When a Governess Desires a Duke (Preview)

Prologue

Tranton House, London, 1818

As a society darling, Lady Eleanor Tamsworth, daughter of the Earl of Bromley, never thought she’d find herself embroiled in a scandal, yet here she was. The worst of it was that she hadn’t actually done anything wrong, no matter how tempted she had been. 

“You can complain all you like, young lady,” her father said, glaring at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes sparkling with anger. “The fact of the matter is, you made a fool of me, this family, and yourself. You will marry Lord Richards regardless of your feelings towards him. He is wealthy, titled, and decent, which is far better than you can expect, given the situation you have put yourself in.”

Eleanor snorted despite herself. “And he is fifty years old if he’s a day,” she snapped. “You can’t seriously expect me to—”

“You brought this on yourself,” he roared, irritated by her blatant insolence. “You tainted your reputation with your … your loose morals, and now—”

“Loose morals!” She cried the words, throwing her hands up in the air and shaking her head. Surely he couldn’t be serious? “Father, I told you before, I merely rode in a carriage with Lord Everton—”

“Without a chaperone,” he retorted. “What actually happened matters not, as we both know.”

The pair were in the parlour of Tranton House, recently decorated in the latest mode. The seats had been upholstered in canary yellow damask that matched the drapes, and the walls were lined with intricately detailed wallpaper. It had once been Eleanor’s favourite room in the house because it felt like she was stepping onto the sun’s surface, but after today, she doubted she would like it at all, as if it were the room  deciding her fate. 

“This whole thing has been blown entirely out of proportion,” she declared. “And you, Father, are merely perpetuating the rumours by insisting I marry that ugly old man!”

“Be careful, Eleanor,” he said, his voice low and intimidating. “That ugly old man is a dear friend of mine, and he is the only solution to your current dilemma.” 

Her father paced the room, his footsteps leaving marks in the thick shag of the Turkish rug, while Eleanor sat barefoot on the couch, watching him stride back and forth, back and forth. He was pensive by nature, but since the incident that had caused her downfall, it all seemed so much worse. 

“My reputation may well be tainted, but the whole thing is entirely unjust, and surely you, an intelligent man of some age and experience, must recognize that. I would have thought you’d be on my side.”

“I am on your side, Eleanor, which is why I have arranged for you to marry Lord Richards. You will end up a spinster otherwise.”

Eleanor huffed and leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest like some irritated child. She couldn’t believe how drastically her life had changed in the last month. Where before everyone adored her and she had endless prospects, now it seemed she was an outcast, and her only prospect was that found by her father—and no doubt some money was changing hands. 

All she did was travel home with Lord Everton. It was true there was no chaperone. Though it was not by design, Eleanor had found the whole situation exciting at the time. To be so near a man with no one watching had sent shivers down her spine, her mind filled with the secret images she normally only focused on at night, in the privacy of her own bedchambers. The truth was, Eleanor couldn’t wait to marry, for she was truly desperate to taste the sins of the flesh. She’d certainly thought about it often enough. 

With anyone but Lord Richards!

But that afternoon, with Lord Everton, nothing had happened other than in her mind, and now she was paying the price for something much worse. The injustice of it was enough to send her into a blind fury, and she had more than once thought that if she was going to have to pay the price, she should have allowed herself to misbehave during the actual incident. She hadn’t expected a backlash as serious as this, merely for travelling with a man. She should have known better. The ton were a fickle bunch. 

She sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 

“Perhaps there is someone else you could ask, Father,” she tried, hoping to placate him with her sweetness and thereby change his mind. It had always worked so well when she was a little girl, but its efficacy had waned of late. “Another of your friends at the club, perhaps?”

“You think I haven’t tried my very best, girl?” he snapped. “No one wants a sullied woman, let alone one as young as you. Consider yourself lucky that Lord Richards wants you at all.”

Lucky? She would have laughed if it were not quite so tragic. If she became Lady Richards, her life would be over. Her chance of happiness would disappear. And love? She shook her head. There could be no love with a man like Lord Richards, and love was all Eleanor truly wanted. 

That and what love brought with it. 

She believed she deserved it, too. At twenty years of age, she was a beautiful young thing—or at least, she’d been told that many times. Elegant and graceful with a willowy figure, she knew she caught the eye of many a gentleman when she sashayed around ballrooms and across gardens, but it was always with a soft naivety and a gentle kindness. 

She kept her rich chestnut hair in loose curls that cascaded around her face, giving her an air of sophistication. Her eyes were blue, like those of her father, who glared at her now. But while his eyes were cold and piercing, hers held the warmth of the summer sky and spoke of an intelligence that terrified many of the ladies in the ton. 

She was resilient by nature and would fight her father every step of the way. Her spirited independence and sharpness would make her difficult to outwit, though she had learned everything she knew from the earl himself. He would be a worthy opponent in this battle, though she was determined he would not win. 

“You cannot have spoken to every man in London,” she tried. “How about a businessman, if not a nobleman?”

Her father snorted this time. “And why, pray tell, would you lower yourself in such a way even more? Though I’d hoped you’d marry up, at least Lord Richards is an earl and not a commoner.”

“Why?” She allowed herself a small laugh as he reached the pianoforte, turned on his toes, and retraced his steps back to the window. “Because Lord Richards smells of onions, and I don’t think he’s had an interesting thing to say in his entire life.”

He turned to her and snapped. “And who are you to say such a thing when you are incapable of following a very simple set of rules, Eleanor? You know you are not permitted to be alone with a man, especially not when a chaperone is always available.”

Because I couldn’t resist. 

“It was mere circumstance that led—”

“Circumstance! If Everton himself had any decency, he would have ensured you wait—”

“Alone and at risk and in the pouring rain? Father, inviting me into the coach was the most gentlemanly thing he could have done. And besides, the coachman was sitting up front, barely three feet away from us.”

Her father turned again, marching back to the pianoforte. “That is as may be, young lady, but it doesn’t matter. Your reputation is in tatters, and there is no going back nor answering for it. The only way for you to recover from this and for this family to move from under this cloud is to find a husband. I have done that for you, daughter. You should be grateful to me instead of continually disrespecting me in my own home!”

Eleanor groaned. She had made such a mess of things, and she did hate it so when she and her father argued. He was a good, caring man in truth, and he was doing what he believed was the best for her. But Eleanor had never been one to believe in the rules of society, which, to her, seemed entirely arbitrary. And she would do everything in her power to ensure she did not have to marry Lord Richards—nor anyone else who did not take her fancy. 

“But surely you can see how unfair all this is,” she tried again. 

“Unfair doesn’t come into it,” he replied, turning once more. “The matter has been decided and that is that.”

“Decided?”

Eleanor’s gut churned. The word decided made it feel all the more real, as if perhaps she hadn’t had a chance to talk her father out of this after all. She’d thought that, perhaps, this was merely conjecture, discussion, but decided was firm and unrelenting. 

Her father stopped pacing and looked directly at her. His cheeks sagged, and beneath his eyes were dark circles. He looked at her with a range of pity and anger and annoyance and love, and Eleanor didn’t know which emotion to focus on. 

“Yes, Eleanor. It has been decided. Fair or otherwise, you must accept the consequences of your actions. You will be married to Lord Richards in two months’ time. The sooner you get used to the idea, the better.”

Without another word and not allowing for negotiation, the Earl of Bromley rushed out of the parlour in a storm. Eleanor fell back on the chair, her breath taken suddenly. Two months! 

“My Lady? My Lady?” 

The hurried whispers came from Bea, Eleanor’s devoted lady’s maid and best friend in the entire world. They’d grown so close in the fifteen years they’d been together. 

At thirty-and-five years of age, Beatrice Hawthorne was petite and nimble. She had a grace that matched Eleanor’s own, meaning she could easily navigate the world of the ton as well as help Eleanor face the challenges it brought. She was neat and tidy, with her chestnut hair in a small bun and her brown eyes warm and loyal. 

She was as intelligent and quick-witted as her lady, and to Eleanor, she had an unwavering commitment. They’d often joked that they were the same woman, walking different lifetimes, and in so many ways, that was true. 

“Oh, Bea,” Eleanor cried, turning to find comfort in her maid. “Did you hear?”

Bea nodded. “I heard it all. I’m so sorry, My Lady. It’s truly awful what your father is suggesting.”

“Demanding, not suggesting,” Eleanor replied. “Oh, Bea, what am I going to do?” 

Beatrice joined her on the couch, smoothing down her skirt before sitting to avoid creases. She wore her usual schooled expression, which belied any emotion, but Eleanor could see her mind working behind her eyes as she searched for a solution. Her dearest Bea always sought ways to make her lady’s life easier and better. 

“I don’t know,” Bea replied. “But leave it with me. We’ll come up with something, I promise.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible this time. Father is adamant, and he is right when he says it is my own fault, even if the furore around all this is unjust. Lord Everton and I—”

“I know, My Lady. You would never do such a thing.”

“But—”

Their conversation was cut rapidly short when the butler entered the room. 

“My Lady,” he said, “please forgive the intrusion, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor!” Eleanor looked to Bea for an answer. Her mind was in far too much turmoil to warrant a visit, and she was certain she would not be good company. But it was rude to turn people away, and it had been so very long since anyone had visited. “Who is it?”

“Lady Genevieve Lockhart, My Lady,” Beaumont replied. 

“And she wishes to see Lady Eleanor?” Bea asked, in as much shock as Eleanor herself. 

Indeed, since the scandal broke almost a month previously, Eleanor had not received a single visitor—neither male nor female. It seemed everyone was avoiding her for fear that they, too, would be tainted. 

Even though I did nothing wrong. 

“Lady Genevieve?” Bea whispered. “Isn’t she the pretty one with hazel eyes that Lord Stirling had his eye on?”

“The very same,” Eleanor whispered back. 

“Shall I show her in, My Lady, or tell her you are otherwise engaged?”

Eleanor looked at Bea, who looked back at her. The two then shrugged. It may not have been a good time for visitors, but seeing as Eleanor needed every friend she could get at the moment, she knew she had to give an audience to Lady Genevieve. 

“Show her in, Beaumont. Thank you.”

The long moment between the butler leaving and returning with the lady was tense, silence filling the room, and when they finally did arrive, things were not much better. Lady Genevieve swept into the room, looking as distraught as Eleanor felt, and she plonked herself down on a hardbacked wooden chair, throwing her reticule uncaringly onto the card table. 

“Oh, Lady Eleanor. It’s all so terrible. You will take tea with me, won’t you?”

Chapter One

Blackthorne House, St Ives, Cornwall

Sebastian Blackthorne, Duke of Cornwall, sipped his brandy as he stared into the hearth. The fire crackled and burned, sending a warm orange light across the library, the scent of burning wood mixed with that of old books filling his nostrils. This was his favourite room in the entire house, for it had once been his darling wife’s favourite place. He would often find her in this very leather chair, her small legs curled beneath her, her thick black hair over one shoulder, and a book in her lap. 

Now, he took her seat, convinced he could still feel her warmth there. And in the matching chair opposite him sat his friend and confidante, Henry Gaston. 

“Good Lord,” Henry said, rolling his eyes at his friend. “I wouldn’t have visited if I’d have realized you were still being so maudlin.”

Sebastian turned his surprised eyes on him. “How else would you expect me to be after the loss of my wife?”

Henry sighed. “Listen, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but honestly, Blackthorne. It’s been over two years since she passed. The time has come to—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to move on,” Sebastian said, holding his brandy glass in the air and using it to point at his friend. “You know how much those words irritate me.”

Though even as he said it, he imagined the soft hands of a woman on his body again. His heart cried out for his wife, but he suspected any woman would be able to satisfy his body’s yearning for touch and intimacy.

“That may be so,” Henry said, “but it’s different now. You can’t continue life like this, and you know it. It’s not healthy for you, and it’s not healthy for that little girl of yours.”

Sebastian sighed and returned his gaze to the fire. Henry was right, of course, but that didn’t help matters. Sebastian didn’t think it possible to move on, as he’d so often been told to do. He missed his darling Elizabeth with every ounce of his being and didn’t know how to live without her. 

At nine-and-twenty years, Sebastian felt entirely lost. He hadn’t expected things to go so wrong so soon in his life, but he could at least cherish the few short years he did share with Elizabeth. Now, there was nothing left to look forward to. 

“You’re a handsome man,” Henry continued, “and you have a number of desirable qualities—”

“Be careful,” Sebastian muttered, though with a tease in his voice. “If anyone overhears you, they might accuse you of being a molly.”

Henry snorted in delight. “With my track record? I don’t think there’s a single woman left in England who hasn’t experienced the Gaston charm. But I’m serious. I hear the ladies like hair the colour of ravens and stormy eyes.”

Sebastian laughed. “And I’d wager you’ve been reading novels in secret, too.”

“No, I just pay attention to what’s going on around me. Groups of twittering ladies at balls often have something interesting to say if they don’t realize a man is listening. That’s how I know you are somewhat eligible, Blackthorne. I’d wager you know it, too.”

He tutted. “Of course I do. I’m a duke, for goodness’ sake, and I have all the wealth that comes with it. I have the most adorable little girl, and you’re right when you say I’m attractive. Elizabeth always said there was something ruggedly handsome about my tall and imposing frame.”

“And then, of course,” Henry added with a wink, “there’s your humble modesty.”

Sebastian allowed himself another small laugh, though they were rare these days. Lord Henry Gaston, Earl of Truro, had become Sebastian’s closest friend when they were still in shorts, their friendship only blossoming once they arrived at Eton. He had a magnetic charm that worked with the ladies and the gents in equal measure—though for very different reasons—and he had a roguish humour that Sebastian had always enjoyed. 

He was impeccably dressed, as always, with a drop of classic elegance and a touch of modern flair. He was loyal and steadfast, traits Sebastian had always cherished, and he offered his unwavering companionship, even while Sebastian refused to pull himself out of his doldrums. 

“Given you have all those wonderful characteristics,” Henry continued, “do you not think it’s time to take another wife?”

Sebastian merely murmured in reply, raising his glass to his lips and taking another sip. The alcohol burned his throat in the most satisfactory way, and he took another sip to prolong it. 

Henry wasn’t the first to suggest that Sebastian ought to take another wife, but not once had the idea appealed to him. He was far too distraught, even after two long years, to no longer have Elizabeth in his life—though no one would know it to look at him. Sebastian was stoic right to the tips of his toes, and he kept his feelings to himself, except when his temper flared. 

“I really don’t know if that’s possible,” he muttered. 

Again, he had a flash of hot passion, an image of the love he’d made with his wife. Oh, to feel such desire and want again. But taking a wife merely to satisfy those urges would be unfair to both. 

Henry rolled his eyes again. “It’s almost as if you want to live in such gloom. I miss my old friend and man at arms. Do you remember the way we used to chase the ladies around the balls? We were wolves, then, not mice hiding away in the castle’s walls.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a wolf any longer,” Sebastian said. He shifted his position, turning to look more directly at Henry. The warmth of the fire on his cheek was pleasant. “You and I are very different creatures nowadays, Henry. Can’t you see that? You may run with the pack, but if I’m to be a wolf at all, I shall be a lone wolf. If I can’t have Elizabeth, then it is the solitary path for me.”

“You are so dramatic at times, Blackthorne, that I wonder whether you were a thespian in a previous life. Lone wolf indeed.”

“And what would you prefer?” Sebastian asked, placing his empty glass on the small round table at his side. “I run about with whatever latest woman takes my fancy like you do? What sort of lesson would that teach Emerald?”

A footman silently appeared from the shadows, filling their brandy glasses without being asked and disappearing into the gloom once more. Sebastian picked up his glass without acknowledging him. 

“It’s not one or the other,” Henry said. “Taking a wife is entirely different to being a libertine. I’m not suggesting you return to your roots as a ladies’ man, but to consider meeting someone who might lighten your life a little. It seems you live almost entirely in darkness now, and I worry for you.”

Sebastian scoffed and returned his attention to the fire. “There’s no need to worry for me. I’m doing quite fine, thank you.”

He thought of how his wife would look up and smile as he entered the library. She would always tell him what she was reading, no matter how far-fetched or dull she perceived it to be. At the time, he’d found the habit strange and wouldn’t want to listen. He’d give anything for her to tell him what she was reading now. 

He thought, too, of how often they’d made love on the rug in front of that very fire. She said that being surrounded by books while he loved her filled her with excitement, and he was always eager to please her. He had a flash of her naked flesh in his mind’s eye—an image he would never forget for its beauty. He imagined kissing her soft skin, inhaling her floral scent, and nuzzling into her ear while he made love to her. 

“Quite fine indeed,” Henry muttered. He paused, and though Sebastian wasn’t looking at him, he could feel the tension. His image of Elizabeth faded, replaced by irritation at his friend. There was more Henry wanted to say, and Sebastian prepared himself for what was to come. 

“Spit it out,” he muttered. 

Henry sighed. “What of Miss Emerald?”

The mention of his daughter caught Sebastian’s attention, and he spun around to look at Henry again. 

“What of her?”

“Is she quite fine also?” Henry asked. His words were tentative, and his shoulders bunched around his ears as if he expected an unpleasant reply. 

“Of course she is! What a thing to ask, Henry. Do you suppose I wouldn’t care for my own daughter properly?”

“I am saying no such thing,” Henry replied sharply. “But a man can only do so much. You are not or will ever be a mother, Blackthorne, and young Miss Emerald needs a maternal figure. That need will only grow as she ages. How do you suppose you will help with matters of a feminine nature?”

Sebastian frowned, his lip pouting slightly. “Everything is under control, thank you very much.”

Though his words were reserved and reassuring, his heart and mind whirred. Sebastian had always borne the weight of his responsibilities very seriously, whether as a duke, a husband, or now as a father. His only purposes had ever been to be a good man, to uphold his duties, and to protect those he loved. 

Was Henry right in suggesting Emerald needed a mother? That, perhaps, Sebastian wasn’t being thorough in his duty to her by not providing a mother? Maybe so, but he was certain there were other ways of providing such maternal guidance without having to find a wife. 

When Henry spoke again, it was softly and with understanding and concern. “I have absolutely no doubt about that. But perhaps it might be time to start thinking about the future and leaving the past where it belongs.”

Sebastian remained quiet for a long time, his brandy glass to his lips so he could inhale its richness. The flames danced in front of his eyes, raising questions and quashing them, sending him memories and then reminding him of what he had lost. He didn’t want to talk about this any longer. He wanted to move onto happier topics. He forced himself to smile and then turned to Henry. 

“I have written to a friend in London, asking if he knows of any suitable governesses for Emerald. She’s five now, and I think having a woman come from London will be beneficial.”

“More worldly wise, indeed,” Henry agreed, seemingly happy to move the conversation along. “Have you found one?”

“Not yet,” Sebastian admitted. “My friend says he’ll ask around. I have faith that the right governess will come to me soon enough.”

“Do let me know when she does,” Henry said with a wink. “You know how important it is that I vet all the new ladies in the area.”

Sebastian snorted. “I shall do no such thing. We’ve already discussed your appalling reputation. You’re a rake and no mistake.”

“A loveable rake, though,” Henry said. 

Sebastian laughed again. “I shall concede that, yes. I honestly don’t know how you are so successful with the ladies when they all know what you’re like.”

“Good looks and money can win over even the most sceptical of people,” Henry said. “Speaking of which, are you staying on top of your loans with Ashcroft bank?”

“That’s a rather personal question,” Sebastian retorted. 

“And I’m a rather personal friend. I also know you’ve tended to let things go since Elizabeth’s death. I ask only out of concern, old friend. I wouldn’t want to see you lose that wealth you spoke so proudly of earlier.”

Sebastian huffed. “Do you really have to be right all the time?”

Henry threw his head back and laughed. “You admit I’m right then?”

“About everything except the wife,” Sebastian added quickly. “But yes. I’m afraid to say that I’ve rather let the loans spiral out of control. I’ve failed to stay on top of my investments, and I find it so difficult to focus on business these days.”

Henry frowned at him. “And that is one thing you always prided yourself on.”

“Yes.” Sebastian looked down into the brandy glass that he clasped in his lap. 

Losing Elizabeth had caused him to lose himself, and he wondered whether he had died that day, too. To lose one’s life at the tender age of one-and-twenty was hard enough, but to die and continue living felt nearly impossible. 

“Is there anything, Blackthorne, anything at all, that I can do to help you get back on track? You know I’m always here for you.”

Sebastian looked up at his dear friend and smiled warmly. Though he tended to pester—and when he wasn’t doing that, he was teasing—the Earl of Truro was a good and kind man. Sebastian considered himself very lucky to be amongst Henry’s friends. 

“You have helped me more than you know, and you continue to do so, Henry. No, thank you, there is nothing you can do. All that is required is that I pull myself up by my bootstraps and sort myself out. Wife or not, I cannot afford to lose poor Emerald’s future wealth as well as her mother. I shall visit Ashcroft tomorrow and deal with the issues at hand.”

---

“When a Governess Desires a Duke” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Lady Eleanor Tamsworth never expected to become embroiled in scandal, but when society discovered her alone in a carriage with Lord Everton, she faced inevitable punishment. Ostracized and shunned, Eleanor’s fate seems sealed when her father arranges a marriage to an old and unpleasant friend. Desperate to escape, Eleanor orchestrates a daring plan with her loyal lady’s maid, fleeing into the heart of Cornwall with new identities and new lives.

Will their disguise be enough to evade detection, or will their past catch up with them?

Sebastian Blackthorne, Duke of Cornwall, mourned his wife’s passing and resisted all attempts to move on. Burdened by debts and the responsibility of raising his young daughter alone, Sebastian sought solace in isolation. However, his world is upended when a captivating new governess arrives at Blackthorne House…

Who is this mysterious governess, and what secrets does she hide beneath her tempting exterior?

As Eleanor settles into her role as governess to the Duke’s daughter, she and Sebastian find themselves drawn to each other despite their burdens. Intrigued by Eleanor’s determination and strength, Sebastian starts to open up in ways he never expected. However, Eleanor’s quest to uncover the truth about Lady Blackthorne’s death risks exposing her own hidden identity. Can they overcome the lies and temptations thrown their way, or will their pasts destroy their passionate love?

“When a Governess Desires a Duke” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!