The duke wins a bride, p.2
The Duke Wins a Bride, page 2
She had started her campaign to wear down the baron—pleading and debating, raging and arguing with her father week in and week out—but he would not budge. It was unusual for him to be so stubborn against an onslaught of logic, emotion, and reasoning, but she worked against his greatest passion—his social status. He had firmly planted his feet and he would not give an inch, no matter what argument she put forth.
Her future hung in the balance. She could not allow herself to be forced into an empty marriage. All she wanted was to leave this cold, empty household behind to create her own loving family. There was nothing left for her here at Baydon Hall. There had not been since her dear mother had left this earth and her brother had left her behind. Unfortunately, The Stable Incident proved there was also nothing for her at Richard’s country seat as his unappreciated and neglected wife. Marriage to him would sentence her to decades of the same emptiness she had been attempting to escape.
Oh Mama, if only you were still here!
Annabel had not felt so alone since her mother had passed away. Within a few months, Richard had entered her life, and she had believed she had found a loyal friend. Now she found herself alone again, the friendship with the earl proved to be a lie and the truth revealed. She had always been alone as she was now, standing in the hall to contemplate her future with no confidant to help her thwart the baron’s plans. The irony was that, under former circumstances, the earl would have been the one helping her to plot her escape, but here she stood, desperate to escape him.
Annabel felt her eyes prickling. She squared her shoulders and forced the tears back. There was no time to mourn her lost love with the faithless Richard, for if she did not make haste, she would soon mourn her lost future, which would be far more distressing than this temporary loss. What was a broken heart compared to a broken future? The first would mend, the second was irreparable. Nay, she would find her path back to happiness even if it killed her.
“Mrs. Harris, what can I do? There must be a way to stop this wedding!”
Mrs. Harris’s expression was pensive, her brow furrowed, and her rosy cheeks had paled while she sat next to Annabel. It was against all propriety for the servant to be seated at the breakfast table, but Annabel had dismissed the footmen to speak privately with the only ally she had—her widowed housekeeper, who agreed with her that the wedding could not proceed. The older woman had been like a mother to her since her own had died eleven years prior, and Annabel did not care to allow de rigueur to interfere with their close relationship while her entire life was unraveling.
“Child, I am not sure. You say Lord Filminster just won’t budge … if you cannot change the baron’s mind, could you somehow convince Lord Saunton to call it off?”
“I tried. I begged and pleaded. I pointed out he could find someone more willing to abide by the type of marriage he wishes to have. He is so stubborn, he said it must be me. He complains he met dozens of debutantes during the last two Seasons, but not one whom he could mildly tolerate, so he will not go searching for a new wife when he has already made his choice.”
The older woman appeared to muse on this absentmindedly as she picked up a flaky bun from Annabel’s plate to nibble on. “Is there someone that his lordship—Lord Saunton, that is—would listen to? Someone who could convince him to change his mind?”
“Hmm … that is a fresh idea to consider, but who?” Annabel tapped her teeth with her fingernail in agitation as she thought about her conversations with Richard over the better part of the past decade. After a few moments, she answered, “His cousin, the Duke of Halmesbury. Richard used to mention the duke all the time, although he has not in a while—”
“The Duke of Halmesbury, you say? Where have I heard that name just recently?” the housekeeper interjected, a frown on her face as she searched her memory. “I know!” she exclaimed, startling Annabel when she leapt from her seat to leave the breakfast room.
Annabel stared after her retreating form through the open door as the rotund woman trotted in haste down the hall. Glum, Annabel turned back to her plate of eggs, ham, and fruit. She forked up some baked eggs and brooded while she chewed, staring in bemusement at her china teacup.
She looked back to the door when she heard Mrs. Harris’s huffing return. The housekeeper was clutching a copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine under one arm, her other hand pressed to her heaving bosom. Stepping back into the breakfast room, she turned and shut the door once again with a disheveled swipe at her perspiring brow.
“I found it!” the housekeeper trilled as she resumed the seat next to Annabel.
“Found what?”
“The most recent copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine included an article on the Duke of Halmesbury.” Annabel arched an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that, child! Lord Filminster discarded it and Stedman reads it to us belowstairs, so we know what is happening.”
“Well, show it to me, then.”
“I don’t know which page it is on. You shall have to find it. These eyes are not what they used to be, and the letters are too small.”
Annabel concealed a smile as she took the magazine from the servant’s roughened hand and began to flip its pages. “Here it is! ‘His Grace, the Duke of Halmesbury, renowned for his estimable charitable work, recently oversaw the renovations and restaffing of The Halmesbury Home for Children’ … I wouldn’t have thought The Gentleman’s Magazine would print articles about foundling homes?”
“They do not, but His Grace is the most marriageable noble in the kingdom. The article is about him, not his works. Fathers such as Lord Filminster read it.”
“Ah, fathers who need to marry off their daughters in order to make important connections. I see your point.” Annabel quickly read through the article and looked up in excitement. “He is in residence at his country seat, Avonmead, in Wiltshire, to oversee the reopening of the children’s home. That is just a day’s ride from here, Mrs. Harris!”
“Aye, but a day’s ride might as well be all the way to London, child. How will you get there to talk to him?”
Annabel chewed on a fingernail as she thought. “I could feign an illness and take to my chambers. You could insist on bringing my meals to me, so we pretend I am here while I secretly ride to visit the duke. It will be a secret between you, me, and Gibbons. As stable master, he will have to hide the fact that I have taken a mount.”
Mrs. Harris’s broad face looked appalled, her horrified hazel eyes searching Annabel’s face. “Have you gone mad?”
“Mrs. Harris, I can do this. I will dress in my customary riding garb with an overcoat and hat to ensure I appear to be a man. I will avoid other travelers on the road and ride straight through to Avonmead. Then the kindly duke with the excellent reputation will send me back in a carriage. It is a minor risk of a few hours to save my future.”
Mrs. Harris looked uncertain.
“Mrs. Harris, if I do not find a solution to evading this marriage, I will have no choice but to sell my jewels and run off to the Continent. Or travel north to Scotland to find an occupation.”
The older woman hissed in horror, her wide face crumpling as she considered Annabel’s words.
“And Mama would want me to be bold to save myself,” Annabel added gently.
Mrs. Harris sighed, worry lines wreathing her face. “Aye, but she will return from the grave to murder me if anything happens to you.” At those words, Annabel knew the housekeeper was almost decided in her favor, so she waited in silence as Mrs. Harris continued. “We will have to imply it is your monthly illness or his lordship will call for a doctor. If he thinks it is your monthly courses, he will stay far away to avoid your feminine vapors, as he likes to call them. I could buy a couple of days if I shoo the maids away from your rooms and take your meals upstairs myself.”
Annabel clapped her hands in delight before leaning forward to buss the worried housekeeper on her plump cheek. “You are a treasure, Mrs. Harris.”
“Aye, a treasure of a fool to even think about this. And I will be a fat fool when I eat all your meals for you,” she agreed in a plaintive tone.
Annabel continued, distracted by her planning. “I shall leave this evening to ride overnight, so I reach his estate by midmorning.”
“Overnight!” cried the housekeeper.
“Yes, there will be less chance of being seen. It is a full moon tonight so I can see to ride.”
“But blackguards … and highwaymen … and … and men!”
“Mrs. Harris, I will ride steadily all night to not tire the horse and save his stamina, so I can ride like the wind if I hear so much as a twig snap. I will take the pistol with the double barrels to protect myself, and I will be sure to avoid encountering anyone. No one will expect to waylay a lone rider after midnight. One must assume criminals are lazy by nature, so they will have gone off to drink themselves into a stupor by the time I ride. Now let me go see Mr. Gibbons to discuss which mount will traverse the distance best without wearing out.”
The normally cheerful matron croaked in despair as she dropped her head into her folded arms on the table. “Child, you will be the death of me.”
“Felicitations on your birthday, Your Grace.”
Philip Markham, the seventh Duke of Halmesbury, grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. “Thank you, but I am afraid, Jones, with the advent of my thirtieth birthday, it is time for me to take care of my duty. I shall have to brave the vapidness of the coming Season in search of a new wife.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. It will be a pleasant change to have a lady in residence.” Jones kept a straight face as Philip snorted.
“Only if the young lady cares to allow me to warm her bed,” muttered Philip under his breath.
“Your Grace?”
“Nothing, Jones, nothing worth repeating.”
Shortly after Jones had left his room, Philip stared once more at his reflection in the full-length mirror with carved gilded frame that had been a part of the master chambers for longer than Philip had been alive. All this history, the family legacy that he needed to protect for the next generation, weighed like a heavy burden across his shoulders. It had not always felt like such a burden, but the events of the past few years had made him grow weary of the entire matter. He was now thirty years of age. He had been married, then widowed, and he was childless, without a son to inherit his dukedom. Somehow, he did not feel inclined to celebrate his birthday.
He squared his shoulders. Never mind that, it had been three long years since his wife had departed this life. It was time to move on. He could see the faint lines forming at the corner of his eyes, along with mild frown lines. He wished he had smile lines to match, but he had had little to smile about in some time.
His loneliness was a palpable pall that permeated the depths of his soul. Palpable pall that permeated? He groaned. It was regrettable to find himself waxing poetic, a sure sign it was high time to relinquish his hermitage. His lack of stimulating company was slowly driving him mad.
It had long been his plan to fill the Markham manor with the laughter of his children, to lavish love upon them by his thirtieth year. Just as his parents had lavished attentions on him when he was a boy. Time had crept on, but he was still alone with no wife or children to bear his name. Life had dealt him a tough hand to upset his plans. He had chosen Jane Marley to be his wife, which was his first mistake. Then he had bumbled the wedding night with his timid debutante of a wife, launching their strained marriage. He had subsequently suffocated her with his over-attentiveness until she could no longer bear to be in his presence, which had driven her to—
Philip stopped his thoughts in their tracks. No point in dwelling on the past. It was time to close the door on that chapter and plan how to be better in the future. He could learn from his mistakes and remarry, this time to the right woman, a woman bolder than Jane. He would curtail his affections and desires to achieve domestic bliss, followed by merry children who would fill this empty home with the sound of play. Then he would finally have the young family he had dreamed of since his parents had passed, leaving him and his younger brother alone in the world.
Except for Richard, whispered a dire inner voice. Yes, Philip agreed, if only he had been alone with only his brother instead of having had his treacherous cousin, Richard Balfour, to contend with.
No matter, he would not have to concern himself with Richard, as there was no longer any connection to that depraved worm. He would find his bold new duchess. His own sensual desires appeared to be a thing of the past, so he would not burden the lady with excess appetites. His bride would be a young woman who wanted companionship, family, and who had mutual interests. He was no longer the young fool he had been. His first marriage proved he had not been built for romantic love but rather a calm companionship that did not stoke the unwanted passions that the realities of this leadership role he had been born to could not assuage.
He was mature and worldly, a widower mellowed with experience and beloved within his local community. A pleasant marriage to a strong woman did not seem too much to ask after all this time alone to reflect on his mistakes. It would be … nice to break his long abstinence and engage in relations with a woman. Perhaps he would find a wife who would consent to a wedding day within this following year before his next birthday.
Philip inspected his reflection. He still cut a fine figure, visibly strong and healthy in his buckskins, linen shirt, waistcoat, and navy tailcoat. As he rubbed a cuff on one of the brass buttons, he inspected his posture, which was still straight. Thousands of hours of riding on the estate, and fighting in his London clubs, had formed his powerful figure. He would do.
Now he just needed to begin his hunt for his bride. Learning from the mistakes of his past, he knew she must be bold, forthright in her conversation, and able to meet his eye. It was not fashionable to do such things. Noble families raised their daughters to be coquettish and speak on meaningless topics, so he would need to search through many young ladies to find one who broke the mold, who had not had her spirit broken by what society deemed acceptable behavior. A woman who was intelligent and … untamed. He was not inclined to be trapped in a marriage with a fearful, resentful, or uncommunicative wife again. His greatest desire was to experience the joys of a genuine marriage, such as the one his parents had enjoyed. He would not be looking for a timid girl who could not converse with her own husband.
For my birthday, I give myself leave to look for a bride and plan for a new generation of Markhams.
Annabel’s thighs and back were aching by the time she rode up to a copse of trees bordering the front drive of Avonmead. She had ridden through the night, and she estimated it was now about ten o’clock in the morning.
As she gazed up at the impressive Palladian edifice rising two towering stories, she felt her pulse quicken with trepidation. Should she walk up one of the front stone staircases to the portico and simply knock on the hardwood doors? Surely the servants would not grant her entry based on her unconventional attire. If they turned her away, the enormous risk she took in traveling here would be for naught. Why had she not brought a change of clothes? She’d been so focused on the journey, she had not thought ahead to the arrival. She could have cleaned up at the lake she had seen in the distance and donned a walking dress and pelisse to present herself at the front door as a lady. As she was now, she would appear to be a lout, if she even fooled the attending servant into thinking she was a lad in such proximity.
She sighed in resignation. It was too late to regret her lack of preparation now. Her nerves were starting to fail her. Hopefully, he was not one of those peers who slept half the day away. She was counting on him being an industrious man, as the magazine suggested, who rose early. If not, it would force her to hide out somewhere until he made an appearance.
Tick-tock, Annabel, tick-tock.
With the reminder of her impending wedding day racing toward her, she steeled her nerves and dismounted, tying Starling to one of the sturdy lower branches.
She rolled her shoulders to stretch out. The bulky overcoat had grown uncomfortable within the last couple of hours of riding. She was grateful that her expedition was occurring mid-autumn as the overcoat was a necessary part of her disguise. A month or two earlier, it would have been far too warm to have kept the coat on for the duration. As it was, she warmed to an uncomfortable degree after dawn had broken across the eastern sky to herald the start of the day. Right about the time she entered Wiltshire County, when the air had sounded with birdcalls as if to welcome her arrival.
Her ride had been uneventful, having started out from Baydon Hall at midnight with the full moon lighting a brilliant path on the roadways to be navigated. She concealed herself only twice in the woods and hedges to the side of the roads when oncoming mail coaches neared her position.
Swiping her brow and neck with a handkerchief, she considered her quest. The Duke of Halmesbury was her last chance to change her fate. If the quest failed, she would have to do something truly desperate to outwit her father’s plans, not to mention Richard’s despicable ideals of perfect marriage.
She may not be a beautiful English rose, but she must value herself, just as Mama had always instructed. Annabel’s only hope was to receive a warm reception rather than find herself in worsening circumstances. She prayed this was not a matter of leaping from the frying pan into the fire. The duke’s reputation was excellent, but she did not know what sort of man he really was. A kind one, she hoped with fervor.
Now that a plan was in motion, instead of lamenting her circumstances between arguments with her father, Annabel felt the fire of determination fueling her forward. Her body might tremble with exhaustion, but that fire would continue to energize her through this struggle. She must see this through, and she must succeed. Considering the walk up the driveway, she noted the leafy bushes would shield her from the manor windows.
