Unexpectedly Engaged to the Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

North of Hampstead, 1815

Lady Penelope Cromwell tucked a loose auburn lock behind her ear as she paused her reading and looked out the tall east-facing window onto the rolling green of the garden beyond. It appeared as if a storm was coming in, and that suited her just fine. She would much rather spend the evening reading in solitude, expanding her mind, rather than attending the Duke of Ravenshollow’s country ball.

She looked down at the title in her lap, Palladio’s “Four Books of Architecture.” Reading it was a lovely way to spend an evening. Even though she had read this particular tome many times before, she was hoping to commit it to memory. Someday, she hoped to teach these principles in a school for children. Penelope often thought of children unlike her.

Working-class children were too often seen as nothing more than cheap, disposable labour in factories and on the docks of the Thames. She wished to help those children. Penelope knew that giving them an educational start in life could only serve to enrich their futures as well as the future of England.

“My darling girl,” The Dowager Countess of Cromwell, and Penelope’s fierce and staunch grandmother, came gliding into the library. “Why are you wasting the day away straining your eyes in that book? You should be preparing for tonight’s festivities.”

The older woman practically sucked all the air out as she entered the room, and a chill settled upon Penelope. If it wasn’t for the excited chittering of her two younger sisters, Catherine and Elizabeth, who followed their grandmother like obedient puppies, Penelope would have thought her grandmother a spectre of her imagination.

“The ball is yet hours away, Grandmother. Certainly, I do not need hours to change a gown and my hair.”

“And we have selected the perfect gown. It is the plum that Mama had the modiste make for you at the beginning of the season. It will go so lovely with your hair and your green eyes.” Elizabeth did love dresses, ribbons, and anything to do with popular fashion. In many ways, her youngest sister was Penelope’s polar opposite.

“Oh, and Penny, the Duke of Ravenshollow will be in attendance.” Catherine always radiated curiosity and candour with a sweet smile. And Penelope could not help but return it.

“I should hope so, as it is he who is hosting the affair,” Penelope replied.

“Did you know grandmother has secured us all an introduction?”

“Did she, Lizzie? And whatever for?” Penelope shot a wary glance in her grandmother’s direction.

The dowager countess gave her a pointed look as she sat on the blue velvet settee, adjusting her already perfect day gown.

“I think you know exactly what for, child. It is high time you do your duty and secure this family a match.”

Penelope resisted the strongest urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to be overtly impertinent to her grandmother.

“He is the most eligible bachelor of the ton.”  Catherine, once again pointing out incredibly unhelpful facts, seemed not to notice that she was not helping the situation.

“Just think of all the prospects a proper introduction to the duke can bring, child.”

“I hardly think that a duke who has not been seen outside of the county in as long as he has shall bring any boon of suitors in my direction,” Penelope said partly under her breath.

The continued suggestion that Penny marry was becoming rather tiresome. After all, it was her third season out, and she had yet to be approached. Not that she minded, having higher, much more important pursuits than a politically or socially advantageous marriage. Did the children who slaved away uneducated in England’s factories ever concern themselves with marriage?

     I think not …

It wasn’t as if Penelope had no desire to marry. Of course, she did, it was just that it was a rather low priority for her. If it never happened, she would not be heartbroken; in fact, a love match was the exact opposite of what she desired.

Perhaps a man, similar to herself in intellect and demeanour, would catch her eye in a friendly sort of way. Someone of slight stature with a pleasing countenance. Someone who cared as much as she did for the education of children. But the children would always be her true love. Education reform and helping those less fortunate would be the love match she desired.

After all, how could she even conceive of children of her own, while so many already alive suffered so much?

“A duke is a duke, my dear, and any connection to him, whether a recluse or not, is a good connection for this family and for you. And you never know, perhaps he may become smitten, and we shall have a ducal match.”

“Grandmother, we’ve been over this. Please, there is no need to rush a match,” Penelope spoke firmly but gently. The last thing she wanted to do was provoke her grandmother into another long-winded lecture about duty towards herself and her sisters. It was bad enough that the peace of the afternoon was already all but ruined by talk of the night’s ball. “Besides, I’m quite sure the duke would have much better prospects than a lowly earl’s daughter.”

“Stuff and nonsense, girl!” Her grandmother gently patted the seat next to her, and Penelope rose and sat next to her. As soon as she sat, her grandmother enveloped Penelope’s hands, intertwining them with her own soft fingers. There was nothing gentle, however, in her tone. “You are a prize for any man, regardless of rank and station. And do not forget it! Cromwell women are meant for greatness.”

“Grandmother, while I appreciate your encouragement, like I said, it is not my intention to marry at this time. Perhaps I shall be allowed to skip the ball altogether. Catherine and Lizzie will both be in attendance. Surely, they deserve the introductions more than I?”

“You know well enough that as the oldest, you must be matched before your sisters,” her grandmother reminded. “And we will not have this discussion again.” She turned to Catherine and Elizabeth. “Get gone, both of you, upstairs to rest and get ready for the ball. Your sister will follow.”

She shooed the girls away and stood, turning to Penelope as she made to take her leave. Her expression was more serious than Penelope had remembered seeing before.

“You will attend this evening, and you will have a match. If you do not secure your own, I have arranged a meeting with Lord Whitmore. He is looking for a new bride, and I will see you engaged one way or another.”

Penelope stiffened. Lord Whitmore was double her age and definitely of a temperament that would not be interested in her ideals. It would be a disastrous match.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but my dear, I would.”

Her grandmother walked out of the library with her head held high. Penelope was frozen still. How could it possibly be that her grandmother would force her into an unwanted marriage? She had known that the idea of Penelope being labelled a wallflower, or a spinster, was something her grandmother did not want to face, but to actually make the arrangements to marry her off to the ageing Lord Whitmore? It was a step too far. She must get her mother involved; surely her mama would put a stop to this.

Penelope felt the sting of unshed angry tears behind her eyes as she made her way to the library door and out into the hallway.

As she neared the parlour where her mother typically took her afternoon tea, she was stopped by the discussion coming from the room.

“You have always been too permissive with the girl, Margaret. Allowing her to spend her days idly, reading, focusing more on her intellect than her duty to this family. Were my Charles still alive, I would be more apt to overlook your indulgence, but that is not the situation we find ourselves in.”

“Priscilla, I do understand, but surely you are too hard on Penny. To force a marriage, she does not want? Is there no other way?”

Penelope had never heard the pleading tone in her mother’s voice and thought about making herself known to offer her support to her mama in the discussion that was clearly focused on her, but curiosity kept her quiet at the door.

“She must marry. I take no joy in forcing Whitmore onto her, but the estate is already in the hands of Charles’s cousin. He will be arriving at the end of the month. We have no notion of his intentions towards us or the girls. We will most likely be left destitute. Then what hope have we for a successful match for any of the girls?”

The thought of a new earl coming in to replace her father made Penelope shudder. How had she not considered what that could mean for her and her sisters? How could she be that naïve?

“Do you really think that would be the case?” Her mother’s voice shook, and Penelope’s heart began to break for her.

“I do. Do you think the new lady of the house will be inclined to take care of three young ladies all out in society? And if Penelope does not secure a decent match, what hope do Catherine and Elizabeth have for their futures? No money and out on the street. You must get your head out of the clouds, Margaret.”

“I hardly think a recluse of a duke like Ravenshollow will match with our Penny? And what of her wants and educational pursuits?”

Penelope could not help feeling her heart swell at hearing her mother’s concern for Penelope’s desires above her own welfare. Mama had always been encouraging and engaged in her love of learning. It was a rare thing for a mother of the peerage, but Penelope always did suspect her mother was a bit of a hidden bluestocking.

“One could scarcely dare hope for a ducal match, but truly, his attention and introduction will be just the sort of attention on our girl as we need to get every eligible bachelor in attendance looking her way. That is the goal of the evening. Once we have Penelope good and married, she will be too busy running her own household to tarry in such nonsense. You honestly should not encourage her so.”

“We must give Penny more time,” her mother pleaded.

“Time is something we no longer have, my dear. She comes away tonight with a husband, or I shall provide her with Whitmore.”

The finality in her grandmother’s tone froze Penelope in her thoughts. No money, and her sisters out on the streets. Her grandmother’s words repeated in her head.  How was it that she had no idea? Penelope would never want her actions to lead to her sisters’ ruination.

Anger welled up from somewhere deep inside her. Her grandmother clearly had good reason for all her talk of matches and marriage. Had it not occurred to her or Mama to tell her they were destitute and at the mercy of some unknown cousin? She was three and twenty; she could have handled the information. Perhaps she would not have been so stubborn and dismissive.

Penelope knew what she had to do, and as much as it pained her to give in to her grandmother’s machinations, the realization that the older woman was only doing what was needed for her and her sisters’ very survival did not make the bitter pill any easier to swallow. She would have to find a match. Their very lives depended on it.

Chapter Two

“What can we do to improve the position of both the farmer’s workload and the estate’s coffers, Maxwell?”

Sebastian Montclair, Duke of Ravenshollow, ran a tired hand through his black hair. He had no idea the estate’s financials were in such disrepair. He had not been attentive to the affairs of the estate. It had been almost three years to the day since he closed himself up in this house. His sister’s death, so closely followed by that of his mother, left him stricken with grief. He had no desire to act in the role of duke. Responding to correspondence, pretending to be a part of society, and truly his responsibilities at large seemed insignificant to his loss. But that all stopped as of now.

Were it not for the persistent nagging of the solicitor forcing his hand to take a meeting, he would likely still be unaware of the goings on of his estate and his tenants’ needs. But the man had been adamant. Sebastian relented, and the solicitor came to see him, and it was made clear that the estate’s current status left much to be desired. He only had himself to blame.

“Well, Your Grace, there are several advances in mechanics, as well as things such as crop rotation and …” the steward’s voice trailed off. Engineering and modernized techniques were things that Sebastian could see himself excited about. He would love to bring new systems to the estate, but where could he even begin?

His steel grey eyes glazed over, causing him to blink rapidly to clear them as he stared at the maps of the estate’s farmland rolled out onto the dark mahogany desk. The desk had been his father’s and his grandfather’s before that, but he hardly imagined either man being overly concerned with anything other than ensuring the estate’s ponds and lakes were fully stocked for sport and the liquor cabinets filled with drink. He had been on a path for a different outcome other than those begun by his predecessors, but to his own shame, he had allowed his grief to plunge what was left of the estate into ruin. He was just like them, and that disgusted him.

That all ends now, I will restore the estate to its rightful glory, he thought, forcing his determination to win out over all else. Although he was not entirely sure that he believed it.

“We will have to meet with each farmer. Set something up, at their convenience, of course.” His request was met with utter silence. “Maxwell? What say you, man?”

For as long as he had worked with the old man, silence was one thing that did not happen often. Sebastian looked up from his maps to see the reason his solicitor no longer seemed to be paying him attention. Her Grace, Lady Daphne, the Duchess of Beauchamp, sauntered into his private study, unannounced as usual. Her blonde hair was wrapped in a tight chignon, and her pale pink day dress was the perfect accompaniment to her delicate pale skin. She was the epitome of society’s beauty standards. The perfect English rose, and he could easily see how she was able to stop Maxwell mid-sentence.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important, gentlemen,” she said, running her refined hand over the maps on the desk. “I was overseeing the preparations for tonight’s festivities and thought I would come in and fill Sebas … er … his grace in on the progress.”

“Of course not, Your Grace. I was just leaving.” Maxwell was a puddle of liquid man under the duchess’s gaze, the poor fool. Sebastian knew they would get no more work accomplished this day; best to let the man take his leave.

“Maxwell, that’s enough for today. Let me think on what we’ve discussed today, and we can reconvene shortly. We shall be in touch.” He walked the solicitor to his study door, where a butler was waiting. One nod to the man and a firm handshake, and Sebastian turned back to Lady Daphne.

“Your Grace,” she said, taking his offered hand as he led her to the settee. “Everything for tonight’s festivities is progressing perfectly.”

“That is good to hear. But if it’s all so perfect, what is it that you need from me?” He hated the idea of the ball and was not sure why exactly he had allowed her to talk him into it. Initially, he had only agreed because she had been a good friend through his grief and seemed to understand his need to stay in the country and out of the harsh attentions of society.

“Well, as you know, this will be your re-entry into society, and that is where I come in. You know, darling, no one understands you as I do, and I want you to know I’ll be right there at your side for the entire evening.”

“I’m sure that won’t be entirely necessary. It is true that I’ve not been an active player in the ton’s recent seasonal activities, but I assure you, I do not need a chaperone or protector.” He was sure he could navigate a simple country ball.

“The ton’s most recent seasonal activities?”

The duchess gave a pout that Sebastian was not sure was entirely genuine.

“Darling, forgive me, but you have been rather reclusive for almost three years. And while I completely understand your reasons, more so, I dare say, than any other, the ton is not as understanding. Having a venerated member of society on your arm to navigate the evening would be nothing but a benefit to you.”

“Madam, I do appreciate your efforts, and as always, your friendship has been a great help these past few years, but it is only a ball.”

He stood and made his way back to his desk, where he diligently began cleaning up the maps and papers from his meeting with the solicitor, hoping her grace would take his hint and take her leave. She always seemed to be underfoot, and while he meant what he said about her friendship, he found that more often than not, she prevented him from the solitude he craved.

“It is not only a ball,” she persisted, making it clear she had no intention of leaving his study. “Why, it will be the social event of the season. All of the peerage will be in attendance, at least all who matter.”

To Sebastian, none of them mattered, not truly. He had been in no state of mind to navigate the marriage-minded mothers, the vapid pleasure-seeking husbands, or the desperate daughters who would all be vying for the attention of a young, unattached duke. But he found that to save his estate from ruin, and to keep his own reputation somewhat intact, he needed those people and their investment in him, in both money and reputation. And with the Duchess of Beauchamp’s gentle encouragement, he had decided it was time to reemerge, whether he liked the idea of a ball or not.

“I hardly think too much business will be discussed this evening, yet I reluctantly agreed, so we will move forward.” He tried to keep his tone even. He had no desire to hurt the woman’s feelings. Knowing all too well what the consequences could be, based on the last time he hurt a woman he cared for.

Lady Daphne had been a loyal, if not overbearing, friend in his life. There had been moments since everything changed that he was not sure he would still be standing upright if it had not been for her interference and insistence that he eat or drink. His guilt and grief were so overwhelming that he could scarcely care for himself. But he no longer needed such protection or care. While he would always be grateful for her friendship, he was ready to stand again on his own feet.

Lady Daphne stood and met him at the desk, placing an unwanted hand on his arm. “Do you not think that with me on your arm and every prestigious member of the peerage in attendance, you shall find one or two men willing to discuss your estate improvements?”

Her voice was sweet, but in a too-sweet way that reminded Sebastian of the stomachaches he would get as a child after sneaking candied nuts from Cook’s kitchen, hiding in the nursery as he gorged himself. She flashed a beautiful smile at him, “Besides, do you not think it would be a perfect night to make an important announcement about our future?”

Sebastian stepped out of her touch. Could she be implying what he thought she was implying?

“Madam, if I have ever given the impression that our acquaintance was anything other than friendship, you have my sincerest apologies.”

“Nonsense, darling, no apology is necessary.”

Sebastian released the air in his lungs, not realizing he had been holding his breath.

“Very well, then.” He turned from her and continued with his organizing, thankful he had misunderstood her comments.

“Some of the greatest marriages of our lifetimes started as friendship, and some not even with that. I expect you shall propose tonight, and I shall accept with all of my happiness.”

     She is serious.

“Surely, you can’t mean to be asking me for a proposal, Madam?”

Sebastian thought back on all his attention to her over the last three years. Had he somehow led her to expect this? He could think of no improper behaviour, even when he was half mad with grief; he had always only acted as a gentleman. They never had a chaperone in attendance when she would arrive at the estate, but she was a widow, and societal rules did not dictate that one was needed.

He never visited her at her estate or in town. He had never so much as touched her outside a hand to help her enter a carriage, or to help her find a seat. How could she come to such a conclusion as a proposal of marriage? It could not be for the title, as she was already a duchess. Nor for money, as she was well aware he had little, and she was rich in her own right.

“But, Sebastian,” Even though she used it often, he blanched at her use of his given name at this moment. It seemed somehow too intimate for this setting and this conversation.  “How could I expect anything less? Your absence from society these years has caused talk. Some even go so far as to wonder if you are indeed fit to hold your title. I know, of course, that it is nonsense. You are more than your title, and entirely capable of turning the estate around. And I am in want of a partner, willing not only to run your household, but to be your support, your champion in the eyes of the peerage. Surely you see it is a perfect match.”

Sebastian felt like laughing, as surely this was some attempt at a joke, but one look into Lady Daphne’s ice-cold gaze told him not only was she serious, but dangerously so.

“Like I said,” he stepped towards the study door, opening it and offering her space to take her leave. “I do appreciate your friendship and all of your efforts with tonight’s ball. I am honoured to have you as my guest this evening. But I can and shall greet my guests alone.”

Lady Daphne’s normally serene facade dropped for just a moment as she made her way out of the study door. “You will propose tonight, my love, or you will regret it.”

He was silent as she turned and was gone, leaving Sebastian to wonder how in all that was holy had he allowed his grief and guilt all these years to cloud his judgement enough that he missed the woman’s intentions.

Chapter Three

The breeze coming into the ballroom from the tall, open, terrace windows was warm and not at all refreshing. Sebastian stood at the top of the entryway, taking in the scene unfolding below. The musicians on the dais were warmed up and playing a gentle quadrille. He watched as at least twelve couples lined up on the dance floor, man opposite woman. They spun and moved in an intricate pattern, which he supposed would be forever part of a good societal education.

His eyes found Lady Daphne, as she made her way across the ballroom towards him. No matter where he found himself, she seemed to find him. It was as if he were a lighthouse guiding her vessel ashore. She had firmly planted herself by his side and was playing hostess.

He would not embarrass or shame her in front of the guests, but she should not be surprised that her idea of a proposal would not be forthcoming.

He wished Lord Hartwell had been able to make an appearance. He could at least retire to the smoking room with him to escape the duchess and her scheming. But alas, his friend had been forced to stay in town, and Sebastian was left to his own devices.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” He turned to see one of the many eager mothers giving him a bow.  “‘Tis a lovely ball, and my Emiline here was just noting how wonderful the dancing has been.”

Both women gave a deep curtsy.

He bowed in return, wishing he could remember the older woman’s name. Was it Lady Festerhall? Lesterhall? Curse his horrible memory. The young woman beside her could have been no more than nineteen and fidgeted, nearly bursting with excitement at the idea of meeting him, looking ever so much like an eager child, thrilled at the idea of being in the room with a duke.

“Thank you, My Lady,” he replied. “I am ever so glad you chose to attend.” He attempted to keep his tone and speech even, hoping to put the young woman at ease without adding encouragement to her obvious enthrallment with him.

“I must steal his grace away, Lady Lesterwall.” Lady Daphne swooped in, taking his arm and giving no further explanation as she forced his leave before he could make any further introduction. “Her husband is long dead,” she whispered. “And can do us no favour. She only seeks to use her daughter to elevate her station.”

“If you continue to refuse my conversation with every person here, I shall not accomplish a thing at this wretched ball,” he snapped, keeping his voice low. This was no less than the fourth time this hour that someone had approached and she had interceded. She gave a practical reason for each interruption, but still, people were bound to notice and talk.

“Nonsense. If the right person approaches, I will be more than happy to allow a conversation to continue. I just fear you will waste your time with those of little importance.”

“Little importance? These are our peers you speak of with such lowly disdain.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, hoping to keep the oncoming headache at bay. She was incredulous.

“Come, darling. I believe it is a good time to dance. The orchestra is planning its next song to be a waltz.”

“The dance will have to keep; I see Mrs Eversley trying to gain my attention. Perhaps there is an issue with the food.”  He pulled from her grasp and headed through the crowd before she could protest. It was a ridiculous excuse, as the food was perfection and Mrs Eversley had nothing to do with it. But he knew he could not grant Lady Daphne a second dance of the evening, as that would all but solidify that an engagement was forthcoming. He had no doubt she knew that as well, which was why she insisted.

“Your Grace, how lovely to see you and not on the arm of Duchess Beauchamp for once this evening.”

He practically ran into the older woman, as she held out her cane to stop him.

“My Lady,” he bowed. She was one of the few members of society whose reputation preceded her. He had seen her at events before his seclusion and always found her to be a respectable if not stern woman. “How are you enjoying the festivities?”

The Dowager Countess of Cromwell gave him a steadied gaze, her emerald eyes not missing a thing. “I would gather I’m enjoying the evening as much as you are, Your Grace. It certainly is an opulent affair. Your father would be proud.”

Taking her meaning, Sebastian found he held a touch of respect for the dowager even though, at the mention of his father, he bristled. The man was indeed a spendthrift who enjoyed throwing the estate’s money into wasteful things like fancy balls and long, luxurious dinners. He did not like the comparison, yet found in the older woman’s tone that she, too, felt his father was too much by half.

“Thank you, My Lady. But pleasing my father’s memory is not a goal of mine.”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, but it is good to know.” Sebastian thought he caught the hint of a smile on her lips. “For want of changing the subject, I would like to introduce you to my granddaughters, as you stated in your correspondence, you would be open to an introduction this evening. Although I seem to be missing one of the young ladies at the moment, I shall endeavour to gather them.”

The dowager looked around the ballroom, in an effort that Sebastian could only guess was to put eyes on the ladies in question. And though he would never willingly neglect his duty in fulfilling an obligation, at the moment, with Lady Daphne looking to secure her future, he would need to delay.

“My Lady, I would beg your forgiveness, as I’m needed elsewhere at the moment. But I shall seek you out at the first opportunity.”

Sebastian gave the woman a bow that she returned with a slight curtsy and moved on through the crush, hoping his delay with the countess did not give Lady Daphne any opportunity to close in on him. He shivered inside at the thought of the scene she could create, not only by insisting on the second dance of the evening, a waltz no less, but what she would do when he refused her outright.

She was a singular woman on a mission, and Sebastian had been foolish to trust her motives all this time. How could she even think he would be agreeable to a marriage of convenience? He had no desire to wed Lady Daphne. He did not find her intellect a match for his own, and she was much too acquiescent as a partner. At least she had been when she was playing her part.

No, Sebastian would only ever settle down if the woman who caught his eye was of wit, intelligence, and able to be a willing partner in his endeavours. He would not want a woman who was only after society’s praise and power. He and Lady Daphne would never suit.

He wandered the quiet halls, leaving the bustle of the ballroom behind. He knew his presence would be missed and noted before too long, but a moment of solitude was necessary.

It was hardly fair that he was the one throwing the lavish ball for his own gain when it should have been for Caroline, his sister. He remembered her bustling energy and her accomplished air. At nineteen, she had just been out in society. Would she have still been on the marriage market, somehow? Sebastian doubted it.

Caroline would have been properly matched and most likely hosting this soiree with him, as his de facto hostess, while doing her level best to field all the eager mothers looking to saddle him with a bride. He would have long been retired to the smoking room with his brother-in-law, and she would have used a gentle hand and only offered introductions to those ladies with whom she knew he would find interest. She was a gentle soul, so much wiser than her years. Always their mother’s favourite. Not that he minded, she was his favourite as well.

There is no time to think about fantasies that could have been, he chastised himself.

As he approached his study, Sebastian noticed the door was slightly open. There was a light coming from within.

Odd, he thought, I didn’t ask for the hearth to be lit tonight.

Just as well, he could find a moment or two of peace in his study. Perhaps he would be able to review more of the farming plans he and Maxwell had begun to discuss that afternoon before Lady Daphne made her aspirations known to him.

As he entered the study, he was taken aback. Amongst the warm light given from the fire in the hearth was a woman. An auburn-haired vision wearing a plum evening gown in the current fashion. The colour should have detracted from her beauty, but Sebastian thought it did the opposite. The gown not only complemented her fair complexion beautifully but served to do her slight, graceful-looking figure a great justice. She was sitting in his favourite leather armchair, completely engrossed in her reading. The picture she painted was one of serene intelligence. So much so that Sebastian felt he should shake his head to clear what was obviously a hallucination. Lady Daphne’s insistence on his proposal and the thoughts of his sister must have put women on his mind, so in his delusional state, he created this one out of thin air.

He would have been perfectly content leaving the apparition to her reading and returning to the ball, except for one thing. The book she was holding open in her lap was his very rare and extremely valuable copy of Vitruvius’s De Architectura.