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From country miss...to London duchess!
Sophie Trevelyan has been enjoying her visit to London, even if her closest companion is an overweight pug! Then she encounters the dashing Duke of Harcourt, who intrigues her more than is strictly proper...
Max knows he must marry. He’s looking for the opposite of his high-spirited fiancée, who died some years ago, so he tries to keep his distance from bubbly Sophie. But when her life is endangered, Max feels compelled to rescue her...with a very unexpected proposal!
‘What do we do now?’
Sophie looked up at him, her eyes wide with anxiety and curiosity, and he realised that nothing would ever be the same again. Her question was so naïve as to be almost absurd. He knew he should answer her purely on a formal level, because there was indeed a great deal to do now.
‘We seal our bargain,’ he said instead, as his baser self elbowed its way to the front of the stage.
‘How do we do that?’ she asked seriously, and he laughed—more at himself than at her—swamped by relief that it was done, that she had agreed, and that he could now finally do what he had been waiting to do since that day in the gardens.
‘Like this,’ he said, raising her chin and bending to brush his lips across hers.
LARA TEMPLE was three years old when she begged her mother to take the dictation of her first adventure story. Since then she has led a double life—by day she is a high-tech investment professional, who has lived and worked on three continents, but when darkness falls she loses herself in history and romance…at least on the page. Luckily her husband and two beautiful and very energetic children help her weave it all together.
Books by Lara Temple
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Lord Crayle’s Secret World
The Reluctant Viscount
The Duke’s Unexpected Bride
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.
The Duke’s Unexpected Bride
Lara Temple
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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To Tom and Lia,
who taught me the beautiful tension
between chaos and creation.
and who would have loved Marmaduke...
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
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
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
London—1819, summer
Sophie inspected her prey. The stout pug lay in the middle of an enormous chartreuse-velvet cushion placed strategically close to the fireplace in Lady Minnie’s back parlour, which was known as Marmaduke’s Parlour—though never within the hearing of the lady of the house.
‘It’s just you and me, Marmaduke. And I’m not backing down.’
Nothing. Not a quiver of his pudgy body. She knew he was awake because his eyes were open, but otherwise he might have been in a trance, his frog-like eyes fixed on the faded gold and crimson wallpaper, his backside defiantly pointed in her direction.
‘It’s very simple, Duke. Either you let me walk you as per doctor’s orders or Aunt Minnie will probably put me on the next coach back to Ashton Cove and Awful Arthur will get to keep his record of longest sojourn in Aunt Minnie’s mausoleum, and what is more to the point, I will have to go home and I really, really don’t want to go home just yet. This may have been a version of hell for Augusta and Mary, but even if I can’t explore London, it is sheer and utter bliss to be absolutely on my own with no one criticising me, or expecting anything of me, other than Aunt Minnie’s once-a-day read-aloud session, of course. You obviously have no idea what it is like to live in a small house with nine people, not to mention being surrounded by Papa’s parishioners, most of whom are convinced you’re a changeling. Now do you understand why I need your help?’
His jaw opened and a curling pink tongue lolled out, dancing slightly with his panting breath. She knew he had no idea what she was talking about so he could hardly be laughing at her, if dogs even laughed. To be fair, she might be laughing at herself if it wasn’t so serious. She had been ecstatic when her turn to be summoned to Aunt Minerva Huntley’s London mansion had arrived, despite her older siblings’ reports about the horrors of their own visits. They had been forbidden to go further afield than the gardens across the road, spoken to no one but the servants, eaten their meagre meals in their rooms while evidence of some serious feasting took place in Aunt Minnie’s chambers and been sent packing again after only a few days. Not one of them had lasted more than a week. And no one, not even Cousin Arthur, had had any luck with Marmaduke.
Aunt Minnie’s very sympathetic butler had managed to convey to her that though the two other, less-favoured pugs in Aunt Minnie’s menagerie were quite docile, no one in the house dared approach Marmaduke since he had an unfortunate habit of producing such heartrending high-pitched squeals that the last servant who had tried to exercise him had been sacked on the spot. Sophie knew her chances were poor, but aside from her own considerations she really believed it would do Marmaduke a world of good.
‘It’s not that I hate Ashton Cove, Duke,’ she told Marmaduke’s behind. ‘But we have to face the facts. I’m not much use to my family as I am. Even if I had wanted to accept the offers of any of the men who showed an interest in me, which I didn’t, I still managed to scare them all off before they actually took the leap. And Augusta always said my one contribution to Papa’s parish work is that I’m good with eccentrics and animals because we think alike and I know not even that really makes up for my peculiarities. And here I am in London with an animal and a reclusive eccentric, apologies to Aunt Minnie, and I am making no headway. If you would only make a little, a teeny-tiny effort so I could prove I have some use? If I can show Aunt Minnie I am actually helping you follow doctor’s orders, I might be allowed to stay a little longer and perhaps even explore the town. What do you say, Duke? Just a little stroll? I promise it will be fun!’
Her bright statement followed its friends into the silence and she stood eyeing the Buddha-like canine. Clearly matters required more than words. With an indrawn breath of resolution she scooped him up from his pillow and strode out into the hallway and towards the front door. Her move, worthy of Wellington’s finest surprise attacks, so confounded Marmaduke he didn’t react even when she strode across the busy road into the gardens. Safely inside, she looped a sturdy curtain cord through the velvet bow at his neck, deposited him on the grass and looked down at her captive. He stared back, eyes wide, mouth closed. Then his head did a strange little turn, taking in the sights of the garden, a brace of pigeons picking at the gravel, a nursemaid leading two young children briskly down the path, the trees gently swaying in the spring breeze.
‘See? It’s not so bad, is it?’ Sophie said encouragingly and was rewarded by a low growl as a pigeon moved threateningly nearby. Marmaduke hauled himself to his feet and the pigeon spread its wings and fluttered upwards. That was encouragement enough and Marmaduke, who Sophie had never seen move more than a yard at a time, mostly from his cushion to his silver food bowl, now proved he could move very quickly indeed. Sophie laughed and tightened her hold on the cord and hurried after her pudgy charge as he set about ridding the garden of all forms of fowl. After ten minutes of this sport he was panting heavily, his tongue out and jaw spread in an alarming grin, and Sophie judged she had done well enough for the day and scooped him up again, heading back towards Huntley House.
He lay so confidingly and comfortably in her arms, wheezing gently, that it never occurred to her he might have more energy left in him. But just as they crossed the street, he spotted another bird at the kerb and gave a mighty leap out of her arms, setting off in pursuit. Sophie was so surprised she did not even manage to grab the cord and watched in dismay as it snaked along in Marmaduke’s wake.
After a second of shocked panic she sprang after him.
‘Duke! Heel!’ she called out sharply, with more hope than conviction, but though Marmaduke paid no heed, a man and woman stopped abruptly on the pavement ahead and the pug hurtled into the man’s Hessian boots. This moment’s check was enough for Sophie. She grabbed the trailing cord before he could recover and looped it about her wrist.
‘There—it’s back to St Helena’s for you, you traitorous little dictator. That’s the last time I take you for a walk if this is how you repay me!’
Marmaduke directed a very supercilious stare at her and bent to sniff at the boots that had been his Waterloo.
Sophie looked up, directing an apologetic glance at the couple who had been her unwitting accomplices.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry about that, but thank you for stopping him. Aunt Minerva would have never forgiven me if he had run off. He’s her favourite, though I don’t know why. Most of the time he does nothing but sit on his cushion and stare at the wall. I hadn’t even realised until today he could do more than shuffle.’ She glanced down at the offender. ‘To be fair, that was a very fine show of spirit, Marmaduke. But perhaps a bit too much of it all at once. We shall try it in stages, no?’
The woman, her dark hair tucked into a fashionable bonnet lined with lilac silk and dressed in a very dashing indigo military-style walking dress with silver facings, looked slightly shocked, but then she glanced up at the tall man beside her and giggled, an incongruous sound from someone so elegant. Sophie, having fully and rather enviously surveyed her fashionable clothes, turned her attention to the man and had the strange sensation of standing before a carefully and magnificently crafted statue of an avenging warrior. Everything about him was powerful and uncompromising and would have graced the portals of the temple of a particularly vengeful god quite adequately. He stood motionless other than his intense dark grey eyes, which narrowed slightly as she met his gaze, and she was thrown back to a memory of getting lost in the gardens of their Cornish cousins in St Ives at night and stumbling into a Greek sculpture of Mars. She had frozen, dwarfed by the moonlit, frowning and half-naked god of War, too scared to move until rationality had prevailed and she had run back to the house.
He bowed slightly and the strange impression dissipated, leaving only a peculiar echoing feeling, like the silence after stepping out of a raucous assembly, a sense of being alone and very separate.
‘That’s quite all right,’ he said in a deep, languid voice that hardly masked his impatience. ‘We were happy to be of service. I think a leash might be more effective than that cord, though.’
Sophie shook herself and tumbled into embarrassed speech. ‘I know, but Aunt Minnie doesn’t believe in going out of doors and refuses to buy leashes. It is quite sad because it’s clear he needs exercise. Look at the poor thing.’
They all glanced down at Marmaduke, who was now seated, as solid as a small boulder, his pink tongue hanging out of his mock grin, and the man’s hard, uncompromising face relaxed into a faint smile. A very nice smile, Sophie thought, surprised by its transforming effect, and the sensation of being set apart increased.
‘I am not sure he qualifies as a poor thing in my book. He looks about as indulged as humanly possible. Is Aunt Minnie by any chance Lady Minerva Huntley?’
‘Yes, do you know her?’
The couple glanced at each other and there was an easy, laughing communication in the glance that connected them and Sophie thought, with a twinge of uncharacteristic envy, that they must be a very loving couple.
‘Not really,’ the woman answered. ‘She doesn’t go out much any more. But we used to see her often when we were children and before Lord Huntley passed away. She was always very grand. Are you staying with her?’
‘Yes. I’m her niece and her latest pet.’
The lady’s grey eyes sparkled with laughter.
‘Pet?’
Sophie flushed in embarrassment at her slip. She was letting her embarrassment tumble her into just the kind of informal talk that sent her parents cringing.
‘That’s awful of me, isn’t it? She is really being...considerate, in her way. Well, thank you again, I should return Marmaduke before we are missed. Good day.’
She smiled and turned in the direction of Huntley House, tugging at the leash, but Marmaduke had apparently expended all his energy for the day and merely allowed himself to be dragged a few inches. There was a moment of awkward silence and heat licked up Sophie’s cheeks as she bent down to scoop him up.
‘You are a master of contrariness, Duke. That innocent gaze doesn’t deceive me in the least!’ she informed him and with a last nod towards the couple, which she hoped was at least a facsimile of dignity, she headed towards Huntley House, closing her eyes briefly as she realised just how ridiculous she must have appeared to that beautiful, elegant couple. No doubt they were laughing at her behind her back. It was lucky her parents weren’t there to see how predictably she had put her foot in it in her first interaction with human beings outside Aunt Minnie’s domain. Well, she was unlikely to ever see them again. She tucked Marmaduke more closely to her, comforted by his rapid panting. At least she had done some good today, even if only to a pug.
Chapter Two
Max watched the young woman until she disappeared into the entrance of Number Forty-Eight and then glanced down at his sister with the remnants of amusement in his eyes.
‘That proves it. Madness is clearly heritable, Hetty.’
His sister laughed again and shook her head as they turned and continued heading eastwards towards Brook Street.
‘Nonsense, Max, I doubt that girl or Lady Huntley are any madder than I. Lady Huntley has just given herself over to the enjoyment of being a famous recluse and eccentric. From what I gather from my maid she is kept fully up to date on all London gossip. And that young woman is probably just bored to tears and happy to talk with anyone if she is the latest of Lady Huntley’s relatives commandeered to attend to her. Really, that woman seems to have more cousins and indigent relatives than anyone I have ever seen. Even with her fortune, if she ever does have to divide it up among them, there won’t be more than a pittance apiece.’
‘Perhaps this latest helpmate is hopeful Mad Minnie’s canines will win her exclusivity on the Huntley fortune. She certainly seems quite happy conversing with that...dog, if you can even call it that. She almost had me convinced he knew what she was talking about.’
‘You are such a cynic, Max. I don’t doubt I’d be reduced to talking to the dogs if I had to spend more than a day in there. I heard Lady Huntley sometimes doesn’t speak to these relations at all, just sends them commands through her butler. And once she sent one of them away on the night mail with only twenty minutes’ warning! I can’t imagine what would happen to that poor child if she lost Mad Minnie’s favourite pug.’
‘She’d probably find herself locked in the cellars, or worse. But I would think she would be grateful to be evicted, even if it is by the night-mail coach. And she’s hardly a child. I would say twenty-three or four.’
Hetty snorted in a very unladylike manner. ‘Of course I wouldn’t dispute the verdict of the connoisseur of all things female. Are you certain you cannot fix the date more accurately? Or wasn’t she beautiful enough to merit that degree of examination?’
‘Don’t be snide, Hetty. She was tolerable, but I don’t favour pert little country misses, not even ones of her undisputed originality. Far too tiring.’
Hetty sighed.
‘You don’t favour anyone, Max dear. Please try and be a bit more positive when we reach Lady Carmichael. She and Lady Penny won’t know what to do with your biting comments. Do behave!’
Max stopped himself from uttering just such a comment about his sister’s current offering for potential spouse. He should really learn to reserve judgement. After all, he had only spoken to Lady Penny once, at a very tedious evening at Almack’s, and he should hardly be surprised if all she had to say for herself was a sampling of the same inanities which young women felt were expected of them in such occasions. And to be fair, she did appear to be, as Hetty pointed out, a pretty, sweet and modest young woman from an excellent family. She would do very well as Duchess of Harcourt and mother of his heirs. And if she really was too boring, Hetty had promised she had three other candidates in mind.
And most of all he should show Hetty some gratitude for being willing to help him fulfil his highly regretted but inescapable promise. The thought of going through the forest of debutantes and potentially marriageable women on his own was more daunting than any military campaign he had ever undertaken. He would almost be willing to face Napoleon again rather than an endless row of Wednesday evenings at Almack’s. And that meant he needed Hetty’s help. She had been by far the most socially adept of his five sisters and until her marriage six years ago she had known everyone who was anyone in the upper ten thousand of London.
‘That is twice I’ve been called to heel today, Hetty. Have pity,’ he replied with a rueful smile.
She chuckled.
‘That was funny! And she did manage to bring a Duke to heel even if it was only you and not the pug. If I ever feel the need to take you down a peg, I shall share that story with your friends. Everyone takes you far too seriously.’
‘If you do, I might be forced to remember some of your more embarrassing escapades from our childhood,’ Max warned. ‘That was bad enough, but to liken that fur ball to Napoleon on St Helena is carrying eccentricity too far. That peculiar girl obviously has no town sense to be talking to strangers like that. She’ll get into trouble.’
Hetty waited until they had crossed Mount Street before replying.
‘I do feel sorry for her. She seemed so eager to talk. Perhaps I should be brave and introduce myself while I am in town. You know I always wanted an excuse to cross the portals of the Huntley mausoleum.’
Max smiled down at her.
‘You’ve a soft heart, Hetty. But remember what happened to Mother when she went to visit Mad Minnie after Lord Huntley died? Are you sure you want to risk a similar rebuff?’
‘Pooh, that was years and years ago. And Mama never had the slightest notion of tact and certainly no sympathy so I’m hardly surprised she was sent packing. You’re just scared of Mad Minnie.’
They stopped in front of the elegant town house on the corner of Brook Street and Max sighed with resignation.
‘Frankly, I would prefer to spend the afternoon with Mad Minnie rather than at Lady Carmichael’s. I wish I had never promised Father I would marry within ten years. Thirty-one seemed like a hell of a long time away back then and a fair price to pay to get his approval to join Wellington in Spain.’
Hetty considered. ‘I think he might have let you enlist even if you hadn’t. I know what Harcourt meant to Papa, but he was a stickler for duty and he saw nothing wrong in your wanting to serve your country. He just wanted to make certain you married eventually. I think he was afraid you might not...after what happened with Serena...’
Max stiffened involuntarily and her voice trailed off.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned her,’ she said contritely.
He shrugged, trying to relax the tension that always took hold when anything brought back memories of Serena. He would have happily traded quite a bit of his worldly goods for a magical remedy that could slice off that year of his life. His father, as stiff as always, had made one of his rare attempts at being paternal and supportive when he had offered him the trite ‘time heals all wounds’ aphorism. But though time had dulled the pain and guilt and all the other emotions he had tried to escape by drowning in the horrors of war, he didn’t feel healed. Just muted. Older and wiser. Another cliché.
He could vaguely remember the excitement that Serena’s beauty and vivacity had sparked in him, but just as he remembered his favourite childhood books—intense but distant, not quite real. More powerful were the feelings that gradually took their place—confusion, resentment, helplessness. Hatred. She had definitely widened his emotional repertoire. And each time something evoked her memory he still flinched involuntarily and the throb of guilt came back, proof that there was still a core of poison inside him that refused to dissipate. He grimaced at the thought. A poor choice of words...
‘It was a long time ago. It almost seems as if it happened to someone else. As for Father, whatever his motives, I was too shocked that he agreed to let me go to Spain to even consider negotiating his terms.’
‘You know, you don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I mean...surely he wouldn’t expect you to hold to a promise if it is something you—’ She broke off as she met his gaze. ‘Oh, dear, of course he would. Poor Papa. But he’s dead and so—’ She broke off again. ‘I forget who I am talking to. Of course you will hold to it.’
Max forced a smile. He wished he had it in him to break his promise as she suggested, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t. It hadn’t been an idle, arbitrary promise. He might never have felt very close to his father, but the previous Duke of Harcourt had done a very good job inculcating him with a sense of what they owed to their position and the people who depended on them. The Duchy was not theirs individually, but theirs in trust. Fulfilling his duties wasn’t just a matter of honour; it was a matter of practical concern for hundreds of people who depended on their properties. His father had allowed him to put that on the line by joining the army because he had been clever enough to understand that Max had needed to get away from the setting of his tragedy, but he had made it clear that every indulgence came at a price and he had chosen this particular price with a sense of evening out the scales.