“I cannot say that I have often been one found to be humorous,” he said. “Witty, sure. However, when one is a duke, people tend to laugh with him and not at him.”
“I would not consider myself just anyone.”
“That, you certainly are not,” he said, tapping her on the nose with his finger. “Now, out with it. What has caused such mirth?”
Elizabeth tried to think of the best way to word what was currently running through her mind.
“Well,” she began, beginning with a compliment. “You are a very attractive man.”
He grinned, bringing one hand around her shoulder.
“Go on.”
“However, I suppose I never before realized just how much… effort goes into making you look so perfect.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened for a moment, and Elizabeth was worried that she had somehow insulted him. But then he began to laugh—more than his usual slight chuckle, but a long, loud laugh that made her heart sing. This was a side to Gabriel that she had not, in the past, seen very much of, and a side she very much enjoyed.
“Are you calling your husband a vain man?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say vain,” she said, turning to position herself on her back and face the painted gods and goddesses who danced across the ceiling. “Particular, perhaps.”
His chuckle continued somewhat as he stretched out beside her.
“I am lucky to have Baxter, a valet who will put up with my particularities,” he said. “I hope my wife will also forgive such ways.”
Elizabeth reached up and trailed a finger along his cheek, where the day’s stubble was just about to emerge—stubble that would be shaved down to the skin once more in the morning.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “It is part of who you are. And who am I to argue with the methods that provide me with the most attractive man in all of England?”
Gabriel reached an arm around her, pulling her close to him once more, and Elizabeth’s skin tingled as it touched his.
“I am the lucky one, love,” he said, placing a kiss on her lips, one that was gentle, stirring, and felt like a caress more than anything else. How she had denied him for so long, she had no idea, though she knew that, in the end, their timing could not have been more right.
“I do know one thing for certain,” he said as he pulled back from her, a smile crossing his lips one more.
“Which is?”
“I will never be bored with a woman like you in my life.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she smiled. “There will be much to manage, between the bank, your estates, Parliament, children…”
His eyes gleamed at her last word as he nodded.
“I believe that if there were ever two people who were capable of accomplishing all, it would be the two of us, would it not?”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
They smiled at one another, but when she saw mischief begin to dance within his blue eyes, Elizabeth became suspicious.
“You don’t have another scheme brewing, do you?”
“Who, me?” He asked in mock outrage.
“Gabriel…”
“I have nothing planned. Although…”
“Out with it.”
“You know my friend, Mr. Redmond?”
“David Redmond?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “An affable gentleman, but quite the rake, I do believe.”
“He’s misunderstood.”
“Has he, or has he not, found his way into the beds of many of the available women of the ton—and some who are not so available?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Perhaps you do understand some of his actions, though not his character in particular.”
“Go on, tell me what you are thinking.”
“Only that, perhaps, Redmond is filling a void—an emptiness in his life. He doesn’t know what he is missing—a good woman, like you.”
“I don’t believe this is a matter in which you should become involved.”
“Well, there is your friend, Miss Jones—”
“No!” she exclaimed sitting up now. “Sarah is the most gentle, kind soul that I have ever met. A man like Mr. Redmond would break her heart.”
“But if he were only to find the right woman, as I did—”
Elizabeth continued to shake her head, and finally, Gabriel sighed.
“Very well, I will leave it be.”
“It is, however, a lovely thought, Gabriel, to look out for your friend. In addition to the fact that you are attributing your happiness to us.”
“Of course,” he smiled. “Not long ago, it would have been hard to convince me that the purpose I was searching for was the right woman to love.”
“I do love you, Gabriel.”
“And I love you, Elizabeth. Only you. Forever.”
Epilogue
A Year Later
Gabriel smiled contentedly as Elizabeth walked through the door of the drawing room. He could tell she had rushed in, likely hearing the sounds of the baby, little Justine, chattering away in her own language, one that Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh at himself. Before saying anything to him, Elizabeth descended upon the two of them, kissing the little girl on Gabriel’s lap before picking up the baby boy who began clamoring for her attention in the bassinet beside them once he had sensed her presence.
“Hello, Husband,” she said with a smile and a kiss for Gabriel.
“Wife,” he acknowledged. “How was your day?”
“Perfect,” she said, sitting beside him on the sofa. “I spent most of it with the children and then visited the bank for but an hour or so.”
Her time at the bank had considerably lessened since she had given birth a few months ago, but Gabriel admired the fact that she was still keen on attending to her responsibilities there. As she had settled into her role, however, the work had somewhat lessened, especially as both employees and clients became aware of just how capable she was, and that nothing would change upon the passing of the bank from Thomas Clarke to his granddaughter.
Gabriel stared fondly at his wife now, appreciating the fact that motherhood had, in a way, softened her. Her desire for perfection had somewhat relaxed, though she maintained her calm control. In those moments when she needed someone to lean on, someone to help her, then he was pleased to be there for her to provide a word of advice—or not, as he had come to realize sometimes she simply needed to talk through the situation before her own brilliant mind would find the solution.
He had been more fearful than any other time in his life when she gave birth, but if there was ever a woman who could do so in such a capable manner, it was his Elizabeth. That there were two babies had been something of a shock, but they were a blessing. The physician had been concerned at first, once the first baby arrived, why Elizabeth continued to be in such pain. Gabriel had been outside of the door, pacing, as one of the maids within had continued to provide him with updates as he had requested of her—every ten minutes, he had told her, and not a minute more between.
When she questioned how she would know the time, he told her to count the seconds if she had to, and that was the last she had protested.
When he had heard the baby cry, he had knocked on the door, but all was silent except for the baby and his wife’s own cries of pain. When they continued, he had pounded on the door so hard, he had nearly knocked it down.
Then the maid opened the door a crack to tell him another baby was beginning to come out, and he had nearly fainted in shock.
“I have some news,” he said now, coming back to the present, and Elizabeth looked up from baby Thomas to Gabriel.
“Good news or bad news?”
“Good for us, I believe. Somewhat bad for those in America.”
She waited for him to continue.
“It seems a Mr. Henry Clarke recently boarded a ship for New York. He is intent on opening a bank there and finding his way in a place where he is unknown.”
“Oh dear,”
she said, raising a hand to her cheek. “Those poor people.”
“Who knows?” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Perhaps away from everything here, he might find a place for himself. We can only hope. At the very least, he is no longer a part of our lives, and that is something for which to be grateful, is it not?”
“I suppose,” said Elizabeth, though with some hesitation. “I can hardly believe how intent he was on removing me from the bank, destroying my life.”
“More than that,” said Gabriel. “But it only brought about his downfall, with his debt beginning to increase, and no friends to be found in all of London. Interestingly, Mr. Lang has accompanied him.”
“Really?” Elizabeth said, surprised. “He is of a rather advanced age to do so, but then, he never married, and was no longer welcome at the horse track with no money in his pockets for a bet. It’s interesting to think of—our two former partners, beginning a bank of their own. I do hope they do not pretend any connection to Clarke & Co.”
“Their actions at Clarke & Co. would have been an embarrassment more than anything,” said Gabriel. “I am sure they will leave it all behind them.”
“And we can move on,” she said.
“We can.”
They smiled at one another, at the babies on their laps, and Gabriel could hardly believe the contentment that filled him. He hadn’t needed another scheme, another estate, another project. He had only needed a woman—this woman—to make his life complete.
The Unconventional Ladies Series
Lady of Mystery
Lady of Fortune
Lady of Providence
Lady of Charade
Ellie St. Clair Amazon Author Page
Author’s Note
While Elizabeth’s story is, of course, one of fiction, it is based on the true stories of incredible women who were far ahead of their time. It may have been rare to find women in banking during the nineteenth century, but, in fact, between 1750 and 1905, at least seventy-five women were partners in banks across England. History, unfortunately, has not well documented female bankers, and I must thank Margaret Dawes and Nesta Selwyn for their work in telling their stories in Women who made money. Many of the experiences these women faced and confronted are woven into Elizabeth’s story, and I wish to dedicate this work to them.
About the Author
Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion—romance novels.
In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.
The lake is Ellie’s happy place, and when she’s not writing, she is spending time with her son, her Husky/Border Collie cross, and her own dashing duke. She loves reading—of course—as well as running, biking, and summers at the lake.
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Duke of Sorrow
Dukes of Destiny
Book Two
Whitney Blake
Prologue
Will awoke to full darkness. Utterly disarming, it felt like a weight on his face.
Weight? He questioned that thought. He wasn’t imagining it. All of his knowledge of field medicine seeped back into his mind. No clear memories of what had happened to him, though. Flashes of bloodied grass, brains—not his, of course, but they belonged to someone he was rushing to treat—clinging on to the long stems like sludgy pink snails. Then a light so bright he couldn’t discern whether it represented excruciating pain or literal sunlight. He did recall laying on his back for some time, unable to make out anything around him as his eyes seemed to gradually fail, fading out the sky and clouds above, while his ears rang with a high-pitched whine.
He brought gentle fingers to the planes of his face, which he suspected were completely covered. His mouth and his chin were not. And he could breathe through his nostrils. This feels like… like a dressing of some kind… no. Lord, have I been… have I been that badly injured? That’s too terrible to even consider.
He wasn’t in any pain, particularly, though he supposed his head did hurt somewhat.
Where was he?
What had happened?
Weakly, he brought his hands to his face again and was horrified to feel the slight scratchiness of a different, hardier dressing over his eyes. He stopped poking at it. Fearing the worst, he called for the last person he recalled seeing, a fellow physician who was looking after men in the lulls they could exploit for such a purpose.
“Peter,” he croaked. Somewhere in the oppressive and tactile dark that surrounded Will, he heard light footsteps rushing toward him and tried to imagine seeing the tall, ginger lad who had just seen his twenty-fourth year.
“Thank God you are awake, Your Grace,” Peter said fervently.
“Peter, we’ve been through that enough. Just… Will.”
“You are the Duke of Ravenwood,” said Peter. “I won’t always be allowed such familiarity.” He was a commoner, albeit one who was reasonably well-off and had studied the healing arts thoroughly. He and Will had served together in battle, tending to the wounded or giving comfort to those who would not ever recover.
“Only comparatively recently,” Will said dismissively. “Peter, tell me. Why can’t I see?” As he adjusted to his surroundings, he realized he was on a cot. He couldn’t hear much.
Though he could not see him, he could sense Peter’s disquiet. Something about the way his breath caught and his limbs shuffled. Will felt the air shift around him.
“You don’t remember anything?”
“Just the red grass. Slick. Going to poor Livingstone. He had half of his brain poking out of his skull. I knew I couldn’t save him. I thought, maybe if I gave him some…” Will sighed, frowning. “Some of the opiates… it might ease his passing. He could not have said nor done much, but I’m sure he was in pain.” Abruptly, he sat bolt upright on the cot and Peter’s hands gently forced him back down by his lean shoulders. “The battle. Salamanca. I can’t hear a thing. Is it done?”
“It is. Our victory. You are in a tent waiting to be sent home.”
Will only breathed a shallow sigh of relief. “Good. Now. What have I suffered?”
He only gathered Peter knelt because he heard the young man’s left knee pop. It always did when he squatted. Then Peter’s face was near his ear. “What I am going to tell you won’t be pleasant. Please be calm.”
That’s the last thing you should tell a man when you want him to be calm, thought Will, wryly. But his heart started to palpitate and he swallowed. Will was generally a very calm man, calm almost to the point of docility. He knew Peter wouldn’t say what he had just said unless he had to.
For him to caution Will to stay calm could only mean that whatever these bandages signified, it was a few large steps past bad.
“Very well, I shall try.”
“You were within range of an exploding shell. Something nasty.”
“And?”
“While you were tending to Livin
gstone, it struck you.”
“I assume it did so in my face,” said Will, attempting for the life of him to remain as clinical as possible.
“Yes,” said Peter, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Shall I be able to see when these are removed?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Will fought the acute urge to vomit. He thought of everything waiting for him at home. He was betrothed—what woman would want him like this? He imagined that even if he regained some of his sight, which was not promised, his face was probably disfigured. He nodded. “I see.” Bitterly, he amended, “Well, I don’t, but… you know what I mean.”
*
In the end, Diana did not want him. He supposed that this did not surprise him because she herself was perfect in nearly every manner, from her physical presence to her diction. She gazed at him almost sadly, but Will couldn’t mistake well-bred, polite pity for actual regret. He couldn’t see her as well as he used to, but he read her tone of voice and what he could witness in her face. Even if he was unable to find a new candidate for a wife, she could always find another man. They had been acquaintances long before their betrothal and almost friends after that, but Will always sensed a mercenary streak in her.
He got proof of that now, witnessing her quick mind work through her current predicament. There was little use in pretending he was the same man who had left for Spain, so he did not make excuses or try to barter.
“Just to be clear, Diana,” said Will. He was a little hoarse. He had received few visitors save for his aunt, thus his voice was rather disused. “You do wish to end our engagement.”
She ducked her head. “I do, Your Grace.”
Your Grace? She hasn’t bothered with that for months.
But Lady Diana Abbington was clearly reconstructing boundaries between them that had eroded through familiarity and a shared goal. Marriage. Now, he offered less to her than she to him. Although the Ravenwood estate was very wealthy, it was rural, and Diana was decidedly an urban creature. She loved London and all its diversions. Conversely, even under the best of circumstances, Will preferred to spend his time wandering his own lands, musing and, perhaps, hunting or fishing. He shuddered to think how the ton would gawk at him, now.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 119