Desperate for a Duke

by Dayna Quince

  “There isn’t much to tell, my lady. I am steward to the Duke of Ablehill. His carriage broke an axle a town south of here, and he is recuperating at an inn with a sprained ankle.”

  “Oh, my!” Lady Everly said with a gasp. “But we were to meet with him.”

  “He sent me on ahead to give his excuses and prepare for his stay,” Mr. Calder finished.

  From the corner of her eye, Heather could see her mother turn to her in concern. But it was odd the way Mr. Calder turned expectantly to Heather as well. Dear Lord, did he know? He must since he worked for the duke. It was humiliating to say the least.

  “That is unfortunate, Mr. Calder. We were so looking forward to his arrival,” Heather said. His eyes quietly assessed her, and she had a feeling he knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. Her pulse increased the longer he watched her until he moved his eyes away at last. Heather could feel her pulse beating in her neck.

  “I hope the duke will recover from his injury?” her mother pressed.

  “Oh, it is certain. Just a day or two off his feet should do the trick. The doctor assured us of this. The duke would have preferred to recover here with such splendid company, but the jostling of the hired carriage was too painful. As soon as the axle is repaired, he will join us.”

  Dread sank into Heather’s bones. Now she would have even less time to make a favorable impression on the duke before the house party ended. She felt a tug at her hand and looked down in surprise. She didn’t realize she was still holding onto Violet.

  “Have a care,” Violet whispered.

  Heather released her sister’s hand, not realizing she’d gripped it so tightly. Violet yanked her hand back and rubbed it vigorously.

  The room was stifling now that so many guests occupied it. Heather wished to be outside again in the cooler air. Her mind was clouded with worry, and she feared it was written all over her face. She needed to get her bearings; she needed to be able to think clearly so she could decide what to do about the duke and put on a carefree attitude for her family. She was about to speak when he spoke first.

  “I beg your pardon, but I must see that the duke’s room is satisfactory.” Mr. Calder bid them good afternoon and left the drawing room.

  Heather smiled in mild relief and turned to her mother. “I’m going to exchange wraps. This one is far too heavy for indoors. Violet, do you need anything from our room?” Heather gave her sister a telling look, and Violet shook her head in the negative.

  Heather excused herself from the group and serenely exited the drawing room. Once outside the door, she hurried to the stairs but then paused with her foot on the first step. Changing her mind, she pivoted away from the stairs and hurried down a side hall leading to the back of the house. She darted past a billiard room already full of gentlemen and rushed out the back door that led to a side courtyard.

  Fallon left the drawing room and found the nearest empty hall in which to have a brief episode of panic. He tugged at his collar, his shirt clinging to his sticky skin. Christ, what had he done? He was a bloody duke. He could do and say anything he wanted—or so Faegan kept telling him—but the moment he’d arrived in the hired hack and stepped down, something strange had happened.

  His palms grew sweaty and his lungs would not expand enough to draw a full breath.

  Fear was not something Fallon appreciated. In fact, he scorned it. He prided himself on not being afraid of anything, not since he was a sick little boy, clinging to life for no other reason than to spite his father.

  Fallon closed his eyes and breathed deep, calling on memories of home, of hillsides dotted with sheep, and wide vistas of heather. His lips twitched. Heather. Lord, she was entrancing. Her frosty grey irises glittered like melting snow on a windowpane, and the sweet curve of her rosy bottom lip had obliterated his wits. He could be wooing her now, if he hadn’t done the most idiotic thing he’d ever done in his life. Fallon shook his head and stabbed his fingers into his hair. He went through the moment in his head, trying to find the source of his utter stupidity.

  His mind had simply blanked when he stepped out of the hack, paid the driver, and turned to find two elegant gentlemen watching him.

  Lord Rigsby had looked friendly enough, but Lord Draven had definitely not. Steely gray eyes, an angry slash for a mouth. Fallon had frozen, unsure of what he should do. He cursed himself for never leaving Scotland. He didn’t think he could be intimidated by an Englishman, yet there he stood, baffled. The only Englishman he’d known was his father and his tutor. The duke of Ablehill had been a black-hearted bastard, but his tutor was exceedingly kind and soft spoken. Neither were good representations of typical Englishmen. He hoped.

  Fallon knew all the rules that made a man a gentleman, but as he stood there, he forgot every single one. These were noblemen, dressed in clothing far more elegant than Fallon’s, and with the aroma of arrogance to match. Fallon stood taller than both, but at that moment he felt insignificant and nothing like the duke he was.

  So, he pretended to be his own steward instead. Panic aside, being his own steward might have its perks. A person’s true heart was shown in how they treated those they perceived beneath them. Though it was easy enough to lie to a person such as Lord Draven, it is far more difficult to uphold a façade in front of a young woman so determined to marry a duke who didn’t exist anymore. Would he be an adequate trade? Fallon would like to think so. He didn’t have to be here; he hadn’t even thought of marrying anytime soon. But when he got her letter, there was something about it that startled him. And then he was mesmerized by the idea. His father had become betrothed to many young women over the years, but nothing ever came of it. But this letter, this young woman… Fallon knew she, of all of them, was just desperate enough to wed the infamous Duke of Ablehill. But what about the new duke of Ablehill? Curiosity had got the best of him, and he had to see such a woman himself.

  Fallon pressed his palm to his coat, over the inside pocket where her letter hid.

  Fallon pulled himself together and straightened. There wasn’t time to panic when a young woman needed saving. He wandered back to the main stair, and as luck would have it, he saw Miss Everly escaping toward the back of the house. He should retreat and formulate a plan, but the pull to follow her was too great. He’d have to think on his feet. The course was set, and he had no choice but to follow through with it now. He was a steward, and he would act like a steward until it was no longer feasible to do so.

  Heather exhaled in great relief when the cool air bathed her cheeks. The door clicked shut behind her, but Heather paid it no mind as she took deep, calming breaths to bring her nerves under control. She stepped out into the weak sunshine and looked up at the sky blanketed with gray clouds. She wondered if it would rain. It would be fitting for the tragedy her life was turning into.

  Suddenly, the door pushed into her back and she was shoved forward. “Oh!” She landed on her hands and knees, her fingernails digging into the gravel.

  “A thousand apologies, Miss Everly.”

  Black boots filled her vision, and she winced as she pushed back onto her haunches. She was suddenly plucked up from the ground, and only as her head tilted up to see the face of her rescuer did she remember to put her feet on terra firma. Her mind blanked, but her skin burned from head to toe with indignation.

  “Mr. Calder,” he said. His hands were still holding her arms.

  “Yes,” she said as she shook her head and put her hands on his chest to push out of his grasp.

  “I am Mr. Calder,” he said again with a frown.

  “I am aware,” Heather snapped at him. “I was not knocked senseless, merely knocked over.”

  “Are you hurt? As I said before, a thousand apologies, Miss Everly. I did not know you were standing so close to the door.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Heather looked down at her hands on his chest and could feel the warmth of his body. She snatched them away, and he released her. She brushed off her hands to avoid looking at him. He of
fered her a handkerchief. “Thank you,” she replied grudgingly and took it.

  “I was hoping to speak privately with you, but not in such a blundering fashion.”

  Heather’s hands stilled as she slowly looked up. “In what regard did you need to speak with me?” She looked around, concerned that they were in fact alone, which would prove disastrous for her already tattered reputation. Being destitute was difficult enough, without adding labels like loose and wanton to it.

  “Well, to be frank, it regards your letter. It was passed on to me by the duke’s solicitor.” He met her stare calmly.

  Heather looked for any trace of ridicule but found none. If anything, his expression was guarded. “Oh…that.” She looked down at her hands again. Dirt was caked under her nails.

  “Do you still wish to meet the duke?”

  “What? I mean, of course.”

  “The duke does not take this meeting lightly. He would very much like to meet you.”

  “Oh?” Heather felt a flutter of hope in her chest. Perhaps not all was lost.

  “Might I be honest with you, Miss Everly?”

  “Please do, Mr. Calder.”

  “I’ve never been dispatched on such an odd task before. I do find it odd, Miss Everly, that a young woman like yourself would wish to marry someone so much older, especially one so comely.”

  Heather moved her head back in surprise. “Why, thank you, Mr. Calder. I was quite clear in my letter why I wish to meet the duke. It is a matter of great importance and of little time.”

  “But certainly you could marry any man you choose. Why the duke?”

  Heather frowned. How could he be so obtuse? She looked around the courtyard; there was little privacy to be had. Beyond the courtyard was an orchard of trees still dormant from winter, but thick enough with branches to hide them. A small path went straight to the heart of it. Heather had walked it many times since they had arrived here.

  “Come, Mr. Calder.” She preceded him along the path, which went deep into the orchard, and all the way to the outskirts of the garden into unkempt land. She turned to face Mr. Calder once they could no longer see the house.

  “I have no dowry, Mr. Calder. I have nothing to offer a husband in that regard except myself. I only enjoyed one season before my father passed. After his death, we discovered…” she hesitated, her heart pounding. This was the story Heather and her mother pieced together before arriving. They would speak only of their woes from the debt and loss of their loved one, and never breath a word of the true manner in which he died. Heather took a deep breath before continuing. “The debt—gambling debt—to be precise. He owes many influential people in society large sums of money that we simply don’t have. Many have turned us away, including the cousin who inherited. Since then, it has been a slow slide into…” Hell, she wanted to say but refrained. “I have no prospects for a husband, yet have a great need of one. His Grace could save myself and my family.”

  Mr. Calder’s expression was unreadable, except for a small line between his brows. “My condolences” was all he said in response. “I’ve been given the task of discovering whether or not you would be a suitable wife before the duke arrives,” he told her.

  Heather’s cheeks burned. She had never been so embarrassed and ashamed of her life than she was at this moment. How did she get here? she wondered feebly. “Oh?” was all she had the ability to say. Now he would think she was a simpleton as well as destitute.

  “An interview of sorts,” he added. He was clearly uncomfortable now too.

  “I see,” she answered numbly.

  He pulled a notepad and pencil from his pocket.

  Heather wanted to laugh again. It was absurd. The whole situation was ridiculously absurd, and yet, here she stood. She watched his face as he frowned down at the open notepad.

  “Are… are you in love?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Her throat tickled with the urge to laugh. Perhaps she should add insanity to the list of reasons she couldn’t find a husband. He looked up at her and the urge died. He was so serious, his eyes earnest as they caught hers. They were so very blue, and it knocked the wind from her lungs, the same as when she had first seen him.

  “The duke wants to know that you are not presently in love with someone, so that he can be assured of your complete affection and devotion.” His eyes pinned her.

  “Oh, um…no.” Oddly, she felt as if she lied but only because presently she couldn’t stop looking at Mr. Calder, and she couldn’t stop thinking how very handsome he was. But none of that meant she loved him, it was just a simple observation of his attractiveness.

  “No?” he questioned.

  Her heart began to beat a little faster. “No. My heart is claimed by no one.”

  He bent his head and scribbled on his notepad.

  She was curious to peek at what he was writing. This was the most awkward, humiliating, and saddest day of her life. Heather supposed she should be grateful that things were moving forward despite the duke not being present. Perhaps Mr. Calder would be easier to convince than an elderly man with a reputation of being terrifying.

  “Have you any deformities?”

  “No,” she answered quietly.

  “All your teeth?”

  She smiled in answer. He looked up and then nodded, immediately returning his attention to his notes. “You’ve a beautiful smile, Miss Everly,” he said, without looking up.

  The compliment caught her off guard and for some reason pleased her. Her reaction to him was strange. She didn’t understand why he had such an effect on her when up until now, no gentleman ever had.

  He finished writing and looked up. “Do you like music?”

  She bit her lip in thought. “Doesn’t everybody?” She laughed. He immediately started writing, and Heather frowned in worry. Did she say something wrong? “I haven’t had the pleasure of attending many operas, but I do enjoy the sound of a string quartet, especially the violin. I love the sound of the violin.”

  He stopped writing and looked up at her. Heather didn’t know what to make of his expression. He looked as if about to say something but then simply looked at her. Again, her pulse took off in an erratic beat. The way his eyes roamed over her face made her internal temperature climb by several degrees.

  “The violin?”

  She nodded once.

  “Do you play?”

  She shook her head. “Not the violin. I’m proficient with the harpsichord and the harp.”

  His lips curved up a little at the corner, and then he bent his head to write again.

  “Anything else? Diseases in my family, perhaps? How many sons per generation, how many daughters?” she asked mockingly.

  He raised his head and smiled. “One look at you and he won’t care.”

  Heather blushed. She could feel the heat from her ears to the tops of her breasts. She looked up to give a scathing retort and caught him staring quite boldly at her bodice. She looked down, and sure enough, her skin was glowing pink over the swells of her breasts displayed by the modest cut of her dress. She pulled her wrap around herself and avoided looking at him. When she could muster the courage to lift her eyes, he was scribbling on the notepad once again. He looked up and smiled benignly, as if she had never caught him staring at her breasts.

  Men. She cursed them all in her mind.

  “I should be getting back to the drawing room now,” Heather stated.

  “Of course.” He nodded and stepped aside so she could pass. “Thank you for your time and honesty, Miss Everly.”

  Heather nodded as she passed him and didn’t look back as she made her way to the house. Curiously, she didn’t hear him following her. Reaching the edge of the orchard, she paused and looked over her shoulder but he was gone. She shook her head as she continued to the back door. What an odd day. On the bright side, the duke was aware of her in a matrimonial fashion. On the dark side… The duke was aware of her in a matrimonial fashion.

  Chapter 4

&nb
sp; After visiting her room to exchange shawls, Heather returned to the drawing room. She was once again in control of herself and the situation. However, her courage wavered when she saw that Lady Endervale had made a pet of Mr. Calder. She was fawning over him, her hand boldly on his arm and tittering like a fool. Heather gave them a wide berth and headed for a quieter corner where Rose and Charlotte were sitting.

  “Isn’t it interesting?” Charlotte said as Heather took the chair next to hers.

  “What?” Heather responded hesitantly.

  “Lady Endervale has invited Mr. Calder to dine with us.”

  Heather turned her head just slightly to see them then turned back. “But he is a servant. Why would she do that?”

  “I could tell you why, but it wouldn’t be proper,” Rose mused.

  Charlotte playfully swatted at her with her fan. “It’s his looks, though it wouldn’t be her first infidelity, if rumors are true. Also, she is ravenously curious about the duke, as most of us are. The papers have talked of nothing but his return to society, though he has yet to be seen by anyone. The sketches of his appearance have not been kind.”

  Heather’s fingers curled into her palms. “Has society nothing better to do than speculate and slander?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Charlotte sighed. “Lady Endervale’s behavior is unbecoming.”

  “But hardly surprising.” Rose leaned closer. “Lord Endervale is her father’s age. Who would blame a young wife for wanting the attentions of a younger man—” Rose covered her mouth with one hand.

  Heather sat up straight and looked haughtily over the room.

  “I’m sorry. That was unkind of me,” Rose said.

  “It’s quite all right, Rose. There is no use ignoring what everybody else already knows. I, however, would never behave as Lady Endervale does.”

  “That’s correct. You are of far stronger character than she.” Charlotte put a hand on Heather’s in comfort.

  “Thank you, Charlotte.” Heather gathered her strength again and looked out over the room. She tried to look everywhere but at the tall figure of a man who stood out so glaringly from the other gentlemen. He was not dressed in evening blacks, which was not surprising given his station, but he still cut a fine figure in black trousers and a brown coat. He was a large man, his shoulders broad and his arms thicker than most gentlemen in the room. He didn’t look like a steward; he was far too handsome and virile. Heather decided it was his smile. It was so friendly and charming. He would be impossible not to like, unless one were in the uncomfortable position of being interviewed to be his employer’s wife. Heather looked away again. Should she say something about her earlier meeting with him? She was embarrassed, but keeping it inside was growing difficult. She looked up at Rose and Charlotte. They too were outcasts of the party, due to lack of wealth and title. They knew so much already, could she lean on them a little more? She could feel the words wanting to spill from her like apples stacked too high.