by Mia Ross
“They were all great.” Mindful of the people around them, Marianne kept her victory kiss under wraps and settled for giving Ridge a smile. “Was that your ace-in-the-hole play?”
Eyes sparkling with delight, he grinned. “Yeah, but the kids made it happen. Kenwood never saw it coming till it was too late.”
Marianne noticed someone coming up beside her, and greeted Pamela Hodges. “Pam, you must be ecstatic. Your son’s a bona fide hero.”
“It’s this man who’s the hero.” Her weary features lit up as she beamed at him. “You were right about the team, Coach Collins. It’s done wonders for Danny.”
“He’s done wonders for us.” Ridge gave her a warm smile. “And it’s Ridge.”
Off to the left, a chant of “MVP, MVP” started up, and the team lifted Danny onto their shoulders to carry him around the Wildcat painted in the middle of the field. Covering her mouth with her hand, Pam choked back a sob.
Marianne put an arm around the timid woman’s shoulders. “It’s okay. I feel the same way.”
“God bless you,” she whispered, gratitude mixing with the tears in her eyes as she glanced from Marianne to Ridge. “God bless both of you.”
Patting Emily’s leg, Marianne looked out to where Kyle was still celebrating with his teammates. Then she snuck her arm around Ridge and smiled up at the generous man who’d made it all possible. “He already has.”
* * *
After quite the celebration at Ruthy’s, Marianne finally got her crew home and cleaned up. The kids were wired, bouncing from one thing to the next. Knowing they’d get tired—eventually—she just let them run. It had been a wonderful day for everyone, and for once she had no intention of trying to reimpose order. Maybe, she thought as she piled whipped cream on four sundaes, Ridge’s easygoing attitude was beginning to rub off on her.
Not long ago, the idea of it would have horrified her. Now it appealed to her tremendously.
“Here you go,” she announced, placing a different mix in front of each. “Fudge for Kyle, strawberry for Emmy, caramel for me, and the works for Ridge.”
While they spooned their way through the sweet layers, they talked about the game and how much fun they’d have at school tomorrow. Charlie had given the team permission to wear their game jerseys on Monday—dirt, sweat and all. Marianne was glad her students were too young to have played today. She could only imagine how those other classrooms would smell. After a few minutes, Ridge set his spoon down and crossed his arms on the table.
Looking at each of them, he said, “I have something to ask all of you.”
His somber look was very much at odds with the playful twinkle in his eyes, and Marianne wondered what on earth was going on in that unpredictable mind of his. Normally, she was fairly patient, but his opening had made her a little anxious. “What is it?”
“Well, it’s the end of the season for the farm and football. I’ve been thinking about what I should do this winter.”
“You should stay here,” Emily piped up.
“That’s not up to us,” Marianne reminded her gently. “Ridge can go where he wants.”
The only problem with that was, she was in love with him. If he left, she honestly didn’t know what she’d do.
Leaning forward, he fixed Marianne with an intense look that made her heart miss a beat. “What if I wanted to stay here and work on the farm? I could officially be part of the family and help you keep all this going. What would you say?”
“On the farm?” Kyle repeated. “With us?”
Still focused on Marianne, Ridge nodded. “If you’ll have me.”
Stunned beyond words, she needed several seconds to find her voice. When she did, it came out in a breathless squeak. “What are you saying?”
A lazy grin drifted across his sunburned face, and the most maddening man she’d ever met went down on his knee beside her.
“Marianne.” Taking her hand, he looked over at her children. “Kyle and Emily. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anybody. Will you all marry me?”
The kids went bonkers, Emily squealing with delight while Kyle danced around the table, hugging everybody, including Tucker. Mimicking their reaction, the crazy Lab raced around barking and ended up with his paws on the table, panting with excitement.
Everything felt like it was swirling around her while Marianne stared at Ridge in disbelief. She hadn’t dared to let herself even consider his staying, much less proposing. As always, he’d managed to catch her by surprise, and the ease with which he did it amazed her.
The fun-loving pilot had taken over her quiet little life and flipped it in a full barrel roll. By turns, he’d infuriated her, encouraged her, loved her even when she’d stubbornly pushed him away. Faced with his unexpected proposal, she tried to remember why, exactly, she’d sworn off men.
In the end, she gave up and started laughing. Dangling her arms over his shoulders, she leaned in and gave him a long, grateful kiss.
Cocking his head, he grinned. “Is that a yes?”
“Definitely.”
* * * * *
Look for Mia Ross’s next Love Inspired novel,
A GIFT OF FAMILY, available in December.
Dear Reader,
This story has been kicking around in my imagination for a long time, just waiting to be told. Whether or not you can relate to Marianne, I hope you find inspiration in her decision to let go of the past and embrace the future.
Mia Ross
Questions for Discussion
Marianne pretty much dislikes Ridge on sight. As she gets to know him, she gradually changes her mind. Have you experienced something like this with anyone you know?
Because of her failed marriage, Marianne is hesitant to get involved with any of the men her friends suggest to her. Are you or someone you know like that?
Marianne and Ridge have very different personalities. He’s a free spirit, and she’s not. Do you think people are born with those qualities or do they develop them?
Marianne’s kids are her entire world, and she often forgets to take time out for herself. This happens to caregivers in many different circumstances. Can you think of ways for them to take care of themselves, too?
Ridge’s father abused both him and his mother, which made him very protective of her, and later of others. Can you think of events in your own life that have shaped your behavior later?
Kyle is very grown-up for a ten-year-old. Do you know any children like that? Why do you think they’ve matured so quickly?
Emily gets attached to Ridge very quickly. Do you know any men who’ve stepped in to take the place of a child’s absent father? Why do you think they take on that responsibility for a child who isn’t their own?
Because of his own background, Ridge recognizes the signs that Marianne was emotionally abused by her ex-husband. Do you know anyone like that? Does she hide the truth or explain it away?
When Ridge realizes that Marianne no longer trusts her own judgment, he tries to boost her confidence by buying her a gift to remind her of better times. If you could return to a different time in your own life, when would it be?
Marianne envies her sister, Lisa, who’s still a dreamer. Do you think it’s possible to hang on to our dreams as we get older?
When Ridge talks to the pastor about giving up something he loves to help Marianne, the pastor suggests that it’s not the object he loves, but the memories it represents. Do you own anything like that?
Many of Ridge’s good family memories are of him and his grandfather restoring Betsy. Can you think of experiences you could share with your children or grandchildren that would hold the same kind of meaning for both of you?
His American Duchess
Anna Schmidt
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Excerpt
Chapter One
Paris, September, 1895
Jeanne Witherspoon swept a pale yellow stroke of pastel chalk across the outline of a face in her sketchbook. “I can’t get your hair right, Yves.”
In the year she had been in Paris, Yves LeClercq had become her closest friend. Others assumed she had come to Europe to heal a heart broken when her fiancé, Gabriel Hunter, had chosen another woman to marry. Only Yves knew that her father had lost the family’s fortune through poor business decisions, changing Jeanne’s lifestyle dramatically, and that it had been Jeanne who had ended the engagement to the Boston tycoon.
“You are frowning, chérie.” Yves sipped his espresso and observed her.
“I want to go to the ballet on Friday,” she admitted.
“That would be nice.”
“I have nothing to wear,” she grumbled.
Yves cocked an eyebrow. “You also have no ticket.”
“Even if I did, I still have nothing to wear.”
“Very well. You find tickets for us both and I will loan you a gown from last season’s collection.” Yves was a popular couturier, whose gowns demanded enormous prices.
“The peach satin?”
“I think something in blue—sapphire, to match your eyes. Speaking of that, how are my eyes coming?” He leaned forward to see her sketch then suddenly leaped to his feet as he murmured, “Your grace. Forgive me, I was...”
“So entranced by this gifted artist. May I?” The tall stranger held out his hand for the sketchbook.
“You have studied the masters.” It was not a question. “Quite extraordinary,” he murmured, more to himself. “The eyes...” He glanced at Yves and then back at the sketch. “She’s captured your mischief, LeClercq.” He returned the sketchbook.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne Witherspoon, may I present Lord Groton-Hames, Duke of Thirndale.” Yves hastened to make introductions.
Jeanne took the measure of the man as if evaluating him for a possible portrait. Eyes obsidian in color and deep-set under thick black brows. Hair a rich ebony with traces of silver at the temples and sideburns. Complexion seasoned by the elements and his years, which she estimated to be mid to late thirties. The physique of a much younger man. Tall and erect without appearing pompous. She smiled up at him. “A pleasure, your grace.”
“You are American?”
“I am, and your title is British but do I detect a connection to the Hapsburgs of Austria-Hungary?” Yves sucked in an audible breath and Jeanne wondered how such an innocent question could be a problem.
The duke smiled. “You have an excellent ear for accents as well as an exceptional eye for portraiture, Miss Witherspoon.”
“And you, sir, avoided my question.” Jeanne gave him a coy smile. It was in Jeanne’s nature to flirt a bit. “Are you hiding something, your grace?”
This time Yves made no pretense of his distress. He placed a restraining hand over Jeanne’s as he cast the duke an apologetic look.
“Your grace, will you be attending tonight’s opening of the ballet?”
“Will you be attending, Miss Witherspoon?” Again he had avoided answering the question.
“Actually, I...”
“Alas, the performance is sold out,” Yves interrupted.
The duke smiled. “Then I insist you be my guests for the evening.”
“You are too kind, sir,” Yves said. “We’d be delighted.”
“Excellent. I shall leave tickets for you at the door.” He bowed to Jeanne and walked back to his waiting carriage.
Jeanne watched him go. A free ticket to the most sought-after social occasion of the season had almost literally just dropped into her lap. “I’m going to need shoes and jewelry to accessorize that sapphire gown, Yves.”
Chapter Two
While Yves directed his seamstress in fitting the gown to Jeanne’s slender frame, he chastised her for her flippant attitude toward the duke. “Do you have any idea who this man is? His history? More to the point, his fortune?”
“Oh, Yves, one should never measure people by their fortunes or titles.”
“August Groton-Hames is possibly the wealthiest man in all of Europe. His art collection alone is worth a significant fortune. And it’s an excellent collection—not like some.”
“How do you know him?”
“I designed some gowns for his sister and the woman he was to marry. He took a personal interest and we became acquainted. He’s really quite curious about people of all classes.”
“And his history?”
“A bit mysterious. He was betrothed to a distant cousin on his mother’s side—the Hapsburg connection you hear in his accent. The young woman died under circumstances that have never quite been clear—a sailing accident. Gossip has it that he failed to save her when he might have. Shortly after that he came here to live. He returns to England only when business or politics require.”
“That’s so very sad. Did he love her?”
“In those circles, love is rarely the most important factor, Jeanne. She was titled, beautiful and young enough to produce at least one heir. An elaborate wedding was in the offing. Everyone was vying for an invitation.”
Jeanne had a sudden vision of the duke’s eyes—sad and lonely in spite of his smile. “I think he must have loved her. He seemed very nice.”
“He was certainly impressed by your talent. He looked at those sketches with the eye of a collector, of someone who might very well become a patron.”
“My work is not for sale,” Jeanne said flatly, craning her neck to see how the gown fit in the back.
“Perhaps it should be,” Yves suggested as he reset the bow. “Then you might be able to afford one of my gowns.”
There had been a time when Jeanne could have afforded half a dozen of the gowns. But no longer. Perhaps Yves was on to something. “You can’t honestly believe that anyone—let alone a renowned collector—would actually pay for my work.”
“You are quite gifted, Jeanne, and you know it. Your problem is that you have been raised to believe trading on that gift would be crass. But I ask you, what would a man with your talent do?”
He would charge for the work. So why shouldn’t a woman do the same?
* * *
As soon as Yves and Jeanne arrived at the theater, she knew that the gown was perfect—heavy blue satin that Yves had expertly draped into tiny little pleats on the bodice with large flat bows at each shoulder. The skirt was lifted in a swag to one side and held there with a third bow. White kid opera gloves covered her elbows to her fingertips and the shoes were matching silk offset with shimmering beads that caught the light with every step. She felt like a princess and was well aware that heads turned as she followed the usher to the duke’s private box.
It was impossible not to notice the way Lord Groton-Hames’s eyes widened at the sight of her. It was a look Jeanne knew well. The one lesson she had learned was that men as wealthy and powerful as the duke had a bad habit of assuming that such wealth came with certain privileges. At some point she would have to make it clear that she was in Paris for two reasons—to pa
int and to escape the cloying life she would have to endure if she had remained with her parents. She was not interested in romance. On the other hand, it was a festive occasion and a bit of innocent flirtation was surely within reason when the man had been so generous.
Jeanne extended her gloved fingertips. “Your grace,” she murmured, lowering her lashes. From his position behind the duke, Jeanne saw Yves roll his eyes.
Chapter Three
“Miss Witherspoon, that color is perfect for you.” The duke guided her to one of two unoccupied chairs, then gestured to the remaining chair for Yves. “Enjoy the performance,” he said.
“Are you not joining us?” Jeanne blurted.
“I made other arrangements. I will stop by during the intermission.”
“You have given us your tickets,” Jeanne guessed. “But...”
He smiled at her. “Until intermission,” he said, and disappeared through the heavy velvet drapes the usher was closing over the exit.
“You are a hopeless flirt,” Yves chided her.
“It’s harmless and you have to admit that he is quite attractive.”
Yves took her hand in his. “Just be careful, chérie. Lord Groton-Hames is no one’s fool. You cannot charm him into whatever web that delicious mind of yours may be spinning for him.”
“You make me sound so insincere. I am simply—”
“Doing what you do best when it comes to interacting with an attractive male. He admires you for more than your beauty, Jeanne. Perhaps you should take that as the greater compliment.”
In spite of her love of the dance, Jeanne could not concentrate. She watched the duke walk down the aisle of the main floor of the theater, drawing glances and whispered comments as he took a seat on the aisle. The house lights lowered and the curtain rose, but Jeanne was barely aware of the performance unfolding onstage. She was far more conscious of the fact that every time she glanced across the theater, the duke was looking not at the stage but up at her.