if her happiness made Eleanor envious.
She finished her purchases and departed with Babette directly behind her, glancing around with care. The shop was at the fringe of respectability, and she’d learned to keep her wits about her when venturing there. The carriage waited around the corner a short distance away.
“Come along, Babette. We have one more stop to make.” Eleanor’s steps slowed at the sight of a tall, arresting man across the street who looked remarkably like her husband.
His erect bearing was unmistakable as were his broad shoulders. He glanced to the side and his handsome profile confirmed her guess. She’d know his classic features with the narrow nose, high cheekbones, and pursed lips anywhere. Dark hair clipped short, a clean-shaven face, square jaw, and a slash of black brows above his green eyes still made her draw a deep breath of appreciation.
His handsome appearance and muscular physique from all those hours toiling alongside his tenants were a problem as merely looking at him caused all sorts of inappropriate thoughts to arise. What Douglas was doing in the shopping district was a puzzle.
They’d been at the country estate until the past week when he’d advised her that he needed to return to London to take care of some business matters. She’d asked to come as well to visit friends and do some shopping before the holiday. In truth, she’d hoped coming to the city would give them more time together.
She couldn’t imagine what business he’d have in the area and he surely wasn’t shopping or visiting. He had acquaintances but no close friends from what she knew. With no small amount of curiosity, she watched as he strode down the street in the opposite direction, looking straight ahead, his topcoat flapping against his legs.
What could Eleanor do but follow? At a safe distance, of course, and with Babette directly behind her.
He didn’t go far, thank goodness, as the area he entered was remarkably different than what was considered safe. The buildings on the street had a run-down appearance as did the people walking past. Douglas paid no mind to the odd looks he received from passersby. He paused before a tall, brick building to study a child who sat on the front step.
The little girl was wrapped in a shawl twice as big as her yet still she shivered in the damp cold, her shoulders nearly reaching her ears. With a round face, her hair done in a tidy braid, and a grin, she popped up at the sight of him, almost as if she’d been expecting him.
To Eleanor’s surprise, Douglas bent to speak with her.
The girl nodded at whatever he said, then he reached behind her ear and drew forth a coin. Her mouth fell agape, her eyes wide with surprise as she stared at Douglas. He reached for her hand and placed the coin in it, closing her fingers over the top to hide it from view.
Again, the girl nodded then rose and hurried into the building, and Douglas stared up at the brick facade. After a long moment, an elderly woman appeared in the window to look down and wave.
Douglas touched the brim of his hat then turned back in the direction he’d come from.
With a gasp, she spun away so he wouldn’t see her and found herself staring into t
he dirty window of a book shop. Just visible in the glass was the image of her husband, striding away.
Eleanor turned back to look up at the window, surprised to see the elderly woman still looking out. At her. Eleanor lifted her gloved hand in a tentative wave, unreasonably delighted when the woman returned it along with the little girl who stood at her side. Who were they? What connection could the pair have to Douglas? Even as she considered attempting to speak with the woman, a curtain fell into place, hiding all from view.
She sighed even as her heart pinched. Just when she thought she’d given up on her husband, he did something that reminded her that he did indeed have a heart, breathing new life into her hope.
One more attempt, she told herself as she finished her shopping. One last try to capture her husband’s affections. After all, Christmas would soon be here. What better time to convince him that their marriage could be so much more? Unfortunately, she feared that would take a miracle.
~*~
Douglas nodded at Morris, the butler, as he set a bowl of soup before him the following evening. The elderly servant’s smile took him aback. Morris rarely smiled. Now that Douglas thought about it, Morris and the other servants were smiling more and more often. And Douglas had a suspicion as to who was behind their improved moods.
He glanced at Eleanor, who sat at his right. Her demeanor had certainly calmed since their marriage, but more often than not, she was smiling. At the very least, a sparkle lit her eyes.
No matter how many times he told himself he wished she would have remained at the opposite end of the table where he’d requested Morris to set her place the evening of their wedding, it still didn’t quite ring true. That night, she’d picked up her place setting and moved next to him, declaring it was impossible to carry on a conversation from that distance.
When she sat this close, he might catch a waft of her scent—lilacs warmed by the spring sunshine. He might also see a sparkle in her eyes or the upturn of her rosy lips as she thought of something amusing.
The lure of her was so much stronger than he’d anticipated when he proposed. He had thought he would easily settle into a routine not so different than his previous one where he would mostly ignore her existence.