Captivated by his conven.., p.1
Captivated by His Convenient Duchess, page 1
From Victorian England to the American Gilded Age, two brothers are rising to the challenge of
The Redford Dukedom
After the sudden death of their father, Myles and Wesley Wadsworth are left holding the reins of the extensive ducal estate.
Myles is determined to wed a convenient bride and create the next generation of Wadsworths—but he’s struggling to find his ideal duchess!
Wesley is happy to leave the responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood to Myles—he’s got his eye on securing business opportunities over in America!
The brothers aren’t looking for love, but two beautiful, willful women are about to prove that it can be found in the unlikeliest of places...
Read Myles’s story in
Captivated by His Convenient Duchess
And read Wesley’s story
Coming soon!
Author Note
Welcome to Captivated by His Convenient Duchess, the first book in The Redford Dukedom duet. In this story you’ll meet Myles Wadsworth, the oldest brother, who must marry in order to secure the future of the Redford dukedom. He thinks Anita Crawford will make the perfect duchess, but Anita isn’t convinced of that. Taking them on their journey to happily-ever-after involved healing the damage caused by old wounds. I inwardly cheered for Anita every step of the way, because from the first word I wrote, I knew Myles was there to not only love her, but help her. I hope you enjoy their story, and enjoy meeting Wesley, the younger Wadsworth brother, who will soon have his own story.
CAPTIVATED BY HIS CONVENIENT DUCHESS
LAURI ROBINSON
A lover of fairy tales and history, Lauri Robinson can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men and women in days gone past. Her favorite settings include World War II, the roaring twenties and the Old West. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit her at laurirobinson.blogspot.com, Facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 or X @LauriR.
Books by Lauri Robinson
Harlequin Historical
Diary of a War Bride
A Family for the Titanic Survivor
The Captain’s Christmas Homecoming
An Unlikely Match for the Governess
A Dance with Her Forbidden Officer
A Courtship to Fool Manhattan
Southern Belles in London
The Return of His Promised Duchess
The Making of His Marchioness
Falling for His Pretend Countess
The Osterlund Saga
Marriage or Ruin for the Heiress
The Heiress and the Baby Boom
Twins of the Twenties
Scandal at the Speakeasy
A Proposal for the Unwed Mother
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To a school friend. I’d always thought her name was pretty, but after learning it was a version of Grace, and a classic name symbolizing elegance, vibrancy and strength, I knew it was the perfect name for a heroine. Thanks for the use of your name, Anita, and for your friendship.
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from Her Secret Vows with the Viking by Sarah Rodi
Chapter One
Fear and pain had plagued Anita Crawford’s life since the age of four. Before then, her life was wonderful. Although she had only a few memories of that brief time, they were ones she’d never forgotten, nor would. Somehow in her young mind, she’d collected them, tied them together and tucked them away like special letters received in the post, bound with a ribbon and hidden away to be reread in uninterrupted privacy. She pulled up a memory every so often but, for the most part, just kept them hidden, safe from the world she’d known since then.
The next twenty years had been filled with fear and pain, and both were alive inside her today as the snow continued to fall, whipped around by the wind that was chilling her very bones. All of her bones. Not just the ones that were normally overly affected by the cold.
Or a storm or even a heat wave. Her left ankle, knee and hip could tell her when there would be a change in weather. At times the ache was so intolerable she wanted to sit down and cry. She never allowed that to happen, because the tears wouldn’t just be for the aching. They would be for all the pain that had lived inside her for so long, and she was afraid she’d never stop crying once she started.
The fear inside her at this moment, as she drove the horses through the wintery weather, was not only for herself but for the man inside the coach. Joshua, the coach driver, had never been unkind or cruel to her. Just the opposite was true. He’d always been kind and helpful, and had been at Brunswick for as long as she could remember. The fear of him dying, of freezing to death before she got him to Redford, was overwhelming her aches, pains and other fears.
Mainly, though, she felt the fear of arriving at Redford. Of meeting the man she was to marry—tomorrow! Myles Wadsworth, the Duke of Redford, had purchased her. Of course, he hadn’t walked into a store, selected her from a shelf and given the store clerk money like one would for a tin of tobacco or a yard of cloth. No one ever visited Brunswick, nor would they have chosen her given the choice. It was a sight unseen sale.
That Uncle Jerome had sold her hadn’t come as a surprise. He’d sold everything else of value, but she was considered by her uncle to be of little or no value. For years, she’d been known as that lame girl. The word homely was often included in that description. Anita had long accepted that she was a colourless creature. Her eyes were dull grey, and her thick, coarse hair was neither blond nor brown but a lacklustre shade between the two, with strands of grey that were uncommon for someone of her age.
What had surprised her out of this deal was the Duke. There was no viable reason why he would accept her in any deal. Why anyone would. She had no dowry. Her uncle had used that to pay gambling bills years ago. He’d said the dowry left in her father’s will wasn’t needed because she was unmarriageable, that a woman who could barely walk was a sorry excuse for a wife. At twenty-four, she was well on her way to a life of spinsterhood. At least had been, and had accepted that, up until a few days ago.
Although she’d never met him, Myles Wadsworth, the Duke of Redford, had been the talk of many gossip-mongers for several months. Not that she was ever anywhere where gossip ensued. The servants didn’t even gossip when she was near. Due to the fact that even though she worked beside the staff more often than not, she was part of the family. In name only. She didn’t fit in with the family any more than she fit with the servants. She hadn’t fit in anywhere since her parents had died. Since the accident that left her that maimed girl.
Her cousins, however, were out and about and collected gossip like bees gathered nectar. Matilda and Irma had brought home many a tale about Myles Wadsworth. He’d been engaged twice already this past year, and both times the wedding had been called off shortly before the event could occur. His former intendeds, both young, beautiful and well bred, from what Anita had heard via her cousins, refrained from saying too much, other than that a marriage to the Duke would never have worked for them.
That left Anita to silently contemplate why? Why wouldn’t it have worked? Though she’d never dared asked. Not even after Uncle Jerome had told her about the deal he’d made with the Duke. However, she’d been more curious as to know why Uncle Jerome had offered her and not one of his own daughters.
Matilda and Irma, who were respectively now twenty-two and twenty, and eagerly seeking husbands, were regularly carted off to London to reside with their mother’s sister Rainie to attend balls, theatre performances and other social activities that might gain them possible suitors. Ones of high-enough standards to marry an earl’s daughter.
That was what her uncle Jerome was, an earl. The Earl of Brunswick. That had once been her father’s title, and she’d been the daughter of an earl, until a dreadful carriage accident had taken the lives of both her parents. She had been in the carriage with them. In that one fateful moment she’d been orphaned and injured and, ultimately, left an outcast.
Her throat plugged and she had to swallow past the lump to encourage the horses to keep moving along. In this weather, on these snow-covered roads, she had to be careful. One slip and they would all be in trouble, with no one to save them. She didn’t snap the reins across the animals’ backs like some may but instead shouted over the sound of their hoofbeats, the churning wheels, rattling coach, squeaking springs and cold, blistering winds, telling them that they were doing wonderfully, that she was proud of them and to save their strength until the estate was in view. That’s when she’d give them their heads, let them gallop. She also told them that it shouldn’t be much farther now.
She wasn’t sure. Just knew this was
It was always cold in November, but this morning, they’d awoken to gloomy, grey skies and a bite in the air that made her joints ache. Joshua had placed bricks heated by the inn’s fire inside the carriage, near her feet, and told her they’d arrive at their destination before noon.
Despite her aches and pains, she hadn’t been in a hurry to arrive; however, she also hadn’t wanted Joshua and the horses out in the cold for any longer than necessary.
They had barely been on the road an hour when the snow had started to fall. Though it made things colder and damp, it hadn’t affected their travels, until they’d come to the bridge. The horses had turned skittish at the ice coating the boards and the sound of rushing water below, and had baulked at crossing. Joshua had suggested they all walk across the bridge.
The cold had made Anita’s leg stiff and the ice-coated boards had made each step more difficult than usual, but she and her newly appointed maid, Olive, who had been sent along only because it was expected that she have a maid, had made it safely to the other side.
Her cousins each had a maid, but Anita had never had one, not that she’d ever needed one for anything. Olive was a kitchen maid, had been her entire life of forty years, but was the only staff Uncle Jerome would spare, and between the two of them, they’d managed to get her dressed in what Anita felt was an outlandish outfit that her aunt Tilda had provided for her. It was as bright blue as the wing feathers on a jay bird, and had so many buttons and bows that she and Olive had laughed themselves nearly silly trying to get her out of it that first night.
It was a pretty enough colour, it’s just that so much of it was shocking when she’d looked in the mirror. As she had each morning at the inns they’d stayed at, growing ever more fearful of what the Duke of Redford would do upon seeing her. Would he be shocked? Disgusted? Regretful?
To Olive’s credit, she’d also managed to find a way to hide the mass of wayward curls that had fought Anita’s attempts to train them for years beneath the white hat that held a single blue feather.
She’d never had a hat before and did like this one for the mere fact it hid a fair amount of her unruly hair.
Aunt Tilda had been more kind than Uncle Jerome, especially back in the early years when Anita had begun living with them, or they with her, since Brunswick had once been her father’s estate. Brunswick had also once been beautiful, and despite all she’d tried to do to make the home shine and sparkle like it used to, the paint on the walls was cracked, the bricks on the front steps crumbling, and the windows rattled in the wind. It was as if no one but she seemed to notice those things. The other thing she had noticed was that Aunt Tilda had been as happy as Uncle Jerome over the deal he’d made with the Duke.
Anita wasn’t sure where Aunt Tilda had found the blue dress, for she’d never seen her cousins or aunt wearing it, nor the other two dresses that were packed in the small trunk that held all her earthly possessions. She’d chosen to wear the blue one because, of the three, it was the warmest, made of thick corduroy material.
The corduroy was now wet from the snow, as was the woollen grey cloak she wore over the dress, and her fingers were numb, both from the cold and her grip on the reins.
While carefully leading the horses, Joshua had almost made it across the bridge, too, when Clyde or Clod—or perhaps both, it had all happened so fast it was hard to say—jolted forward, knocking Joshua over the short railing and into the river in their hurry to get across. Joshua had managed to catch hold of a bridge support and got back to shore, shivering so hard his teeth chattered.
Though shaking from the cold and fear for him, Anita and Olive, who had by then been crying fretfully, had managed to help him up the bank and into the carriage. Anita was indeed grateful that the horses knew her so well due to her time in the stables. Upon shouting their names, Clyde and Clod had stopped and settled down since the bridge was behind them, and they had waited patiently until Joshua had been helped inside the coach and she’d climbed up in the driver’s seat.
Life had taught her that it wasn’t the fittest who survive, it was the strongest. Not even those with strong muscles or even bones, but strong willpower. Strong determination, and she hoped with all her heart and soul that Joshua was as determined to live as she was to get him to Redford.
* * *
‘Which one of his daughters?’ Wesley asked while shaking his head and pacing the floor.
Myles Wadsworth had known his brother would be shocked by the news, as had been his mother and two younger sisters, whom he’d told at breakfast this morning. He also knew Wesley would be the one to question his decision. ‘Neither. It’s his niece.’
Wesley nearly spat out the whisky he was drinking to take away the chill, having just ridden two hours in a snow storm from London, down the front of his ruffled white shirt. ‘His niece! Have you ever met her?’
Myles hadn’t met Jerome Crawford’s niece, nor the man’s daughters, not the he could remember. Neither of the Earl’s daughters nor his niece had been on Myles’s list of potential wives until Brunswick had sought him out, offering a marriage to either one of his daughters. When Myles had declined, he’d thought it was over, until he’d caught wind of other action the Earl had been taking and had determined to put a stop to it. ‘No, I have not.’
Wesley let out a smothered growl.
Myles had no doubt that his brother had heard rumours about Brunswick’s niece. The Earl had not been discreet in his spewing. ‘Have you met her?’
‘No,’ Wesley replied, ‘but I’ve heard about her. She’s a recluse. Never leaves their country estate. Hasn’t for years.’
Myles had heard that, too. Moreover, he’d confirmed it and several other things about Miss Anita Crawford. What he’d learned had cemented his decision to ask for her hand in marriage. Brunswick had agreed to the terms and had confirmed that his niece had agreed.
‘Myles,’ Wesley said, using a tone that one might talk to a small child with, even though Wesley was the younger of the two of them by two years. ‘I know you’re set on getting married, but shouldn’t it be to a woman you’ve actually met? Someone you know?’
‘I’ve tried that, twice, and found myself sorely disappointed each time.’ That was the precise reason Anita Crawford had been his choice. His past two attempts at marriage had inspired him to change what he sought. Gone were the expectations of what a duchess should look like and how they should socially participate in his life. All he needed was someone to bear him children—at least two, preferably boys, so the Dukedom would be secured—and someone mature enough to understand trust.
‘And you’re going to be again,’ Wesley said, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘Sorely disappointed.’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Myles replied. ‘I spoke in depth with Brunswick, and I spoke to his driver.’
Wesley scoffed, then set his glass down on a small side table as he walked past it. ‘You spoke to a man who everyone knows is a liar and a cheat. He’s owed you money from a gambling debt for—what?—two years and never attempted to pay you back. And you spoke to his driver, a man who undoubtedly is loyal to Crawford, and you’re saying that’s enough?’
‘It is enough.’ Myles understood his brother’s concerns. He’d had his own. Long before he and Wesley had started raising thoroughbreds, their father had instilled a love of horse racing in them. His father had often said that if it had been up to him, he’d be raising racehorses.
As a child, he’d asked his father why he wasn’t raising racehorses. His father had said that it was because a man could only have so many irons in the fire. If he had too many, something was sure to fail. He would be a failure.
Not understanding, Myles had pushed for more of an answer, and that’s when his father had told him about how a man has to have priorities, and he’d told him about love. About how he’d fallen in love with his mother. About how his dreams and priorities had shifted, and that Myles would understand that better when he was grown up and fell in love with a woman.
