Only an Earl Will Do

Lady Elizabeth Worthingham, a prominent figure in London society, is obligated to marry well without love, owing to her past mistakes. Henry Andrews, the rakish Earl of Muir, who once failed to act as a gentleman in her time of need, is back in England and is determined to make Elizabeth his wife. However, Elizabeth's reception is icy, and as past hurts and deceptions resurface, their love faces numerous obstacles. A mysterious foe threatens to thwart their love, making the future uncertain for the couple.

Only a Duke Will Do

Lady Isolde Worthingham captured the Duke of Moore's heart without a formal season, but a scandal on the eve of their wedding sends her fleeing to Scotland, leaving her plans shattered. The Duke, Merrick Mountshaw, dislikes his unhappy marriage and longs for Isolde's return. When she comes back to London, their love is challenged by societal norms and past hurts, raising questions about whether love can triumph in a world governed by strict rules.

Only a Viscount Will Do

Lady Alice Worthingham defies societal norms with her love for adventure and a sassy attitude. When a highwayman robs her, she discovers that her neighbor, Lord Arndel, leads a double life as the proper viscount by day and the Surrey Bandit by night. Unaware of his dual identity, Lady Alice seeks revenge when she learns the truth, making the gentleman thief pay for his crimes, including stealing his heart.

Only a Marquess Will Do

Lady Victoria, scarred by a failed marriage, helps her brother's friend, the socially awkward Marquess Albert Kester, find a match. As they navigate London's intricate social scene, Victoria unexpectedly finds herself falling for Albert. In this game of love, rules will be broken, and hearts may be at stake as they explore the fine line between duty and desire.

Only a Lady Will Do

Duke Josh Worthingham needs a proper lady as his duchess, but the only woman who captures his attention is the unconventional Miss Iris Cooper. Despite her humble connections, Iris dreams of a future with the duke. Can a stolen kiss make her dreams come true, or will their differences and Josh's dark secret jeopardize their chance at happiness?

England 1805 – Surrey

“You’re ruined.”

Elizabeth stood motionless as her mother, the Duchess of Penworth, paced before the lit hearth, her golden silk gown billowing out behind her, the deep frown between her eyes daring anyone to follow her. “No. Let me rephrase that. The family is ruined. All my girls, their futures, have been kicked to the curb like some poor street urchins.”

Elizabeth, the eldest of all the girls, swiped a lone tear from her cheek and fought not to cast up her accounts. “But surely Henry has written of his return.” She turned to her father. “Papa, what did his missive say?” The severe frown lines between her father’s brows were deeper than she’d ever seen them before, and dread pooled in her belly. What had she done? What had Henry said?

“I shall not read it to you, Elizabeth, for I fear it’ll only upset you more, and being in the delicate condition you are we must keep you well. But never again will I allow the Earl of Muir to step one foot into my home. To think,” her father said, kicking at a log beside the fire, “that I supported him to seek out his uncle in America. I’m utterly ashamed of myself.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, catching her father’s gaze. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I do. I’m the one who lay with a man who wasn’t my husband. I’m the one who now carries his child.” The tears she’d fought so hard to hold at bay started to run in earnest. “Henry and I were friends, well, I thought we were friends. I assumed he’d do the right thing by our family, by me. Why is it that he’ll not return?”

Her mother, quietly staring out the window, turned at her question. “Because his uncle has said no nephew of his would marry a strumpet who gave away the prize before the contracts were signed, and Henry apparently was in agreement with this statement.”

Her father sighed. “There is an old rivalry between Henry’s uncle and me. We were never friends, even though I noted Henry’s father high in my esteem, as close as a brother, in fact. Yet his sibling was temperamental, a jealous cur.”

“Why were you not friends with Henry’s uncle, Papa?” He did not reply. “Please tell me. I deserve to know.”

“Because he wished to marry your mama, and I won her hand instead. He was blind with rage, and it seems even after twenty years he wishes to seek revenge upon me by ruining you.”

Elizabeth flopped onto a settee, shocked by such news. “Did Henry know of this between you and his uncle? Did you ever tell him?”

“No. I thought it long forgotten.”

Elizabeth swallowed as the room started to swirl. “So, Henry has found his wealthy uncle and has been poisoned by his lies. The man has made me out to be a light-skirts of little character.” She took a calming breath. “Tell me, does the letter really declare this to be Henry’s opinion as well?”

The duke came and sat beside her. “It is of both their opinions, yes.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “You need to marry, Elizabeth, and quickly. There is no other choice.”

She stood, reeling away from her father and such an idea. To marry a stranger was worse than no marriage at all and falling from grace. “I cannot do that. I haven’t even had a season. I know no one.”

“A good friend of mine, Viscount Newland, recently passed. His son, Marcus, who is a little simple of mind after a fall from a horse as a child, is in need of a wife. But because of his ailment, no one will have him. They are desperate to keep the estate within the family and are looking to marry him off. It would be a good match for you both. I know it is not what you wanted, but it will save you and your sisters from ruin.”

Elizabeth stood looking down at her father, her mouth agape with shock and not a little amount of disgrace. “You want me to marry a simpleton?”

“His speech is a little delayed only, otherwise he’s a kind young man. I grant you he’s not as handsome as Henry, but…well, we must do what’s best in these situations.”

Her mother sighed. “Lord Riddledale has called and asked for your hand once more. You could always accept his suit.”

“Please, I would rather cut off my own hand than marry his lordship.” Just the thought was enough to make her skin crawl.

“Well then, you will marry Lord Newland. I’m sorry, but it must and will be done,” her mother said, her tone hard.

Elizabeth walked to the window that looked toward the lake where she’d given herself to Henry. His sweet whispered words of love, of wanting her to wait for him, that as soon as he procured enough funds to support his Scottish estate they would marry, flittered through her mind. What a liar he’d turned out to be. All he wanted was her innocence and nothing else.

Anger thrummed through her and she grit her teeth. How dare Henry trick her in such a way? Made her fall in love with him, promised to be faithful and marry her when he returned. He never wished to marry her. Had he wanted to right now he would be on his way back to England.

She turned, staring at her parents who looked resigned to a fate none of them imagined possible or ever wanted. “I will marry Viscount Newland. Write them and organize the nuptials to take place within the month or sooner if possible. The child I carry needs a father and the viscount needs a wife.”

“Then it is done.” Her father stood, walking over to her and taking her hand. “Did Henry promise you anything, Elizabeth? The letter is so out of character for him, I’ve wondered since receiving it that it isn’t really of his opinion but his uncle’s only.”

“He wanted me to wait for him, to give him time to save his family’s estate. He did not wish to marry a woman for her money; he wanted to be a self-made man, I suppose.”

“Lies, Elizabeth. All lies,” her mother stated, her voice cold. “Henry has used you, I fear, and I highly doubt he’ll ever come back to England or Scotland, for that matter.”

Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat, not wanting to believe the man she’d given her heart to would treat her in such a way. She’d thought Henry was different, was a gentleman who loved her. At the look of pity her father bestowed on her, she pushed him aside and ran from the room.

She needed air, fresh, cooling, calming air. Opening the front door, the chilling icy wind hit her face, and clarity assailed. She’d go for a ride. Her mount Argo always made her feel better.

It took the stable hand only minutes to saddle her mount, and she was soon trotting away from the house, the only sound that of the snow crunching beneath her horse’s hooves. The chill pierced through her gown, and she regretted not changing into a suitable habit, but riding astride in whatever they had on at the time was a normal practice for the children of the Duke of Penworth. Too much freedom as a child, all of them allowed to do whatever they pleased, and now that freedom had led her straight into the worst type of trouble.

She pushed her horse into a slow canter, her mind a kaleidoscope of turmoil. Henry, once her father’s ward, a person she’d thought to call a friend, had betrayed her when she needed him most. Guilt and shame swamped her just as snow started to fall, and covered everything in a crystal white hue.

She would never forgive Henry for this. Yes, they’d made a mistake, a terrible lack of decorum on her behalf that she’d never had time to think through. But should the worst happen, a child, she had consoled herself that Henry would do right by her, return home and marry her.

How could she have been so wrong?

She clutched her stomach, still no signs that a little child grew inside, and as much as she was ruined, could possibly ruin her family, she didn’t regret her condition, and nor would she birth this child out of wedlock. Lord Newland would marry her since his situation was not looked upon favorably by the ton; it was a match that would suit them both.

Guilt pricked her soul that she would pass off Henry’s child as Lord Newland’s, but what choice did she have? Henry would not marry her, declare the child his. Elizabeth had little choice. There was nothing else to be done about it.

A deer shot out of the bracken, and Argo shied, jumping sharply to the side. Elizabeth screamed as her seat slipped. The action unbalanced her and she fell, hitting the ground hard.

Luckily, the soft snow buffered her fall, and she sat up, feeling the same as she had when upon her horse. She rubbed her stomach, tears pooling in her eyes with the thought that had she fallen harder, all her problems would be over. What a terrible person she was to think such a thing, and how she hated Henry that his refusal of her had brought such horrendous thoughts to mind.

Argo nuzzled her side as she stood; reaching for the stirrup, she hoisted herself back onto her mount. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Elizabeth promised no more would be shed over a boy, for that was surely what Henry still was, an immature youth who gave no thought to others.

She would marry Viscount Newland, try and make him happy as much as possible when two strangers came together in such a union, and be damned anyone who mentioned the name Henry Andrews, Lord Muir to her again.

Mountshaw Estate, Wiltshire 1805

Isolde Worthingham, the second eldest daughter of the Duke of Penworth, spooned syllabub into her mouth and grinned at her betrothed, a man she had known for only one year, yet it felt like she’d known him her entire life. Merrick Mountshaw, the fourth Duke of Moore, was a gentle soul, much like herself, and suited her more than she’d ever dreamed. So much so it was almost like they’d been made for each other.

He smiled back, his eyes sparkling with humor. How was it that in only a few hours they would be married, finally promised to each other before God and all those they cared for most in the world.

Excitement thrummed through Isolde’s veins. She’d waited for what seemed forever for this day to arrive. How lucky she was to be marrying for love, something that she and her sisters had promised to uphold after witnessing such a union from their parents’ own match.

And she had found it with Merrick. The last dinner together as an unmarried couple carried on around them, and was enjoyable and hearty. The conversation was of nothing but the forthcoming nuptials and the joining of two great families of southern England. The event of the Season some said.

It did not surprise her that the wedding was titled as such, with half of London having traveled to Mountshaw, Merrick’s ancestral home, to attend. Everyone who was anyone would see them state their vows, their promises to each other, tomorrow. She couldn’t wait.

Merrick took her hand, pulling her from her thoughts, placing a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist. Warmth spread across her cheeks, and she bit her lip.

“I cannot concentrate on this dessert when there is something all the more delectable at table,” he whispered, leaning close.

She laughed, looking about and hoping no one heard his words. “You tease, Your Grace.”

“With you, I tell only the absolute truth.” He smiled and answered a question from her brother Josh across from her. It was always pleasant sitting next to Merrick. In fact, she preferred it to the other end of the table, where she would hardly be able to see him between all the fruit and flower arrangements lining the great expanse. And if she sat away from him from tomorrow onward, she wouldn’t have the delightful feeling of his boot rubbing up against her silk slipper.

There is no hope for the man. I’ve ruined him.

She inwardly chuckled at the thought. Once one of Town’s most-loved rogues, Merrick had been quite a sought- after gentleman, not that Isolde had known anything about him until last year, when they’d met. She watched as he spoke with her brother about having some celebratory drinks after the women retired. Merrick was animated in conversation; his strong jaw teased her to stroke it, to drag him down for a kiss by lips that still distracted her when she looked at him. He was, in her estimation, perfect.

And she loved him so very much. He enjoyed life and all it offered, always imagined the best of any bad situation. The duke cared for his friends as much as his tenant farmers and staff. He was unlike anyone she’d ever known. The best of men.

Isolde sipped her champagne, the bubbles tickling her tongue, and the day’s tension slipped away as the dinner progressed. Everything was ready for the wedding. The flowers were set, the trestle tables were on the lawn, waiting for the servants to set them for the wedding breakfast tomorrow morning. Her trunks sat packed in the entrance foyer for their trip to the Continent, and her wedding gown hung against her armoire. All Isolde had to do was try not to blubber uncontrollably as she promised her heart and soul to the man beside her, something she would absolutely fail at.

Isolde leaned over toward him, gaining his attention. “Must you, Merrick? I can hardly concentrate on this meal as it is, never mind having your foot dancing along my leg.”

“It is only fair, as I’ve not been able to concentrate for months.” He winked, picking up his glass of wine and taking a sip. She watched him, entranced when he licked a droplet of the drink off his lips. He caught her watching him, and understanding dawned in his gaze, hot and full of promises.

He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers, paying homage to the square diamond he’d given her in celebration of their betrothal. The ring had been his grandmother’s, and now it was hers, and God willing, their son’s wife, one day.

Heat pooled in her belly with the tantalizing stroke of his mouth against her body. The thought of the wedding night left her breathless, and she took a fortifying sip of champagne.

“I love you,” he said, loud enough for all to hear the endearment.

“And I you.” Her response was automatic, natural, and she blessed the day her best friend, Miss Hart, had introduced them at a country dance one year earlier. From that day forward, Merrick had been attentive and unrelenting in his pursuit of her, and she reveled in the fact she’d brought to heel one of London’s devilish rogues.

Her father, the Duke of Penworth, cleared his throat, watching them with mirth. Her dearest papa all but glowed with pride. “I would like to propose a toast to the Duke and the future Duchess of Moore. May your life be full of love, good health, and happiness.”

Her father smiled, and she noted the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. He’d always been an emotional man, and they loved him all the more for it. “Moore has proven himself this past year to be a determined and honorable young man, and was I not assured he’ll do nothing but strive to make my beautiful daughter happy, I would not have allowed the union to go on. But tonight my heart is full and joyful. Isolde has chosen well. It fills me with contented pleasure knowing you will forever be safe and blissful. So please raise your glass to the future Duke and Duchess of Moore.”

The chorus of cheers burst from the table, and Isolde smiled at Merrick when he kissed her hand a second time. She looked around the long, marvelously decorated table, smiling her thanks to all her family and the few close friends who were present.

Her gaze halted on her best friend, Miss Leonora Hart— Letty to her. A frown marred her usually perfect forehead, and her lips were thin with displeasure. Letty looked distracted, worried even, and Isolde paused, promising to find out what ill her friend was feeling before the night came to an end.

Perhaps it was because Isolde was about to be married and Letty wasn’t going to have a Season in Town due to finances at home. Her father, the local vicar back in Surrey, was not fluid in funds, and had refused the Duke of Penworth’s offer to give his daughter a Season. Isolde had thought his decision very unkind, and unfair for Letty, and not being able to help had made the situation even more frustrating. And Letty’s father’s decision was final. He was not a vicar swayed by persuasion.

She would speak to her father again about the situation before she left for her wedding trip to Paris and Switzerland. Letty was practically her sister, after all, having known each other since they’d been in braids. There was nothing Isolde didn’t want more for her friend than to have the happiness she herself had right at this moment with Merrick.

Finally, the dinner came to an end and the men stayed behind for their port and cheroots. Isolde made her way to the withdrawing room, ready for the night to be over so the next day could finally begin. Her wedding day… How amazing that sounded.

Callum squinted, the light in the room blinding as the blindfold was ripped from his face. He blinked, growing accustomed to the brightness in the room.

He didn’t recognize any of the men staring at him, but he could understand the menace that glistened in their eyes. Callum rolled his shoulders, the bands about his wrists leaving his hands almost numb.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man behind the desk, a rotund, balding gentleman, stared at him nonplussed. “I’m a moneylender. One who’s come to collect.”

Two more burly men came into the room and stood behind the man at the desk. They crossed their arms over their chest and Callum understood the unspoken threat. “I don’t owe you any funds.”

The man laughed. “Tsk tsk, a minor detail that you’ll soon be remedied of. You, Lord Arndel may not owe the money, but you have inherited the debt of your late cousin, along with his title.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the debt your cousin owed me is perhaps more than you can pay, and, therefore, just as your cousin was asked to do, you, too, shall have expectations toward us that will be met.”

“I’ll do nothing you ask of me. I have no idea of this debt that you speak, and I fail to see why I should inherit it.”

“All true,” the man said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And yet you do inherit the debt and you shall do as we say or your sweet, loving family shall be, how do I say this,” he said, tapping his chin, “hurt.”

Callum swallowed, the need to hurt the bastard increasing tenfold. If only he wasn’t tied up, he’d pummel the man within an inch of his life. How dare he threaten his child? “You touch my daughter, even one hair on her head, and you will rue the day.”

“You will rue the day if you think I am joking, my lord.” The moneylender took a sip of his amber liquid, placing the glass down as if he had not a care in the world, and hadn’t, in fact, just threatened a man and his family with who knows what horrendous consequences. “Before your cousin died, we had a contract written up, in case his demise was earlier than foreseen. Now that you’ve inherited the estate and title, we have forwarded the contract to your solicitor, and I’m sure in the coming days he will ask for an audience with you.”

“How much is the debt?” With any luck it wouldn’t be as much as he feared, though his cousin Robert had lived a misbegotten lifestyle full of vice and debauchery, which apparently involved large wads of blunt.

“The debt is in the vicinity of eighteen thousand pounds. More than I know you have.”

Callum tried to take a calming breath and failed. The room shrank, and for the first time in his life he thought he might pass out. “Eighteen thousand pounds…no doubt you thought nothing of lending such sums to a man who you knew would never be able to afford such debt. How dare you act so criminally.”

The moneylender laughed, his gut shaking in mirth. “Alas, my lord, if it hasn’t escaped your notice, I am a criminal and I will get my money back, and with your help.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file with a multitude of papers within it. “Would you like to know the details of the services that will render me happy?”

“Do I have a choice?” Callum asked, his words cutting, severing any hope he may have had of his and his family’s future.

“In this folder is a listing and drawings of jewels that I want you to procure for me. Each piece is of high value, made of the finest quality jewels and will make me so rich that you may even see me gracing the ballrooms of the ton in the years to come.”

Callum doubted that very much, nor did he want to think about what the moneylender’s words meant. He wracked his brain for a way to remove himself from the situation, to walk away without debt nor any links to the man before him, but his mind came up blank. There was no way out for him. He had no money of his own; he had the estate only and most of that was entailed and untouchable.

“You, Lord Arndel, shall steal these jewels from these rich toffs, and deliver them each month until the debt is paid. And just to sweeten the deal, some of these jewels are worth up to a thousand pounds, so do not despair that I’ll be requiring your services forever.”

“You want me to become a thief, stealing into these people’s homes, people who I shall see most nights at Town events and such? Damn you. I shall not do it.”

The moneylender gestured to one of his guards, who then went and opened a door, mumbling to someone inside the dark space. Rage unlike any he’d known consumed him when they carried out his daughter, her body limp in the man’s arms.

“What have you done to her?” he roared, standing and throwing the chair his hands were tied to against the wall. A satisfying crack sounded and he did it again, the chair giving way, enough so he could pull his hands free.

As he went to his daughter, the second burly man tackled him to the ground, his weight and solid punch to his lower back winding him. “Tell me what you’ve done?” he wheezed, his gaze blurring with the horrible realization that they may have killed his little girl.

“She’s alive, for now. Too much liquor in her tea, unfortunately. Knocked her out cold.” The man laughed and Callum promised he’d kill the bastard. Maybe not today with his daughter’s life still in the fiend and his cronies’ hands, but one day. One day, the man laughing down on him would pay for daring to take her from his home.

“In one month’s time the first jewel is due. There will be no sneaking into their homes. You must wait for them to be attending a ball, or traveling to or from their estates after a jaunt. It is at these times you must strike, steal their valuables, and bring them to me.”

“So I’m to be a highwayman?” The absurdness of the situation was too much for his brain to register. Just when his life had taken a positive turn, and now this. He fought to move, to get up. The moneylender gave one curt nod and the man took his knee off the middle of his back. Callum ran to Amelia and wrenched her from the second guard’s hands, hating the fact these bastards had been anywhere near her, had stolen her from right under his nose with nary a problem.

“Fine,” Callum said, holding his daughter tight. “I shall do as you ask, but if you ever come near my child again I will kill you. Even if I hang before all the ton, do not doubt that I will allow you to live, should you hurt one hair on her head.”

The moneylender threw him an unamused glance. “I will have no reason to hurt anyone should you do as I ask, within a timely manner.”

“Give me the list.” The man held it up and Callum ripped it from his grasp, striding to the door. He stopped when one of the guards stood before it, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let Lord Arndel pass. Our business today is complete.”

Callum strode from the room, his steps faltering when a bevy of half-naked women stood along the walls, watching him, some of their eyes beckoning him to join them in the rooms behind them. How dare the bastard take his daughter into such an establishment. Amelia mumbled in her sleep and Callum frowned. What liquor had they given to her? What if they’d killed her by accident? If his cousin Robert wasn’t already dead, he’d kill the man himself for placing his daughter into such a predicament.

Stepping free of the building, Callum made his way out of the circular square that had buildings in dire need of repair and headed toward where a busier road lay beyond. He would get Amelia home and then he would decide what was to be done and how he would face the next few months under the order of such a man as he’d just left.

It wasn’t to be borne, and yet somehow it must. Callum couldn’t see a way out of the situation. He was beholden to him until he paid off a debt that wasn’t his.

Damnation.

London, 1809

Victoria stood in the modiste on Bond street, the heat on her cheeks as warm as the day outdoors. She glanced about the room, the women of the ton, those who had the power to make or ruin a lady's chances during her Season, stared at her with pity—some with amusement and glee.

Her mother's mouth had not stopped gaping when her sister, Alice, now the Viscountess Arndel, had read the latest on dit in The Times that morning. That Victoria's husband, the very man she had married six weeks before, had run off with a maid at the estate.

Victoria stared down at the blue silk gown the modiste had halted pinning the hem for, her face too one of shock, but at least not glee. The modiste would know better than to find pleasure in such news with the daughter of a duke.

"I do not understand," her mama said, taking the newspaper from Alice and reading the article herself.

Victoria felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. How could Paul do such a thing to her? She had thought they were happy, settled, and ready to start the next chapter of their lives. Only last week she had farewelled him when he went to check on his country estate. That this gossip rag all of London was devouring knew more about the state of her marriage than she did was mortifying. How could she have been so wrong about a person she cared for? She was never wrong.

"Pass me the paper, Mama." Her mother handed it over to her with haste, seemingly only too happy to have the offending article out of her hand. Victoria read the printed black letters, and with each word, her world crumbled about her.

It read: “Mr. Paul Armstrong, the very one recently married to Lady Victoria Worthingham was seen sequestered at a local inn in Dover, the woman hanging off his every word most certainly not the Duke of Penworth’s sister and new wife. That both Mr. Armstrong and his unnamed companion were soused, and too boisterous for the townsfolk was also mentioned. We can only look on Lady Victoria with pity over her most unhappy union that she so newly stepped into.”

She clamped her jaw shut, an expletive on the tip of her tongue. Paul was a wealthy landholder from Kent. A suitable gentleman for a woman such as herself. Her brother Josh, the Duke of Penworth assured her he was a good match, both financially and regarding the gentleman's reputation. When her brother returned from abroad, she would certainly have words with him regarding his character evaluations.

Not that their marriage was a love match, unlike her sisters who had found love with their spouses. But Victoria had never been one to think such a thing would happen to her. She was too opinionated, a little rough about the edges, blunt, and loved dogs and horses too much to be a diamond of the first water.

Where her sisters were refined and ladylike, she was, well, a little notched. A laugh caught her attention, and she looked over to find Miss Fanny Christi pointing and giggling over The Times. Victoria glared at the social-climbing ninny and thrust the paper aside, the modiste taking it without a word.

"I apologize for wasting your time with this gown, Mrs. DeRose, but it would seem that I'm no longer in the mood for a dress fitting." Victoria held out her arms. "Please help me to remove the gown. I shall return another day to complete the alterations."

"But dear, do you not want to write and demand Mr. Armstrong returns? The article could be incorrect. Why even now he could be on his way back from the country to explain this slanderous piece."

Victoria wiggled out of the gown, leaving her only in her shift as she stepped off the fitting stool in the store and went to change back into her morning dress. "It is not, Mama. Mr. Armstrong has made his choice." And now he would have to live with it. “I will not be one of those pitiful wives who allow such insults to stand. While I cannot change the fact that I am married, that does not mean I’ll allow him to ruin my life. If it is freedom he wishes so soon after our nuptials, then I too shall live how I like and bedamn Paul to Hades.”

Stupid fool to have ruined their future in such a way. Victoria walked into the change room, pulling the small curtain closed to hide her from those in the store who watched them and their reaction to the news like a kettle of vultures over a corpse.

Only then did she allow herself a deep breath, the reaction to the news that she had been hiding from all those prying eyes. She slumped onto the soft, padded chair in the stall. While she knew their marriage would have been a practical and good match, she had liked Paul, even if it were not a love match. He made her laugh and was handsome. She had thought they would muddle along well enough. His estate was large. He had a good stable of horses and was fond of dogs, had stated she could bring her two wolfhounds with her when they married, which she had.

She pulled her morning gown from the hook where it hung. She would not have minded had he wished to break the engagement, but to marry her and then run off? What had he been thinking! The stupid man could have been honest with her. Why did he not tell her the truth, that he loved another and did not wish to marry? That’s if he loved the maid at all. For all she knew, perhaps this was the way the man truly was. A gentleman without honor.

Victoria stood and slipped the dress over her head, stepping back out into the store to gain assistance with the buttons on her back. Her mama handed her her bonnet and gloves, and within a few minutes, they were ready to leave.

"I'm so very sorry about your unsuccessful marriage, Lady Victoria," Miss Christi said, the smirk on her face telling Victoria that she was not sorry at all. “And so soon into the union. How you must be suffering.”

Victoria looked down her nose at her, feeling the weight and support of both her mother and sister behind her. A duchess and viscountess who would never abide such rudeness for long, and neither would she.

Victoria patted Miss Christi's shoulder, hoping the condescension was thick and clear in her touch. "Do not be sorry for me, Miss Christi. It is not my loss, but my husband’s." She smiled, glad to see Miss Christi's face had paled at her words. "I hope we see you at the ball this evening. It's always lovely to see off the Season with a bang."

Miss Christi curtsied to Victoria's mama while mumbling, "Of course. Good day, Your Grace, Lady Arndel."

Victoria turned up her nose and left the store. Their coachman opened the door and helped them inside. Victoria heard her mama tell the driver they were for home, and it wasn't long before the carriage wheels were rumbling over the gravel and cobblestone roads through Mayfair.

No one spoke, all of them too disturbed by what had just transpired, no matter how it may have looked to those who viewed them in the store.

"Well, I hope Mr. Armstrong is pleased with his actions. I shall endeavor never to allow him to step foot in any of our entertainments in the future or those of my children. He is cut off from our family. Dead to us all I swear."

Alice nodded, her lips thinning in displeasure. "You should not allow him to get away with such treatment, Victoria. We ought to pay him back in some way. I could always shoot him. My aim is second to none as you know."

Victoria glanced at her sister, unsure how much help Alice would be since she was in the early stages of pregnancy. "I think Callum may take issue with me having you hie about England searching for a man who does not want to be found and shooting him. Not yet, at least." Victoria stared out onto the street, not really seeing anything other than a city she would be happy to leave. Next week, in fact, she was due to return to Paul’s country estate where they were to remain until next Season. That would not be happening now.

What a waste of effort these past months had been. The courtship, the marriage, the expense. Victoria supposed she should feel more upset than she did, but she couldn't bring forth the emotions to do so. That in itself told her that to lose her husband, while humiliating, was not life-ending.

She would clasp the opportunity his foolishness had gifted her and return to Dunsleigh.

"You may do whatever you think is best, Mama. I, for one, will hold my head high at tonight's ball, and next week we shall return home and go on with things as if nothing has happened." Victoria leaned forward, taking her mama's hands. "Do not think that I am so very upset, for I am not. In fact," she said, leaning against the squabs, "I'm certain since he's decided to run off with a maid, society will punish him enough without me adding to his woes. But as for our marriage, it is over and nothing, no persuasion from him in the future will change my mind. As far as I am concerned, I will view myself as a widow from this day forward."

"I think you may be right," Alice said, rubbing her small baby bump. "You are destined for better things, my dearest. Who is attending this evening, Mama? We need to show society that we have rallied around Victoria and will not abide her being slighted."

"Well, as for that," her mama said, rattling off several families, all of whom Victoria knew and classed as friends. They would not offend or slight her in her time of need. They would be home soon. Safe from London and the gossiping ton.

While she did not know what her future held, where she would live, or what name to use, one thing she was at least grateful for… Her dowry was still her own, and no matter where Paul traveled with his lover, he could not swindle her money away. She supposed she could purchase a townhouse in London or a small country estate near Dunsleigh. All ideas would need considerable thought and once they were home, she would be able to set her mind to figuring out her future.

One thing was certain however, her future would not involve her husband. Not ever again.

London 1812

How had he managed to get himself into this mess? Josh Worthingham, Duke of Penworth, lowered his head and tried to use the ferns and abundant greenery his mother had placed around their London home for the ball to shield his location. She had been adamant that she wanted the room to represent the delightful outdoors, the trees, moss, grasses, and flowers that grew in the parklands about their estate, Dunsleigh.

His mother had pulled off the effect, and it was stunning. If not a little over the top for Josh's liking, but the foliage did at least enable him to hide.

The guests too gasped and smiled, looked about with awe, just what his mother would adore, being this was her final year as the Duchess of Penworth, a celebration for her time as one of the pillars of society. One must go out with a bang if one was to be remembered.

Not that his mother was going too far, but it was due to his declaration that this Season he would marry. Find a wife suitable for the role of a duchess and let his mother hand over the busy reins of her position in society.

He could only hope the colossal mistake he'd made last year in Hampshire did not follow him to town. He caught sight of Lady Sophie and cringed. Being respectable and kind did not mean he would offer the hand of marriage. He had shown such respect to many ladies over the years and had not proposed. Why the rumor he would ask Lady Sophie had arisen, he could not fathom, nor would he allow it to continue.

When had the rules changed? He had danced and had discourse with many ladies during his years scuffing the boards in London. When had talking and dancing morphed into his choice of bride?

An absurd notion.

He caught sight of Lady Sophie, surrounded by her many beaus, but he did not wish to be one of them. At one time, she may have piqued his interest, but that had long passed. Nor had he ever shown more interest than a gentleman should. His mother had raised him right, and he was one duke who did not bend the rules.

There was something about the lady he did not like, a littleness to her that was ugly no matter how beautiful she was. No amount of rouge or diamonds could alter one's personality if it were rotten at its core.

A finger flicked his ear, and he started. His older sister Elizabeth laughed, coming to stand at his side. "Still hiding, I see. We have been in London for a month, Josh darling. I think it is time you came out of the shadows and faced the lady who seems to be telling all of London how enamored you are of her. Of course, she's only telling a select few of her friends so the rumor does not spread too far and wide, but it would seem it has scattered to Mama's ears at least."

Josh groaned, hating that he would have to flee the Season if he could not find a way out of this mess. Maybe Elizabeth would like him to travel north to Scotland and check on their estate while they were in London this year.

"It is a mess that I cannot escape. I danced with her in Hampshire and conversed as one would since they were hosting the ball. How can a lady from that form the opinion that a proposal is imminent?" He met his sister's amused gaze and frowned. Was no man safe from such women? Was this how the ladies thought to trap men into their marriage nets?

Well, he would not succumb to such antics. He would choose his lady when he found one suitable for the position as duchess.

Not just any lady would do.

Oh no, his lady needed to be witty, intelligent, and beautiful if he could be so vain to desire such a thing. But most of all, she needed to be from an upstanding family, without reproach, without a blemish to her name, and a sizable dowry. Not that he needed such funds, but he did not want to be one of those fathers who left everything to his eldest son and had nothing for his other children. His parents had bestowed fortunes on all their children, and he wanted to do the same.

"You must have made an impression in Hampshire." Elizabeth sipped her negus, watching the throng of guests behind the green foilage with him. "You must also stop hiding, return to the ball and speak with all manner of ladies and gentlemen to quell the rumors. While I would not suggest avoiding Lady Sophie at all costs, I think asking another of her friends to dance and not paying too much attention to the lady, would be wise. I'm certain by acting so, all this nonsense will soon pass, and there will be another bet at Whites that does not include you."

He groaned. "You know of the bet?" How he loathed that book and the trouble it wrought. Not just this Season, but in the past. And at his own doing.

Fool.

Elizabeth raised a dubious brow. "Of course, does not everyone?"

That was probably also true. His good friend Anthony, Earl Thetford had thought it a lark in making a bet at his expense. Who would be the lady the Duke of Penworth marries? Several names were listed, Lady Sophie's with the best odds. None of them would be the woman he married. He had not found her as yet. His sisters had married for love. He knew that to his very core. The way they looked at their spouses reminded him of how his mama once looked at his father before he passed.

He wanted that for himself. To marry was for life, and he did not want to regret his choice should it be wrong, for there would be no changing it after the fact.

"That book ought to be burned for all the trouble it's caused many families in London."

Elizabeth threw him a curious look but did not pry into his thoughts. "Did you hear," she said, changing the subject, "that Mama is going to be sponsoring her closest friend's daughter this Season? She could not make it tonight but will be here tomorrow."

Josh inwardly groaned, having heard already. A vicar's daughter whose mother had been born a daughter of an earl but married beneath her station and reportedly was shunned by her family for her efforts in love.

He knew his mama had debuted with the young woman’s mother the same year, and their friendship had remained one of the pen since the family never came to town.

"I did hear she was to arrive tomorrow. I will relocate to my bachelor lodgings for the duration of her stay, which I hope will not be long. The sooner she is married, the better."

"Be kind to her, Josh. You have always been a loving brother. I hope you will assist in finding a suitable match for the lady and not scuttle away at your club and gambling dens while she's here in town. She has not had an easy life, from what I have heard. You need to be kind."

He could no sooner be cruel to his sisters or his mama's sponsor, even if he wished to. It was not in his nature to be an ass. "I promised Mama I would escort them several times a week to any balls or musical events, operas, and such. I shall do the pretty and vet any suitors who step forward for her hand. I will ensure she marries well."

Elizabeth threw him a shrewd glance. "You will need all our assistance if she's to wed well. She will have nothing but her wits, charm, and looks to win her a match with no dowry or title. Let us hope she has all three in abundance."

"The Countess Buttersworth, her grandmother, will not wish to guide her? Surely, after all these years, she could not still be angry at her only daughter marrying a vicar?"

Elizabeth finished her drink and handed it off to a passing footman. "Mama heard the countess is quite put out that her granddaughter will be back in town. She had a Season several years ago, but it was not successful. I do not know all the particulars, but Mama said the countess is set to give her the cut direct."

Lady Buttersworth was an old, cranky witch. Who could treat family with such cruelness? "I trust in Mother’s choice of friends. If she is fond of this young woman and her mother, I'm certain she will make a match. With or without her grandmother's help."

"And what of your life, dear brother? When shall I be able to welcome a duchess as my new sister? Will it be this year, you think? Another rumor surrounding you says that it will be."

Josh rubbed his jaw, thinking over his sister's words. No doubt his mother had told his siblings of his statement. "I am set on finding a suitable bride for the position of duchess this Season. I have decided she must be a lady of the finest breeding, well-spoken and educated, and above all else, take London by storm with her beauty and grace."

Elizabeth snorted, covering her lapse in manners with a cough that Josh did not buy for one second. "How lovely. I wish you all the very best in finding this gem." She started off toward where their mama stood but turned before gaining too much distance. "Perhaps you ought to go fishing and catch a mermaid, dear brother. I'm certain you shall have more luck in finding one of those mythical creatures than the one you just mentioned."

Josh gaped before shutting his mouth with a snap. His idea for a bride was no mythical being. Why, his perfect lady could be here tonight, hiding in the greenery like him.

He stepped out of his hiding place, determined to find his jewel and crown her with a ducal coronet. The Season was young, and so was he, and he would prove his sister wrong and enjoy throwing his perfect bride before her when he found his match.