He’s claimed his title

Could he inherit a bride, too?

Part of The Sommersby Brides: The Duchess of Skeffington retreats to the estate that was her refuge during her cruel marriage. She’s shocked to come face-to-face with the distant heir, now newly inherited duke, adventurous Simon Alexander. When Elizabeth is robbed, it’s up to them both to find the thief. But traveling together would attract too much gossip... Unless they pose as husband and wife!

LAURIE BENSON is an award-winning Regency romance author, whose book An Unexpected Countess was voted Mills & Boon’s 2017 ‘Hero of the Year’ by readers. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter. When she isn’t at her laptop, avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing antiques shops and going on long hikes with her husband and two sons. Learn more about Laurie by visiting her website at lauriebenson.net. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook.

Also by Laurie Benson

Secret Lives of the Ton miniseries

An Unsuitable Duchess

An Uncommon Duke

An Unexpected Countess

The Sommersby Brides miniseries

One Week to Wed

Convenient Christmas Brides

His Three-Day Duchess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

His Three-Day Duchess

Laurie Benson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08870-1

HIS THREE-DAY DUCHESS

© 2019 Laurie Benson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For all the girls who weren’t asked to the prom—

your best days are still to come.

Thank you to my insightful and patient editor

Linda Fildew and my team at Mills & Boon.

This book wouldn’t have been possible without the

love and support of my family. Thanks for the care and

feeding of an author under deadline! Love you, guys!

To Anabelle, Lori, Mia, Jen, Marnee, and my H crew.

Thanks for your friendship and for making me

snort with laughter at the most unexpected times,

usually looking at my phone

while I’m waiting line in a store.

And thank you to my readers. Your enthusiasm

about my books means so much.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue
London—July, 1819

As she sat across the desk from her solicitor, it was beginning to feel as if Lizzy had been waiting all her life for Mr Simon Alexander. And as the newly widowed Duchess of Skeffington, she wasn’t accustomed to waiting for anything or anyone. Her husband had died months ago and she had yet to meet Mr Alexander, her husband’s heir or, as he would be referred to now, the Duke of Skeffington. His tardiness today at the reading of her late husband’s will was doing nothing to help the annoyance she already felt towards a man she had never met.

‘I’m sure he won’t be much longer,’ Mr Nesbit said, furrowing his grey brows and glancing at his pocket watch for what must have been the fifth time since she had arrived at his office at promptly one o’clock in the afternoon.

Lizzy toyed with her emerald necklace and didn’t even try to hide her irritation. ‘At least one of us is confident in that. You’re certain he knows where we were to meet?’

‘I was very specific in my letter. He knows.’

She glanced down the table to Rimsby, the impeccably dressed old man who had served as butler of Skeffington House here in London for as long as Lizzy had been married. This was a man who valued protocol and proper behaviour, and she imagined he was just as displeased with his new employer’s tardiness as she was. Mrs Thacker, who was seated next to Rimsby, had an odd blush about her at the mention of the new Duke—a blush that in the twelve years that the woman had been her housekeeper, she had never seen brighten her normally sombre countenance.

‘Do we still have to wait for him?’ She directed her question to Lord Liverpool, the executor of her husband’s estate, who at the moment was standing by the window looking out at the busy London street. ‘We know he finally is in London after all these months. Can’t we just begin and Mr Nesbit can give him a brief summary of what he missed when he arrives?’

He stepped away from the window and turned to face her. ‘Skeffington was very insistent that the will was to be read only when everyone who benefited was present and Mr Alexander, as the new Duke, must be present.’

Beside her Mr Mix, her late husband’s secretary, shifted in his chair. The leather gave a considerable creak, which was surprising in light of his small, wiry frame. The gentleman, who was about twenty years older than Lizzy’s twenty-nine years, continued to sit silently, offering no indication on how he felt about the tardy behaviour of the new Duke. But as he had worked with her husband for all those years, she assumed he was accustomed to keeping his opinions to himself. He sat staring at his clasped hands on the table and she wondered once again why he had been content to be berated by her husband for so long. Certainly, there were other members of the House of Lords who would have welcomed his services. He could have put the Duke’s company behind him long ago, unlike Lizzy who had been forced to endure it since she was seventeen.

‘Do you know if Mr Alexander will be retaining your services, Mr Mix?’ Lizzy asked him to pass the time.

‘I do not. Since he just arrived here in London a few nights ago, we’ve not yet had the opportunity to meet.’

Now that Mr Alexander was finally in London, Mr Mix had to believe that the status of his job was precarious.

‘I know how my husband relied on you. I’m sure the new Duke will, as well.’ She tried to be reassuring when she noticed his right leg bouncing nervously under the table.

‘That’s very kind of you, Your Grace,’ he replied, giving her what appeared to be a strained smile.

He wasn’t the only one who was feeling the need to move. Lizzy wanted desperately to get up and walk about the room, but Lord Liverpool was already taking up that action. They didn’t need to bump into one another as they waited for the tardy Duke to grace them with his presence. It appeared he had settled into his new station in life already and was going to be one of those gentlemen who strove to create a grand entrance by arriving late, reminding them all that he was a duke of England and they all would have to adjust to his schedule. She had witnessed behaviour like this before. Well, she was a duchess and had held her esteemed rank longer than he had!

She was just about to request a glass of sherry to still her agitation when one of Mr Nesbit’s clerks appeared in the doorway and announced the Duke of Skeffington. Lizzy’s stomach did an uncomfortable dip. It had been six months since she’d heard someone announce that name and she had to remind herself that her odious husband was dead. Now that his successor was in London, she would have to grow accustomed to hearing that name without that familiar feeling of dread.

Turning her head, she finally came face-to-face with her late husband’s heir. The handsome gentleman standing tall in the doorway with the lean, athletic build was not what she had expected. He appeared to be only a few years older than she was and by the cut of his brown tailcoat and the state of his boots she could assume he was a man who dressed out of necessity instead of fashion—even though the cut of the coat did wonders to draw attention to his broad shoulders and the defined muscles in his arms. His dark eyes rimmed with thick dark lashes settled on Lizzy for a few additional heartbeats before he continued to survey the occupants in the room. For those extra moments that their eyes held, the room seemed to fade away.

Mr Nesbit came around the table, breaking the spell that had come over her, and shook the new Duke’s hand. ‘Your Grace, thank you for joining us. We were growing concerned that there might have been an accident.’

‘No, there was no accident. As you can see, Nesbit, I am in one piece.’

And a very fine piece he was in with that jet-black hair, a lock of which was threatening to fall into his dark eyes. But when it was apparent he had no intention of apologising for keeping them waiting, it reaffirmed Lizzy’s belief that only arrogant selfish men would hold the title of Duke of Skeffington.

‘You have been keeping us waiting for over an hour.’

She hadn’t intended to address him. She was at the end of her tether, waiting for confirmation that Skeffington had given her Stonehaven as her permanent residence. Six months was a long time to live without knowing what your future would hold—and it was all because of him. His laissez-faire attitude was irksome. It was the only explanation as to why she felt compelled to address him before Mr Nesbit had the opportunity to formally introduce them.

He turned to face her and Lizzy fought the urge to touch her hair to make sure it was still meticulously arranged.

‘And you are?’

His accent gave away that he was from the north and, if she had to guess, she thought perhaps the Lincolnshire area.

‘I’m Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington,’ she replied before Mr Nesbit could step in.

‘You are his wife?’ His deep smooth voice almost had a hint of surprise in it.

‘If you are referring to your predecessor, then the answer is yes.’

He tilted his head slightly and appeared to be studying her more intently, and Lizzy forced her hands to remain lightly folded on her lap.

‘You are not what I was expecting.’

‘And I was expecting a gentleman who would arrive promptly to attend the reading of a will.’

‘I had a matter that needed attending to first. You could have started reading it without me.’

It was taking considerable effort not to raise her voice. ‘No, we couldn’t. If we were able to do that we would have done so months ago when you were gallivanting wherever it was you’ve been.’

‘Gallivanting?’ There was a quirk to his slightly full lips.

‘Yes, gallivanting. Now could we please finally have a reading of this will so we all can go forward with our lives? I’m assuming, Mr Nesbit, we are all here now and there is no one else we need to wait for?’

‘There is no one else mentioned in the will. Everyone is present.’

He introduced the new Duke, who Lizzy was having a hard time thinking of as Skeffington, to Lord Liverpool and Mr Mix. The man nodded a greeting to Rimsby and Mrs Thacker, before taking a seat beside Lizzy at the table.

Sitting this close to him was far more distracting than it should be. Lizzy skirted a glance at him with the intention of studying him a bit more, but when he turned his head and caught her eye, she quickly shifted her gaze and prayed she wouldn’t start blushing.

Lizzy settled into her seat and redirected her attention to Mr Nesbit. Now she would finally find out which of the four Skeffington estates would be hers and she could begin setting up her own independent household where she would never have to live with another man again. She had been praying it was Stonehaven in Dorset. It had been her private sanctuary outside London throughout her marriage and, most of all, it was the only Skeffington residence that felt like home to her. Her husband knew it was the one property, aside from the London town house, that she had spent the most amount of time in over the years and, since it wasn’t his ducal seat, it was logical that he would bequeath it to her to live in. Although, knowing her husband, he could be unpredictable at times.

Placing her hands under the table, Lizzy crossed her fingers as Mr Nesbit read the particulars of the introduction to the will. Skeffington’s snuffbox collection would go to Mr Mix, the chess set in their London drawing room was to go to Rimsby since they played the game together quite often, and a painting that belonged to Skeffington’s first wife was given to Mrs Thacker, who had been her lady’s maid when the woman was alive.

Finally, Mr Nesbit glanced at Lizzy. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief before he continued to read from the will. ‘And for my wife, Elizabeth, since she failed to produce any heirs during our marriage, I bequeath to her the sum of eight thousand pounds.’

The amount given to her floated past without any knowledge of what it was. All Lizzy was able to focus on was the fact that the wretched man was publicly shaming her for her inability to conceive a child with him. As if it were all her fault that he had no direct heirs to take over the ducal seat. As if all the people sitting in the room couldn’t tell they had no children together and she had failed in her duty to bear him an heir. The presence of Mr Alexander was a clear reminder. The nails of her right hand were digging painfully into her palm as she tried her hardest to appear unaffected by her late husband’s intentional barb.

But then the words Mr Nesbit had read came back to her and she shook her head, convinced she hadn’t heard correctly. ‘That can’t be right. I was to have twenty thousand pounds as per my marriage agreement.’

Mr Nesbit wiped his sweaty brow once more and shifted his gaze between Lizzy and the paper in his hand. ‘That was if you bore him an heir.’

‘I was never told that. My father agreed to that?’

‘Apparently he did, Your Grace. It was in the marriage agreement. I have a copy in my files if you would care to see it.’

‘My father told me I was to get twenty thousand upon my husband’s death.’

‘That is correct. If there was a child. If you did not produce any children, then you were to receive eight thousand pounds, the amount of your dowry upon your marriage to him.’

There was a sharp familiar ache in her chest. How could her father have not thought to tell her about that clause in the agreement? How could he possibly think that was fair? They had to have agreed upon this at Skeffington’s urging, but now she had additional proof that her father was only interested in furthering his own connections through her marriage and would agree to anything to make sure he had the privilege of having a family connection to a duke.

She was the Duchess of Skeffington! How was she supposed to live on less than ten thousand? She employed an extensive staff, had three carriages, hosted the most extravagant balls and wore the finest clothes. Eight thousand pounds would never do. She had a reputation to maintain. Her only consolation was that hopefully she would be able to live in Stonehaven and retain the income from that estate which would help pay for her expenses.

Mr Nesbit caught her eye and looked as if he expected her to throw her chair across the room. ‘There is more, Your Grace.’

‘Yes, well, I imagine there is. But I think we all can agree that if he references my childless state again there is no need to read it. It will just be redundant.’

He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. ‘She also is to have the use of Clivemoore House until she dies or remarries.’

Dear God, no. The remainder of her life would now be spent in a house of his choosing, in a remote area of the country far away from her sisters and her aunt and where she had no friends. Even in death, that horrid man was going to make her life miserable.

She prayed that this time she truly had not heard Mr Nesbit correctly.

* * *

It was obvious to Simon, as he sat next to the woman who had been married to the old Duke of Skeffington, that she was someone who was very much taken with the finer things in life. She sat beside him with her thick black hair meticulously styled, the emeralds she wore about her long, slender neck and matching earrings were very expensive and he knew her capped-sleeve black gown with the thin band of fine white lace grazing the swell of her shapely breasts must be in the latest London style.

When he had entered the room and she cast a critical gaze at his wardrobe, he knew every rumour he had heard last night about the haughty Duchess of Skeffington had to be true. What he hadn’t expected to find was an attractive woman who was only slightly younger than himself. It was apparent she was a fortune hunter who had married the Duke of Skeffington because he was a wealthy old man and she had probably assumed he would die shortly after they were married. The eight thousand pounds was a substantial amount of money in his view and could set her up with very sound investments. And yet by the furrow of her brow he saw she was not pleased.

She rubbed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. ‘Would you repeat that please, Mr Nesbit? Not all of it. Just the last part.’

‘Certainly.’ The poor man gave a small cough and shifted his gaze nervously between the papers lying in front of him and the widow across from him. ‘The will states you are to live in Clivemoore House.’

‘Clivemoore House.’ There was a cool impersonal tone to her voice.

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Not Stonehaven?’

‘No, madam, Clivemoore House.’

She pursed her lips together as if she were holding herself back from saying something. ‘And there is no mention of the London residence?’

‘No, madam.’

Her gloved hands, which had been under the table, moved to her stomach. ‘I see.’

Well, Simon didn’t see. She was getting a house to live in for the rest of her life—rent-free. What difference did it make which house it was? He had spent the majority of his childhood living in other people’s houses. And there were countless nights that he would lie awake and pray that one day he would have a home of his own. Those were the wishes of a small boy who had not yet seen the world. He thought those feelings were long gone, until he realised that now those prayers had been answered.

And from the sound of it he didn’t have just one house. He had a few. How many houses did he own? As the new Duke, he should probably find that out.

‘What other properties are there, Mr Nesbit?’ he asked.

‘Skeffington House in London, Stonehaven in Dorset, and your ducal seat, Harrowhurst Castle in Somerset.’

‘Sound structures?’

‘As far as I’ve heard they are. Although it probably would be best for you to visit them and speak with your stewards.’

He owned property in England now. The last time he’d had a permanent home here, he was nine. Now he owned houses that he could stay in indefinitely and no relative would be telling him he had to leave them after a year. Although he trusted Mr Nesbit’s words, Simon knew it would not feel real until he’d stepped foot inside them.

Within minutes, the reading of the will was over and they all stood to make their way to the front entrance hall to leave.

‘Your predecessor was a member in good standing at White’s Gentleman’s Club here in London,’ Lord Liverpool said while shaking Simon’s hand goodbye. ‘I am sure I can introduce you to the right people and sponsor your membership.’

‘That is kind of you, sir, but I have no intention of joining White’s.’

‘Why ever not?’ the Duchess asked, even though it was none of her concern.

He turned and looked into her brown eyes. ‘Because I don’t intend to remain in England long. And if I join any club at all, it will be the Travellers Club.’

She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but Lord Liverpool cut her off. ‘With all due respect, Your Grace, a man in your position needs to remain here to fulfil his duties and needs to think carefully about the clubs he will join. It is not a decision to take lightly. The men you surround yourself with will help you shape policy in Parliament.’

‘I have no intention of shaping policy in Parliament. I intend to return to Sicily once I’ve got a good grasp of my holdings. I will be managing my estates and my investments from abroad.’

Lord Liverpool turned pale. ‘With all due respect, the men who have held your seat have been some of the most powerful politicians in the history of this country. There are men who look to the opinion of the Duke of Skeffington to guide their choices in legislature.’

‘Well, they can look to someone else now—someone who will be attending Parliament. I have other things to concern myself with.’

‘Such as?’ the Duchess asked.

Didn’t the woman standing near them have better things to do? She had just been given a house. Shouldn’t she be hurrying out to start packing?

‘Such as things that do not concern you, madam,’ Simon replied.

She gave a slight huff. She actually huffed at him before taking a step back and going to Mrs Thacker and Rimsby, probably to complain that some mere mister now had the title of Duke of Skeffington.

‘I do hope you and I can discuss your participation in Parliament further at your convenience,’ Lord Liverpool said, distracting Simon away from noticing how a few tendrils of her black hair brushed against the exposed skin of her pale neck.

It was apparent that Lord Liverpool would not let this matter rest. Simon had met men like this before. He would let him have his say and then he would continue doing what he wanted to anyway. It didn’t matter. He would not be in England long enough to have repeated visits by the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister of Great Britain. If all this wasn’t so annoyingly disruptive to his current excavation, he might have found it more amusing. As it was, he just wanted all of these details associated with his new title settled.

Lord Liverpool held out his hand and Simon clasped it firmly. ‘Until we meet again, Your Grace.’

Not having people address him by the name he had used his entire life was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘Until we meet again, Lord Liverpool.’

Mr Mix, who Simon understood to be the old Duke’s secretary and had been managing the ducal properties since the old Duke had passed, went hurrying by on his way to the front door. He was the one man who Simon needed to speak with to settle all the details about his new title and estates. If anyone knew the condition that his estates were in, it would be Mr Mix. He would also know where the ledger books were kept so that Simon could finally see how much of a wealthy man he was. When he returned to England, Lord Liverpool had informed him by post that all debts had been settled and that there were funds remaining. The only question was, how substantial was the size of the fortune sitting in his bank account and just how profitable were those estates.

‘Mr Mix,’ Simon called out, walking towards the door to catch the small, thin man before he disappeared out into the midday sunshine.

The man stopped before stepping outside. He bowed respectfully, but his eyes kept darting towards the door as if he had somewhere to run off to.

Simon held out his hand. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Mix. I understand you served as secretary for my predecessor?’

There was a slight hesitation before Mr Mix took his hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘That’s correct, Your Grace.’

‘Please, call me Simon. I’d like to arrange a meeting with you. I realise that you and I have no contract for employment, but I thought we might discuss the state of the old Duke’s affairs and perhaps we can come to an agreement for the future. And you need to come to my house to collect those snuffboxes the Duke has given you.’

Mr Mix offered him a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘Of course, when should I call on you?’

‘If you have no appointments tomorrow, I think the morning would be best. I’m staying at the Pulteney Hotel on Piccadilly. I imagine we have many things to go over together.’

‘I imagine we do. Very well, Your Grace. I will see you then.’ He tipped his hat in a respectful manner and walked out the door.

Simon put on his own hat and turned to leave when the clear voice of the Duchess rang out in the entrance hall, stopping him in his tracks. He closed his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head before he turned around.

They were the only two people left in the unadorned hall and they stood only a few feet away from each other. She was close to his height, which was tall for a woman, and up close he could see her delicate features were rather scrunched up, as if she was trying to determine what to say to him.

‘Sir, I wish to have a word with you in private.’ She swallowed and looked back at the doorway that led to Mr Nesbit’s office as if she was concerned the man would come out and find them together. ‘Thank you for allowing me to remain in Skeffington House until the end of January. My man of affairs, Mr Sherman, notified me of your acceptance of our request this morning.’

‘My pleasure. I shall not be in England long so you may take the time you need to move to your new residence. Good day.’

He turned toward the door again, but once more her voice stopped him.

‘I have a proposition for you.’ The last statement was spoken in almost a whisper.

A proposition by a pretty woman—even one who was as trying as the Duchess of Skeffington—was something to consider. Simon turned back towards her and wondered what she could possibly want from him. ‘Go on.’

She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering...that is to say...would you consider...?’

‘I am not one to couch my comments to please the world, Duchess. I do not get the impression you do either. What is it you want?’

‘I want Stonehaven.’ She said it clearly, although she was twisting the handle of her reticule as she made the statement. ‘That is to say, I would like to know if you would be willing to exchange Clivemoore for it?’

He hadn’t had the time to review each of his houses. How could he possibly give up one before he knew anything about it? And if the Duchess of Skeffington wanted that one so badly, it had to be worth something.

‘Why do you want the house?’

‘Sentimental reasons.’

‘You and your husband spent lovely weeks there and it holds good memories?’

‘No. I simply prefer that property above the others. If you are leaving England as you say you are, then it should not matter to you which house I get.’

There had to be more to it than that. He had met fortune hunters like her before in his life. Hell, he had been tossed aside by a few. If he had to wager, he would put money on the notion that Stonehaven provided more of an income than Clivemoore.

‘Ah, but your husband had a reason not to put you there. I am simply adhering to his wishes.’

‘And what about my wishes? I’m still alive. He is dead.’

Without meaning to, he let out a low laugh. Her very direct nature was comical.

‘Yes, well, it’s quite obvious you are still alive and the reason I am here is because your husband is dead... How did he die, by the way? I never thought to enquire before now.’

‘A chicken bone...he choked on a chicken bone one night at dinner.’

‘You’re sure it wasn’t poison?’

‘Poison? Of course I’m sure it wasn’t poison.’ A look of comprehension crossed her face before she put her hands on her hips. ‘Are you insinuating I poisoned my husband?’

‘You do seem very interested in that house. And as you stated, you’re alive and he’s dead.’ Simon tried to say it with a straight face, but he wasn’t successful.

‘You are an odious man, Mr Alexander.’

‘That may be true, but I am an odious man in possession of...what was the name of the estate again? Oh, yes, Rockhaven.’

‘Stonehaven,’ she corrected him through her teeth.

‘I don’t see a difference,’ he replied simply to annoy her. ‘Stones and rocks are the same thing. Perhaps I’ll change the name.’

The Duchess began to tug her purple-silk glove up. Her emerald and gold bracelet caught his eye as the sunlight glinted off it from the fanlight over the door.

‘I see you have no intention of taking my request seriously. I do believe we have nothing more to say to one another. I bid you a good day and wish you horrible weather on your journey back to whatever country has the misfortune of hosting you in the future.’

She raised her chin and sailed past him towards the front door and, thankfully, out of his life for ever.

Chapter One
Dorset—five months later

Since she was seventeen, Stonehaven had been a refuge for Lizzy from her horrible marriage. It was the one place she knew she could periodically escape to where she would be free of her husband’s temper and critical remarks. And for the last twelve years she had spent Christmas there with just her sisters and her Aunt Clara. It had been their tradition—the one time of year she was surrounded by the only people who loved her.

Now both of her sisters were married and spending Christmas at the country estate of the Duke of Winterbourne. She had lasted three days on that estate. Long enough to see her sister Juliet married and to endure watching the loving looks her sister Charlotte was receiving from her new husband, Lord Andrew Pearce, the younger brother of the Duke of Winterbourne. That visit was a painful reminder that she would not be sharing the same type of future as her sisters. She was not one of those women who were destined to find love. The reality of her situation stung and she knew she needed the comfort and familiarity of Stonehaven. And she was not going to let something as tedious as her late husband’s will stop her from being there.

As her shiny black-lacquered carriage with the Skeffington crest rolled along the snow-covered road past pale stone houses with smoking chimneys, Lizzy peered out the window and realised how much she had missed the local landscape.

Across from her, signs of apprehension creased Aunt Clara’s brow once more. ‘Perhaps you should have sent a note to Mrs Moggs and notified her that we would be arriving. I can’t imagine that she has ordered the kind of food we are accustomed to having during the holiday for just herself and the staff.’

Lizzy let the black curtain fall from her hand and she met her aunt’s troubled gaze. The staff would be aware that the house was now in the possession of her late husband’s heir and that he had not given her licence to use it. There was no telling what kind of reaction she would receive if they knew she was arriving in advance. Hopefully, the element of surprise would be to her advantage.

‘I’m sure we will have to make certain adjustments and our rooms will not be freshly aired and ready when we arrive, but I assure you I can have Mrs Moggs send someone into town and pick up anything we need to enjoy our usual Twelfth Night celebrations.’ It wouldn’t feel the same without her sisters, but she was grateful her aunt had said she didn’t want Lizzy to spend the holiday alone at Stonehaven and asked to accompany her.

‘And you are certain he will not be there?’

‘For the third time, the last I heard, Mr Alexander is still abroad. All will be well, I assure you. He will never even know we took up residence for a fortnight.’

‘You are going to be placing those servants in an awkward position. We still could finish the holiday in my home in Bath. It is not too far away.’

‘We have spent Christmas at Stonehaven for years. Fear not, I will take all the blame should the new Duke find out we were in residence. He can chastise me all he wants when he sends me a letter.’ Lizzy pushed the curtain aside once more and tried to determine where they were. ‘We have just passed the church in the village. It won’t be long now.’

The large Georgian house came into view after they rounded a rather narrow bend in the road. The late afternoon sun was making the pale rectangular stones appear more orange than beige. As Lizzy looked down to tie the string of her reticule, she missed noting there was smoke curling out of a number of chimneys, visible against the clear blue sky—more chimneys than were necessary for the number of servants residing in the house.

The carriage rocked to a stop and the step was lowered. In the past, a footman had always been stationed in the entrance hall awaiting their arrival. This year, when so much of her life had changed, with the death of her husband and the marriages of both her sisters, the closed black door was making her feel like a stranger in the one place she had felt the most at home. She raised her chin and marched to the front door with her boots crunching in the snow, determined to push her feelings of sadness and unease out of her mind.

The door opened just as she grabbed the ring of the doorknocker and she almost fell forward with the movement of the large wooden door. She might have landed on the polished marble floor if it wasn’t for the quick grasp of her former butler, who was staring down at her with a startled expression that probably matched her own.

As if he had just realised he was holding his former employer in his arms, Simpkins quickly dropped his hands and took a step back. ‘Your Grace!’ It was an exclamation as much as a question and he glanced back to the corridor behind him that led to the private rooms of the house.

‘Hello, Simpkins. You are looking well.’ Or as well as a man could who looked as if he had seen a ghost.

‘Thank you, madam. I... I... I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I imagine you were not,’ Lizzy said, untying her bonnet. ‘But as you can see, my aunt and I have decided to spend our Twelfth Night celebration here at Stonehaven.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes. I realise I should have sent word that we were coming so that you and Mrs Moggs could have the house and staff in order. However, I just decided yesterday that there was no sense breaking this tradition since we have spent our holidays here since I became the Duchess.’

She handed her bonnet to Simpkins, who took it reluctantly, and then went to work quickly on the buttons of her black pelisse. If she could manage to plough through getting settled here, remaining for a fortnight should be easy. Before he had a chance to say anything, Lizzy continued. ‘Now, it has been a rather tiring journey and it’s rather cold out. Please see that a tea tray is brought to us in the Gold Drawing Room. We will wait there while you instruct a footman to remove the furniture covers and start a fire in the hearth. And I’ll need to speak with Mrs Moggs. While there are only two of us staying here this year, I would like to plan a menu out with her for our stay.’

His eyes widened as Aunt Clara draped her cloak over his arm that was now serving as a coat rack for Lizzy’s pelisse. ‘Your stay? That is to say—’

‘I understand you were not prepared for our arrival. I realise it will take time to make the house ready for us. Do not fret. We are patient women and are prepared to endure a cold room and some discomfort until everything is arranged.’

But as she walked towards the back corridor she suddenly caught the distinct smell of meat roasting and turned a questioning eye to her former butler. His wide eyes shifted from her to an area past her shoulder.

‘How very kind of you to inform Simpkins that you are willing to endure some discomfort, but I think it bears noting that he is no longer your butler, but mine.’

Blast it! The man was supposed to be in Sicily. Why was he not in Sicily?

Lizzy turned to face him and was taken aback at the sight of Mr Alexander wearing an unbuttoned blue-quilted banyan, black trousers, shiny black shoes, a black waistcoat and a crisp white shirt. He was missing his cravat, and his smooth neck and the slight dusting of hair near the opening of his shirt had her transfixed. It was proving impossible to look away and it wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she met him in the eye.

‘Simpkins had no idea my aunt and I were coming here.’ Thank heavens it was stated without the slightest crack in her voice.

‘I think that is quite obvious.’ He walked to Simpkins and motioned with his hands for the outer garments the butler was still holding. ‘I’ll take those and see to these unexpected visitors.’ After he took the pelisse and cloak from the man, he turned back to Lizzy. ‘It was kind of you to drop in on your way to wherever it is you are going, but as you can see from my attire, I’m not receiving callers at this time.’

At the mention of his attire, it occurred to Lizzy that Mr Alexander was the only man outside her late husband that she had seen in such a state of undress and he looked far better in his banyan than the old Duke had ever looked in his.

‘Duchess, did you hear me?’

‘I heard you,’ she replied, shifting her gaze away from his exposed neck once again and up to his eyes. ‘We weren’t exactly calling on you. Not in a formal way.’

‘Well, I am not receiving callers in an informal way either. Now, be so kind as to take your things. Good day, ladies.’

Lizzy wasn’t going to be so easily swayed from remaining at Stonehaven. If there was a way she could get him to leave the estate and agree to allow her to stay for the holiday, it would save what was left of a very trying year.

‘Forgive me,’ she said, giving him a bright smile. ‘I have not had the opportunity to introduce you to my aunt. This is Mrs Sommersby,’ she said, gesturing to Aunt Clara. ‘We have spent the holidays together since I was a child—and the last twelve of them we have spent here.’

He gave Aunt Clara a respectful bow. ‘I am charmed,’ he replied rather smoothly, earning him a smile from her aunt.

But when he turned back to Lizzy, his polite demeanour was put aside. He stepped up to her and held out her pelisse. ‘Well, now you can say that you have spent some time here this year, as well. I was kind enough to agree that you could stay in my London residence until the end of January since I had no need for it. I will not be granting you permission to stay in any of my other homes, including this one.’

The emphasis was not lost on her and she felt her demeanour souring. ‘I heard you were somewhere in Sicily.’

‘As you can see, I have returned. I needed to be back here by Christmas.’

‘Why?’

‘You ask a lot of questions for someone who was caught trying to take up residence in a house that does not belong to you.’

‘It should have belonged to me. This should have been my house.’ The anger at her late husband was resurfacing.

‘But it’s not, though, is it? It is my house and because of that you have no right to order my servants about or to stay here without an invitation. And based on all those trunks that are being unloaded in the drive, it appears you were planning on staying here for quite some time.’

‘A fortnight...just a fortnight.’

His eyes widened. ‘All those trunks are for a fortnight?’

‘There are two of us and our maids who have been travelling in my aunt’s carriage.’

‘That is still a substantial number of trunks for a fortnight.’

‘We are not coming from home and one can never have too many dresses when travelling. There are times you find yourself in unusual situations and you need to be prepared with the perfect ensemble.’

‘I see. Well, this certainly is an unusual situation. I’ve never had to throw a woman out of my house before.’

His house? This was more her house than his! She had decorated it. She’d had the gardens restored. This was her sanctuary. It held no meaning to him. She raised her chin. ‘You wouldn’t throw me out.’

‘Not if you leave peacefully,’ he said slowly. ‘If you resist, you will leave me no choice.’ He took a step towards her. Now she was even closer to the exposed skin of that neck of his. The very masculine force of his presence made her insides do a funny flip.

How could he not feel a bit of sympathy for her? She placed her hands on her hips, preparing to argue to make him understand.

Aunt Clara stepped in front of Lizzy and looked up at Mr Alexander. ‘Perhaps you would be so kind, Your Grace, as to allow us to please remain a bit longer to warm our bones and imbibe a cup of tea to warm our souls. Certainly you can see it’s a rather blustery day to be rolling through the countryside.’

There was a hesitation on his part before he gave Aunt Clara a polite smile. ‘Then one might have been advised not to venture out on such a day as this.’

How could he refuse a polite request from her aunt? Lizzy could see the woman was oozing every ounce of sweetness she possessed. Certainly, this man was cold-hearted and callous if he intended to throw them out into the cold.

She needed to take matters into her own hands. She was a duchess! Lizzy stepped from behind her aunt and tipped up her chin. ‘After the long journey we have had, you truly expect us to continue on our way without so much as a warm cup of tea? Why, we have travelled all the way from—’

He held up his hand, indicating he had no desire for her to continue. With a sigh, he let his gaze move between the two women. ‘If I agree to arrange tea for you, will you agree to leave peacefully when you are finished?’

Lizzy pushed back her shoulders. ‘Peacefully? Sir, we have not arrived at this door with pitchforks in hand.’

‘No, just enough clothing to set up every woman in this village quite nicely for the next few years.’

She stared into his dark brown eyes to make her point plain. ‘Sir, I find the more I am in your presence the less I enjoy your company. It will be my pleasure to place miles between us once we are finished with our tea.’

And if she could find a way with her aunt’s help to make him create that distance between them by his wanting to leave Stonehaven first, it would be all the better.

Chapter Two

Simon led them to what the servants called the Gold Drawing Room, holding the pelisse and cloak of the two women trailing behind him. He wasn’t about to risk having the garments stashed away by a footman. Their presence on a sofa in the room where the ladies were to have their tea would be a sharp reminder they would have to leave soon. He was well aware it wasn’t a very proper thing to do, but it would be effective.

Upon crossing the threshold, he heard an audible gasp behind him. He held in his satisfied smile and hoped it was the Duchess, and not her aunt, who had uttered it. Shocking her into realising this was no longer her home was his purpose for bringing them to this particular room to have their tea. It wasn’t because he had felt compelled to honour her request to his butler when she barged into his home.

‘What did you do to the Gold Drawing Room?’ Her astonishment was apparent in her voice.

He turned to find her scanning the room with wide eyes as her aunt settled herself on the pale green sofa by the fire.

‘I changed it,’ he stated plainly.

‘I see that. Why? Why would you do that?’

‘Because this happens to be one of my favourite rooms in the house and I prefer the classical style.’

‘It is mine, as well, or it was before you altered it.’

‘I enjoy the view of the gardens and spend a considerable amount of time in here when I’m in residence. I’m thinking of having it converted to my study.’

‘Your study?’ she choked.

‘Yes. I haven’t had the opportunity to have the furniture moved in yet, but I was able to change the mouldings to the Grecian style and had the walls painted blue to match the colour of the Aegean Sea.’ There was no need for him to explain to her why he had altered the design of a room in a house that was his. In his annoyance with himself, he walked to the sofa near the door and unceremoniously dropped their outer garments on it. ‘I’ll go arrange for your tea.’

The sooner he got them out of the house, the better it would be for him. Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, had a nosy nature and her close proximity to the Blue Drawing Room was not what he needed. Before he went in search of a servant, he would make certain the door to that room was locked. But before he was able to leave, she stopped him with her voice.

‘Why would you change it?’ Her tone was soft and he wasn’t certain if the question was rhetorical. ‘It was perfectly lovely the way it was. What was so objectionable to you that you felt the need to alter it as you have?’

He turned to find her with a furrowed brow, skimming her finger along the top of the new marble mantel that was supported by two replica statues of classical women clad in sandals and sleeveless gowns.

‘There was nothing objectionable with how the room was decorated. However, this style is more to my liking.’

‘I liked the way it had been decorated.’

There was a slight hint of sadness in her voice and he almost felt sorry for her until she opened her mouth again.

‘I realise this style is currently in fashion, but it will not last. People will grow weary of the classical look and then this room will be woefully outdated. It might be already, for all we know. The previous design of the room would have made it quite simple to redecorate by replacing the paint colours or hanging paper on the walls. But this,’ she said, gesturing around the room, ‘this will now require considerable renovation to keep it up to date.’ She uttered the last sentence on a dramatic sigh and her expression was one of false pity.

‘Then I am fortunate I am not one to allow the whims of fashion to dictate my taste and will not be renovating this room. The next Duke of Skeffington can concern himself with that task.’ He took a step closer and folded his arms. ‘And I’ll have you know Mr Robert Adam would be very pleased with this room.’

‘Mr Adam died in 1792.’

‘But many fashionable houses still retain his mark. Shall I name the ones that do?’ He had furnished some of those patrons with a number of antiquities to complement the architectural elements of their rooms. He knew them by heart.

She held up her hand to stop him. ‘I do not need you to list them. There are also many fashionable homes that do not support his classical style. Such as Stonehaven...before you barged in and altered its refined character with these reproductions.’

Should he even bother to inform her that the small gold statue of Mars she had just picked up off the mantel was not a reproduction and was over two thousand years old?

In what he believed to be an attempt to check for a maker’s mark, she eyed the bottom of the statue. ‘Perhaps the woman you marry will not be fond of this style. What then?’

‘Perhaps I’ll know the woman is the one I should marry because she will confess how much she adores this room.’

‘I believe you will remain a bachelor, sir, for a very long time.’ She placed the statue back on the mantel.

‘Oh, I’m sure I can find a number of women who would want to be the Duchess of Skeffington regardless of my partiality to the classical style. It’s well known that there are certain women in Britain whose aim it is to marry a man for his money and his prestigious title.’ He arched his brow and tilted his head.

It was apparent from the way she narrowed her big brown eyes at him that she was aware he was referring to her marriage to the old Duke. He knew women like her and, since he had become the latest Duke of Skeffington, he had been introduced to too many for his liking here in England. Women had shunned his advances in the past, sighting his unimpressive fortune and lack of title. He had little use for such women like these now.

She raked a critical gaze over him. ‘How lucky for you that you now have the title of Duke. You will need that title of yours and your fortune if you hope to entice a woman to marry you. Your lack of charm certainly is not to your advantage.’

‘Perhaps we can have that tea now,’ Mrs Sommersby called out pleasantly from where she was patiently sitting on the sofa near the fireplace.

Why had he allowed the Duchess to distract him from leaving the room? It had only delayed her departure from his home.

‘Did someone mention tea?’

Simon turned away from the annoying Duchess to find his friend and business associate Adam Finley lounging against the door frame, openly assessing her with his eyes.

‘I thought I heard voices,’ Adam continued as he walked into the room.

Simon stepped between Adam and his female intruders. It was no wonder that his friend had become curious about what was taking Simon so long to fetch the small marble statue that he suggested would appeal to Lord Bollingbrooke. He only had to go into the Blue Drawing Room where it was stored, which was a few doors away from his study where the men had been meeting.

The last thing he wanted was to have Adam anywhere near these women. Worlds were colliding and this could be a disaster. While Mrs Sommersby appeared pleasant enough, the Duchess was everything that wasn’t. Her only redeeming quality was that she smelled nice when you were standing close to her. She was opinionated, nosy, and much too condescending for his taste. Not to mention that she measured a man’s worth by what was in his bank account. And while he could manage her probing questions with deflection, Adam’s mercurial nature made it hard to predict how he would react to her inquisition.

It was probably best to quickly introduce them and then leave the ladies to wait for their tea by themselves, since Adam had already walked around him and was making his way to the Duchess.

‘Your Grace,’ Simon addressed the woman who was openly eyeing Adam with an inquisitive brow, ‘may I introduce my friend, Mr Finley. Mr Finley, this is Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington.’

The surprised look on Adam’s face was quickly replaced with a sly smile before he executed a bow. ‘Your Grace, your beauty has exceeded my expectations.’

She shifted her gaze from Adam to Simon and then back to Adam. ‘I assume this means that His Grace has been speaking of me or you would hold no expectations of me at all.’

Adam gave Simon an amused glance before showing off his charming smile to the Duchess. ‘Only in passing, I assure you, but he certainly did not do you justice when he described you.’

Of course he had. What more was there to say about her when Adam enquired after the reading of the will? She was rather tall for a woman, with dark hair and dark eyes. And she seemed to possess a sense of entitlement that grated on him. Simon thought he had been rather generous in his description.

The Duchess, however, was eyeing him as if he was something she had brought in on the bottom of her shoe from the stables.

‘Adam,’ he said, with a hint of chastisement as he pulled his friend away from the Duchess and over to her companion. ‘Mrs Sommersby, allow me to introduce you to Mr Finley. This is Mrs Sommersby, the Duchess’s aunt.’

‘It is a pleasure, Mrs Sommersby,’ Adam said with a bow as his attention became fixed on the woman’s cameo bracelet. ‘That is a stunning piece of jewellery. If I may be so bold, I believe I recall a bracelet similar to that one in Rundell, Bridge and Rundell not too long ago.’

‘I bought this recently at that very shop,’ she said, appearing pleasantly surprised by Adam’s admiration for her bracelet. ‘Do you go there often, Mr Finley? I must say I am astonished you remember it.’

‘That cameo is quite memorable with the details and the cut.’

‘Are you fond of jewellery, Mr Finley?’ the Duchess asked, approaching his side and looking down at the bracelet in question.

‘It is one of my many interests.’ Adam shifted his gaze away from the expensive-looking bracelet and gave a wolflike smile to the Duchess.

Her lips parted and she moved her hand to her chest. Whether she planned it or not she was now covering the emerald necklace she wore which decorated her neck. Simon needed to get Adam away from these women. He couldn’t bear to watch him try to flirt with the Duchess and wasn’t completely certain Adam wouldn’t try to convince the women that he could arrange to sell their jewellery and fetch them a decent price. The unpredictable comments that could flow from both Adam and the Duchess were not a good combination.

‘I believe you ladies were in need of tea.’

‘Yes, I believe we mentioned that a time or two,’ Mrs Sommersby replied.

‘Well, Mr Finley and I will leave you now and I will arrange for it.’

Adam practically pouted at him. ‘We are not staying for tea?’

‘We are not. We have matters to discuss and had been interrupted.’ He shot a pointed glance at the Duchess.

‘But I enjoy a good cup of tea in the afternoon.’

‘You can enjoy a cup of tea in my study.’ He turned to the ladies on the sofa. ‘I bid you both a fine journey to your next destination. I’m certain you won’t mind if I do not show you out myself when you are finished with your tea.’

‘They are leaving?’ Adam asked over his shoulder as Simon practically dragged him towards the door.

‘They are.’

‘But didn’t they just arrive?’

‘This is a very short call.’

‘I see.’ Adam extricated himself from Simon’s hold and walked back towards the ladies. ‘It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope I have the opportunity to spend time with you both in the future. Perhaps I will see you here again.’

‘I hope not,’ Simon muttered, walking out of the room.

After a few minutes of what Simon believed to be bowing his farewells to the ladies, Adam sauntered into the hall where Simon was waiting for him.

‘She likes me,’ Adam said with an arrogant smile.

‘You think every woman likes you.’

He gave a careless shrug. ‘They all do. I speak their language.’ Adam followed him down the corridor towards Simon’s study.

‘And what language is that?’

‘The language of luxury goods—of fine jewellery and fashionable attire.’

‘I wasn’t aware you considered yourself an expert on women’s fashions.’

‘You pulled me away from them before I had the opportunity to compliment the Duchess on the Brussels lace on her gown.’

‘She can thank me the next time I see her if, in fact, I ever see her again. I can only hope that I don’t.’ Simon rolled his eyes as they walked into his study and he pulled the tapestry bell pull to call for a servant to arrange tea.

‘You didn’t mention she was a prime article.’

‘The Duchess? She is not that attractive.’

‘If one doesn’t like females with rich dark hair, fine features, radiant smooth skin, expressive large eyes and tempting curves, then I assume that’s true. I, on the other hand, find her stunning.’

‘You were in her presence all of five minutes. I assure you, she’s a vixen.’

‘You’re exaggerating. I didn’t find her at all shrewish.’

‘She barely said anything to you.’

‘Which means she was speechless because she was captivated by my charms. I tend to have that effect on women.’ He tugged on the cuff of his deep grey tailcoat.

‘You flatter yourself. You render them mute because they’re shocked that a man as transparent as you believes he has charm.’

‘I could have had an opportunity to prove you wrong, but you dragged me away from her and prevented us from enjoying a lovely cup of tea by the fire on this cold day.’

‘Since when do you enjoy sipping tea by the fire in the afternoon?’

‘Since there was an opportunity to have it with that delectable creature.’

‘Truly, she is not that attractive.’

‘Then you won’t mind if I return to the ladies, seeing as you have no designs on her.’

Adam started to walk back out of the study door, but Simon placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

‘I thought you wanted to leave soon to begin your journey to Portsmouth?’

‘Portsmouth is not far. I can postpone my departure for a little while longer. What is one more night in this idyllic home of yours?’

‘The ladies are not staying. They are leaving after they have their tea.’

‘Then why are they here?’

‘Just the thought of explaining it leaves me exhausted.’

A footman walked in and Simon arranged a tea tray to be delivered to the ladies, saving him from having to elaborate more about the persistent Duchess of Skeffington. He knew she wanted this house and he knew it had to be because of the income it would bring her. He had lived his life moving from relative to relative when he was a boy until his father arranged for him to join the navy when Simon was fifteen. Houses were just places to store your things and rest your head. He had never lived in one long enough to grow attached to any of them. The Duchess didn’t appear to be the sentimental type—however, it was apparent she enjoyed her wealth. It had to be the income that drew her to Stonehaven. Perhaps she assumed, if she stayed here long enough, he would just give her the house.

This estate was within a few hours’ drive to the port town of Portsmouth. Now he could ship the treasures he uncovered directly to this house. It saved in travel time and money, and this remote location kept his business hidden from potential thieves. He would never give up Stonehaven. Using this house was beneficial to his business.

‘Before we were interrupted, you expressed interest in seeing the statue I uncovered which will certainly pay Lord Bollingbrooke back for his investment in the excavation,’ Simon said to Adam. ‘Wait here. I’ll go and fetch it.’

‘That’s what you said the last time you left this room.’

‘If I am longer than ten minutes, you can always ring for tea to enjoy by this fire.’ He gave his friend a teasing look.

‘Tea by the fire isn’t quite the same without a tempting woman at your side.’

But it would be much more relaxing without the Duchess of Skeffington there to get Simon’s pulse racing with the agitation she had a habit of causing him. Luckily, she would be gone from this house soon and his life would return to the quiet and boring state it had been in here in England before he noticed her carriage pull up in his drive.

Or so he thought.

Chapter Three

Lizzy sat beside her aunt, staring into the blue Wedgwood teacup that was part of the set she had purchased shortly after her marriage, and was holding back her tears. He had changed her favourite room—the room she had spent many hours in entertaining family and friends. It was a room that she had taken great pains to decorate to her exact taste. She recalled trying four different paint colours before she settled on the soft white paint that complemented the gold crown mouldings that had once outlined the room. Those four walls held so many good memories of so many wonderful visits.

Now that the room didn’t even look the same, all of that was gone with the careless direction of Mr Simon Alexander. It was hard for her to think of him in terms of the Duke of Skeffington since physically he was so very different from her late husband, although he, too, could be infuriating, but in a completely different way.

‘Try drinking your tea before it gets cold,’ Aunt Clara suggested gently, patting her hand. ‘You will not find the answer to your troubles staring into that cup. A good cup of tea can help with many things, but I believe it works only when you drink it.’

Lizzy placed the cup and saucer on the table beside her. ‘It has lost its appeal seeing it in these cups.’

‘They are lovely cups. I recall going with you to buy them in London. I’ve always been partial to Wedgwood.’

‘They are his cups now.’ She didn’t even try to hide the despondent tone of her voice.

Not being able to look at the tea set any longer, Lizzy shifted her gaze to scan the new crown moulding that was painted a pale cream colour that matched the marble fireplace. What else had he decided to change? She got up and walked to the large windows that overlooked the back gardens. In the summer, they were breathtaking with a combination of manicured topiaries, water fountains and beds of roses. Now they were frozen in snow.

‘The house feels different,’ she said, staring bleakly out at the garden where she had spent many days enjoying peace and solitude in the sunshine.

Aunt Clara came up beside her and took her hand. ‘I know it is painful for you to adjust to all that has changed.’

‘My pain is all because of Mr Alexander. He changed this house. If he’d had the decency to remain in Sicily, he would have had no time to alter Stonehaven and this would still feel like home.’ It was his entire fault.

‘I’m not just referring to the changes in this house, Lizzy. In the past year you have become a widow. For months you had no notion of where you would be living. Your financial circumstances, while respectable, are not as grand as they once were. Charlotte is married to the man you wanted to marry and now Juliet is also married and in love. That is a lot of change in such a short time.’

‘What do my sisters’ marriages have to do with any of this?’

‘When Andrew married Charlotte it was very difficult for you. You couldn’t even go to their wedding and you refused to discuss your feelings with me or Juliet. You kept pushing us away when we would mention it. I know you now are speaking with Charlotte, but it has been six months since their wedding. I think it’s time we talked about it.’

‘They are married. I have come to accept that. What is there to say?’

‘Why did you have your heart set on Andrew? When Skeffington died, you said he was the only man who you could love and would make you happy. Why?’

‘It doesn’t matter why. He loves Charlotte and she loves him.’

It was obvious from her aunt’s expression that that explanation was not sufficient and she wasn’t going to let the matter rest until Lizzy bared more of her pain. She had come to accept her fate—she could talk about it a bit more now.

‘I understand that some people are meant to find love in this world and there are those of us who are not. Not everyone marries a man and finds a lifetime of happiness with him. Charlotte is fortunate she found love twice. I suppose when Lord Andrew married her, it reminded me that my future does not include a man who will love me. I thought he had cared for me, but I was wrong. He never had any feelings for me. I created that illusion in my head. I suppose believing in that for the past twelve years helped me through living in a loveless marriage. I could pretend there was a man out there in the world who was wishing I was his. But none of it was real. I know that now. I don’t blame Charlotte for what happened. He was never really mine. I want her to be happy and she is with him. But, in truth, I can’t help but wonder why her fate was to find two men to love her and my fate doesn’t include even one.’

‘Don’t say that. You are still young. You have many years ahead of you to meet a man who will love you.’

‘If there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it is that there is something about me that does not endear me to men. I don’t have striking green eyes like Charlotte, or her sweet disposition, and I’m not lively and spirited like Juliet. I am just me. There is nothing remarkable about me. Even before Skeffington bargained with Father for my hand, suitors were not sending me flowers or filling up my dance card. And as a widow, I know that I may not be able to have children. Heavens, how Skeffington would remind me of that fact while he was alive and even reduced my fortune and income because of it. I was not a desirable debutante and I will never be a desirable widow.’

‘Lizzy, you have a lot to offer a man.’

‘I will not marry some man just because he is in need of my money. If I cannot marry for love, then I will not marry at all. And we both know I am not the type of woman a man falls in love with. I’m just not.’

Aunt Clara placed her arm around Lizzy’s shoulders and the soft familiar scent of her rose perfume drifted on the air. ‘I was not referring to your money, Elizabeth.’

‘Everything is different now. The place that I considered home is no longer mine, nor its contents. That cup isn’t mine even though I was the one to pick it out for this house.’

‘Life isn’t always fair.’

‘It rarely is when you’re a woman.’

For months, she had been telling herself that everything would be fine. That she would find a way to get back some of what she felt was hers, like the use of this house. But now, standing in her favourite room at Stonehaven, with its new marble chimney piece and mouldings, she now saw that the world had gone on without her for these past few months and there was no going back to the way things were. It was too late for that. Nothing in her life would ever be the same. She was a creature of habit and moving forward through all this change was terrifying.

‘Thank you for coming here with me. You have been nothing but kind and patient. You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? If not Mr Alexander changing the house, then some other things would be different.’

‘I suspected the servants would bar you from entering. I had hoped to save you from that humiliation. That’s why I suggested we go to my home in Bath instead. I love you, Elizabeth, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Living with Skeffington was punishment enough for one lifetime.’

Lizzy turned and scanned the room once more. He had done an admirable job. The reproductions in the room were of very high quality. You would almost think they were made a very long time ago. If this room were in anyone else’s home, she would have said that she liked it. But not here. Not in Stonehaven.

‘Let’s finish our tea,’ Lizzy said with a sigh. ‘I only wish we didn’t have to have it in my Wedgwood cups.’

They walked back to the sofa and settled in.

‘I think you are right,’ Lizzy said after taking a long, slow sip from her cup. ‘I think we should go to Bath. There is nothing left for me here.’ She was proud of herself for being able to hold back the catch in her throat.

‘You will find your place, Elizabeth. All is not lost. You were able to make a home for yourself here in Stonehaven. You will find a way to do that at Clivemoore.’

It certainly didn’t feel as if she would be able to do that at the moment. She had spent only a few weeks at Clivemoore while she was married and she had found the old house rather dark and gloomy. It wasn’t the kind of place that inspired happy thoughts. It certainly hadn’t felt like home. And it was a far journey from Clivemoore down to London or to Aunt Clara in Bath. She had never bothered to learn much about the gentry in the area. Would she even have things in common with any of them?

‘I’ve spoken with Sherman, my man of affairs, and instructed him that I’d like to use the money that I inherited to purchase a small town house in London and use the income from Clivemoore to support me.’

‘Why is this the first I am hearing of it?’

‘I’ll tell you more about it on our way to Bath. I’d like to take a short look around to see what else he has changed before we leave. I can think of no reason I will ever be invited to return. I only wish the last time I had seen this place hadn’t been in the middle of winter with all the snow on the ground. I would have loved to walk one final time through the gardens when everything was in bloom.’

Her only solace was that she wouldn’t be seeing Mr Alexander again.

Chapter Four

Lizzy walked through the public rooms of Stonehaven with a heavy heart. She would miss this place. Peeking into them felt as if she were saying goodbye to an old friend. Short of chaining herself to the banister of the main staircase, she couldn’t think of one thing to do that would make Mr Alexander understand how much she wanted to live here.

She had considered asking to sit down with him to have a rational conversation to once more suggest they switch houses, but she knew he would view her need to live here as somewhat irrational. He was a man. If she discussed her desire to reside close to her family and friends it would sound like sentimental drivel to him and she was not about to let him know how truly alone she was feeling since her sisters had got married. She was a duchess. Sharing her feelings with him was beneath her position.

As she walked along the corridor of the first floor of the house past the rooms that held so many memories, all was quiet and still. It was as if the structure was waiting to be filled with the sounds of laughter and excited chatter. Those were the sounds that had reverberated around these walls when Lizzy was there with her sisters and Aunt Clara.

When she entered the library, she sat on the window seat that her younger sister, Juliet, would often curl up on to read on rainy days during the years she lived with Lizzy after their parents had died of consumption. In the breakfast room, she ran her fingers along the round table where she would often share meals with Aunt Clara and Juliet. In the silence of the room, she could still hear her aunt’s voice explaining the virtues of a strong cup of tea to start the day. And when she entered the conservatory, she still felt the pain in her heart from the time she held her older sister, Charlotte, in grief as she told Lizzy that she received word that her husband, Jonathan, had died during the Battle of Waterloo. They were everyday memories and some life-changing ones, as well, but they were the times that reminded her that in her horrible marriage without love she wasn’t completely alone. There were people who loved her and cared about her and valued her. Now she would no longer walk these halls and enter these rooms to be reminded of that.

She trudged further down the corridor and stopped at the closed door of the Duke’s study. Her husband had very rarely spent any time at Stonehaven. He would customarily visit the house twice a year to meet with his steward and inspect the house and grounds for himself. When he was in residence the door to his study would always be closed. All other times, the door to the room was left open. Even though she knew that Mr Alexander was probably inside with Mr Finley, the sight of the closed door made her muscles tighten as if she was anticipating Skeffington throwing it open and berating her for some minor faux pas. She could still picture his wrinkled lips, his yellowed teeth and the spittle that would form in the corners of his mouth when he would yell. The only consolation to leaving Stonehaven and finding a new house in London was that she would never have to look at that door or be inside that room again.

The next room was the Blue Drawing Room. When she tried to turn the door handle and go inside, she was surprised to find the room was locked. Why would he bother locking it? There was nothing of real value inside. Did he fear she would steal a deck of playing cards on her way out of the house? Or perhaps he believed she was inordinately fond of the Meissen dogs that lined the carved cream-coloured mantel of the fireplace?

The man really was a mystery. All that she knew about him was what she had been told by Lord Liverpool and Mr Nesbit. After Skeffington had died, they had informed her that his nephew, who was his presumptive heir, had also died two months prior in a riding accident. The ducal seat was to go to a distant cousin of her late husband and it had taken great pains to finally track Mr Simon Alexander down somewhere in Sicily. She didn’t know why he had been there, or how long he had been staying there. No one really seemed to know.

What she did know was that he had not returned to England for almost six months after Skeffington had died and the delay meant that for almost six months she was a woman without a home—until the will was read and she learned the remainder of her life would be lived out in the far north of England, away from everything that was familiar to her.

When she reached the armoury, she was relieved to discover it had remained unchanged. As she walked inside, she immediately recalled the sound of Juliet’s laughter the summer they decided to take fencing lessons with Monsieur LeBatt. Skeffington had decided to spend that summer at his ancestral home and there was no chance that he would be venturing down to Dorset in the heat. It felt like a form of rebellion to take the lessons and she found they helped to release some of the anger she felt towards her husband and towards her deceased parents who had arranged the marriage.

The four suits of armour that had belonged to Skeffington’s ancestors still stood sentry in the corners of the red room, gleaming in the late afternoon sun that was streaming in through the long windows. Ancient broadswords and ceremonial swords were hung on the great expanse of wall opposite the fireplace and the small swords that Monsieur LeBatt had used to teach her to fence were hung on the wall between the windows. There was no telling the last time a fire had burned in the hearth and when she took one of the small swords off the wall, the metal grip was cool in her hand through her silk glove.

The weight of the weapon felt familiar and, with a swish of the blade, Lizzy saluted the imaginary image of her old fencing master. He had taught her so much that summer and she tried to recall why she had not taken lessons with him the following year. She did remember Monsieur LeBatt telling her on one particular afternoon that she had quick instincts, which made her a formidable opponent. She liked to believe he was telling her the truth and not simply flattering her because she was paying him to teach her. False flattery was one of the things she liked least about possessing her prestigious title.

She lifted the blade straight out to her right side and lowered her knees a few inches. Placing her left hand up in the air at a ninety-degree angle from her body and turning her head towards the blade, she lunged to her right. The stretch of her thigh muscles felt heavenly after spending a good portion of the day in her carriage and she let out an unladylike groan.

The movement had somehow also relieved some of the tension in her shoulders that she hadn’t been aware was there and she tilted her neck from side to side to stretch it, as well. Rolling her shoulders, she adjusted her grip, then resumed her position and lunged again. This time she bounced off her soles as she lunged, taking a leap forward before retreating back to her original stance. The narrowness of the cut of this particular gown was somewhat restrictive and prevented her from lunging as far as she wanted. Needing a deep stretch of her legs, she picked up the skirt of her gown with her left hand so the hem was above her knees and once more she bounced off her soles and lunged towards the window.

A choking sound came from behind her and she spun around, sword in hand, and instinctively pointed the blade directly at the figure of the Duke standing in the doorway. His surprised expression must have matched her own because she felt her eyes widen and she immediately let go of her skirt. The downward swoop of the fine woollen fabric of her grey travelling gown pushed her cotton petticoat and chemise against her legs. For a moment, she feared she would trip if she took a step forward.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ she demanded, wanting to run out of the room from the embarrassment of knowing he had seen her legs.

‘Long enough to hear you utter an impressive grunt and appear to wish to attack the curtains.’

Thank God he hadn’t mentioned her legs. ‘I was not attacking the curtains.’

‘It wouldn’t bother me if you were.’ His gaze shifted to the red-velvet curtains behind her. ‘I don’t really care for them.’

‘These curtains were quite expensive and complement this room perfectly. The colour speaks of past battles and is a testament to the men who fought them. Your ancestors, I might add.’

‘I should have known the design of this room was your idea,’ he said, glancing around the room before striding towards her with his open banyan billowing out behind him, revealing an impressive chest, which was covered up by his blue waistcoat.

Once more that bare neck of his caught her eye and his commanding presence made the large room feel smaller. Lizzy shifted in her stance before she unconsciously tightened her grip on the handle of the sword and steadied her hand.

He walked right up to the tip of the blade so it was pointing at his heart, all the while looking into her eyes as if to challenge her. ‘This room is a bit too theatrical for my taste.’

She narrowed her gaze on him. ‘Are you insinuating I’m theatrical?’

‘I have seen curtains just like those in the opera houses in Italy,’ he replied offhandedly.

He had ignored her question. She hated it when people ignored her. She was the Duchess of Skeffington. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Are you calling me theatrical?’

‘That might be one word to describe you. I suppose dramatic is a more accurate word.’ With the tip of his finger he slowly guided the blade of the sword away from his chest.

‘And the other words you think describe me?’ she asked, lowering the small sword to her side, annoyed that he had the ability to fluster her so much that she had forgotten she had been aiming a weapon at him.

‘I don’t think you really want me to say what the other words are.’

‘If I didn’t want you to tell me, I wouldn’t have asked.’

He walked to the wall between the windows and selected a sword, testing the grip in his very masculine-looking hand. Without gloves, she could see he did not have the hands of a man who led a pampered life. They weren’t smooth and pale like many of the men of the ton whose hands resembled a larger version of those of a child. His hands were tanned, like the colour of the gardeners’ skins when they worked outside in the summer. The pronounced veins on the top of his hand seemed to pump while he adjusted his grip—and she took note of a narrow scar about two inches in length near his wrist. Lizzy didn’t think she had ever paid this much attention to a man’s hand before now.

He waved the blade in the air towards the window and the setting sun glinted off the metal. With his eye, he appeared to check the straightness of the blade. ‘I suppose another word I would use to describe you is wilful.’

Lizzy pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin. ‘That doesn’t sound like a compliment.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ he replied with his back to her as he selected another sword.

‘Are you ever civil, Mr Alexander?’

Calling him Skeffington just felt wrong. He was not her late husband—far from it. She could have referred to him as Duke, but at this moment she had no wish to remind him they shared their elevated status. At this moment, she wanted to remind him that she was a duchess and had been given the title long before he ever stepped foot into Mr Nesbit’s law office.

‘Mr Alexander, is it?’ A small smile tugged at his lips, as if he found her amusing.

Kittens were amusing. Small children were amusing. She was a duchess. She was not amusing!

‘That was the name you were given, is it not?’ she replied sharply.

‘It is and I had gone by that name for thirty-five years until people began to call me by my new one. It has been a while since anyone has called me Mr Alexander.’

If she thought it would have pleased him in some odd way to refer to him by his original name, she would have called him Skeffington instead. ‘Why do you consider me wilful?’

He turned back to her with a different sword in his hand. ‘You truly are asking me that question? You? The woman who wanted to switch houses with me and, when I refused, came to the house she wanted anyway and proceeded to enter—uninvited, I might add—and order my servants around.’ He brought the handle of the sword to his eye and looked down the length of the blade, once more appearing to see how straight it was. Then his eyes met hers. ‘I would say that was wilful. What would you call it?’

A warm rush was rising up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I would call it. Resourceful, maybe.’

‘Rude...you could also call it rude.’

‘I have never been called rude in my life.’

‘Maybe not openly, but I suspect it has been whispered about you behind your back.’

‘Of all the nerve!’ Lizzy tightened her grip on the sword’s handle that she was holding down by her side.

He lowered his sword and cocked his head, looking her in the eye. ‘Why are you still here? I was very generous to allow you and your aunt to take tea before continuing on your journey to harass another homeowner somewhere in the country. I agreed to allow you to stay with the understanding that when you were finished, you would go on your merry way and leave this house. Imagine my surprise when I showed Mr Finley to the door and was asked by my butler if he should have my housekeeper arrange for rooms for you and Mrs Sommersby to stay the night.’

She felt a small weight lift from her chest at the idea she might have another day to walk the halls of this house she had long thought of as her home. ‘And what did you tell him?’

‘That it wasn’t necessary to have rooms arranged for the both of you since I would make sure you left shortly. I did, however, tell him to make certain your servants were fed so they had something warm in their bellies for the journey ahead. Your servants should not have to suffer because their mistress had made a foolish decision.’

‘I don’t make foolish decisions.’ Not any that she would admit to him at least.

He arched his brow and did not appear convinced. ‘You arrived on my doorstep in the middle of winter, from who knows how far away, assuming I would not be here and you and your aunt would be granted use of my house by my staff. That sounds foolish to me.’

‘It was a risk worth taking. My aunt resides in Bath. It is not too far a journey from here. If we had been unable to stay, we would simply have continued on to her home. Haven’t you ever tried something just to see if it was possible?’

‘More times than I’d care to admit. Is that what you were doing in coming here today? You were just trying to see if you could indeed stay here for a while. What is it about this house that makes you want it so badly?’

She couldn’t confess the complete truth to him. It would make her sound pathetic and needy. Let him believe whatever he wanted. Maybe there was still a way to convince him that he would be happier in the dark and sombre designs of Clivemoore House. Its dark colours would suit his grumpy disposition.