What an Unstoppable Duke

The Marriage Managing Society
Book 4

by
Eva Devon

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

What an Unstoppable Duke

Copyright © 2026 by Máire Creegan

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

This one is for the fun, for my family, and for all the possibilities that still await.

Creativity is a gift, but it can make me feel lonely. So, having Paul, Christy, Louisa, Tammy, Lisa, and Leigh is so deeply appreciated!

Chapter 1

London 1789

The Season

A rather fine and exclusive boxing gymnasium

Pierce Felix Bellfield, Duke of Windbourne, could not abide clutter. He had spent most of his life running from life’s clutter. Oh, he didn’t mind a stack of books here or there. Those were to be admired! A hodgepodge of beloved items was a delight. But when Pierce said clutter, he meant precisely that: a real, genuine, overwhelming muddle of things.

After the death of his mother, chaos had surrounded him in the various homes that belonged to his father. It had been in every room, and he had always tried to escape the ever-growing collection of his father’s fascinations.

Oh, what a great man his father had been and how he had loved him. Even now that the man had shuffled off his mortal form, Pierce loved his father. Like so many young men, Pierce felt like he stood in the shadow of a man so great, so tall, that he would never really escape it, no matter how far he went. But there was one invariable truth: his father had been one gigantic, all-encompassing muddle.

Wherever the man had gone, he had spilled out onto everything and everyone. He had been larger than life. He had been grander than history. He had known how to live. But after Pierce’s mother’s death, there had been an eccentricity that had gone a bridge beyond the reasonable in his own abodes. The man had not been capable of simply owning one bit and bob from the Herculaneum. No. He had to own hundreds. He could not own one porcelain object from China. He had to own one thousand.

There was something about the man that had always needed more.

And frankly, it had caused such a reaction in Pierce that he had gone from running from room to room as a child to running from continent to continent as an adult. Well, at first, it had been county to county, and then city to city, and then country to country, and then he had crossed oceans. One needed to outrun the sort of intensity his father possessed and the chaos he created wherever he went. Eventually, the man had died, as all men must.

Pierce had returned to England, and now he had taken up the mantle of a duke.

There was just one thing.

Pierce’s house was utter and absolute chaos. Not just his London house, but all his father’s houses. He could not face the estates. Not yet. He had to be in London. Parliament was in session, and the Season was in full swing.

He needed to be in the city, especially with the other dukes, the other lords, the other friends that he had quickly made. For years, he had corresponded with the Duke of Rivers. And when he returned to London, Rivers had all but collected him into the fold of a few men that were not encompassed by chaos, who had not run from city to city, country to country, and continent to continent. No, they had stood fast and firm in their resolve to improve their country.

Windbourne wanted to be a part of that.

And so, Pierce was quite happy to join them, just as he was at this moment, circling a boxing ring with the Duke of Rivers, wondering if he should go easy on the fellow.

Rivers, dark-haired, clear-eyed, and incredibly strong, always looked as if he was about to be overborne by the complexity of humanity. Though he was a good fellow who did his very best.

“Hold still,” Rivers demanded with a lilt to his voice. “I think it’s about time I actually hit you.”

Pierce let out a laugh as sweat dripped down his muscular back. “Oh, no. We don’t allow you to prevail so easily, and I know you’d loathe such a thing.”

“I disagree. I’m a duke. Many things come easily,” Rivers drawled with an arch of his dark brow. “Stand still. I’ll pop you one, and then I’ll tell you how I feel about it.”

A deep laugh shook out of him. Again! How could he not laugh? He thought Rivers was the best of men, as was the Duke of Westfort, Viscount Skyburn, and the Earl of Seaborough.

They had spent the last few weeks doing everything from fighting in a boxing ring to eating oysters down by the river together. They’d attended the opera, the theater, races, and Pierce had helped to arrange the most recent marriage of Viscount Skyburn to his wife.

He knew that the Duke of Rivers had had a little bit of a hand in it as well. He wasn’t entirely certain why Rivers was so motivated to make sure that Pierce became friends with Viscount Skyburn, but Rivers had, and Pierce was glad for it.

And now, as they circled the boxing ring, sweat flying from their brows, their friends watching, leaning against the ropes, he wondered about how Rivers might be able to assist him in his present problem.

Rivers was always resourceful.

And just as he was about to ask, Rivers had the audacity to give him a strong right hook abruptly to the jaw.

“That was low,” Pierce growled, adjusting said affronted jaw. “You knew I wasn’t concentrating.”

Rivers cocked his head to the side, which gave him an oh, so sorry, my dear fellow look. Rivers tsked. “You weren’t paying attention? That is hardly my fault.”

He scowled. “Of course it’s not your fault, but you didn’t need to succumb.”

“Oh, but I did,” Rivers said playfully. “You’re such a good fighter that I have to take any chance I can of achieving a blow.”

“Fine,” Pierce returned. “I’ll take the compliment.”

They circled around the ring. And Westfort let out a cry, “Good show, Rivers. You got one in.”

Rivers snorted. “You make it sound as if I am a meandering poet who’s never thrown a punch in his life.”

Westfort cocked his head to the side, considering this, but said nothing.

Viscount Skyburn, on the other hand, who was a devil of a fellow, crossed his arms over his chest and let out a bellow of a laugh. “If the shoe fits, Rivers,” he replied.

“Do I look like a delicate poet?” Rivers demanded, aghast.

After all, dukes did not poets make.

Pierce considered the description too.

“A delicate poet?” Pierce mused, looking for his chance to strike. “No. A poet, possibly, but one who considers war. Perhaps you have spent most of your life studying Sun Tzu’s L’Art de la guerre and how to maneuver nations.”

This caused a considerable look of consternation on Rivers’ face. “A palpable hit,” he said. “I don’t like that,” he said. “I never considered myself to be such a daydreamer. Warrior poet or no.”

Rivers was most definitely a daydreamer. An idealist. A man who longed to improve the world despite the nature of it.

All the friends were large men. All of them were quite equally matched in the boxing ring, but there was something about Rivers that made him seem as if he was above humanity, or at least apart from it.

The poet comment seemed to have an effect, and Rivers headed for the edge of the ring. “Have done. I must rest my poor, listless self.”

Pierce laughed. “Listless? You do more than most before breakfast.”

“Tell me,” Rivers began, pausing from departing the ring. He had been pulling his linen shirt over his head, but he stopped and let it fall to the side, his muscles rippling. No delicate poet in reality. Clearly, they weren’t done, and so he headed back to the center. “What is troubling you? For you do seem troubled. I’ve never seen you distracted before.”

Their friends watched, almost holding their breath as one.

Pierce ground his teeth, wondering if he should confess the truth, but his father’s eccentricities were not a secret. “The house,” he admitted. “I can’t bear it another day.”

“Come stay with me,” Westfort said.

“I would, if I could stomach the idea of being around you and your wife and all that love, but that won’t solve the problem of my house,” he said over his shoulder.

“And what is that?” Skyburn asked.

“Well, if you must know,” he began, flexing his hands and being careful with his footwork, lest Rivers strike unannounced again, “and I think you do know, it’s stuffed to the brim with things.”

“All of our houses are stuffed to the brim with things,” replied Westfort dryly. “It is the circumstance of wealthy people collecting things throughout the centuries and keeping them.”

Yes, it was true. That was the marvel of the English aristocracy and its landowners. Everything was passed down and no one needed to buy anything if they didn’t want to, though they always did because people were always taking continental tours and going to new places that were recently “discovered.”

“Well, that’s all well and good,” Pierce said as he darted left, avoiding Rivers. “I would wager, though, that you can all move about your drawing rooms without having to go through some sort of maze of old news clippings and playbills.”

Rivers cringed. “That bad, is it?”

“Indeed, it is,” he stated without self-pity.

“I had heard something to the effect from my own butler,” Rivers said with surprising gentleness. “And I must confess, I did do a little investigation for you.”

“Did you?” Pierce asked, straightening right before Rivers popped him again in the jaw. In the same spot. “What the bloody hell, man? Do you enjoy kicking someone while they’re down?”

“Not at all. Just taking any opportunity that arises to actually get a blow in,” Rivers said, smiling.

“Well, I’m about to show you what clarity looks like.”

“Do,” Rivers said brightly, dancing on the balls of his feet.

And within a moment, he had managed to slam his fist into Rivers’ lower back.

Rivers let out a groan, dropped to his knees, and said, “Isn’t it rude to assault a poet?”

“You are clearly not a regular wilting poet,” he said. “Look at the muscles on you, sir.”

Rivers grinned. “I do spend a great deal of time attaining them, if you must know. If I don’t, I go stark raving mad. My brain needs as much exercise as my body, which means I sleep very little because both must be kept in fashion.”

A murmur of agreement went up from Westfort, Skyburn, and Seaborough, as if they all understood this sentiment better than any of them would have preferred.

“What has your investigation found me?” Pierce demanded, flicking his damp hair back from his brow.

“A lady,” Rivers declared as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t need a lady. I don’t need amorous distraction,” he countered, disappointed. He’d hoped for an actual solution. Not the sort of solace that so many used to plaster over their problems.

Rivers rolled his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. “Not that kind of lady. By God, man. What do you think I am? A bawd?” he demanded.

“Not at all,” Pierce began.

But Rivers was having none of it and thundered on. “I am not the sort who waits by coaches to pick up young girls and put them to work.”

“Glad to hear it,” Pierce said. “Then what exactly is it that you’re insinuating?”

Rivers waggled his brows. “There is a young lady who was born a lady, who had a good fortune, but it was all taken because her mother could not produce a male heir. And the father did not provide any sort of extra coin for them. And she has taken up employment in organizing other people’s homes.”

Pierce blinked. “And you think she could be of help to me? It is a great deal of work.”

Rivers all but beamed. “She loves to put things to rights, as far as I understand, and is quite good at it. She has not yet had the opportunity to work with someone as influential as yourself, but from everything that I have been led to believe, she’s excellent and understanding.”

A beat of hope hit him. He had not known how he was going to address all his father’s things. For whenever he tried, waves of sorrow so intense that he feared he would never come up for air covered him. He’d never been a man to avoid challenges, but this was different. This was like being haunted by his father. It was like being caught in quicksand, and he could not face it. Try as he might.

“I’m willing to try anything,” Pierce confessed. “I can’t imagine how heavenly it would be. No more running about London, desperately trying to get away from my father’s stacks of things,” he whispered. Pain spiked in his heart as he said quietly, “I can’t keep doing it. It must be taken care of. And if you have someone who will help me, I won’t say no.”

His friends were quiet. They did not try to convince him that his feelings were false or that he should face this dilemma like a man.

No, they stood in silent solidarity and looked to Rivers for the answer.

In fact, just about everyone always looked to Rivers for the answer.

“Marvelous,” Rivers said, clapping his hands together. “Shall I send her a note? Or will you?”

Pierce swallowed “You better do it. I can’t bear to think of the wording that I would use to explain my father.”

“No one can really explain your father,” Rivers agreed, but without condemnation.

“Exactly,” he said, relieved Rivers understood when so many might not.

And just as he did so, Rivers managed to gleefully pop him again.

“Stop doing that! Three times,” he yelped, grabbing his offended bone. “My God, man, have you no sympathy?”

Rivers arched a brow. “No. Not really,” he said.

“What a cold-hearted soul you are,” Windborne drawled, though he knew there wasn’t a moment’s truth in it. Some people might think Rivers was a bit odd or cold, but he wasn’t. He was a good friend. He cared about people, and that was very evident in all his actions.

And suddenly, like the sun which comes back after the moon’s reign, Pierce felt his heart lighten.

If Rivers said the young woman would organize the town house, then she would. And for the first time in months, he found himself drawing in a long breath of relief.

If she did a good job with the townhome, he would happily employ her for years. He would send her from estate to estate and urge her to get rid of everything that was not needed.

At last, he would be freed from all that might bog him down or force him to remember the strange confusion of being a young man with a father who was surrounded by things that seemed to push everyone he loved away.

“Right,” Pierce said, lowering his fists, “let’s go get pork pie and champagne. I feel like life is about to take a turn, and I dearly love a good turn.”

Fennyman strode across the now almost empty boxing gymnasium and clapped Rivers on the back. “Well, that went well.”

“Were you spying?” Rivers asked, knowing he needed to follow Windbourne and the rest swiftly or draw suspicion. After all, he was supposed to be headed out to partake of pie.

“I’m always spying,” Fennyman said with a shrug as he leaned casually against the rope. Fennyman didn’t box. He didn’t need to. He knew how to slit a man’s throat while he was sleeping or bring him down with a broken bottle.

Rivers was very aware of how dangerous the man was, but he’d never used that danger to hurt anyone weaker than himself. In fact, Fennyman, who appeared like he might knife you in an alley, was likely the kindest man Rivers knew.

“Do you spy on me?” Rivers asked.

Fennyman rolled his eyes. “Of course I do.”

Harlowe, Rivers’ remarkably capable butler, popped in through the side door with a mug of coffee in hand, the aroma wafting towards them. “Delightful stuff this.”

“When did you start drinking coffee, Harlowe?” Rivers asked, arching a brow, suddenly wishing he had a cup.

“Oh,” Harlowe replied, closing his eyes and drinking in the scent as if it was manna from the gods. “I don’t know. It’s just slipped up on me. Now, I can’t imagine life without it.”

“Yes, like many other things,” Rivers observed. And the more time he spent with Harlowe, the more certain he was beginning to feel that he should be more than a butler.

Harlowe was an excellent butler, and Rivers didn’t know what he’d do without him, but he rather thought the world could use Harlowe in a grander capacity. Yes, he had an idea there, but it wasn’t time yet to implement it. Besides, he was rather afraid that Harlowe would hate it, and so he had to wait until it was solid to make it happen.

“So, we’re going to send for her?” Fennyman asked.

“Oh yes,” Rivers said. “It’s time.”

“And you think she’ll take the position?” Fennyman queried, always the skeptic.

“I believe so.”

“Oh, she will,” Harlowe said before he took a dignified sip of his coffee. “She needs the money. And it was very clear at her last place of employment that she wasn’t paid very well. As a matter of fact, I think they tried to cheat her of a few pounds.”

Rivers growled. “Ridiculous,” he said. “How dare they? I shall have to track her last employer down and pummel them.”

“Well,” Harlowe said, smiling over his cup. “I confess I already did something of the kind. I ensured that at the last dinner party the punch was…terrible.”

“Did they fire their cook?” Rivers demanded, shocked Harlowe would put a servant in jeopardy.

“How can you ask, Your Grace? Of course they didn’t fire their cook,” Harlowe defended. “I put a recently, dearly departed mouse in it.”

“Before people drank it or after?” Rivers asked, stunned.

“Oh, the guest of honor spotted it well before anyone could drink,” Harlowe said merrily, “but the hubbub was delightful.”

Rivers blinked, amazed anew, but this time at the bold vengeance of his butler. “Harlowe, I had no idea that you could cause so much trouble.”

Harlowe waggled his brows. “Neither did I.”

And Rivers had a rather strong feeling that this was only the beginning.

Chapter 2

Miss Nancy Stillbrooke loved a good disaster.

Oh, not an apocalyptic one, of course. Not the carnage of bad weather or the horrors of war, but oh, how she loved a house that had fallen to rack and ruin or an office that had become a cluster of papers.

How she adored going into a place and finding the best way it should be organized. When she was small, one of her favorite things to do had been to go into her mother’s embroidery box and sort out all the embroidery thread.

She’d loved going to all the servants and organizing their ribbons. She loved organizing aprons and sorting out the strings that became tangled. It was her very favorite thing to do to sort out anything that had become, well, unsorted.

She seemed to have a knack for looking at a situation and seeing exactly where everything belonged. Sometimes she felt that way about people and their emotions too, but she did not attempt to organize those. That led to a great deal of trouble and accusations of too much meddling.

So she limited herself to the sorting of external and physical objects. And oh, how delighted she was to have such a skill because, even though she was an attractive young lady, she had no dowry, no money, no house of her own because her father, who had been a good man, had not managed to get a son with her mother.

And what a disaster that had turned out to be. That disaster she had not particularly loved, but she had sorted it. At least, as best she could.

The untangling of it had been rather painful because her mother was unwell. And the person who had inherited her father’s estate had not seen fit to feel any sort of obligation to them or their general welfare.

They had been tossed out. It had been the fellow’s prerogative. Her father had not provided for her and her mother, thinking, as so many men did, that things would always work out.

And the most hilarious thing of all was that her father had actually been correct. It had worked out, just not in the way her mother and Nancy had thought it would when she was about to have her first Season.

No, she would never have a Season. She would not wear ball gowns of her own. She would not dance the elaborate steps of the waltz and minuet that she had learned from her dancing master. She would never speak French in a salon while discussing politics. She would not pour out tea delicately in a beautiful drawing room whilst having conversations about who would marry whom and what was most popular this Season, flowers or birds.

No, Nancy was an independent young woman who earned her own money and took care of her mother’s ailing health. And she needed a great deal of money to do so because, quite frankly, she feared her mother was not long for this world.

It was no easy thing being ill in London, which was why she had let a cottage by the sea for her mother. Oh, how she missed her and wished she could see her every day!

It was no easy thing paying for doctors and trying to get her mother better. But at least it was easy for her to go into house after house and organize the leftovers of people who had died, people who were overwhelmed, or people who just seemed to have wounded souls and did not know what to do with the vast majority of things they had collected over the years.

She felt compassion, kindness, and, well, a sense of triumph when she was able to set chaos to order and see the looks on people’s faces when she had done so.

And today was the greatest day of her life because she had been given a task that anyone would envy. She clutched the little calling card in her coat pocket and took one look up at the freestanding townhome with Corinthian columns and a portico that stretched almost as long as a ballroom. It stood at the head of a large square with another Grecian column at its center, not far from the Oxford Road.

She drew in a breath and lifted her chin.

“I am capable,” she said to herself, willing herself to feel it. “I am strong,” she said to herself, forcing herself to not shrink with fear that she was not up to this mammoth task. “And I will make friends with this house and turn it into a place of beauty.”

It was what she always said before she went into someone else’s home, except this one… Well, this one looked about five times larger than any she’d ever worked on before.

She collected her thin reticule, she collected her spirit, and up she went across the steps. She easily took each step, for she was in very good health herself, which she was daily grateful for. At the set of double doors, she grabbed the massive brass knocker with a lion’s head and rapped it soundly against the door.

It did not even take a moment for the heavy door to swing open and the gentleman, who was clearly the butler of the house with his elaborately curled wig and his beautiful crimson velvet livery, answered and said, “Good day. May I be of service to you?”

“Yes. I was told to present myself with this card,” she said, whipping it out. It was no easy task with her fingers in gloves that had been carefully mended.

The ivory card was thick and clearly expensive with the gold calligraphy upon it. It was an expense that most would never be able to afford.

The butler peered at it and then peered at her before he beamed. “We have been awaiting your arrival.”

Rather than any sort of look of disdain because her clothes were not quite on par with what the butler was surely accustomed to seeing on those who crossed through the front door of the house, rather than the servant’s entrance, he gave her the strangest, kindest sort of smile. And much to her pleasure, he said, “We are desperately glad that you have arrived.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled to hear it,” she said as she crossed over the threshold and stepped onto the elaborate mosaic floor. Yes, mosaic. She gazed at it and blinked. Astonished at its beauty and oddity.

“The former duke,” the butler began, noting her awe, “had it imported from an island off the coast of Greece. He was quite obsessed with ancient Greece.”

“Was he?” she asked, feeling almost horrified to step on the beautiful stones placed to look like an ocean upon the floor. And as she studied said stones, she realized there was not one, nor two, nor three shades of blue stones, but at least five, as well as gold and silver woven in.

“It is breathtaking,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he replied.

As she entered the foyer, she found herself rather stunned because she could not see the evidence for why she had been called upon.

“This way,” the butler instructed. “The duke insisted that I show this to you upon your immediate arrival. Before anything else. You might wish to brace yourself.”

“Oh, no,” she said, smoothing the tails of her thin coat. “No need for that. I am quite prepared. I have done my research.”

“Yes,” he said warily, leading her forward. “I’m sure you’ve been able to find a great deal of commentary about the former duke’s proclivities.”

She smiled. “Well…about his interesting habits,” she replied, wishing to make note of the situation in as positive a way as possible.

The butler cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“He was very famous, was he not?”

“Oh, indeed,” the butler agreed, striding down the mote-filled hall. The little particles danced in the sun pouring through the windows. “At one time, an elephant lived in the house.”

“An elephant?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, a friend brought it back and gave it to him.” The butler’s brow furrowed at the memory. “Terrible idea though. The climate is horrible for such an animal.”

She nodded, her bonnet bobbing. “Yes, I would not think that a pachyderm would thrive in England,” she agreed. “What happened to it?”

“Well, His Grace did realize the error of such things, and his son, the current duke, took it back to India, whereupon, with help from those who knew elephants well, he apparently released the animal to great joy into a herd. The herd was apparently imperative.”

Herds were imperative. For humans too. Her heart ached at the idea that anyone would think it a good idea to separate such an animal from its kind. And she felt a burst of affection for the late duke she had not known, and his son who was the present duke, that they had returned the elephant.

She tilted her head to the side. “He sounds like a most interesting individual, His Grace,” she said.

“Oh, he most definitely is, but you likely won’t see him. He’s never here. He doesn’t like the house.”

She smiled. “Oh, when I’m done with it, he will adore it.”

“We shall see,” the butler ventured. “His Grace only sleeps here, leaves the moment he gets up, and does not come back sometimes until well past twelve of the clock.”

She made a mental note of this. She understood it. Most people who lived in such a house could not bear the oppressive nature of it, especially if it was not a disaster of their own creation, but someone else’s. Well, disaster was a rather harsh word. Collection. And sometimes those collections made no sense to the people who had not created them.

The butler opened a door to the right.

Or at least he tried to open a door. It would only go about six inches. He managed to shuffle through, which was not very decorous because the lady usually went first. But she soon understood why he had gone first when she followed him.

Stacks upon stacks of newssheets and playbills and, she realized, scripts of various kinds filled the room.

“My goodness,” she breathed, sneezing as the dust danced through the air. Said dust, unlike in the hall, was only visible because of the cracks of light that spilled through the curtains.

“Yes,” he said. “My goodness is one way to put it.”

“And the former duke did not allow you to touch any of these things,” she said, already knowing the answer.

“That is correct, Miss Stillbrooke,” he said.

She turned slowly, careful to make sure she did not overturn a precarious stack. “What a collection of works he does have,” she said, peering at the titles on the stacks she could see the top of, which were not many because most of them went over her head.

The butler nodded. “Yes, he was particularly obsessed with the plays of the Jacobean period. Of course, Shakespeare as well. And then he had a collection of the Christian plays that were so popular in the medieval period, like Everyman.”

“What a learned fellow,” she marveled. “Did he read them or have them put on?”

The butler frowned. “No, unfortunately he did not. He just collected them. He had seen several of them in his youth and became rather obsessed. Whenever he saw a copy, he had to buy it.”

She nodded. This was quite common with the sort of people that she had come to assist. It was a compulsion. They couldn’t help themselves.

“I see,” she replied simply. “And does His Grace love the theater? Will I be keeping any of these plays for him?”

The butler gnawed his lower lip. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Quite frankly, he does seem to like to go to the theater, but he doesn’t seem to want to collect anything. His room, which is quite small, is rather monastic.”

“May I see it?” she asked.

“May you see his room?” the butler asked, his eyes all but bulging.

She nodded.

He swallowed, gazing to the door, then back to her. His gloved hands, which had seemed quite sure and still, suddenly fidgeted with the gold edging at his cuffs.

“Why do you wish to see it?” he rushed.

She smiled, understanding his unease. “It will help me to deduce what I am to keep and what I am to let go. Seeing his chambers will allow me to see his sense of taste and style.”

The butler nodded, but he still appeared hesitant. Then he drew himself up. “The duke did say that you should have whatever you needed,” he informed her.

This was quite a pleasing thing to hear! Occasionally, she did have trouble with those who hired her, for it was often a struggle to wrestle with the past. Some were not prepared to let go.

Clearly, the duke was. It would make her work much easier.

The butler led her most carefully out of the room, up the wide stairs, and then to a smaller side stair which twisted up, round and round.

“Are we going up to the servants’ quarters?” she asked, half laughing, again glad she was in good health.

“Yes,” he said. “You noticed?”

The servants’ quarters. The duke lived in the servants’ quarters?

“I did indeed,” she replied.

And soon, they were all but in the rafters of the town house. Much to her surprise, this part of the house was not crowded. Unlike the room she’d seen, and no doubt all the other rooms down below, it was not stuffed to the brim with bric-a-brac or things that had been collected over the decades by the former duke.

Each room along the spartan hall, as they passed, was quite simple, but she noticed that most of them were not full.

“How many servants work in the house?” she asked.

“Only five,” he said.

“Only five?” she gasped. How did they run such a massive establishment?

“Well, His Grace, the former duke,” he ventured, his voice hitching, “in the last years? He did not really go out as he once did. He had simple meals, and he didn’t entertain anyone after his duchess died. He preferred to spend his time with his objects, though sometimes he did go out to his club. Once… Once, he was the grandest man in London.”

“I see,” she said. “And the current duke?”

“I think he finds it all too overwhelming to hire anyone. After all, he has just returned. I do not think he knows what to do. Which, of course, is why you are here.”

“Well,” she said, “I do know what to do. So never fear. I’m happy to be here.”

And then he opened the duke’s door. She let out a gasp because it was not empty. Oh, it was empty of things…but the duke was most definitely not out.

Chapter 3

The young woman’s jaw was upon the floor. It was a delightful jaw, as was her whole person, though he quickly made note of the fact that she likely had not had a new coat in at least three years.

Quite frankly, his butler’s jaw was also upon the floor.

Pierce was amused by it. How could he not be? It was a far better feeling than irritation that his privacy had been invaded.

“Excuse me, Everett,” he said. “Is this the young woman we expected today?”

Said young woman snapped her mouth shut, held her reticule before her as if it were some sort of Roman shield, when really it was only about six inches long and on the edge of being frayed.

And before the butler even had a chance, because the man was clearly stunned to such a degree that his brain had run off to Coventry, she sputtered, “I am Miss Nancy Stillbrooke. You did indeed expect me—”

“Good. Good,” he cut in. “It’s a pleasure to meet the young woman that the Duke of Rivers has extolled so extensively about.” He paused and said quite honestly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

But then he smiled ruefully, cleared his throat, and added, looking about his sparse room, “But what are you doing here?”

He couldn’t help it. He looked her up and down, which was quite funny because she was also looking him up and down.

He was not at all embarrassed about the fact that he was only in his breeches and boots. After all, it was his house and his room, and he was a man who was accustomed to being in various states of undress before many, many people.

His travels had taught him that a body was, well, a body, and he rather hated how repressed the English were. And they were repressed, terribly so. He wondered if she was repressed, and suddenly he wondered if it would be fun to take her bonnet off and see how she did if she was allowed to dance and frolic about without the restrictions of the current society, which seemed to be getting stricter rather than less so as time went on.

She licked her delectable pink lips and rushed, “I asked if I could see your chambers. I did not know that you would be in them.”

“Nor did I, Your Grace,” his butler, Everett, said quite quickly, as if he had suddenly woken from a stupor. “You are usually out during this time.”

“I say, Everett,” Pierce teased, “does that mean you go snooping about my things?”

Everett looked as if he had been accused of witchcraft, being a traitor, or stealing a horse.

“Everett,” Pierce said quickly, for he dearly admired the man, “forgive me. You are the best of butlers and have put up with a great deal over the years. I should have spoken more kindly. I am jesting.”

Everett sucked in a breath. “Thank you, Your Grace. I would hate to think you thought so little of me. I would never go through your things.”

“Quite clearly,” Pierce said. “No one ever went through my father’s.”

“He did forbid it,” Everett said.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “But this young lady is going to go through them, aren’t you?”

She nodded swiftly. “Oh yes,” she said. “It will take some time and, quite frankly, with your permission, I might need to hire a few other young ladies to assist me. Or I could be here for years, and I’m sure that would be most annoying to you.”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “You look like the best ornament added to this house in a long time.”

Her cheeks bloomed red, and he realized in that moment that he really should not have said this to her. This wasn’t France, after all.

He let out a sigh. “Everett, do you think you could give us a moment?”

Everett looked from her, then to him, and let out a bleat of alarm. “I’m not sure if I should, Your Grace. After all, she is a young lady.”

“She is a young lady who’s going to be going from room to room in my house. Are you going to be her chaperone all the hours of the day?”

“No, Your Grace,” Everett peeped, even as he straightened quite bravely. “But still—”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Everett,” she said, giving a firm nod, which caused the pale blue ribbons tying her bonnet to dance. “I am very capable, and I do not think that His Grace is the kind of person to accost a young lady.” She turned to Pierce and arched a dark brow. “Are you, Your Grace? I think it best you make your intentions known now.”

“Accost a young lady?” he said. “Why would I have need of doing that?”

She cleared her throat. “I can see your point of view. You are a most unique specimen, Your Grace, and undoubtedly ladies throw themselves at you. But sadly, a gentleman’s handsomeness or lack thereof does not usually indicate whether he is a morally good person or not.”

“You would like me to give you a resume of my moral character?” he teased, though he realized quite quickly that she was the sort of person he admired. She stood up for herself, and she spoke her mind.

And he would provide her with whatever it took to assure her she was safe in his company.

She sniffed. “Yes.”

“I have never hurt anyone that I am aware of in such a way and will never do so,” he promised quite seriously, “because such a thing would be a terrible reflection upon my humanity, my devotion to the study of philosophy, and the fact that everyone on this Earth, male or female, deserves respect. Does that suit you?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s most helpful.” And she looked at Everett. “I will be perfectly well with His Grace, but I do appreciate the fact that you stood up for me in front of a duke, your employer. You, sir, are worth your weight in gold. He should pay you more.”

And then she looked terrified by what she had said, as if the words had escaped her lips without permission.

Pierce laughed. “Blazes, I think I’m going to like you a good deal. You are bold, aren’t you? Bolder than most,” he said.

She was silent for a moment, but then she laughed, clearly relieved. “Yes, I suppose I am, but that comes with being given the responsibility of making strong choices about other people’s things.”

“You’re right.” Pierce folded his arms over his bare chest. “Everett? What do you say to a five-pound raise? I’m sure my father should have given you one years ago.”

Everett swayed, his eyes going wide. “Five pounds, Your Grace?” he whispered.

It was a very large sum. But the man deserved it.

“Yes, and a pound for everyone else in the house with a review in six months, and I shall increase it then.”

“An increase in six months?” Everett echoed, clearly afraid he was dreaming.

The duke gave him a kind look and then an appreciative look at Miss Stillbrooke before continuing. “She is quite right. You deserve it, Everett. I should really give you all a fortune. Perhaps I will for Christmas,” he said, and it was a good idea to give each of the five servants a pension. “And then you will all run off to the sea and live happily without me. But that is quite alright, for you all have earned it,” he said, smiling though he felt rather sad.

And he knew that she caught that sadness, which he hated. And so he blinked, drew himself up, and said, “Everett, you do have permission to go.”

Everett smiled. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “And I don’t think any of us would leave you or this house. Odd as it is, it has become our home over the years. Thank you, miss,” Everett added, turning to her. “Thank you a great deal. I’ve always liked the young master here, but now it is clear what a good fellow he is. Thank you for going ahead and making that even clearer.”

She smiled. “Happy to help,” she said.

Everett pattered away quickly.

“He’s a unique fellow,” she said. “You’re lucky to have him.”

“He is. And I am.” He tilted his head to the side, considering her and the way she had argued on behalf of herself and his servants. “The two of you are like peas in a pod, being bolder than most servants would ever dare to hope.”

She cleared her throat. “I am not a servant.”

“An important distinction to you,” he queried. “Because you are better than a servant?”

“No, because I have more responsibility than a servant.”

“I see,” he said, narrowing his gaze, curious.

She pursed her very kissable lips. “I say, would you mind putting on a shirt?”

“Why?” he asked. “I rather like being free.”

“It’s distracting,” she pointed out.

“Why?” he asked, knowing he was being deliberately obtuse, but unable to stop himself.

“Because I am not accustomed to the naked male form.”

“I’m not entirely naked,” he said.

“That is true,” she said, clearly suppressing a sigh. “But you are without your shirt, and I am accustomed to men wearing shirts, so I would prefer that you put one on.”

He dropped his arms to his sides. “Anything to please you,” he said, and for a moment, he was absolutely certain that he meant it.

There was part of him that was pleased that she found him distracting, and from the color of her cheeks, he was rather certain that he was distracting her in a good way.

“Now, what is your plan?” he asked as he did as she bid him to do and grabbed the linen shirt from his bed that he had taken off earlier. He pulled it back over his head. “Since I have you, I suppose I shall ask. You wish to hire more people?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes following his every movement with appreciation, whether she was aware of it or not. “Just having a quick glance at the room that you wished me to see first as an example of the house, I realized that if I do this by myself, I will be with you for years. And I shall be old and gray, and you will be old and gray too, before any meaningful dent is made in the vastness of the house. And so, well…”

“You mean you and I shall grow old together,” he teased.

“Something to that effect.” She laughed and half winced at her inference.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing,” he drawled softly, feeling compelled to lean towards her. “Perhaps I need an organizer in my life always.”

She clearly missed his meaning and said quite simply, “I am happy to stay on with a retainer, Your Grace, if that is what you prefer.”

“Retainer,” he repeated. “What an interesting prospect. I wager you would be a marvel at managing my life.”

She lifted her chin and said proudly, “I am quite good at managing many things, but I do have a funny feeling that you are unmanageable, Your Grace.”

“And why do you think that?” he asked, rather surprised by her comment.

Most ladies he knew wanted to manage him. They kept trying to marry him, which was quite normal for an unmarried duke. She clearly had no interest in setting her cap at him, so to speak, likely because she was too sensible.

Which ironically made him suddenly wish she would.

“There’s a wildness about you, Your Grace,” she said simply, “that tells me that if any lady attempts to put the bridle upon you, she will be severely disappointed.”

He rolled up his cuffs, baring his forearms. “You’re perceptive,” he said.

“I have to be,” she said, her eyes flicking to his wrists and the muscles between them and his elbows. “To know what to keep and what to let go, one must be able to deduce a great deal from very little.”

“Ah,” he mused, taking a step towards her. “And me? Will you keep me or let me go?” he asked playfully, though, much to his surprise, there was a sudden ache in his chest as he awaited her reply.

“For now,” she began, “I will keep you. Letting you go would be a terrible decision. I need this work,” she said.

“You need it?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she said swiftly. “Anyone who seeks employment needs work. Most of us don’t do it just for fun.”

“I rather think you are doing this for fun,” he said softly.

Her brows rose. “Well, I am good at it,” she said without apology or overt humility, “and I am lucky that I enjoy it too.”

“That is luck,” he agreed, “to enjoy what one gets paid for.”

“And you?” she asked. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

“Again, bolder and bolder,” he marveled.

She jerked her chin back. “If you dislike it, of course, I shall dim my boldness and go to organizing things immediately.”

“I don’t mind it at all,” he assured. “I realize that you and I are to be more intimate than most because you are about to see a part of my life that no one else has ever seen. You will see what my father was like, and that will, no doubt, tell you a great deal about me.”

And he hated it.

God, how he hated it. How he hated having to let anyone that close to him and see just how hard it had been with his father, no matter how much he had loved the old man, no matter how much the old man had loved him.

But there was a shame in it, a pain in it, the fact that his father had not been as well as he had wished, and that Pierce could not fix him.

He wished he could have been the perfect son who healed his father.

Perhaps Pierce could not be fixed either. Perhaps one day he would wake up and begin collecting things or showing some strange attitude towards the world, just as his father had done. But he would not think of that now.

“I think I should go downstairs,” she said. “This is most—”

“Yes?” he asked, taking another step forward.

And then she glanced behind him and took a quick step to the side. “I came here to see your rooms,” she said. “Will you let me?”

“You want to survey my rooms?” he asked softly.

“Yes, if you would but absent yourself from them.”

He hesitated and stepped back, wishing to make her feel at ease. “If I stay, I can answer your questions better.”

She nodded and stepped farther inside. “You have nothing in here but a bed,” she said, stunned, “and a trunk.”

“Yes, for my clothes.”

“How does your man keep them?” she blurted.

“I don’t have a man,” he replied.

“What do you mean you don’t have a man?” she gasped. “You’re a duke. Surely you have a vast collection of things. Who polishes your boots?”

He laughed. “I have but five sets of clothes. I have a few shirt pins, and I can keep those in my trunk. I polish my boots. I don’t have to. But I like it. It keeps me calm.”

“What about all your books?” she all but yelped. “What about all your—”

“I don’t keep books,” he cut in, knowing this was shocking, considering how much he desperately loved stories.

“You don’t keep books?” she asked again, the concept to her apparently as appalling as he feared it might be.

He drew in a breath, ready to explain. “I buy a book. I read it. I give it away. I buy another. I read it. I give it away. And if I want to read it again, I buy another one because I think it is a great gift to the author that I can do so.”

“I don’t know if I could live without books surrounding me,” she breathed, though she looked less horrified than a moment before.

“If you had lived like I did with books nearly entombing you, you could,” he said. “How many copies does one need of Plato? A hundred? A thousand?”

She nodded. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental.”

“You didn’t. You just don’t understand.” Sorrow welled up in him, and he felt a burn in his throat and eyes. “Even if you do this work for other people, you can’t really understand what it’s like to live with someone who…” And then he cut his own voice off.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Make me tell you so very much about how I feel.”

She smiled, looking about the quiet room then said, “Ah, I can never tell you that. It’s my secret skill, after all.”

Chapter 4

Nancy had experienced many, many odd events in her rather short life. She had not yet achieved the age of twenty-six. But this, here with the Duke of Windbourne, was by far the oddest. She had never stood in what looked like a monk’s cell with a man who looked like he spent a good part of his life making sure he looked as if he been carved from stone. Living stone.

Good heavens! The way his skin caressed his muscles made her ache to touch them. She would likely never marry. She’d likely never have an opportunity to touch someone like him, and her entire body was very aware of his.

If it wasn’t for her own sense of discipline and understanding of what she truly wanted, she would have found herself acting like a mincing debutante. And quite frankly, it was hard not to act ridiculous, silly, and girlish in his presence.

She had a rather strong feeling that all the ladies in his presence felt thus. But she would not act so because she was a professional and, well, she would not flutter in front of him. No matter how much her insides desperately wished that she could.

This job was too important. She needed the money too much and her mother relied upon her. There was no way she was going to get swept up by such a gorgeous, powerful man who could flick her out of his life like an irritating fly if he so wished.

And then he did the most shocking of things. He looked her up and down again, something he had already done, something which had made her burn with a longing she barely understood, and he said, “I say, do you eat?”

“Excuse me,” she gasped. Had she heard correctly?

“Do you eat?” he asked slowly. He cleared his throat, realizing he might have said something untoward.

“Indeed, I do, sir.” She frowned, any desire to flutter dying quickly. “I am not an inanimate object.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he rushed. “You look rather thin.”

“Well, Your Grace,” she said with a huff, “thank you for making me feel terrible about myself in two moments.”

“Do forgive me,” he groaned. And actually, he did look horrified. “I meant well. I certainly didn’t mean to insult you.”

“What exactly did you mean with such a personal observation?” she asked, clutching her reticule, doing everything she could to appear dignified.

She did eat. Of course she did. But the truth was she didn’t eat a great deal. One meal a day was often normal for her. She pinched every penny she had.

He hesitated, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “Forgive me,” he said again, “but your pecuniary situation is not particularly good, is it?”

Her jaw dropped for the second time that day, something she was not at all thrilled about. And she was usually quite thrilled about life, even if it had handed her some rather significant difficulties and a lack of food to eat.

“Your Grace, why do you say so?” she asked rather tartly.

“Well…” he began. “And I do not mean to be rude, but it is clear to me that your hem has been turned out twice, your gloves are fraying, and there is a small hole that is about to make itself known in your reticule. I do hope you don’t have any coins in there that might fall out. I, for one, don’t carry money, but I know that people of a certain class do.”

“You, Your Grace,” she began, quite indignant, “look and speak like a man who is accustomed to going too far.”

“I know,” he said. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to say this without you taking offense, and I truly hope that you will understand, but part of me is afraid that you live on a slice of bread and a piece of cheese a day. And I just couldn’t live with myself if I allowed that sort of thing.”

She hated that he was right.

She did live on perhaps a slice or two of bread a day, a few pieces of cheese, and some rather strong coffee from the coffee house. She could not afford meat. Sometimes she was able to get oysters and send them to her mother. On occasion, she purchased a bit of hot stew from the tavern down the road from her lodging, but she was not in the financial position to be able to feed herself with any sort of excess because the doctors required an ever-growing amount of coin.

Some days she could have sworn they were making her mother worse on purpose just to keep the vast amounts she paid them to continue caring for her.

She pursed her lips. “It’s none of your affair what I eat.”

“I don’t agree. You are now in my employ and therefore in my care. And I happen to have a very large larder downstairs because I do eat a great deal.”

“I wager you do,” she said, her gaze narrowing as she again studied him. “You’re excessively big.”

“Excessively?” he asked, his lips twitching.

“Yes, it is rather needless how large you are. What is the point, given you lecture in Parliament?”

“My own personal health and sanity,” he drawled. “I rather like how big I am. It allows me to do all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” she demanded with an arched brow.

“Oh, I could pound a fellow into a floor, I can ride a horse from here to Scotland and back without hesitating, and I could lift you up if I so wished,” he replied merrily, as if desperately hoping to make her laugh again.

“You’re not going to though, are you?” she asked, her own lips twisting now at his silliness.

Quite frankly, the idea of him picking her up was rather exciting.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he said.

“I don’t,” she replied.

Though he was abstaining, there was a look in his eyes that belied the words, as if he wished curiosity might get the better of him.

“Then I shan’t,” he said back.

“Good,” she said, straightening a little.

“How about we continue our conversation in my kitchen because I find I’m rather peckish?”

There was something warm in his eyes that suggested he might be peckish for more than food, but Nancy wasn’t going to allow herself to think such silly thoughts.

“Well, since it’s your house, lead the way,” she said, willing herself to stay sensible. “I’m afraid I could get lost. It is rather large.”

“Oh dear,” he teased. “If you don’t have a good sense of inner navigation, then you might not be successful here. It is like the famous cave with Medusa at the center.”

“I shall prevail,” she assured. “And frankly, I have always rather been on the side of Medusa. She was dearly wronged.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” he professed. “Anyone who knows their Greek mythology knows that Perseus was a scoundrel for killing her.”

She laughed and then cleared her throat. “Forgive me.”

“Why?” he asked. “I can see that you’re educated, I’m educated, and we can both laugh at the same things. Frankly, too many people are on the sides of absolute monsters masquerading as men.”

Her brows lifted. “I find that I am rather surprised.”

“Come, let me see how else I can surprise you,” he said, as they started for the hallway and then down the many, many back stairs.

They did not creak, and she was quite surprised to find that the servant stairs were in very, very good condition, and he seemed to know his way about them quite well.

“Do you really stay up here?” she asked.

“Yes,” he affirmed without looking back. “All of the other rooms are full, and honestly, they have unpleasant memories.”

She blinked, her eyes growing accustomed to the dim light as she followed him downward. “I see,” she said.

“Does that bother you, that I am so transparent?”

“No,” she rushed. “It’s actually quite helpful. It lets me know that you probably don’t wish me to keep most of the things in the room downstairs.”

A harsh sigh slipped past his lips and echoed around them. “Actually, I’m tempted to gut the lot, and if I could, I would burn it all down, but that seems like an atrocious waste of a beautiful old house. And it was beautiful once,” he said softly, an unmistakable longing and pain in his voice. “I can remember what it was like when my mother was still alive and when I was quite small. It was a full house then, but with guests and laughter.”

She licked her lips, stunned by how she suddenly wished she could comfort him. “And will you do the same when I have organized it for you? Will you have many guests?”

He didn’t look back at her over his shoulder. In fact, he kept descending. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I suppose that would depend on my wife.”

“Wife?” she echoed.

“A duke must marry,” he pointed out. “I suppose I don’t have to, but it does seem the done thing.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I suppose it is. Tradition and all that.”

“I think tradition, in many cases,” he growled, “is the most terrible thing in the whole world, but sometimes it does have its good effects.”

And then suddenly they came out to a very large room underneath the house. He lit a candle and headed to the table, which stretched most of the length of the room. It was clean and every object upon it was organized. Cook clearly had control of this room.

“Right,” he said. “I know exactly what I’m going to give you.”

“Oh?” she said, wondering what it would be. A shocking part of her wished he would give her something very different than a bit of food.

“Yes,” he said firmly. And then he headed into what had to be the larder and came out with a cold game hen, several apples, a large block of cheese, and a whole box of strawberries.

“I can’t eat that,” she exclaimed.

“Why not?” he said. “Not good enough for you? Would you prefer peacock?”

“We don’t live in Tudor times,” she said ruefully.

He waggled his brows. “That shouldn’t stop us. If you have a desire for peacock, I’m sure I could find one.”

She grinned. “I think there’s already one in the room,” she said.

He gaped at her, then laughed heartily. “Your audacity is a breath of fresh air. No wonder you can go through other people’s things and make short work of it. You make short work of me!”

He had her spot-on. There was no question. But she wasn’t usually so playful or chatty with her employers. None of them had ever tried to converse so openly. She was in new territory. “Yes, but I can see that you like it.”

He gazed down at the fare he’d brought out for them. “Well, I do need someone who can tell me the truth, and the bolder you are, the more I believe that you can. So how many people do you think that you’ll need to hire?” he asked as he began to slice cheese and apples and put them on a small plate for her.

He then, in quite swift and shocking work with the knife, pulled apart the chicken, cutting it up perfectly into edible parts.

“I say,” she said. “Where did you learn to handle a knife like that?”

He spun the knife about his fingers and then planted it quite shockingly in the table. “Here and there,” he said.

“Here and there,” she echoed. “I’ve never been to those places, here and there.”

“Would you like to go to them?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, though she knew the answer. She’d never leave England’s shores.

“I’ve spent half my life living under a tent, gazing up at the stars,” he said as he culled the strawberries with the ease of a kitchen maid, “riding horses and camels. If you can do it, I advise it.”

She swallowed. Riding under the stars on camels and horses, sleeping under a tent. It sounded like heaven. “I can’t,” she said.

“Oh,” he queried. “Are you afraid? Perhaps you’re afraid of snakes.”

“Snakes don’t frighten me. Spiders don’t either. They’re obviously common in my line of work. I uncover them in boxes and nooks and crannies all the time.” She smoothed her hands over her coat, a nervous habit. “I have duties,” she said. “Much like you, I am bound here. To England.”

“And one day?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I can’t look that far ahead. All I can do is worry about right now.”

“You have a very sensible head on your shoulders,” he said. “Most people don’t have that sort of wisdom.”

“And I wouldn’t really wish it upon any of them,” she replied with a shrug, willing her stomach not to growl. “Because that sort of wisdom generally comes from suffering.”

“And you have suffered a great deal?” he asked, as he pushed the plate towards her. He headed to another cupboard, unlocked it with a key from his pocket, then brought out a bottle of wine.

He made quick work of it, pouring out a portion of rich red wine into a mug. “Not very fancy, but it will do,” he said, pushing it towards her.

She gazed at the wine, and then she gazed at the food, wishing she could tuck a portion of it away into her reticle to somehow send to her mother. And then, much to her horror, she noticed that he noticed her doing so.

She swallowed and grabbed the plate, pulling it towards her. Now she was going to have to eat all of it, lest he might accuse her of stealing.

“You know, I think I have an extra chicken I can send home with you,” he said. “I’ll make sure Cook knows.”

“Oh no, I don’t need it,” she rushed. Besides, she didn’t know if she could travel down to her mother’s cottage in time to give it to her and return to work without notice.

“Cease,” he said gently. “You just lied to me. You’re a terrible liar.”

She frowned. “Right. Yes, I am. I do need the chicken, but I don’t want charity. You may take it out of my wages.”

He snorted. “Look, I’m going to pay you a good sum. I can’t have you weak. It will take a great deal of energy to take care of this house.”

She almost pushed the plate away. “How dare you insinuate that I’m weak, sir?”

“Anyone who doesn’t eat enough is going to be weak or get sick, and I can’t have you doing that.”

“Well, isn’t that the truth?” she sighed.

“Are you familiar with illness?” he queried.

“Very,” she said.

“How?” he asked kindly and yet insistently.

“I have not invited you into my personal life, Your Grace.”

He lifted his own mug full of wine and leaned against the long table. “Ah, but you are allowed to have free rein of mine?”

She inclined her head. “Indeed, you have hired me to do so.”

He tsked. “I feel as if you have just shut a door firmly in my face,” he said. “The splinters in my nose hurt.”

“Please, Your Grace,” she begged. “You are asking a good deal of me to invite you into my life when I know so little about you.”

“Don’t you think I could help you as you’re helping me?” he asked, lowering his wine, cradling it in his powerful hands.

“I don’t know. Are you good at meddling?” she asked.

He grinned ever so slowly. “The best,” he said.

And then she whispered something she had never whispered to an employer. “My mother is very ill,” she said.

His face grew serious. “I’m most sorry,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

And then his brows rose. “You don’t work because you enjoy it.”

“I work because it is necessary,” she said, forking up a piece of chicken, even as her mouth turned to sand. “And like I said, I’m lucky enough to enjoy what I do.”

He nodded slowly. “You might be the best person I’ve ever met.”

She laughed. “Then you haven’t met many people.”

“Oh, Miss Stillbrooke,” he returned, “I have met hordes and you… You are almost certainly the best of them.”

Chapter 5

It had been no easy thing letting Miss Stillbrooke stride off, chin up, shoulders back, reticule in hand, with her wrapped chicken to whatever place she was living.

Not at all. Especially after he had discovered that he admired and liked her so well. And desired her. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Any sort of pretense would do him no good. From the moment he’d spotted her gaping at his half-clothed form to her brilliant banter, he’d felt his desire for her spark and grow into a flame.

It was deuced inconvenient. But in his experience, life often was.

He did not know what he had been expecting when the Duke of Rivers had told him about Miss Nancy Stillbrooke, but it had not been what he had seen. The beautiful young woman, who was clearly extremely capable and happy to tell him to mind his own business, was doing things to his system that had never been done before, which was saying something.

He had spent the latter half of his existence traveling the world, being exposed to the most beautiful women, the most talented seductresses, and never really feeling completely bowled over by any of them. He adored women. Women were wonderful. He understood the financial needs of the sex, based upon the rules that men had placed around them. He understood that often the interactions between men and women were really a financial game because men had set it up that way.

He tried to operate outside of those rules. But the truth, whether in marriage or with mistresses, contracts and finance were a part of the equation.

This was going to be a blasted difficult thing to negotiate, because if there was one thing he was certain about it? Miss Stillbrooke was proud.

But pride didn’t feed one, clothe one, or secure one safe, warm lodgings.

He was going to have to give her an increase in payment, and he hadn’t even paid her yet. She had convinced him quickly to give his own staff a raise, which he thought was very good. And now? He had dire suspicions that she was living in a ratty little room somewhere in a place that no young lady should be living. And worst of all, he was thinking about all of this while doing a promenade up and down a gilded ballroom with the ceiling encrusted in gold and painted with frolicking nymphs.

Frolicking nymphs had never really been his line, except for the fact that he had been raised to dance under frolicking nymphs. When one was born to be a duke, or to any particular title, frolicking nymphs were always going to be part of the equation.

He’d gotten quite used to travel. His father had loved it and introduced him to it.

And really, a part of him wished he was still traveling now, that he could be in India or any country in the extremely large continent of Africa, or even South America, exploring, learning, seeing, looking at a mountain and deciding that he would climb it.

Much to his own pride, he had climbed several. Sometimes the only thing to do when one felt down about the world was to climb a mountain or ride a horse wildly across a desert.

He had many beautiful Arabians, several of them having been acquired from significant rulers in Arabia. He loved things that went fast. He loved things that were hard, and he loved things that were a challenge.

And he had a distinct feeling that Miss Stillbrooke was at least two out of the three things that he loved so dearly.

“Oh, Your Grace,” said his current dancing partner, Lady Euphemia, as she clutched his gloved hand and attempted to bat her lashes at him. Unfortunately, he did not find the batting of lashes to be a particularly interesting form of the female mating dance.

He understood that this was all part of the English custom, but he didn’t want to do it. He liked dancing, but not like this.

This all felt very artificial. And as he looked right to left at the young ladies in their various concoctions of pale gowns and their mamas standing on the sidelines in much darker or brighter colors, crusted in jewels and feathers, he let out a sigh.

It was all the same. Every single time. He understood. But every ball had feathers and jewels and unmarried ladies in pastels and their mothers in jewel tones. Did no one wish for variety?

This was his life now.

He had had to give up roaming the world to come back to dance about a room surrounded by ladies who were copies of each other. Well, it could be much worse. He knew that, so he wasn’t really allowed to claim depression or sorrow or even ennui.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” the young lady asked, her lace collar fluttering.

He blinked. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

She blinked too and said a little louder as if he might perhaps be hard of hearing, “Are you enjoying the ball?”

“No,” he said honestly before he could stop himself. And as soon as he did, he wished he could kick himself with own polished dancing slipper. It wasn’t her fault she’d been raised like this! That all the young ladies had been raised to be exactly the same. To be exactly like their mothers, and their mothers before them.

He winced, cleared his throat, and ventured, “Are you?”

Her eyes flared and she swung a swift glance to her mama, who was clearly giving her instructions from the sideline on how best to please him.

“It’s not you,” he blurted suddenly, feeling quite the scoundrel, wishing he was again out under the stars, far away from the ton. “I just don’t care for all of this.”

“Oh,” she said. She considered this, then, as if speaking from a script she could not deter from, she cleared her throat and said, “Would you like to go out on the veranda?”

“Distinctly not,” he said with a sigh.

The last thing he wanted to do was to go out onto the veranda with one of these young ladies and end up in a situation which he would have to live with for the rest of his life. The young ladies were all well and good, but they simply were not for him. Not if he was going to survive life in the ton.

No, he needed someone who would defy his whims, tell him what for, and live as he did. And as soon as the music was done, he turned to Lady Euphemia, gave her a bow, and led her back to her mama, who was waving her feathered fan quite rapidly, clearly hoping that a proposal was about to be made.

He gave the lady a quick bow and then headed off, gritting his teeth. He needed a brandy. Well, any man in his situation probably needed a brandy. How was he going to negotiate years of this?

He couldn’t avoid it, not really, because dukes did have to make the rounds. One couldn’t be an island. The poet John Donne was correct. No one could get anything done as an island. Even so, he headed into the billiards room and immediately spotted Rivers, Westfort, Skyburn, and Seaborough.

They were all here. He wasn’t sure why.

“Why aren’t you all home with your wives? Except you, of course, Rivers. You don’t have one.”

His friends laughed.

“Moral support,” declared Westfort.

“We couldn’t leave you and Rivers on your own,” said Seaborough with faux seriousness.

The four were sitting at a table drinking brandy and gossiping. Men were excellent gossips. He knew that better than anyone.

“We were waiting to see which lady you might choose for your wife so you could join the married men’s club,” said the Duke of Westfort.

“None of them,” he said, resigned.

“That bad, is it?” Skyburn queried.

“Your standards, old boy, are just too high,” put in Seaborough.

“No,” Rivers said. “His standards aren’t too high. He’s just too jaded for all of them.”

He arched a brow. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“You decide,” Rivers replied.

“I am deciding it’s a compliment. They’re all perfectly fine,” he lamented. “But I can’t imagine my life married to one of them.”

“You don’t really have to spend time with your wife,” the Duke of Rivers drawled softly.

Skyburn let out a peep of dismay. “The idea that anyone would want to marry a young woman and not spend time with her is appalling. Don’t you see ladies are people? They’re not just breeding machines,” he said.

“Can you imagine something to that effect?” said the Duke of Rivers with a shudder. “How efficient that would be.”

“I’m not interested in efficiency,” replied Pierce. “I’m interested in having a good life.”

“Glad to hear it,” Skyburn said, clapping him on the back. “I’d hate to think that you were one of those people who could just go through life like a wet blanket, pleased with the barest of circumstances, just populating the future.”

“I don’t know how anyone can do that, frankly,” said Pierce as another group of gentlemen came into the room and sat before the fire. They immediately began discussing their mistresses and the dog races.

Rivers rolled his eyes. “Too many people do, and it gets them into bad circumstances. Have you seen the newspapers lately?”

“You are obsessed with the newssheets,” pointed out Skyburn.

“I don’t read newssheets,” Pierce said. “I read novels.”

“Well, you should,” Rivers declared. “We should all be obsessed with them! It’s appalling what’s happening these days. People engaged in the wildest behaviors, all because they married someone that they’re not really interested in.”

“You seem most passionate about this,” said Pierce to Rivers.

“Oh, I am. I am,” Rivers allowed, smoothing a hand over his perfectly tied cravat. “I don’t believe that people should be miserable.”

“Aren’t they all miserable?” Pierce replied jauntily, taking up a glass of brandy from one of the footmen.

“We’re not,” assured Skyburn, lifting his glass of brandy in salute. “We have magnificent wives. We are the happiest of men.”

Rivers smiled, his lips twitching. “Yes, you all do and are.”

“Come now, Rivers, when is it to be your turn?” asked Westfort.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Rivers said, suddenly looking as if he had sat upon a hot coal. “I have many years yet to decide.”

“Not true,” said Seaborough, tilting his glass towards the firelight, contemplating the amber hue. “You, Your Grace, are about to be positively a relic.”

Rivers snorted. “I’m not yet forty!”

“Old,” sighed Seaborough with exaggerated woe.

“Indeed,” added Westfort gravely. “You best get married. You don’t want to put off the best years of your life.”

“I think that the best years of my life surely should be when I’m unmarried,” Rivers decried.

For some reason, Pierce thought this to be absurd.

“How could you say that?” he said. “The best years of one’s life should be spent with one’s dearest companion.”

“Are you truly seeking a wife then?” Westfort asked, leaning forward.

“Clearly,” Pierce groaned. “I was out there dancing away.”

“You’re not going to find your wife there, are you?” said Skyburn. “A man like you.”

“I think you have to think outside the ballroom,” said Seaborough.

“Fair,” Pierce allowed, though he wasn’t sure where to look. “But I don’t think I can go down to the East End, find a capable barmaid there, and put her in charge of all my estates. Besides, the ton would devour her.”

“It is a frustrating thing that the ladies who would likely be the very best for the ton are immediately eliminated based upon their birth or location,” Rivers growled.

“What an observation,” Pierce said before taking a long drink of cherry-tinged beverage touched with the notes of oak.

“Yes,” Rivers agreed. “But we do the best that we can with what we have. Now, go out and dance again.”

“No,” he said. “I think I’m going to leave this place and seek more interesting entertainment.”

“Right. Shall we all go then?” Seaborough said, clapping his hands together.

“No,” he countered quickly. “You need to go back to your wife. I’m not going to be accused of leading you astray.”

Rivers stood. “I’m not married. I’ll go with you. Should we go to Fennyman’s?”

“I don’t gamble,” Pierce returned with a shrug.

“Nor do I,” Rivers said before he arched his brows. “But that doesn’t stop me from watching other people throw their lives away.”

Pierce sputtered, “Do you get your enjoyment from watching other people make the mistakes of their lives?”

Rivers’ brow furrowed. “No, I get enjoyment from figuring out which people need to be helped.”

Pierce rather admired Rivers for it, and he thought it to be true. Most men only thought about helping others in the abstract. He wondered how Rivers helped people practically, but he had a strong feeling that Rivers did.

But tonight, he didn’t want help or company. He needed to sort out the thoughts in his head, the futility of finding a duchess in these rooms… And his unarguable desire for his employee, which was damned awkward.

“I bid you all good night.” He bowed to Rivers. “Good luck assisting the gamblers.” And then he turned to the others. “And hold on to your magnificent wives, for there are no others like them.”

He then headed out towards the hall, gave his respects to his hostess, and went out into the night. He didn’t know exactly what he was seeking, but he could feel that he was seeking something very intense indeed.

It wasn’t generally the done thing for a gentleman to walk, especially since there wasn’t a good deal of light.

He looked about, caught sight of a young boy with a lantern, and called, “You, young man. I shall pay you handsomely if you guide me down to the taverns.”

The young boy gave him a quick nod, held his lantern up, and Pierce followed along the muddy road lined with wood boards and stones.

As a gentleman, he knew he was relatively safe. Nobody was going to attack him, at least nobody with any sense. And if they did, he might have a good time defending himself. He certainly was capable.

He felt a bit odd about leaving his friends behind. After all, they were likely the best antidote to whatever strangeness he was feeling, but he knew that wasn’t true. He knew that the best antidote to what he was feeling was Miss Stillbrooke, and he wondered where the blazes she was.

Part of him wanted to walk the streets of London all night until he found her, but that would be absurd, and that would be deeply inappropriate.

And so, instead of walking towards wherever she might be living, and he was sure he could find out if he desperately wished to, he called to the boy and halted him. He switched direction, away from the taverns and towards Holborn.

There was nothing but a mindless escape in the taverns. But in Holborn? He could change lives. It was incredible how a few words on a piece of paper, artfully written by a solicitor, truly could change the lives of those mentioned therein. Yes, tonight he would wake up his man of law and, for his peace of mind, he would draw up several documents for the betterment of his staff and a young lady who clearly needed help.

Chapter 6

The hardest thing about Nancy’s particular circumstances was not the work. She loved the work. As a matter of fact, she far preferred keeping her hands busy all day and organizing things so that her mind did not run riot.

Her mind could not always be trusted. It liked to play tricks on her. She rather feared minds did that to many people. And if one was not constantly engaged or busy, the mind would be incredibly rude, insisting that the worst things were going to happen.

Like her mother’s death. Or a life on the streets without two pence to rub together.

And so she savored the fact that for the last several days, she had worked in the duke’s house, organizing room after room after room.

Now, she had not gone about it in a piecemeal fashion. The first thing that she had done was survey every single room and come to a sort of understanding of what the task was. Then she had hired three young ladies to assist her.

They were all remarkable individuals and were cataloging things to the best of their abilities. The three of them should have been teachers or certainly gone to university, but there was little opportunity for them to do such things and make a real wage.

And honestly, the life of a governess or a teacher was not that good in society. And so she was thrilled that she was able to help them secure work.

She was supervising the project and assisting in the day-to-day labor.

And as of this day, she had realized that the old duke’s interests were so varied that, frankly, a museum could be started from all the things he had collected.

It would have been to the benefit of all in society if, instead of holding things, the duke had quite literally put them all into one building and labeled them and allowed people to come look.

There was one room that was full of portraits and paintings that had clearly been bought in Italy and Spain. None of them were hung. It was almost a sin that such beautiful things had been put into a room, never to be seen again by anyone, waiting in shadow to one day be rediscovered.

Well, if she had anything to do with it, she was going to convince the current duke that those things needed to be seen.

But she digressed.

The hardest thing about her circumstances, her near poverty, was not being able to see her mother daily. When she was little, her mother and she had been the best of friends. Her mother had brushed her hair, done her curls, given her milk and biscuits, though there had been servants to do those tasks.

But through all of it, they had conversed. They had wandered by streams together and her mother had told her the most remarkable of stories. Her mother had been the brightest light in Nancy’s life. And now her mother was dimming, and she couldn’t bear to keep her in a dank little room with rats in the halls and a ceiling that had spots from leaking.

Such a thing would only make her mother sicker. The air was terrible in her room and on the street where she lived. And so every penny she had not only went to pay the doctors but also to keep her mother in that small cottage by the sea. She hoped the fresh air would make her well again. She often wished she could have afforded good rooms in the west of London. But only the wealthiest lived there. And the likelihood of her being one of the wealthiest again was deeply doubtful.

She and her mother exchanged letters daily. It was the one thing she genuinely looked forward to, that made her heart sing, to know that her mother was well and alive and being cared for. That she had at least enough good bread and butter to sustain her, and soup, and the ability to sit outside her little cottage, look at the sea, and will herself to get better.

And Nancy prayed and prayed every day that one day her mother would be well enough that they could be reunited again in good clean rooms with trees nearby.

Such a thing didn’t really seem possible, but she didn’t allow herself to think about impossible or possible things because, truthfully, her life was impossible. Most young ladies would never have been able to do what she did. Most young ladies would have had to find an awful older man to marry to sustain them, but she couldn’t have faced that.

So, as she wandered through the halls with her notebook in hand, making more notes on what needed to be done next, she was shocked when she heard a voice call from the wide stairs.

“Miss Stillbrooke, you are needed.”

That voice. Oh, that rich voice that seemed layered with spice and knowledge and sin.

She whipped around, looked up, and spotted the duke. The duke. My goodness! By sunlight, he was just as remarkable as by dim light. And she wasn’t about to pretend that she hadn’t thought about him almost every second since they’d met.

“Please come upstairs with me,” he said.

Upstairs? How a part of her wished they could indeed go upstairs. To his rooms. It was a shockingly scandalous thought! A thought that was against all her dignity. But dignity did not keep one warm on cold nights. Still, she could not allow herself to think on it too long, lest she grow infatuated.

She gave a quick nod of her head and picked up the hem of her skirt and did exactly as she was instructed. After all, this was all business between them.

She cleared her throat. “Indeed.”

She followed him into a small room that was filled with books stacked high. They were all collections on the stars and the universe. She noticed several of the same copies of someone’s notes on Galileo. She had discovered long ago that this was a common symptom of someone who collected things, having the same copy, sometimes hundreds of them. It didn’t matter that the person had one. They needed to buy one every time they saw it. She’d noted this before, but felt compelled to note it again.

The human mind was fascinating to her and what it caused people to do and what it prevented people from doing. Her own mind had often tried to make her very afraid when her father had died, and it had taken a great deal of work to keep her hopeful rather than despairing.

“Can I help you, Your Grace?” she asked, trying to be as serious as possible.

“I think it’s I who can help you,” he said, looking down into his fire, which remained unlit. Likely a very wise thing, given the amount of paper in the room.

She stilled. “Oh,” she queried, “in what way?”

He took up a document from the mantel and turned to her. “I’d like you to look this over and see if it meets your satisfaction.”

She tensed. And then she took the contract from him. She opened it up and began perusing it. The words burned into her brain and her heart began to slam against her ribs.

It couldn’t be real. If it was, her life was about to change for the better. Her mother’s too!

“The payment is too high,” she said immediately. “And you wish me to come live here?” she said.

“Yes, and the other young ladies will also be given rooms,” he said quickly, his eyes searching her face. “So I don’t want you to think that you’re being particularly singled out, though you will have a room of your own, since you are their leader. And the others will sleep in a dormitory-style situation. This way you will all be able to dedicate your time to the house and you will not worry about paying for accommodation in a place that is likely not good for your health or your safety.”

She gripped the contract, nearly giddy at the amount of money she would make and save by staying in the townhome. “And how do you know that I am paying for accommodation in a place that is likely not good for me?”

He snorted. “Because I know your wages, and I know the costs of rent in London.”

“You do?” she gasped.

“I do,” he replied.

“I didn’t know dukes bothered with knowing the prices of the rents in the city.”

“A good duke should know all such things,” he said. “Otherwise, what’s the point of a duke?”

She swallowed. “I never really thought about it like that before.”

“Most people don’t,” he said casually, leaning against the marble mantel carved with grapes and vines, which seemed to suit him, as if he and Bacchus were good friends. He certainly looked like he knew pleasure well…and how to give it. “So, given what I know, I’d wager that you’re staying somewhere that is barely respectable in a small room that is barely livable, and you are doing your very best to seem as if that is not true. Am I mistaken?”

She tensed. “No, though I don’t like to hear it so plainly.”

“You have had to live without necessities the ton takes for granted every moment of every day,” he said softly.

She bit her lower lip, hating having to admit that he was correct.

The truth of it was that he was correct. And one of the hardest things about poverty was the lack of water. She had to go and get her own or pay someone to get it from the pump that was down the street, then lug it back and up the many stairs.

Keeping clean was no easy thing. Washing her clothes was no easy thing. She either had to do it in a small basin with the water that she carried up to her room, or she had to pay to have it done. She had to pay to have her drinking water brought, or she had to go fetch it to take a bath, to wash her face, and to clean.

Food was no different. She did not have a kitchen, and her fireplace was pokey and small. So, she had to pay for all her food to be made, or she had to go and eat in the local establishment and make certain she wasn’t bothered by young men, or old men, for that matter. That was one reason she preferred bread and cheese.

It was extremely tempting what he was offering.

“So you wish to have me in your vicinity,” she said, “in a room of my own?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She drew in a breath, hating that she had to say what she said next. “And you don’t expect anything else?”

He winced, but then he squared his shoulders. “I understand the expectation of many gentlemen when giving out favors might seem licentious, but that is not me. I have the genuine wish to do something good, and that is all. I have a friend who does much good. And I wish to be like him.”

Like him? The duke already was. Could he not see that? From the way his servants admired him, that was infinitely clear.

This was like a dream! As she had noted, she could save a great deal of money if she stayed here, and the increase in wages was shocking. Her mind raced with how much money she would now have to get her mother meat and firewood.

If she was able to do this, she would be able to go and live with her mother, perhaps for at least a summer, and then she could work in the city in the winter.

She drew herself up. “I accept,” she said. “I would be a fool not to.”

“Good,” he said.

She turned to go, half expecting him to ask her to stay. When he did not, she stopped herself, turned, and met those crackling eyes of his. “Why do you wish to have me, and the other ladies too, so close at hand? Surely you wish to have some privacy as well.”

“Dukes never have privacy,” he said easily. “We are used to being surrounded by servants.”

She winced inwardly. Of course, she was just a servant to him. What else could she be?

He hesitated. “Miss Stillbrooke?” he ventured, his voice rumbling through the space between them.

“Yes?” she said, her voice much higher than she had intended.

He pushed away from the fireplace, his dark coat stretching over his broad shoulders. He did not move towards her and yet, somehow, the way he stood now felt intimate and his gaze burned with intensity. “I admire you as a person, Miss Stillbrooke, and I don’t want you to think that I see you as simply someone who’s come here to organize my father’s things. I can tell how wonderful you are, and the fact is I would like to know you better, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Her eyes widened. “That is the most remarkable statement I think I have ever heard from a man.”

He laughed. “Should I be horrified or should I be complimented? I find that I am often uncertain these days.”

“Perhaps both,” she teased, her dratted heart skipping at his words and the way he was looking at her. Looking as if he wished he could sweep her into his embrace, but he would not because of his own sense of honor. Or perhaps hers.

“All right,” he said, his lips curving into a slow smile. “Then I’ll settle on both. I would like to suggest that you take your meals with me. The truth is I am accustomed to having good conversation, and when I eat here by myself, I don’t have it, and yet I don’t wish to invite people here. Not yet. I don’t want them to…see.”

“You don’t want them to see how your father lived?” she said softly.

“Exactly,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I know that people essentially already know, but there’s something very different about bringing them into it rather than them just hearing about it.”

She nodded. “I understand,” she said.

“Do you?” he asked carefully, his gaze searching hers.

She nearly gasped at the wounds she saw there and how she ached to fix them, to sort them out, as it were.

“You’d be surprised,” she said. “People don’t want others to know the inner workings of their personal lives or how horrible they truly were or are. I struggled quite intensely after my father died and we were on the edge of real ruin. I’m sorry, Your Grace, if it was horrible for you.”

“I’m so sorry about your father and what you and your mother endured,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “I am independent and resourceful.”

He hesitated as if he understood that she wasn’t quite telling him the truth. “I watched him, you know,” he said, looking away, folding his hands behind his back, appearing to have no idea what to do with them.

“Your father?” she queried.

“I watched him disintegrate from a great man to someone who could barely leave their house, someone who was obsessed with their things,” he whispered as he wound his way through the stacks of books about the stars and the earth’s place in them. “I tried so hard to help him so many times, but he couldn’t be helped. When he was living, I tried to have the house organized. I brought people in, and he was infuriated. He cursed at them and threw them out. He cursed at me and almost threw me out. And finally, I knew that the only thing that I could do was let him live his life as he wished it and try not to interfere.” His voice wavered, breaking. “But I couldn’t watch it anymore, you see.” And then he tensed. “Do you think little of me for it? The fact that I couldn’t save or help my father? That I abandoned him?”

She drew in a breath, stunned by the intensity of his stare, his voice, and the vulnerability of his admission. She knew that her answer mattered, but she was shocked that he cared about her opinion. They’d only just met. Surely, there were far grander ladies who would listen to him and who he would prefer.

But instead of soothing him with banalities, she straightened and said without hesitation, “I think you did the right thing, Your Grace, because you stopped judging him, and you didn’t shame him, and you didn’t try to fix him. Quite frankly, from what I have seen in my work, people can’t be fixed. The person has to fix themselves, or they must at least want to be fixed. And if they don’t wish it, then really there’s very little that can be done, and the worst thing one can do is make them feel worse about themselves.”

And much to her shock, there was a sheen that covered the duke’s eyes. His throat worked, as if he was swallowing back decades of pain.

He snapped his gaze back away from her and looked to the cold fire. “You, madam, are like an oracle. Do you see all and understand all?”

“That is impossible for anyone,” she said. “Oracles don’t exist, nor do prophets. But if you pay close enough attention, you can understand how people are.”

“And how are people?” he said. “How am I?”

She should keep silent. She should not answer him, and she certainly shouldn’t be honest. “You’re a good man, but for all your bravado, you’re lost.”

“I, a duke, am lost? I don’t think so,” he scoffed. “I’ve wandered all my life and always found my way home.”

She smiled softly at him. “That doesn’t mean that you’re not still lost, because it’s very clear to me that you are still determined to find the answers to a question you don’t really understand.”

“And will I ever find them?” he asked.

“It’s unlikely,” she said sadly. “I don’t think anyone ever finds the answers. Unless…”

“Yes?” he murmured.

“Unless one understands that the answers are within. There are no answers without.”

He let out a soft, booming laugh. “You know, I went all the way to India to hear things like that, and, apparently, I could have heard them in my own study from a girl born on this little island. How the bloody hell did you get so wise, Ms. Stillbrooke?”

“I told you already. Pain,” she said.

“Ah, yes. Our dear friend pain. You bring her up again. Is pain always with us?” he asked, his eyes still just as wounded as before, but now he was gazing at her differently. As if he had known her all his life.

“Pain is always near,” she admitted, licking her lips, “but so is love.”

Chapter 7

One Week Later

The table was quite small on purpose.

Pierce didn’t want to bellow at Miss Stillbrooke down the length of the dining hall. As a matter of fact, he was quite grateful for the fact that the dining hall of the ducal townhome was completely unusable, filled with boxes of snuff of every variety.

If the room had been usable, he would have been forced to sit some twenty feet away from her. But instead, Miss Stillbrooke was sitting at his right hand, quite close, staring at a plate piled high with roast beef, potatoes, vegetables, and gravy.

She was staring at it as if it was alien or had come from some foreign land. This was their first night dining together. She and the other young ladies had moved in yesterday. The young ladies were taking their meals together.

But he wanted reports from her on the progress without interruption, or at least that was what he told himself to justify his demands that they converse.

He had been out last night. Politics had required him to make the rounds of the houses of idiotic lords who were determined to drive their own country into the ground for profits.

“Does it not suit your taste?” he asked, rather surprised by how much it mattered to him, for he had spoken with Cook yesterday to pick this evening’s meal.

She bit her lower lip. “I’m trying to decide how honest I should be with you.”

“I cannot imagine you lying,” he said as he flicked his napkin over his lap.

She laughed and placed her own linen napkin over her lap. “You’re too right, but I confess I have had to be quite artful with my truths upon occasion, lest I be dismissed. But I will tell you that this is the first time that I have had meat in some time, and the truth is I can hardly believe my luck.”

He winced. He couldn’t even hide it. “Bloody hell. It’s not luck. You’ve earned it.”

“Ha,” she said, “I know many people who work far harder than I do, and they haven’t seen a cut of beef this good in an age.”

“All right then,” he said, taking up his knife and fork. “Some of it might be luck. You happen to have caught the notice of a duke who wants to help you. Is that such a very terrible thing?”

“No, it is not,” she replied with a smile, a smile that warmed him to no end. “And it would be foolish of me not to take your help. As a matter of fact, it would be a slap in the face of whatever fate arranged this.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re pragmatic about it.” He took up his wine and sipped the rich liquid from the crystal glass.

“I won’t accept charity,” she said as she cut her meat. “So, I will work extremely hard for all of this.”

“Good,” he said, “that’s what I expect. The better fed you are, the harder you’ll work.”

“Yes, you seem to have great concerns about my ability to work hard for you based upon the fact that I am not well fed. Your standards are not the standards of others.”

“I eat mountains of food.”

“That’s because you’re the size of a mountain,” she replied.

He threw his head back and laughed. How could he not? “Have a drink of the wine,” he instructed. “It tastes better in crystal than it does in a mug.”

She lifted the crystal goblet to her lips and took a very delicate sip. Her eyes widened. “It is delicious,” she said.

“It should be. It comes from France,” he said.

“And what do you think of what’s going over there?” she said.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, “because if I do, I shall cry.”

“Are you in the habit of crying?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yes,” he declared after a bite of potatoes that were rich with cream and butter. “Tears don’t mean weakness. I have traveled far and abroad and understand that some of the greatest warriors in the world and in the past have wept openly.”

“How wonderful,” she sighed, spinning the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I would love to be able to weep openly.”

He blinked. “Can you not?”

“Not all ladies weep,” she drawled. “The truth is that ladies, really, in this present society, are instructed just as much as the gentleman to not show their emotions, and any step away from that is viewed as a lack of dignity.”

He sighed. “How terrible. Why can we not have our feelings?”

“Because if we all succumb to our feelings,” she said, “society would collapse.”

He pushed his fork into a large piece of beef, stabbed it with the knife, and cut. “Would that be so very awful?” he asked.

“You, a duke, asking if it would be awful if society collapsed.” She laughed and then she blinked. “Oh, you’re serious,” she gasped.

“I am indeed serious because it’s not working very well, is it?” he growled, surprised by his own irritation. He’d known things were bad in England whilst he was traveling, but upon his return, he’d learned just how terrible it truly was. “I have heaps and heaps of wealth and land, you have very little, and yet I don’t see how I am more valuable than you are.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Well, I’ll take the dukedom if you don’t want it,” she teased.

“If you want it, you can have it.”

She stilled.

“Oh, dear,” he said, “that sounded a bit like a marriage proposal, didn’t it?”

She laughed. “Luckily, I did not take it that way, sir. I know that we are bandying about with silly words. I am no candidate for duchess.”

“Not a single one of these words has been silly, and you’d make a better duchess than most, actually.”

“I would never be accepted,” she said. “And, also, you and I are in a business relationship,” she said.

“Marrying a duke is a business relationship,” he pointed out. “But you’re right, we probably shouldn’t talk about it, because it’s making me think of all sorts of delicious things that have nothing to do with what’s upon the table but are between a husband and his wife.”

“Oh,” she said softly, clearly unable to say anything else as her cheeks again bloomed that delicious rose he loved so well.

“Am I allowed to be honest, or will you consider that rude?” he began.

“It depends on what you say,” she said simply, taking another sip of wine.

“The truth is—and I think you also find this true—we are compatible.”

“Like puzzle pieces,” she teased.

“And more,” he whispered.

She pushed her plate away and she started to stand. “Your Grace,” she said, “this was exactly what I feared. You have expectations for salary and good food that I am not willing to meet.”

“Cease,” he called out and, much to his shock, he grabbed her hand. “I promise that I do not. But I also am not going to lie,” he said. “From the moment I saw you, you have done something to me.”

“You have seen me a handful of times,” she said, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “How could I have done anything to you?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “You clearly do not understand the male brain.”

She tsked, but then said gently, “You’re right. I don’t.”

“I promise I will never do anything that you do not want. I will not act in any way that makes you feel ashamed,” he promised, “because I could never live with myself if I did.”

Slowly, she lowered herself back into her chair. “That is good to know, because many powerful men do not feel that way at all. Many regular men do not feel that way at all either. They do not care for the thoughts and feelings of ladies.”

“You are here because I care for your thoughts and feelings,” he explained, his hand still about hers. “If I could and you would let me,” he said softly, “I would send money to your mother tomorrow, buy whatever doctors she needed, get her whatever treatment was necessary. But I have a terrible feeling that you might tell me no.”

She bit her lower lip. “I wish that everyone could have that,” she said softly.

He leaned forward. “So do I, but at present, that is not the way the world works. But if you are wise, you will take my help,” he said. “Are you wise?” he asked. “You seem so.”

“I don’t want charity,” she said tightly, even as she looked at their hands entwined.

“Then you are in a dilemma, because I have the money to give and you won’t take it. So, are you willing to sacrifice your mother’s good health because you think everyone should have my help? I promise, I will give my help to as many as I can. I already do. So, please let me help you.”

She winced. “This is a very, very challenging conversation, especially since you also seem to suggest…”

“What?” he asked.

She flinched. “I don’t know how to negotiate any of this, Your Grace. I am not… Well, I am not continental.”

He laughed. “It’s one of the reasons I like you,” he said. “You’re so pragmatic.”

“I have to be,” she said. “I would love to be continental,” she said. “I would love to be able to throw my morals aside. I would love to see it all just as you have done, but the opportunity has never arisen for me. I don’t have the opportunity to be carefree. I can’t.”

“What if I made it so?”

“In exchange for what?” she demanded. “For I fear there is a catch under all of this.”

He shook his head. “For the pleasure of seeing you bloom.”

She stared at him. “Society is broken, isn’t it? Because you can lift people up or lower them like a god.”

“It’s true,” he stated, wondering how it had all become so complicated. He wanted to help her. He longed to kiss her. And this made the water they were swimming in quite muddy. “Let me come in and swoop into your life and make everything better.”

“And will you do that for the other young ladies,” she said, “under your care?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I will. You need to understand that I will. That’s why they’re living in this house,” he said. “That’s why I have given contracts to all of them to increase their wages. I’m not singling you out in that way,” he said. “But I am singling you out in the fact that you make me feel…”

“What?” she asked, softening at his explanations.

“That I am not being judged,” he said. “You have already seen the twisted, darkest, strangest parts of my childhood and family life, and you don’t judge me for them. How could I not want to be closer to you? You’re the only one who is truly close to me.”

Her jaw dropped at that. “My goodness, I thought you were going to sing a sonnet to my face and try to seduce me with pretty words, but how I can deny such a baring of your heart?”

“You have a very nice face,” he said, “but your face is not really the most interesting part of you. If you want me to be completely blunt, I’ve seen many better faces than yours, many better physiques. I know ladies who could completely outdo you in conversation. But I don’t want to have you in my life right now because of the art of your conversation, the curve of your cheek, or the height and width of your body,” he said. “I want you in my life right now because you make me feel…”

“What?” she asked.

“Safe.”

She coughed. “I make you feel safe?” she said. “That makes me sound like a nanny.”

“Oh, no. Nannies do not make children feel safe,” he said. “Not the children of dukes. Nannies are there to raise dukes and teach them how to be strong. I knew a good cold shower, a good beating, and how to recite epic verse when I was but ten years old. Beowulf and I are on very intimate footing.”

“Oh?” she queried, even as her eyes flickered with sorrow at his painful childhood. “Could you recite it for me now?”

He laughed. “I could recite Chaucer for you now in Old English, or Beowulf, or any of it. Do you really wish me to?”

She leaned towards him, her gaze rich with emotion. “Part of me would love to hear it.”

So, he leaned forward, and he started speaking in old English.

It wasn’t poetic, and it wasn’t beautiful like French. He supposed he could have chosen one of those poets. Poets he had indeed had literally beaten into him by tutors and nannies.

Dukes often did not go to school. They were often raised at home, and sometimes home was not pleasant. And when his father had lost himself because his wife had died, his father had given up Pierce’s care to tutors, to nannies, to people who were determined to make him strong. He rather thought now that when people attempted to make children strong, what they really did was break them, break them hard, break them fast, and then make them brittle for the rest of their lives.

“What is it?” she asked softly. “The pain in your eyes is breaking my heart.”

“If you must know,” he said, “I was thinking of all the children who never get to escape.”

She blinked. “Escape?” she breathed.

“Escape out into the world and see that it can be different, that it doesn’t have to be a prison,” he said before he slipped his hand from hers and cupped her cheek. “You’re in a prison, Nancy,” he said softly.

“There is no way of escaping my little life,” she replied, tears filling her eyes, For him. For her. For all those who couldn’t escape.

And it made him… Dear God, it made him love her. That was the only word for the sudden affection he felt for her empathy.

“Until now,” he whispered.

“Until now,” she agreed, but then she rushed, “But I am frightened.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you are a duke,” she said without hesitation. “One moment you could lift me up and the next moment you could tear me down. It feels as if I am playing with fire.”

“Fire has been at the center of man’s existence since he discovered it, but it is also the source of all creation and all progress.”

“So,” she said, “to be close with you, that shall be the source of all my progress?”

“It can be,” he said. “Be realistic. With my help, and I promise I give it freely without asking for anything in turn, anything could be yours.”

She bit her lower lip. She looked away. “I don’t want to exchange things with you,” she said softly. “I fear that this will lead to—”

“I don’t see you that way,” he cut in, desperate to make her understand.

Her jaw dropped again. “You don’t see me as a potential mistress?” she blurted.

Mistress?

He nearly choked. “No, not at all. I don’t think you’re the sort of woman who can be kept.”

How did he explain that he didn’t yet understand how to reconcile that he longed to kiss her but that he had no desire to make her his mistress? For he knew it would hurt her. She did not have the sort of spirit for such an exchange, and so he could never ask it of her.

And then her eyes danced, and he knew he’d said the exact right thing. And the most amusing thing of it all was the right thing was the most accurate thing. All she needed was someone like him in her life to give her all that she deserved. And he would, if he could, if she would allow it. But he feared that she would not, because she had been raised, just like him, to live in a cage, though he had broken out.

Chapter 8

“Do you know where her mother lives?”

The Duke of Rivers stared at the Duke of Windbourne and felt both a moment of elation and a moment of trepidation.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Rivers said, shuffling the papers on his desk together until they were squared perfectly.

“Because she won’t give it to me,” Windbourne explained patiently. “She’s proud and doesn’t want help and I admire her for it, but her mother won’t be helped if her pride stands in the way.”

Rivers arched a brow.

This was the sort of scenario that he, Fennyman, Lord Philip, and Harlowe, of course, had hoped for.

The Marriage Managing Society was having its effect! He should be thrilled. He was thrilled.

The four of them had been working for this match for over a month. They had deduced the proper partner. They had come up with the plan, and all was going well. It had taken them some work, but now their plans truly were in order, except the Duke of Windbourne was now going off course. He wasn’t supposed to be going behind her back to help Miss Stillbrooke.

“Why not be transparent, old boy? You really should ask her where her mother lives.”

“She’ll think I want to make her my mistress, that I’m trying to make her beholden to me.”

“Are you?” Rivers asked, his mouth drying. He willed the duke to say no.

Windbourne drove a hand through his hair. “Ha. There are far easier ways to get a mistress. Now, I don’t want to have to hire a private investigator or a Bow Street runner, but I will. She doesn’t want my help. Or anyone’s. But she needs it.”

“Do you want favors from her?” Rivers asked, feeling the need to ask again. He had to be certain because if he had made a mistake, he and the Marriage Managing Society were going to have to pivot fast.

“No,” Windbourne insisted, grinding his teeth. “I’m not that kind of a rogue. Look, I have a host of ladies who’d like to take up the position. I don’t need her favors.”

Rivers rolled his eyes. “No arrogance there, is there?”

“You know I speak the truth.” Windbourne huffed out a breath. “The same is true for you too. It doesn’t matter if a duke is handsome or if he’s pleasant or if he’s rude. Ladies want him for the power that he can bestow. But she’s different and I can’t escape how much I…”

The Duke of Rivers nearly shot up from his chair and applauded. The man was falling in love! Instead, he said measuredly, “It’s true.”

“You know as well as I do that if I went out and proposed to ten ladies tomorrow, ten ladies would say yes,” he drawled.

Rivers groaned. “The legalities of a mess like that don’t bear thinking about it. Dare I mention breach of promise?”

“I’m not going to propose to ten ladies, Rivers.”

“Glad to hear it, old boy,” Rivers said. “So, she does not wish to be beholden to you? That is a good thing. Don’t you think?”

Windbourne stalked to the window. “Of course it’s a good thing, but it’s not going to help her mother any, and her mother needs help.”

Rivers finally nodded. “All right. I will give you her mother’s address so that you might send a doctor out to her and help immediately, since our dear young lady will not accept charity.”

“Why do some people have so much trouble accepting help?” Windbourne asked, glaring out the window as if wished he could throttle everyone.

Rivers fought a smile. Windbourne reminded him of himself. They both wanted the world to simply understand that if people made better choices, they’d have better results.

Rivers crossed from behind his desk, headed towards the window, and clapped his fellow duke on the back. “Why does the moon go around the Earth? Why does the Earth go around the sun? Do we need to know why? Sometimes people are just stubborn. And it would seem that she is stubborn.”

Rivers frowned. As a matter of fact, Miss Stillbrooke was perhaps more stubborn than he had suspected. He had rather hoped that the lady would see quite quickly how a relationship with the Duke of Windbourne would work to her advantage, but it seemed the lady was holding firm.

A good thing, a good thing! But now he had to wonder how the devil this was all going to unfold.

He headed back to his desk and wrote the address down quickly before holding it out to the duke. “Send for the doctor then. Do what you can for the mother, but don’t push too hard with the young lady, will you? Unless, of course, you’re planning to marry her.”

He waited for a laugh, for any sort of indication that Windbourne thought that idea was impossible.

But Windbourne didn’t.

And he suddenly found himself very pleased. In fact, he wished he could dance about the room. “Do I hear church bells ringing, old boy?”

“You could hear them clanging,” Windbourne drawled. “But I think even if I asked her to marry me, she’d tell me to tip a pike.”

That didn’t bode well. Rivers cleared his throat. “Probably because she doesn’t believe you’d really do it. Do you want such a thing?”

Windbourne took the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “I don’t know,” he said. “For the first time in my life, I’m not entirely sure what I want. I have to get married. She is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, but do I want to drag her into my world? Do I want to drag her into the world of a duchess when she is free?”

“Poverty isn’t freedom,” Rivers replied flatly.

Windbourne blinked. “You’re right, of course. But once she’s in the ton again, she won’t be able to get free of it. And it could be difficult. After all, she’s in trade.”

Rivers blinked, then snorted. “My, how judgmental you sound?”

Windbourne snorted right back. “Not I, but everyone else.”

“Go on,” Rivers said, not wanting him to think of any other reasons to worry. “Go help her. It will all sort itself out in the end.”

“Are you sure?” Windbourne asked softly.

“Oh, it always does,” Rivers replied. “You just have to have a bit of faith.”

“I struggle with that,” Windbourne said honestly.

Rivers nodded. “I know you do. You’ve seen things that no one should.”

Windbourne gave him a nod, patted the mother’s address in his pocket, then headed out the door.

“All right,” Rivers called. “Out you come.”

Fennyman and Lord Philip, younger brother of the Duke of Westfort, and Rivers’ butler, Harlowe, darted out.

“That’s good,” Harlowe said, clapping his hands together. “He wants to help the mother. He’s going to ask the daughter to marry him any day.”

Fennyman hesitated. “Possibly,” he said.

“Possibly,” Rivers echoed, arching a brow before he threw himself down in his chair. “Don’t give me possibly,” he said. “They are a clear case and belong together.”

“I didn’t say they don’t belong together,” Fennyman said. “But you know how delicate the human soul is. They might be stubborn.”

“We’re all stubborn,” Rivers protested. “They’re not going to be that stubborn. I won’t allow it again.”

Fennyman laughed, the dark sound matching his dark hair and clothes, and his demeanor. Though he did have a dry sense of humor, likely because of all the foibles he’d witnessed in human nature. “Oh, you won’t, Your Grace? You won’t put up with the little humans behaving as humans do?”

Rivers snorted. “I will march them down the aisle myself if I have to,” he said. “I will arrange a situation in which they are caught.”

“We have been here before, Your Grace,” he said. “You just have to be patient. As you say, it always works out in the end.”

He gave Fennyman a sharp glance. “You don’t believe that,” he said.

Fennyman paused. “You’re right. I don’t. I’ve seen it not work out too many times, but I hate destroying your endless sense of optimism.”

Fennyman owned a gambling club and saw people destroy themselves on an almost daily basis. And Fennyman had been born to wealth, though not a high station, but then cast out and forced to live in the gutter as a child. Fennyman understood people better than most ever possibly could. In fact, Rivers sometimes thought Fennyman could look inside his soul and see the deepest secrets there.

Lord Philip, who was still quite young and unbowed by life’s burdens, crossed the room, sat upon the desk, and hooked one leg over the other, giving Rivers a pout worthy of a West End showgirl. No doubt to wind Rivers up.

“Things are moving too slowly for my taste,” Lord Philip pronounced. “I must say I far preferred the other matches. These two are going to be stuck in a house together. How are we going to make anything exciting happen, if they both insist on being honorable?”

“Exciting,” Rivers echoed. “This topic of mistresses has already come up. And his sense of good is so intense that it will be a miracle if the two hold hands, let alone kiss.”

Fennyman folded his arms across his broad chest. “Nature will play out. Attraction never fails, and my man has reports from inside that the two are definitely attracted to each other.”

Harlowe looked around at the others. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s quite complicated because she’s his employee. We knew this could be risky, but perhaps we should have introduced them in another fashion.”

Rivers ground his teeth, then tapped his desk. “We needed them together a great deal, and that would never happen, given her status.”

Harlowe nodded. “Yes, servants just aren’t well thought of.”

“She’s not truly a servant,” Fennyman said, “but she might as well be.”

“And that’s going to make them both hesitate,” put in Lord Philip. “How do we make them not hesitate?”

“Well,” Rivers began, “I suppose we could always…”

“No,” Harlowe roared.

“No,” Fennyman said.

“What?” Rivers said. “I was just going to…”

“Your suggestions are always terrible,” Fennyman said.

“Then you come up with something,” Rivers declared.

Fennyman winked. “I always do.”

This one was supposed to be as easy as a dream. Summer was coming to a close, and Rivers needed one last excellent match for this Season before he had to retire for the year and come up with a new set of potential brides and grooms.

The Duke of Windbourne needed a wife. The Duke of Windbourne needed help. The fellow didn’t know how much help yet, but Rivers did. The man was as powerful as a storm and as vital. He’d swept into England, becoming the center of gossip and society immediately, but he was heartbroken.

His father’s death had done things to him, and Rivers could understand that. His own father’s death had done many things to him as well. Young men were always desperately trying to recover from the deaths of their fathers, but Windbourne’s circumstance had been particularly bad.

He had returned to London, and he had even helped Rivers unknowingly unite the last couple. Or at least he hoped it was unknowingly, though he had suspicions that Windbourne was on to him. So, he’d just have to be more careful. But not too careful. He had marriages to make happen.

Chapter 9

Several days and several rather quiet dinners later

Nancy knew that she was the most absurd person in the whole world, and she was absolutely infuriated with herself.

As a matter of fact, as she stared at a portrait of Aphrodite, she stomped her foot in a most childlike fashion. She had now dined with the duke every day for the last two weeks.

They had discussed literature, they had discussed science, they had discussed portraiture, and they had discussed his travels. She could listen to him speak about his travels for hours and for days. But he had not once, not a single time, ever again suggested that they go beyond any other friendship than that of the dining room.

He continued to help her financially without asking for anything in turn. As a matter of fact, much to her shock, she had gotten a letter from her mother stating that a new physician had popped in to take a look at her, and he was the duke’s physician.

She wanted to be furious. Surely, it was some vast overstep. She wasn’t even certain how he’d gotten the cottage’s address. But the truth was she was appreciative.

How could she not be? As far as she understood from her mother, the physician actually had been an immense help. Who would have guessed, of course, that the very best physician in England might be much better than what the poorest person could afford?

The irony was not lost on her.

It made her want to be grateful to the duke, but not in the sort of way that could get her into trouble. No, no. She wished to get into trouble of her own accord, and this was most dangerous, because as she looked at the portraits of the gods entwining, of the gods descending to the earthly plane, choosing females or males to play with, she knew that was exactly the sort of trouble she was getting herself into.

She might as well be a human contemplating an interaction with Zeus, and that never worked out well. And yet, oh dear God in heaven, she could not stop herself from wishing. Oh, how she wished.

Even as she stood in the candlelight, because it was quite late and she did not know how to stop working, though her heart ached for the man who could never be hers. For he was above her in almost every way.

Constant work was the only thing that kept her mind from spinning.

After all, if she did not, the worst thing would happen. She would lie in her quite comfortable bed up in the servants’ wings, only a few doors down from the duke, staring at the ceiling and thinking of him.

He wasn’t even out as much as she thought he would be. She would have assumed that, as a duke, he would be out on the town every night, but it seemed not. In the morning, he always went out to his stables. Apparently, he rode a great deal. She liked to daydream, thinking about him with his horses, his Arabians that had come from across the sea.

How she longed to see them. How she longed for evidence of that world that was so far beyond her own, a world that she would never have access to.

Unless, of course… She swallowed. No, that world would never be for her. She couldn’t be just his mistress. She knew it deep in her heart, because if she did, she would fall in love with him, and then she would be broken. Oh, and she could not bear that, because the truth was that she knew herself.

She wasn’t the sort of person who could have an intimate relationship with someone and then be able to just get on with life.

But he didn’t even wish her to be his mistress! Why was she even torturing herself? She shook her head.

But what if?

What if she never kissed him? What if she never realized her foolish heart’s desire? Would she regret it for the rest of her life? She looked at the painting of Aphrodite. She knew what Aphrodite would do. Aphrodite was a goddess. Aphrodite would do whatever she dratted well pleased.

Sometimes, she wished she had that sort of authority over her own person. And in some ways, she did. But she just didn’t know if she could…

Boot steps echoed out in the hall. She tensed. And as if she had somehow called him out of the dark with her thoughts, the duke walked by the door.

He spotted her light, peered in, and said, “What the blazes are you doing up? You’re working far too hard. Are you trying to get a raise? Because I won’t give you a raise if you’re going to work yourself into the ground. I’m not an unforgiving task master who wishes you to work yourself to the bone.”

She forced a quick smiled at him. “I know that you’re not,” she said. “It’s more that I can’t stop myself.”

He frowned as he strode into the room with that languid confidence he had. “That sounds like a compulsion,” he said. “You can’t stop yourself from working?”

She scowled. “I don’t stop myself from working because then I shall be thinking, and thinking can get one into most terrible situations.”

“I won’t argue with that,” he said as he paused before the portrait of Aphrodite. “What were you thinking about?”

Her lips pressed together and she stared at him.

His eyes flared, and he seemed to understand. And at that point, there was no point in lying.

“You,” she said honestly, throwing her arms up.

“Me?” he said softly, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said. “You know what you are.”

“And what is that?” he asked, his lips twitching with amusement, even as his eyes seemed to alight with what she almost thought was home.

She nodded, then folded her arms under her bosom. “Undeniably handsome, incredibly compelling. Anyone would want to be with you.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “Many people find me to be overbearing, and they find my audacity to be appalling. Some people want me to go back to Arabia or to wherever I was last. And some people desperately wish that I wasn’t in Parliament because I’m trying to wake up those old fellows and make them see that the world is changing, and changing fast.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Changing so very fast?”

“You can’t see it?” he queried as he took a step towards her. “You can’t feel it?”

She bit her lower lip. “I suppose I can,” she said. “There’s a certain desperation to the everyday working people in London,” she admitted.

“As if any dream of control is gone?” he said softly.

“Yes,” she whispered, hating that it was true.

“I don’t know how it’s all going to work out, but we are on a path now that can’t be stopped, and all we can do is do our best not to be destroyed by it.”

“That’s very grim,” she said.

“It’s reality. And you like reality, don’t you?” He contemplated the painting again. “Thinking of me, eh?”

She gave a nod.

“I know everybody likes Aphrodite the best,” he said, “But I always liked Artemis.”

She blinked. “Why?”

He gazed down at her, standing side by side now. “I always liked the fact that she went off on her own with her dogs and looked at the moon. It seems like a very sensible thing to do.”

She laughed. “Would you admire me if I went out and stared up at the moon?”

“I would admire you in any capacity,” he murmured.

Her heart skipped. “If I could go off with some dogs and look at the moon and not worry about the rest of society, I would do it as well,” she said softly.

“Would you?” he asked. “I don’t believe it. You seem to thrive off of organizing others. You strike me as a very different sort of goddess,” he teased. “I think you would meddle in the lives of humans all of the time.”

She guffawed. “You’re probably right. And you?” she said. “Would you be like Zeus, going down into the lives of mortals and changing them always and forever?”

“No,” he snorted. “He was a terrible fellow. I don’t admire Zeus at all.”

Her brows shot up.

“Couldn’t control himself, you see,” the duke drawled. “Whatever thought he got into his head, he went ahead and did. The Greeks lived very differently than we do.”

“Do you speak Greek?” she asked suddenly, rather wishing she’d had the chance to learn.

“Oh yes,” he said, “and Latin. I can quote you all the major works upside and down. My tutor loved Caesar’s Gallic Wars. I can tell you all about the bodies in the rivers and all that gory, good stuff,” he said.

She gave him a bemused look. “That does sound like a boy’s best book. But grim too.”

“War is grim,” he said, “and war is coming. So we best live for today, because tomorrow, who knows what will happen?”

“Isn’t that true all of the time?” she said.

“Yes, but war accelerates it.”

She winced. If he was right, then she should just seize whatever she wanted. But there was a part of her that was just so resistant to it.

“What were you thinking about me?” he said. “How you could organize my life? Would you find me a wife?” he asked. “I think you’d be very good at it.”

She laughed, even as the words struck a knife into her heart. And that realization made her gasp. She wanted to be his wife. Dear God in heaven! What unhappiness lay ahead with such a dream.

“Yes, I probably would. But I don’t know enough about the ladies in the ton to do so.”

“I could hand you documents,” he said, “and then you could go through them all and pick the best one for me.”

She shook her head. “That is a job that I don’t want.”

“Why?” he asked. “Since you’re very good at meddling and organizing.”

She sucked in her breath.

It was his turn to gasp. “Perhaps you’d put your name on the list.”

“Don’t, Your Grace. That’s cruel.”

He took a few steps towards her. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be cruel.”

“The truth is you know that I can never be your duchess. I am your employee, and I should never—”

“Of course you should allow yourself to dream. Dream anything you want. Sometimes dreams become reality. Hope is—”

“You think that marrying you would give me a sense of hope?” she cut in. “The truth is the reason why I want to marry you is that it’s the only way I can envision having you, so to speak, because I’m not like girls who can just…”

“Yes?” he prompted.

And much to her shock, she realized that he had taken her hand in his.

“Toss myself into some sheets and enjoy it,” she rushed. “I wish I was, but I’m not.”

He looked at her. “I understand,” he said softly.

“I’m glad,” she said.

“But that means that I need to leave this room right now,” he said, “because…”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, drawing her close to him. “I want to hold you. I want to know all of you, not just your marvelous mind that’s setting my house to rights and not judging me. I can’t help it. It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment that you opened the door of my chamber.”

She laughed. “I never should have done it.”

“Well, how could you know that I’d be there?”

“Fair,” she said.

And then, for a moment, she wondered, was this all some great game and she was being pushed about on a board like a game piece? Was there any point in resisting? Maybe she shouldn’t resist. She’d not been able to control what happened with her own father. She’d not been able to control the way her mother and she had been tossed out of their home. She’d not been able to control so many things, and maybe the river of her life was pushing her towards the duke.

“And if I wanted you to kiss me?” she whispered.

He stilled. “I don’t know if I should.”

She took a step towards him, holding his hand tightly. “What if I wanted to live with the gods for a few days?”

“Humans and gods rarely interact well,” he said softly.

“No, they don’t,” she agreed. “But what if, for just a brief, short little period of my life, I wanted to know what it was like to be one of you?”

His gaze traveled over her face and lingered on her lips. “You are one of us. You are the goddess here, and I am the one who wants to worship you.”

In front of the painting of Aphrodite, Pierce pulled Nancy into his arms. It was the sweetest of embraces. She knew she should not allow it, but she wanted it more than anything, more than she could possibly say. So when his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and did not allow herself to turn him away.

She did not allow herself to think of the regrets she might have or the recriminations she might face because Pierce made it very clear: there would be none. And this felt like a moment stolen in time that neither of them had planned.

It was almost as if Aphrodite herself was casting a spell upon them from the portrait. And if Aphrodite was in charge, what authority did Nancy have? Indeed, how could she refuse?

Her life had not been one of sweet caresses or kisses but of hard work. In fact, she had had to avoid kisses before. Other men, who couldn’t even touch the duke’s boots, had tried to steal her lips with their own selfish ones.

There was nothing selfish about Pierce or the way he kissed her. No, he gave to her. He gave over and over again with the soft touch of his lips. Her mind turned to pure bliss, almost like dreaming even though she was awake, because it was so pleasurable. His tongue touched her lips and then, much to her amazement, he slipped it into her mouth, caressing, teasing.

She was startled by how much she liked it. Surely it should’ve been too strange for words, but her body seemed to know exactly what to do as she leaned into him and allowed herself to be all but plastered to his hard front.

She wanted to be as close as possible to him. She wanted to give way in this moment. She’d spent so much time resisting her own desires. And now that she’d given in to them, she didn’t want to think of any reason to stop.

His hands wandered over her frame, memorizing her back, her hips, her ribs, her waist. It was a gentle seduction, but it was a seduction. There was nothing innocent about it.

No, it promised the sin that he was clearly capable of. So, when he tilted her head to the side and kissed her neck, she shivered, not with surprise or with the need to push him away, but with the need to know more. His mouth danced over her delicate skin. She let her eyes flutter shut.

His hands worked over her skirts. She didn’t allow herself to consider that she should tell him to stop. Though her good sense told her she should, she did not want to stop. When he moved her slowly to the wall, pressing her so gently against it, and he began to slide her skirt upward, she gloried in it.

Yes, her mind was so enamored by his kiss, so enamored by what he could promise her, that she wound her hands into his hair and pulled him closer.

Besides! Was she the only one here who had to dictate the pace? No! Affection would dictate the pace; desire would dictate the pace. At this moment, her body desired all of him.

His fingertips slid up over her thighs and caressed her hips, the intimate place between her legs. Though she nearly jumped because she was so startled, she trusted him.

Yes, that was it! This was why she could do this. Unlike any man she had ever met and known, she trusted Pierce.

Those clever fingers of his slipped between her legs and found her most intimate place. She had waited to see what he would do next, not what she would do, not what she would say. He gazed down at her face, his eyes hot and hungry.

“I’m going to please you now,” he promised.

She bit her lower lip and nodded.

Now that he had declared his intent, he stroked his fingers over the soft petals of her sex.

Her legs began to tremble. She’d never experienced anything like this. He held her, pinning her body to the wall as he studied her face.

“I want to see it,” he murmured. “I want to see the pleasure that I can give you.”

She nodded.

It felt tremendously vulnerable, but she allowed him to just watch. A part of her wished that he would kiss her because then she would not be looked at.

How could she hide just how much he made her feel if he was looking at her face? But maybe she couldn’t hide it. Maybe there was nothing that she could hide from him.

As his practiced fingers circled over her most sensitive nub, spreading the evidence of her desire over her, making her slick with need, she let out a cry of amazement.

Pleasure coursed through her over and over again. She felt far too sensitive to his touch, and she had experienced the bliss that surely only he could give her. She called out his name, stunned by how transformed she felt.

Pierce lowered his head to hers. He slipped his hand away, and he held her.

Chapter 10

“Isn’t cake the best thing in the whole world on a day off in the park?” said Miss Eileen Riley, her Irish accent lilting, as she contemplated her chocolate-laced pastry. The young ladies, Miss Riley, Miss Pansy Croke, and Miss Victoria Basilton all but frolicked along with Nancy on the path close to the duke’s home, eating cake and taking joy in the small wonders of existence. After all, when one lived on the edge of fiscal doom, what else could one do?

Yes, Nancy wholeheartedly agreed with her! Her own cake of strawberries and sponge were doing her spirits a world of good.

On a fine summer day in Hyde Park, there was nothing better than cake with new friends while out enjoying oneself, and she did need the enjoyment.

As much as she loved what she was doing, and as much as she penny-pinched for her mother, she also knew that if she did not get out and get fresh air, she would become ill. Frankly, she was quite surprised that the duke had not insisted she take exercise like a horse or a dog. He seemed so concerned with her health.

It was hard not to admire him for it. Most employers didn’t give two whits for their employees’ health. They were happy to drive them into the ground.

Daily, her admiration grew for the duke. It was most difficult! For she found herself wound ever closer to him as they discussed the world, people, and what to do with his father’s things. With each day, she could see that he was unlike most of the most powerful men in the world. And with each day, it grew harder and harder to maintain a distance with him. A distance she secretly wished to charge across.

Eileen, Pansy, and Victoria were all striding beside her in their walking costumes, simple as they were, with their small containers of cake, making the most of their day off. They were nibbling at the delightful confectionary, enjoying the sun, and basking in the fact that soon it would be winter. It was growing towards the end of the season, and it was essential to soak up every bit of sun that one could.

Winter in England was a dreary affair, and one had to store up these moments so that when it was bleak, rainy, and dark, one had a well to draw from.

Eileen with her blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and merry face pivoted towards Rotten Row. “Come on then,” she said, “let’s go gawk at the wealthy people.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Eileen,” she said, “You can’t stand English people. Why would you want to gawk at them?”

“I like you,” Eileen countered grandly, her accent making her sound playful. “And what better way to make fun of the arrogant lot, I ask you?” Eileen pointed out as her rather staid gray bonnet ribbons flapped about her. “And I don’t loathe English people at all, poor things. They’re highly misguided. They’d be a lot happier if they weren’t English.”

Nancy laughed. Eileen couldn’t help teasing everyone around her and there wasn’t a malicious bone in her body. “Eileen, you’re terrible. You work for a duke.”

“I do,” Eileen said with a grand sigh. “It’s shocking, isn’t it? But why not work for a duke? If one has to work for an English person, one might as well work for the best.”

“Do your parents know that you’re working for a duke?” asked Victoria, taking a large bite of cake, her eyes closing for a moment with bliss as they strode down the pathway.

“Oh, indeed they do,” Eileen jested. “They actually encouraged me to take the position. Why not get as much money as I can whilst I can?” Eileen contemplated her cake and frowned. “And frankly, I can’t disagree with them. The future looks uncertain in my country. Here too. Best collect as much coin as possible.” Eileen forced a smile. “Look, the English aren’t so very terrible. Anyone who’s capable of creating Dryden and Shakespeare can’t be all bad.”

Eileen and the girls loved to make jokes, but the truth was there was a great deal of difficulty and tension between the English and Irish. Decisions were being made daily that left the Irish in a bad state. And frankly, Nancy couldn’t understand why anybody would do such a foolish thing to another group of people.

But there it was.

The English seemed determined to drag all independence away from Ireland. And it felt as if the land was going to crackle up in flames at any time. The whole world seemed a tinderbox.

But at least she and Eileen were friends. Eileen made every day better, quoting poetry, making quips, suggesting books, and reading aloud at night to them when they sat by the fire in the servants’ quarters, trying to keep warm before they all went off to bed.

“You could be one of those fine ladies,” Eileen said with a quick smile to Nancy. “And you were one once, weren’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not fine like that,” she said, as they all looked at a barouche carriage going by with exceptionally well-dressed young women in it.

They were so well-dressed that they almost appeared to be caricatures. Their hair was piled high atop their heads, which were dancing with flowers and plumes. The gowns were shining silk, studded with jewels and laced with gilded embroidery.

“If I had a duke look at me the way the Duke of Windbourne looks at you,” said Pansy, nearly swooning, “I wouldn’t be here eating cake.”

“No,” Eileen said with a grin. “I’d be at home making a meal of him.”

“Eileen,” Nancy gasped, nearly dropping her cake. “You can’t say such things.”

“Oh, I can, and I will,” Eileen replied as another set of ladies rode by in their fine riding habits. “Too many people are too puritanical, even where I’m from. I don’t see why. I think that we should all have a good time. After all, look at how short life is.”

“That seems to be a constant sentiment,” Nancy replied.

Eileen narrowed her eyes, a haunted look overtaking her usual joy. “That’s because it’s true. Constant sentiments are constant because they are true. Children die every day in the East End. Children die every day in Ireland. Adults too. So why wouldn’t you make the most of it? Like this cake here. I’m going to eat every bit of it without a moment’s guilt. Shall I take yours from you? After all, you wouldn’t want to have the sin of gluttony, would you? I shall alleviate it from you.” And playfully, Eileen tried to take the little container of cake away from her.

Nancy rolled her eyes and waved away Eileen’s hands. “I take your point!”

Eileen winked. “Good. Don’t be so terrible to yourself. A little gluttony, a little liking of a duke. How terrible could it be?”

“Terrible enough to end up in a house full of fallen ladies if one’s not careful,” Nancy returned.

All of them were silent for a moment. Truly wealthy women, aristocrats, did not have to worry about workhouses, or the places where young women had no choice but to go when all their resources ran out because they gave into the affection of a man who promised love.

Eileen frowned. “The duke is not like that. I can see that he’s a good person.”

“Agreed,” Victoria declared. “I couldn’t imagine him hurting a mouse. Let alone a person. Have you seen the way he coos at his horses? And he is so kind to Everett and all the other servants.”

Pansy waggled her brows. “How could you not wish to make merry with a duke, Nancy? My goodness, if a duke wanted me to make merry, I’d have rooms set up tomorrow. And I’d acquire the best bonnets around, and horses too. Horses all day long, and also parasols and fans.”

“And jewels,” piped Victoria as she waved a piece of cake about before popping it into her mouth. “I would have heaps and heaps of jewels, and then I would retire to the countryside where no man could ever bother me again.”

“Bother?” Eileen teased. “I don’t think the duke bothers anyone. If anything, I think the ladies are standing in a line to bother him. And there he is, clearly interested in our dear, darling leader here. And she won’t give him the time of day!”

“That’s not true,” Nancy returned, though she couldn’t stop thinking of the kiss they had shared. “My work keeps me very busy, and I must maintain a professional demeanor. I can’t swoon about!”

The three friends gazed at her as if she was in complete denial.

“Look,” Nancy said, “I know that he finds me to be interesting, and I find him to be interesting too, but I don’t have time for that sort of thing. I need to take care of my mother. I need to work.”

“Well, I should like to do a bit of work too,” Eileen said, waggling her brows.

“Besides,” Pansy said, “a little bit of work with him would see your mother taken care of forever.”

Nancy groaned. “But can you hear yourselves? You wish me to be what? A fallen woman?”

“Oh, the tumble sounds like it would be delightfully fun,” put in Victoria. “And I think you deserve a bit of fun. You work too hard.”

“The three of you,” Nancy exclaimed. “I offer him up to you.”

Eillen’s lips twitched. “Sure you do.”

Pansy laughed. “You’d be jealous.”

“He’s already yours.”

“Cease!” Nancy returned, her cheeks burning at thoughts of the way they had kissed. Every word they spoke urged her to throw in all her defenses. How she wished that there could be more kisses! But surely, she couldn’t allow it. “You lot are a scandal.”

The three other girls exchanged quick glances.

“I’m just teasing,” she said. “I would never in a month of Sundays condemn you for speaking far less scandalously than a penny novelette.”

Eileen beamed. “You didn’t seem like a stick in the mud. I’m glad to know you’re not,” she said. “It’s just… You’re so devoted to doing a good job, you seem to be forgetting that you have a life beyond organizing his house. Don’t you want to have any fun?”

“I am having fun,” she replied. “I’m eating cake, walking with you, and as you say, Eileen, gawking at the ladies on Rotten Row.”

And as if there had been far too many ladies, suddenly a man came riding down the Row. But not just any man.

Oh no, of course it was the Duke of Windbourne atop the most staggeringly beautiful horse she had ever seen. And she had seen many.

She had grown up in the country. Her father had owned horses, and the neighbors had owned horses, and they’d often ridden to hunt. She was actually quite good atop a horse, having mastered bareback and sidesaddle. But this was not the sort of animal that was ridden to hunt.

No, this was the sort of animal that was designed to fly across the country as if it was the wind. It was sleek and fierce and playful, tossing its head, its mane flickering in the late summer breeze. And the duke sat atop it as if it was the easiest thing in the entire world. He was holding the reins lightly in his gloved hand. His riding hat was perched jauntily over his eye, and his riding clothes hugged him as if they were a second skin.

“He is positively a dream,” gushed Pansy.

“Oh, how I wish I was asleep right now,” Victoria said.

“Not me,” Eileen said. “I’m happy to look at him completely awake and wonder exactly what he wants to do with our Miss Stillbrooke here.”

“Stop it, the three of you,” she gasped, feeling like a governess with her naughty charges, but the truth was she adored having them as friends. She had not allowed herself to have friends in so very long.

The duke thundered towards them. And rather than some Teutonic knight, he looked like grace in motion, combined with sheer power, as he tore down the Row.

Everyone watched him. All the ladies turned and gaped, desperate to be noticed by him. The men watched, envying his horse and the way he sat upon it.

Nancy thrust a bite of cake into her mouth, but it suddenly seemed a pale comparison to the man upon the horse. She had no idea how she was going to survive this. He rode up towards them and paused, his great powerful thigh not far above their eyeline.

“Ladies,” he said, tilting his head down, “are you enjoying your afternoon off?”

“Very much so, Your Grace,” said Eileen.

“Oh yes,” Pansy tittered.

“Quite,” said Victoria. “And you?”

“Oh, I always enjoy myself,” he returned. “That’s what life is for. All of you look quite well out in the sunshine,” he added. “I’m glad to see that you’re not walled away in my house for hours upon end. You have all been working very, very hard. As a matter of fact, working so hard that I do think that I’m going to establish credit at a dressmaker I know and make certain that each one of you has a new gown made for this month. I don’t wish to see how you will wear your own gowns to tatters, working as diligently as you do all day long.”

Victoria, Pansy, and Eileen let out a cry of delight.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” crowed Eileen.

“Very thoughtful of you,” said Pansy.

“A delight,” Victoria said.

“I am not in need of a new gown,” Nancy replied.

“Of course you’re not,” he said merrily. “You don’t need anything except for work, your aspirations, and dedication.”

“That makes me sound like a Puritan,” she replied.

“You’re acting like a Puritan,” he teased. “Take the gift,” he said, “and enjoy it. What am I supposed to do with my money if I don’t spend it?”

She scowled at him, for if she did not scowl, she would swoon! “Spend it on better things than gowns.”

Eileen rammed her in the rib with her elbow. “Gowns are very nice. And besides, he’s giving employment to the seamstresses.”

“There you go,” the duke declared. “She sees the way of it. I like employing all sorts of people, and if I spread my money about, lots of people get to have it.”

She nodded, realizing she was being tart and rather foolish. But she was afraid at the way her heart was being stolen by every good deed he did, and the kiss they had shared, for she knew that there was nothing manipulative in his deeds. She’d seen in his soul now. He longed for the world to be better than it was.

So she gave him a curtsy and replied, “I will never stop a good heart, Your Grace.”

His eyes locked with hers. And as their eyes met, her friends fought gaggles of giggles.

Because no matter what she might say or how hard she might resist, she admired him more than any man in the world, and she wished that she could be his. All his.

Chapter 11

The bedchamber was pristine.

Nancy wiped her hands together, then planted them on her hips and gave a nod of approval.

Eileen brought over a notebook and began ticking things off.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Nancy asked, determined to do not just a good job, but an excellent one.

“If he doesn’t,” Eileen replied, arching her blonde brows, “he is far too picky. This would do for a king.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nancy replied, walking about the beautifully appointed room, her shoes sinking into the beautifully made Axminster.

The new bed was heaven, as were the rest of the furnishings: an armoire, several low tables, a settee, and a set of chairs before the fire.

The duke had gotten rid of most of the old things that had been here, as if he could not bear to have them there to remind him of the past, and she understood that better than anyone. But about a week ago, he had asked that they prepare a bedchamber that was currently filled with games. And so, she and the other girls had spent that week cataloging every antique game that the duke, his father, had ever collected. It had been no small feat, and she’d never known so many sorts of games had existed. She was now an expert in games of various sizes throughout history.

It had been no easy thing cleaning the room either.

As a matter of fact, another ten servants had been hired. These, of course, were housemaids and scullery maids. A few footmen had also been put into positions to carry things.

It did seem as if the Duke of Winterborne’s townhome was now beginning to operate fully. Yes, there were still several rooms that had not been touched, but one by one things were happening.

She turned her face to the windows, enjoying the sun. The curtains were beautiful and brand-new, a light butter-yellow damask. The bedchamber was decorated in the most beautiful, light furnishings. She’d been quite surprised by the specifications the duke had asked for.

She’d thought that he would want something quite masculine, perhaps dark greens and rich mahoganies and cherry wood. But no, he had asked for light, frothy, bright, and happy things. He said life was too short for darkness and that one should revel in as much light as possible. And so she and the other young ladies had taken it upon themselves to engage the best furniture makers and the best designers to achieve his requests.

He had said expense was no worry, and he wanted it to be done as quickly as possible. And so they had worked miracles. There were beautiful portraits of flowers on the walls and trees.

A mural had been painted on one side of the chamber depicting a verdant garden that looked as if one might be able to slip away into a hushed oasis of a paradise and never feel the trials and tribulations of modern life. She would have loved to sleep in this room, and she quite envied the duke in a way, but she was pleased.

He needed rest.

He did so many good things for people that he deserved a haven. The cramped little room that he barely fit in above in the servants’ quarters upstairs would not do.

She was glad that, at long last, he was taking care of himself.

“Magnificent, ladies,” the duke declared from the open doorway. “Absolutely magnificent.”

She couldn’t stop her smile of pride. His praise gave her a shocking dose of delight. “Will you take up residence?” she asked him.

And it wasn’t just his praise that gave her delight. How she loved the sight of him! There was something about his presence that was like a balm to her soul.

“No,” he said simply.

“No?” she queried, her spirits sinking. “Is it not to your taste?”

“Oh, it is,” he replied as he stepped further into the room and folded his hands behind his back, which stretched his perfectly tailored morning coat along his broad shoulders. “It is exactly to the specifications I requested.”

“Then whatever is amiss?” she asked, dismayed.

He tilted his beautiful head to the side, his dark curling hair teasing his shoulders. “It’s not for me.”

“What?” she gasped.

She glanced to Eileen.

Eileen’s lips curved in a smile.

“Do you know who it’s for?” Nancy asked, completely off foot.

Eileen gave a nod of her head, the wisps of her curls teasing her temples.

Nancy pulled back her chin. “And you kept it from me? I thought you worked for me.”

Eileen laughed. “We all work for him, don’t you know?”

“It is true,” Nancy admitted, confused. “But I don’t understand.” She turned towards the duke she so admired, wondering what the blazes she didn’t understand. “Your Grace, I have worked very hard this week, as have all the other young ladies, to ensure that you had a wonderful place to hide away from the world. A place you can rest so that you can prepare yourself to go out to Parliament and fight with those bullies who insist on keeping children in chimneys and ladies at hard labor with little recompense.”

He drew himself up. “I am made of quite stern stuff, my dear Miss Stillbrooke,” he said. “I do not need to have such a beautiful haven. No, this is the sort of room that someone needs when they must retreat from the world to improve their health.”

“Oh?” she queried. “Who is that?”

“Me, my dear.” The soft voice of her mother traveled in from the hallway as she entered.

Nancy nearly collapsed, something she had never done in her whole life.

The duke rushed across the room and took her in his arms.

She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth dried. Her eyes widened, and she could hardly believe that he’d saved her from falling to the floor and that now she was ensconced in his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to startle you so,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” she returned, her voice catching in her throat.

She swung her attention first to the duke, then to Eileen, and then to her mother as she entered the chamber.

It couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream.

Slowly, she stood, slipping out of the duke’s hold and taking a step towards her mother, who stood, arms out, face like an angel.

“Pinch me,” she managed to say to Eileen.

Eileen shook her head. “I won’t,” she said. “You need to enjoy every moment of this, and I won’t give you a bit of pain during this miracle.”

“It can’t be real,” Nancy said again, taking another step to her mother but half afraid this would all evaporate before her eyes. “I have to be sleeping.”

“Not a bit of it,” the duke said, his deep voice the most assuring thing she’d ever heard. “This is why I requested the chamber. Your mother and you deserve to be together.”

“Mama,” Nancy called out as she rushed forward and stepped into her mother’s frail embrace.

But it mattered not that it was frail. They were here. Together. Safe.

Her mother was wearing a new gown of soft linen. It clung to her slight frame, but when Nancy leaned back and looked into her eyes, oh, her eyes were clear and bright and filled with tears.

“Yes, my dear,” her mother said with a voice that was much stronger than the last time they spoke. “The duke insisted that I come to stay. I tried to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, that I could improve in the little cottage by the sea.”

“And that cottage by the sea,” the duke said, “is very small and damp, and I know that you were doing the very best that you could for her, but here she will have good food, warmth, dry air, and all the doctors in the world that can help her.”

Nancy fought a wince because as much as she hated it, the duke was right. She had, in many ways, romanticized the little cottage by the sea, but it had been all that they could afford.

The one-room stone cottage with damp upon the walls? She had told herself over and over again that the sea air would help her mother far better than the air of London where Nancy could afford to live, and it was true, but it hadn’t been perfect.

It had barely been a step above what she would have had to endure in London.

“This is for my mother?” she said, turning to him, gazing at the chamber with new eyes.

The duke nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It is for her. There are so many people that I wish I could help, but at least here, I get to see the help that I’m giving. I get to take part in it. I get to make friends with those that I’m helping. Please don’t take that from me.”

Tears filled her eyes. “How could I take that away from anyone?” she questioned.

“Well, there is a way,” he said gently. “You are rather stubborn.”

She let out a laugh and then tears began to truly slip down her cheeks as she pulled her mother into her arms again. “Will you be happy here, Mama? You wish to live here?”

“The duke seems a most kind fellow,” her mother rushed. “I told him that it might not be the best thing, but he insisted that he was going to ask nothing of us, and that you were working very hard for him, and your happiness meant more than anything. And that if you were happy, then you would work even better for him. He has visited me at the cottage a few times to make sure I am recovering, and he asked me not to tell you so that you did not feel as if you owed him anything. Forgive me for not telling you, my dear. He has the most remarkable logic and ability to convince anyone to do anything. And he seems a very good man.”

This time Nancy laughed a rueful laugh mixed with her tears. “You are quite right there, Mama. He is the best arguer that anyone could ever come across, and he does it all with kindness in his tone.”

“Why shout at people when you can tease them?” the duke declared.

She laughed again. “Can you teach all the teachers in the world that?”

“I might try,” he warned merrily.

Eileen began to clap. “Ooh, I do like the sound of that,” she said. “Could we get rid of all the shouters? I think it would be marvelous if children laughed instead.”

He smiled at the three of them. “A job well done,” he declared, then added, “I think we should allow your mother to rest, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Mama, would you like to settle in?”

She could hardly believe the words that she was speaking, but they were true, and everything was happening in the most remarkable of ways.

“Only if you will lay down with me, my dear.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Nancy protested, thinking of the list of things she still had to do. “I have much work ahead still—”

“You will lay down with your mother,” the duke cut in kindly. “You have given your all at my request. You have achieved the success of this room, and you and Miss Riley both deserve a rest. Everyone does. I’m calling a holiday for the rest of the day and tomorrow as well.” The duke winked. “Besides, you must move your mother in.”

And without another word or request for praise, the duke slipped out of the room, and she was certain he took her own heart with him.

A bevy of ladies surrounded his small dining table in the intimate chamber he still preferred to the massive hall downstairs.

At first, he had thought it was a good idea that he only had Nancy dine with him, but he’d quickly realized the error of that.

Oh, Pierce loved conversing with her alone, but he knew that it was difficult and complicated to request such continual intimacy between them when she was not his wife or anything else but his friend, his employee. Though the word galled him.

Ever since they had kissed, all he wanted was to make her his. But she was not his in reality. Not yet.

And he didn’t like the inequality of their situation and did not wish her to feel awkward. And so he had asked Miss Eileen, Miss Pansy, Miss Victoria, and, of course, Nancy’s mother to dine with them.

The table was surrounded by ladies, all with soft curling hair piled atop their heads, simple frocks, and simple phrases, but he had laughed more now than he had in years.

The roast chicken had been most deliciously made by Cook, and there wasn’t a single bit of meat left on the bone. The roast potatoes were even better. And the good wine had been drunk.

As they now sat back at the table, eating their dessert, a beautiful thing of sponge, sugar, and strawberries, he wished he could keep this feeling forever.

He couldn’t help but love every moment of the way that Nancy’s cheeks were bright now with happiness. Her eyes positively danced as she kept looking at her mother. And he was thrilled too because her mother already looked tenfold better than she had in that cottage by the sea.

Cottage. It had been nearly a hovel.

The floor had been uneven, broken stone, and cold. The walls had been lined with damp, and the fire had guttered and smoked.

Yes, she had had fresh air, but she had also been terribly lonely. And he understood better than most that being lonely could not help one get well.

When the only person one saw was doctors, things were not going to go well.

Now, Mrs. Stillbrooke beamed, eyed her daughter with great pride, and drank the wine and ate the food as if she was not some frail little bird taking tiny bites as she had done when he had first brought supplies on his last visit down to the cottage.

This time, he had gone and collected her himself. He hadn’t trusted it to anyone else. And at first, it had been difficult to convince her, but he had also assured her that he had a plan for her daughter. And with her permission, he would execute it. She was not a foolish woman. And apparently, she could see that he was a man of good intentions, and she had given her permission. Now, he was truly going to pursue what he wished, and nothing was going to stop him. He was going to help Nancy, he was going to help Nancy’s mother, and he was going to help himself.

What better could he ask for than this merriment?

“Right. Your Grace, you’re going to go and get a bevy of new schools started, aren’t you, with teachers who know how to tell jests?” declared Eileen before she took a bite of strawberries and cream.

He lifted his glass of port to her. “Indeed, Miss Eileen, I should only hire the best, most merry souls to teach the children. All the other sour-faced people shall be put out on their ear. Anyone who inches towards a stick shall be put out on their backside.”

“If only it could be true,” Mrs. Stillbrooke said carefully. “Children thrive with love and kindness. They need firmness, it’s true, but they don’t need to be frightened. The world is already frightening enough.”

“Indeed, it is,” he said gently. He had seen how frightening the world was. On ships where men were whipped to within an inch of their lives for small infractions. To plantations where sugar was grown and lands where people had their homes stolen from them only to then live in poverty and disease? Yes, the world was cruel.

But kindness could be found in the smallest things. In the stars. The flickering of tents. Arabian stallions who raced against hot sands. Flowers of untold beauty. And songs that told the stories of a thousand years.

He clung to those things.

And the love between a daughter and her mother.

“Mama,” Nancy said, tilting her head to the side, “we have endured the world.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Stillbrooke said, “but I don’t think children should have to endure things for no reason. There’s reason enough when we are grown.”

“Well said.” He took up a bite of his dessert and then eyed Miss Pansy. “And what would you do to change the world?” he asked.

Pansy sat a little straighter, her nut-brown hair tumbling about her shoulders. “I’d make sure that everyone had bread and butter and milk and a warm room. What wonders could we do with a warm room?”

“And you, Miss Victoria?” he asked.

Victoria put her fork down and grew most serious as her lips tightened. “I would ensure that girls would be given enough education so that they could choose their husbands and not be forced to marry anyone who asked them, lest they be afraid of not having the bread and butter that Pansy speaks of.”

He nodded gravely. “All of these are noble causes, and all of them are things that I shall pursue.”

“Ah,” Nancy said, leaning forward, “but do you think that you will achieve them?”

He was silent. How to reply? He couldn’t give them lies and deny the reality of the world.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied at last.

“What?” she gasped.

He blew out a breath. “It doesn’t matter if I achieve them. The point is that we must raise the questions and fight to achieve them. If we do not fight and just assume it can never be done because it is too hard? We will fulfill our own prophecies, and the world will be cruel and small and run by those who would crush any who wish it to be better under their boot.”

Pierce leaned forward and looked at each woman, one by one, determined they understood how seriously he took their words. “So, you keep bringing me points and questions, and I will keep doing my best to change things. And that will at least be a good start. And I will be able to go to sleep at night knowing that I have at least made attempts and that I am not reveling in the gold that my ancestors collected without doing anything good with it.”

“Like bringing my mother here,” she said softly. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Small acts that grow into great things.”

“Like bringing your mother here,” he affirmed gently.

Chapter 12

Sometimes it felt like Pierce had no idea what he was doing and so he just trusted himself.

He knew that most people couldn’t do that, but he had been trusting himself to go, decision after decision after decision, for decades. And he’d been quite successful, so he wasn’t about to stop now.

Yes, he felt shame and confusion about his father. Yes, he often hated himself for abandoning his father, no matter what anyone told him. That was how he felt, that he had abandoned the man to his own demons. But he had been unable to pull the man out of the fire. And so Pierce had had to pull himself out to survive and he had done so.

Pierce had traveled the world. He had made friends. He had spent time with countless different people over countless countries, and he had grown, and he knew what was important. As far as he could tell, most people had no idea what was important.

People were important. Animals were important. Relationships were important. The truth was important.

And the truth was that over these weeks, he had lost his heart. The kiss that had set a fire in his blood and helped to set him on the road of showing Nancy just how much he wanted her was but a small part of it. Desire was powerful, and he wanted her. Bloody hell, he did. But even more so, his heart was gone out of his keeping. And he was delighted that it had up and run away to Nancy. How could he want anyone else but her?

Over these weeks, he had been forced to go to dinner parties. He had been forced to go to balls because that’s what dukes did, and he was a good duke. And each time he had gone to one of these events, watched by his friends who laughed continuously at his antics, he had become more and more clear about one particular thing: Nancy was for him. And he was somehow going to make her his.

Every moment, he’d thought of their kiss. Every moment, he’d thought of how he felt in her company.

He had started a systematic campaign to win her, to make her understand how much he could do for her, but not only that. He also wished to make her understand how much he could show his love. Because he had realized something very, very important in these weeks, watching her work doggedly and devotedly.

No one, except perhaps her mother, had ever shown her such a thing. Certainly not her father. Certainly not the man who had taken over her father’s estates.

No, she had been on her own in this world, left to take care of her mother and herself. That was done. Even if she never chose him, she was never going to be alone. But by God, he was going to do everything that he could to get her to choose him.

And so with the help of Miss Eileen, Miss Pansy, and Miss Victoria, another room had been cleared and he himself had decorated it. He had contacted an old friend who had traveled with him and asked him to assist in the transformation of the chamber.

They had gone into the markets and found silks of every variety, and he had festooned the room, making it appear like his tent high in the Himalayas had. That time had been one of the dearest of his life. How he wished he could import the mountains, their awe-inspiring majesty, and the people there.

Pierce had not traveled as the great British lords did, taking England with them. No, wherever he went, he folded himself into the culture of the country.

In the room, he had hung paper stars from the ceiling, painted with gold and silver.

The fire crackled.

The windows were open, and the first kiss of cold had come into the room, for rain was now beginning to fall at the end of the summer.

Soon they would all head back to their estates. Soon, the balls would end. The dancing would stop, and everyone would take a pause until the hunting began.

And he wanted her to be his wife by then, but most of all, he wanted her to see what it was like to be loved. The cushions were strewn everywhere. He could not take her out into the countryside. He could not take her abroad. He understood that. Her mother needed her, and he would never separate them. No, he would do everything that he could to keep them together because it made them both better. And it filled him with such joy.

Her footsteps clattered in the hallway, and he turned to the door, his heart suddenly leaping, praying she would love what he had done.

She rushed into the room, for he had sent a message to her explaining that he wanted this room cataloged next. She had been busy in the library taking care of stacks and stacks of his father’s documents regarding the wine that he had bought over the years and sent to his various estates.

She came into the chamber, head down, scribbling in her notebook that was full to the brim with her tasks. “Your Grace,” she said. “Forgive me. I am very busy. Do you think our conversation can wait until dinnertime?”

“No,” he said. “It cannot. Look up.”

She hesitated, then did exactly as she was asked.

Her gasp filled the room.

“It is beautiful,” she breathed. “Who did this?”

He swallowed. “I did, with help from a few friends. You always seem awed by my travels, and yet we both know it is not possible for you to go on such a journey, at least not anytime soon. So, I thought, why not bring the journey to you?”

“Your Grace,” she breathed, softening, but then her spine stiffened as if she didn’t dare allow herself to have this for herself. “I am very busy.”

“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “So am I. But if we do not take time for these sorts of moments, what is the point of being alive?”

Her mouth tightened. “You make an admirable point, but I have my job.”

“Yes, and nowhere in my contract does it stipulate that you finish the job rapidly or that you work twenty-four hours of the day,” he explained carefully, patiently, kindly. “As a matter of fact, we’ve already discussed this. You will work better if you take time to yourself.”

“Then you won’t be staying?” she teased, closing her notebook at last.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

She let out a sigh, and she met his eyes. “Oh, Pierce,” she whispered, and his name on her lips was pure heaven. “You know that I want you to stay. You know what you have done to me.”

“Oh,” he asked, desperate to hear it. “What have I done?”

She shook her head and took a step toward the fire. “You are trying to make me soft. You are trying to get me to yield to you. Not, I know, in any sort of seductive way. You wish me to set down everything I have built up.”

“That’s not true,” he countered, shocked.

“Isn’t it?” she protested, whipping back to him, a lock of her black hair tumbling out of its coil to dance along the shoulder of her blue gown.

He turned to the tray of wine and poured out two frothing glasses of champagne. He’d wanted this to be a celebration. But he wasn’t so sure now. Still, he wasn’t going to give up. He couldn’t. He held one out to her.

The champagne bubbled in the crystal.

He was silent for a moment, then said quite honestly, “I will happily leave you to yourself to enjoy this because, Nancy, there are no conditions to my help for you, but I need you to also understand that I want you for you.”

He sucked in a breath, then rushed, “I want you to be my wife.”

“Your wife?” she echoed, her eyes widening.

He nodded. “Can’t you tell?”

She sucked in a soft breath, shaking her head slowly as if it was too much to believe.

“Say yes.”

She looked back to the fire. She looked to the glass of champagne he held out, but it seemed a much bigger test than the taking of that glass, bigger than he’d realized.

Her brow creased as if a war waged inside her. “I want you to stay,” she blurted. “I want you to stay with all my heart, and I want this to be a moment between us,” she whispered. “But I fear that you are asking me to marry you because—”

“No,” he cut in swiftly. “You are going to be my wife because there is no duchess that could be better than you. I don’t even have to love you, though I do, to feel like you would be the best duchess that my dukedom has ever known. You will organize me. You will take care of my role. You will make my life perfect. You will sort everything out, and I will never need to worry another day that things are not going to go as they should, because I think you could organize the world, Nancy.”

She laughed then. “I could. I truly could.”

“Then help me,” he said. “Help me sort those lords out in Parliament. Help me sort out my dukedom.”

“And you?” she queried. “Would you like me to sort you out?”

“Oh yes, please,” he said without hesitation, though he knew she needed him just as much. “Very much so. Help me to sort myself out because all I want is to know joy. All I want is to finally be at peace so that I can help others be at peace. Don’t you want the same?”

She nodded and, at long last, she dared to reach out and take the glass of champagne. Their fingertips brushed for a moment and the shock that traveled between them felt as if they were being fused together.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” she admitted, licking her lips. “And if you want me to be your wife, I won’t say no because… Pierce,” she said softly, “I love you. How could I not love you? Every day I see what a good man you are. Better than any I have ever known.”

“Good,” he said and held his open hand out to her. “Be with me,” he said. “Be mine. You don’t ever have to stop doing what you’re so good at. I will support everything that you do. We will support each other. Your mother will be well. You will be well, and you need never fear again.”

She laughed kindly at that, even as she contemplated his hand. “Oh, Pierce. I will let go of one set of fears only to find another. It is the state of humanity.”

He let out a groan. “I wish it wasn’t true, but I think that you’re correct. But in this moment, don’t you think we could eschew all of that and just have each other?”

She drew in a breath, set her notebook down on one of the low tables he had arranged, and she crossed over to him and took his hand in hers. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then come, my lady,” he urged, gesturing to his paper stars. “And sit with me by the fire and look at the night sky.”

She beamed and allowed him indeed to bring her to the cushions.

He lowered her down before the fire, each of them keeping their glasses aloft.

He had picked things from many of the countries he had visited, not just Arabia. There were items from India, there were items from Northern Africa, there were items from South America. They were scattered about the low tables, positioned on the fireplace mantel, and tucked in the corners of the room.

“It looks as if you have rifled the world,” she teased.

“The English are excellent at doing that,” he said without hesitation. “But I was very careful about selecting these things and paid handsomely for them. I’m not a pirate,” he said, “or a privateer. I have too many friends in those places to so brutally take as so many others have done.”

Her eyes searched his face as she leaned in towards him. “I can’t imagine you brutally taking anything,” she said.

“No one has to brutally take anything,” he replied, “to get it. I wish more people understood that. All one has to do is make genuine friends, have a genuine understanding, and then negotiate.”

She tilted her head to the side, the curve of her neck beckoning. “Is this then a negotiation between us?” she asked.

“I think all relationships are a negotiation, and I think it’s foolish to say that they aren’t,” he replied simply. “What good would I achieve if it was all my way? The duke’s way? I would never learn anything new.”

“So, you wish us to share the best of each other?”

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s why I want to marry you, because you are so damn sensible.”

“It isn’t because of love?” she asked, looking to her champagne.

He let out a groan. He too eyed the bubbles in his champagne. They were an excellent distraction, but then he took her chin with his free hand professed, “I do love you. I know that I do. There’s no question about it. And I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you love me, but that’s not the point of marriage. It never was. It never shall be, not really. And I think anyone who thinks that love is the only point of marriage shall be desperately unhappy.”

“What is it then?” she asked, her lips parting.

“You will give me things that I need, and I will give you things you need, and that is all. And from that, we will grow in love and mutual respect.”

Her gaze grew hooded. “Can you imagine if the rest of the world saw things that way?”

“What a place we would have,” he mused.

“Indeed,” she whispered. “Can you not go convince all the men to think the same?”

He laughed. “A few of my friends, I think, do think the same. And I’m growing ever more suspicious that one in particular does, though he will not throw himself into the fray.”

“Who is that?” she asked, her eyes brightening.

“The Duke of Rivers.”

“Oh, I like him,” she exclaimed. “He’s the one who got me this job.”

“Yes,” Pierce replied. “And I think, if I’m honest, that he knew what he was about when he sent you to me.”

“Is he clairvoyant then? Can he see the future?”

“Oh, I think he might. I think he is a very clever fellow indeed, and I’m deeply grateful for it.”

With that, he raised his champagne glass. “To the future Duchess of Windbourne?”

She shook her head. “To Pierce and Nancy.”

Chapter 13

The sounds of the gambling rooms downstairs traveled up through the walls and drifted into Fennyman’s office as Rivers strode in.

Fennyman smiled at him, a rare thing, as he grabbed a bottle of champagne. “Shall we open it, Your Grace? You have triumphed again.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rivers blurted, feeling quite ill at ease.

Fennyman gave him an odd look, quickly uncorking the cold bottle of champagne and pouring out several glasses. “Of course, I’m serious. They are married. I was there in the bell tower. I watched the whole thing. I would have started singing like the angels if I thought it would have improved the ceremony.”

“That I would like to see,” drawled Lord Philip.

Rivers whipped around.

Lord Philip was sitting in a chair by the fire, boots extended.

“And what do you have to say, young man, about all this?” Rivers said. “What have you been doing these days?”

Lord Philip waggled his brows. “Oh, I have been doing very important things, Your Grace. Things you don’t need to know about.”

“Are you planning on marrying your actress?” asked Rivers kindly. He quite liked said actress in question. But it wouldn’t be easy.

Philip sat a little bit straighter. “Perhaps,” he ventured. “Perhaps, if she’ll have me, but I’m beginning to think that possibility has the same opportunity that ice has in Hades.”

Rivers could not stop himself. He smiled, despite his misgivings about Windbourne and Nancy. “Well, old boy, she’s much happier free, isn’t she? If she becomes your wife, she has to stop acting.”

Philip grumbled. “Why?” he demanded. “Why do we have to have all these rules?”

“Because the ton thrives on rules,” Rivers said.

Fennyman lifted his glass. “And we have pushed those rules to the limit, and now you have a duke and a duchess. Surely, you should be celebrating. You’re the one who’s always trying to celebrate.”

“Is this possible?” Rivers asked as he gaped at the two of them. He took several steps forward, his long coat flowing behind him. “Am I the only one who does not see cause for celebrating?”

“It seems so,” Fennyman said, taking a glass over to Lord Philip. Lord Philip clinked glasses with Fennyman, and they both drank.

Rivers let out an exasperated note.

“You two are always reining me in,” he said. “How is this possible that now I’m the one speaking caution and reason?”

“Why do we need caution or reason?” Lord Philip asked, twirling his champagne glass with ease.

Fennyman nodded. “Exactly. They’re man and wife. What’s the trouble?”

“The trouble is what she said to me right before the ceremony,” Rivers gritted.

That caused Lord Philip and Fennyman both to choke on their champagne at once. It was almost comical, the synchronized sputtering.

“And what was that?” Fennyman asked.

Harlowe stumbled in and exclaimed, “That she’s going to work herself to death being his wife.”

“Harlowe!” Rivers said. “That was supposed to be my line, and how the blazes do you know that?”

“Because I was lingering in the room adjacent to the entrance and I heard her say it.” Harlowe’s forehead furrowed into a considerable array of lines. “It was terrible.”

Rivers groaned and wiped a hand over his face. “It really was, wasn’t it? I was praying that maybe I imagined it. I was even hoping perhaps that Fennyman here and Lord Philip might convince me that I was an absolute fool for worrying about this.”

“You’re not a fool,” Harlowe said as he charged over to Fennyman and took up one of the glasses of champagne and downed it.

They all gaped at the butler, who seemed to have shed his subservience like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.

“All that maneuvering,” Harlowe said, “and she’s learned nothing?”

“Harlowe, what are you on about?” Lord Philip asked, his eyes wide.

Harlowe looked from man to man to man. “I’ve spent a good deal of time behind the shadows trying to make things happen, talking to servants, working things out with seamstresses, doing things that none of you can do, except Fennyman. Fennyman can do it also,” he said.

Fennyman gave him an inclination of his head. “Thank you.” But Fennyman also acknowledged, “Actually, Harlowe. There’s a great deal that you can do that I can’t. If I try to do it, people are terrified. You try to do it, and people spill their guts out to you.”

“Thank you,” Harlowe said. “I’m glad you recognize my skills. Some people might do better if they did too.”

“I recognize your skills,” Rivers said indignantly, feeling the comment was likely for him. “I want to make you a duke.”

“No, you don’t,” Harlowe, said. “And if you do, I know where you sleep.”

Rivers laughed. “My, my, Harlowe,” he said. “I knew you were my dearest friend. Your honesty and frank banter tells me such.”

Harlowe rolled his eyes. “Right, dear friend. You’re not wrong. We are in dire straits.”

Fennyman swung his gaze from Rivers to Harlowe. “You mean it, don’t you? She really said something to that effect about her working?”

Harlowe scowled. “Yes. She was born a lady, but apparently now that she’s got a taste for work, she doesn’t know how to let it go. And, of course, there’s the self-worth issue.”

Lord Philip closed his eyes and let out a peep of horror. “Her father.”

“What?” Rivers asked, swinging his gaze about, trying to understand this deduction. “What about her father? What does he have to do with any of this? He’s dead. We’ve gotten around that. We found her a good match.”

“Yes,” Lord Philip explained, “but we’ve been worried about Pierce and his father problems all this time, and we never stopped to think about hers.”

Fennyman set his glass down. “Well, this is absolute balderdash,” he said, and he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not going to be able to sleep now. Bloody hell, I do like my sleep. She seemed above such things.”

“What?” Rivers asked. “Tell me?”

Harlowe gave him a sympathetic glance. “I know that you have never questioned your own self-worth, Your Grace.”

“Why would I?” Rivers asked. “I’m a duke.”

“Exactly,” Harlowe said. “But most of us don’t have that sort of luxury, even some of the other dukes we know.”

“Yes,” Rivers said. “It’s a problem. I know. Carry on.”

Lord Philip let out a sigh. “How does he not understand this?”

Rivers arched a brow. “Because my father was a perfectly wonderful person. He had some difficulties, of course.”

Harlowe snorted. “Look, Your Grace. She doesn’t think she’s worthy of love.”

“Ridiculous,” Rivers said. “They both declared their love for each other. We know it. The servants have confirmed this.”

“Yes,” Harlowe agreed carefully, “but that doesn’t mean she thinks that she’s worthy of it.”

Rivers stopped, a muscle tightened in his jaw. “Damnation,” he said. “I really thought we just had to get them married and everything would be fine.”

“I’ve told you before,” Fennyman said, “marriage is not necessarily the answer. It’s why I’ve prevented you from catching people in the act and forcing a wedding.”

“Now what?” Rivers said, feeling quite unanchored.

Lord Philip, Harlowe, and Fennyman all exchanged glances.

“I don’t like this silence,” Rivers declared. “This silence is terrible.”

“Yes,” Fennyman said. “It is.”

And Rivers realized that the silence was because none of them knew what to do next.

Married! It had been a small, perfect wedding in a church designed by Christopher Wren. Pierce’s friends, Eileen, Victoria, Pansy, and Nancy’s mother had been in attendance for the swift but intimate ceremony. It was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Now, she was in Pierce’s London townhome, as his duchess. A very different thing from how she had entered it.

Nancy had wanted to give herself to Pierce since that moment in the room with the Aphrodite painting, but she hadn’t been able to. Suddenly, she was quite glad for that. Though she’d known how much she wanted him, and he wanted her, there had been too many rules to break, too many chances, and he, despite his sinful nature, had been too much of a gentleman to put her in such a position in his house.

Now, she was his duchess, and nothing was stopping them from having each other.

There in the bedchamber that had been prepared for them with beautiful flowers and silks, Nancy boldly took his hands in hers.

“No more waiting required,” she whispered. “No more propriety to keep us apart.”

“Never again,” he growled, and he pulled her to him gently. “I want to take you here on the floor,” he said. “I want to take you over and over again all night long until all you can think of is me and I of you.”

The words did something to her, something passionate, something elemental.

“Then do it,” she purred.

He caressed her face with the tips of his fingers, stroking her cheeks with the back of his knuckles. “Oh my love,” he returned softly. “Not tonight. That sort of passion awaits us in the future. Tonight, I will be so gentle.”

“Not too gentle,” she dared to tease, even as her insides quaked. “I have been dreaming of this moment since I caught sight of you without your shirt.”

His eyes widened. “In truth?”

She nodded, her cheeks blooming with embarrassment. “I cannot believe I am confessing it, but from the moment I saw you in that room, shirt off, eyes bold, I wanted you. It was all I could do to behave as well as I did.”

He arched a brow. “I rather like the fact that you almost could not behave with me. I don’t want to have to behave with you anymore, but I shall take very good care of you indeed.”

Pierce’s hands went to the laces at her bodice. He worked with a fevered need. Quickly, he pulled her bodice loose and then, piece by piece, swept the fabric off her body, each movement a caress.

Deliberately, slowly, as if he realized how momentous this was now that she stood in a shift and stays and stockings, he removed each item of clothing as if each was a kiss upon her sensitive skin.

When the last item of clothing was gone, she waited to see if he would be as pleased with his bride as she hoped. She needed him to be pleased, to have no regrets. From the look in his eyes and the wildness there, she knew that he was pleased.

His sensual lips parted. “Come,” he whispered. “Come with me.” And then he led her to the big, four-poster bed. “This is your first time,” he said gently, “so we shall make this simple and easy. Gentle. There should be no surprises.”

“I don’t know,” she managed, even as her own anticipation began to build. “You already are a surprise. Everything about you is a surprise.”

He smiled at her, taking her hand in his. “You surprise me too. I never would’ve believed that I was going to meet the love of my life when you came to my home.”

“The love of your life?” she echoed, hardly daring to believe it.

Surely, she had not found herself so very lucky. Her life in recent years had been so unlucky, but then he pulled her into his embrace, sheltering her as if from a storm, and kissed her. He kissed her with the sort of tenderness and passion only a man who was deeply in love could.

Quietly, he picked her up in his arms and put her on the bed. His hands trembled as he removed his clothes without aid. Once he was naked, the light shining on his muscled form, he laid down beside her.

She ached for him, needing him, barely understanding what she truly did desire. She understood the very basics of what happened between a man and a woman, but no one had ever prepared her for these feelings.

The way her skin felt alive and tight. The way she felt as if she might come undone without him.

Pierce took his time as he kissed her and then paid attention to every little bit of her. Slowly, he kissed his way along every curve of her body. It was if he longed to touch every inch of her skin, to make every inch of her skin belong to him.

Gently, he turned her over and skimmed his fingers over her back, then her bottom, then the back of her thighs and knees.

He then paused at her thighs, and while she gripped the sheets, glancing back over her shoulder, waiting to see what would happen next, he stroked his fingers along her silken place. He touched her opening, and with a few of his fingers, he caressed the soft petals. With another he began to ease his way in, testing her.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she insisted. “Please, I need you.”

Gently, he turned her over onto her back. He braced himself on his forearms, gazed down into her eyes, and he made them one.

He thrust into her and for one very intense moment, her entire body was shot through with pain. She abruptly wanted him to stop. She needed to escape. It was too much. He was far, far too much.

He held himself still as his face strained. He tried to make it easy, but he was so large, and as he had said, she was so tight.

She panted against him. “Well, this is preposterous,” she declared.

And then he laughed. And she did too, and suddenly that changed everything. Laughing together, her body eased, he rocked forward, and the pain was gone.

Their gazes met. And in their laughter and shared desire, all the worries and hesitation drifted away.

She was meant for him, and she was never going to lose him. No matter what she had to do.

Pierce began to move inside her. Somehow, her untutored body began to match his movements, and soon, with that laughter and their understanding and ease, he rolled his hips over her body like a storm crashing upon the land, a wave upon the shore. And then she was gone, completely tossed into the paradise that he had created between them.

And suddenly she knew that she had found the man of her dreams. And she was going to make sure that she was the woman of his.

Chapter 14

Tea was already ready.

Nancy had spoken with Cook about the ideal pastries and biscuits that would be served to the wives of her husband’s friends.

She had spent the entire morning organizing things, and yesterday she had had a wonderful meeting with Cook to ensure they had all the necessary things like butter and cream to make the flakiest of treats.

The tea leaves were the best that could be purchased in London. She was going to impress these women. She simply had to. After all, they were Pierce’s friends’ wives.

It wasn’t so much that she feared they wouldn’t like her. It was that she feared that she might let Pierce down, that she might disappoint the wives who would then go home and complain to their husbands, and that that would affect the husbands’ relationship with Pierce somehow.

She fussed about the room, which was now decorated to the height of French fashion. She really wished she could be doing other things. She had so much still to organize in this house and then move on to the next.

Eileen strode into the room, her butter-yellow skirts flapping about her strong form and highlighting her blonde curls. “Would you like to look at the list?”

Pansy, in a soft green gown, was behind her. “I have another one about the armory.”

And Victoria followed in a pink frock with a surprising number of ribbons. “And I have one about cutlery. Why do you think the old duke had so much cutlery?” she asked.

“One mustn’t try to understand,” she replied, folding her hands together. “Ours is simply to sort it all out. But I don’t have time for the questions right now. I’m terribly sorry.”

And then, much to her horror, she saw something on their faces she’d never hoped to see.

Disappointment. She’d spent years trying to make sure she never disappointed anyone, and it felt like a blow to her middle, and she couldn’t breathe.

Eileen, Pansy, and Victoria looked quite dire.

“What is it?” she managed.

Eileen gave her a wary look as she fidgeted with her notebook. “It’s our friendship,” she rushed. “It seems to be on death’s door.”

“What?” Nancy exclaimed, horrified.

Pansy studied her list most seriously, though it was clear she wasn’t actually reading it. “We know you’re a duchess now, but we miss you.”

Victoria nodded her affirmation.

She sucked in a breath and then cringed. “Forgive me,” she said. “What do you mean our friendship is on death’s door?”

“Well, you’re a grand lady now,” said Pansy, before she stopped, winced, and added, “Your Grace.”

“Don’t do that,” Nancy exclaimed. “I might be a duchess, but you’re my dear, dear friends. You’ve supported me and been kind, and we’ve eaten cake together and laughed and shared dinner. You’ve all been better than anyone could ever be, certainly better than any countess or…”

“Oh, not very important, am I?” drawled a young lady as she strode in, pulling her travel gloves off.

Nancy groaned inwardly. Oh dear, this was no good start. “That’s not at all what I meant, Lady Seaborough.”

Lady Seaborough came to a stop but a few feet away, her embroidered hem swishing before she fluffed her hair and gave her a grin. “I don’t really care what you mean. But I dearly love to tease, and I’m always happy to make new friends. And these ladies are?”

“We are not ladies at all,” said Pansy. “I am Miss Pansy Croke.”

“And I’m Miss Eileen Riley.”

“And I am Miss Victoria Basilton.”

They nodded and gave identical curtsies.

And suddenly she didn’t know what to do for an awful, terrible, cold minute as more ladies of high station poured in through the door and Everett followed them, announcing their titles one after the other.

Nancy froze. Eileen, Pansy, and Victoria looked at her, and she could see the sadness in their eyes. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that to them.

“These are my friends,” she said, gesturing to the women who had been so essential in her work these many weeks. “And they have helped me a great deal with the organization of this house. They’re remarkable young women. And if you like remarkable young women, you should know them.”

The Countess of Seaborough and the Duchess of Westfort came together and beamed.

“Well, we love meeting capable young ladies,” enthused the Duchess of Westfort. “Do please pour the tea?”

“Oh,” exclaimed Viscountess Skyburn, looking at the teacups. “You don’t have enough cups.”

“I think we need three more, don’t we?” said the Duchess of Westfort.

Nancy suddenly felt a wave of gratitude to these grand women, women she didn’t know, that was powerful and lifted her soul. In that moment, she realized how nervous she’d been that she would be judged. But now? She knew that none of them had any wish to look down upon her. No, these women didn’t look down on anyone.

They knew their power and wished to help, not hurt.

“You wish to have tea with us, my lady?” gasped Pansy.

“Of course,” the duchess said, shrugging her shoulders and causing the ribbon tied just under her bosom to bounce. “You three look far better company than what we must keep in the ton. My opinion, shared by these other ladies, is that one must keep their mind sharp, you know, and the only way to do that is to have intelligent company. We often lack it, though it is not the fault of the ladies of the ton. It is just how society treats ladies.”

The Duchess of Westfort crossed to one of the striped silk settees and lowered herself without ceremony. “So have a seat. Have a seat, Eileen, and tell us all about Ireland. You must be from Ireland.”

Eileen tensed. “Yes. What exactly would you like to hear?”

“I’ve heard some terrible things and indications that we’re about to withdraw Parliament from Dublin. And I think it’s a terrible idea, don’t you?”

Eileen stared at the Duchess of Westfort, and she quickly cleared her throat. “Yes, I do, Your Grace,” she said.

“Good.” The duchess pursed her lips. “Come by me and let’s talk about it and see what we can do. I’m not sure there’s anything that can be done, but I have a terrible suspicion that if the Irish Parliament is taken away, well, things will not go well in the next few years. And, frankly, things are bad enough without adding something so terrible so close to home.”

Eileen nodded. “You speak with great sense, Your Grace.”

And the two of them sat together upon the settee, heads together, as they discussed the ramifications of Ireland’s politics.

Tears of hope stung Nancy’s eyes as she poured the tea out for all the ladies.

Viscountess Skyburn sidled up to her. “I like mine black,” she said. “I used to like cream, but I am trying to taste things as they are now and see life for what it is, which is really quite challenging these days. But I think it necessary.”

She poured her out a steaming cup of tea and handed it to her. “Being clear-eyed is to be admired. It is the only way to fix that which is amiss.”

“What beautiful cups,” Viscountess Skyburn said, taking the pale blue cup.

“Yes,” said Pansy. “They are one of three hundred sets.”

“Pansy,” Nancy whispered, her stomach tightening.

“Three hundred sets,” the Countess of Seaborough echoed. “I can understand collecting such a beautiful thing,” she said without unkindness.

“He was such an interesting man,” said the viscountess. “I met him when I was a girl.”

“Did you?” Nancy asked, pouring out another cup, careful not to drip any from the silver pot.

“Oh, yes,” the viscountess affirmed as she took her cup and beamed as the aroma filled the air. Good tea could make anyone smile, after all. “The duke’s father was a very kind, very good man. And I can still remember him playing games with us children. He loved to make us laugh. It was such a pity to see him so sad and reclusive at the end. I think we all understand why he was like that. He just couldn’t bear the world without his wife.”

And she suddenly realized that all the women in the room were ladies of title, but first and foremost, they were kind.

Somehow, that mattered more than anything, and she felt so very lucky. And she was going to prove that she deserved that luck, that she deserved love, that she deserved all of this.

Chapter 15

There was no stopping Nancy now.

From the moment she got up to the moment that she went to sleep, she was working for the Duke of Windbourne, her darling husband.

She surveyed his schedule every day. She made certain that his speeches were all in line. She organized the house, and she already had Eileen, Victoria, and Pansy moving to the duke’s primary estate.

That was going to be the next great task. The ducal great house that had been in the family since the time of Elizabeth I was massive, and apparently it was falling to rack and ruin over the neglect of the last twenty years.

The girls would have it to rights in no time, and Eileen was going to go down to the country and lead the expedition, so to speak, soon.

If she was honest, she was exhausted. She spent her nights in the arms of her husband, and she wouldn’t trade that for anything. But she got up before dawn, took care of her morning ablutions, drank coffee, and had her quick note-taking time to scribble out what she was going to do to make certain that every day would be a success.

She went for a quick walk in Rotten Row, in one of the new and expensive gowns Pierce had insisted on purchasing for her, to show herself because she had quickly realized it was important for a duchess to be seen if she was going to have any sort of power.

She then spent her mornings calling upon the right people, not necessarily people she liked, but people she knew that her husband might need. And then she had a few minutes’ time for all the ladies that had become her friends, because those friendships were extremely important and she dearly loved that they cared about her.

And truthfully, their husbands meant the world to her husband, and so they were vital.

Then she spent the rest of her day organizing the house and the new museum that she had convinced Pierce to open. It was going to be in the West End, a beautiful freestanding building full of the collections of his father.

The paintings that she had adored so much were going to be hung in four different rooms. Statues would be in a long gallery. Antique arms would be in a parallel hall.

Yes, it was going to be the triumph of her endeavors. And if the estates were anything like this town house, several museums would be able to be opened in the great cities of the north and midlands.

She loved the idea of bringing such unique items to the people rather than locking them up in little rooms that no one could see.

But it also meant that she was burning the candle at both ends. Frankly, it was taking a toll, but she didn’t mind. Truly! This was what she was meant to do. She would make her husband proud. She would prove that his choice was the right one by picking her when he could have picked anyone else.

She passed her mother’s room and heard her call out, “My darling, do come in.”

Nancy hesitated. Of course she wanted to see her mother, but she had a full day. Still, she could not stop herself.

So she went into her mother’s chamber and noted that her mother was sitting by the window making notes in her diary.

A smile tilted Nancy’s lips as her heart swelled.

“What are you doing, Mama?” she ventured.

“I’ve been reading poetry and looking out at the little garden below and wondering when the flowers were going to drop their petals to the ground. And soon it shall all begin,” her mother said. “The great journey of life and death from flowers to earth and then flowers again.”

“Mama,” she said, “you are very fantastical this morning.”

Her mother nodded. “It’s my age, my dear, and my recent illness. It makes me see the world differently.”

Her silver hair had turned almost white, and it was underneath a light mob cap. Her mother’s beautiful soft dove-gray gown was perhaps subdued, but it was the perfect thing for her. And now her figure had filled out quite a bit because she was happily eating the scones and cream that the cook provided, as well as the rich soups full of hearty broth that were her main meals every day.

Her mother went on a daily walk too with one of the ladies’ maids. It was wonderful seeing her mother bloom.

“Come, my dear. Take my hand.”

And Nancy did.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Me, Mama?” she yelped, shocked her mother would say such thing. “How could you possibly be worried about me?”

Her mother bit her lower lip, hesitant, but then she squared her slight shoulders and said, “You are coming and going so intensely and you’re beginning to look a little…”

“What?” she asked.

“Harried.”

“Harried, Mama?” she repeated, wanting to rebel against such a claim. “No, I am simply driven. I have so much good fortune before me that it would be a sin and a waste if I did not use it all.”

Her mother nodded, her eyes gentle and yet there was an intensity there. “Yes, my dear, but you must enjoy it.”

“I do enjoy it, Mama.” She laughed. “I enjoy being the very best that I can possibly be.”

Her mother nodded again, sighing slightly. “I see. And your husband. Is he pleased?”

“I think he is very pleased.”

“Doesn’t he miss you at all?”

“Miss me?” she exclaimed, drawing her hand back. “He sees me every day.”

“Across crowded rooms,” her mother said.

“Does he seem unhappy?” she blurted, fear suddenly stabbing at her heart.

Her mother tsked, then assured, “No, of course not. He doesn’t seem unhappy at all. He visits me every day, you know, at teatime, and we have a long discussion about poetry.”

“You do?” she asked, blinking. How had she not known?

“Of course,” her mother said.

“He likes to discuss poetry with you, Mama?”

Her mother beamed. “Yes, he’s a good boy, and he makes me very happy. Just as you do, my dear,” her mother continued, her voice rich with emotion. “But I should like to see you a little bit more. I know how very busy you are, but I thought when I came to this house that you and I might spend a bit more time together.”

“Of course, Mama. Of course,” she rushed. “It’s just that I can’t slow down at present. I need to keep going so that he sees how skilled I am.”

Her mother took her hand again and squeezed it. “My dear,” she said softly, “he already knows how talented you are.”

“Ah, my favorite ladies,” her husband exclaimed as he came through the door carrying flowers. “These are for you, my dear Mama,” he said.

And he placed a vase of pink roses upon the little table before his mother-in-law.

“How perfect,” Nancy’s mother gushed. “Though they are perhaps a bit girlish for me.”

“I see that you are young at heart,” Pierce said, “and I wish the flowers to reflect that.”

“Oh, get on with you,” Nancy’s mother said, batting playfully at the duke’s hand.

Nancy beamed at her husband. He was lovely beyond all things.

“Would you come out for a ride with me today?” he asked, turning to Nancy.

“A ride?” she said, her mouth drying as she felt the rise of her heartbeat. She did not wish to tell him no, but… “I am quite busy. I have many appointments.”

“Of course, my clever wife is needed by all,” he said generously.

Nancy beamed anew. He was seeing how valuable and how essential she was.

And then she spotted her mother’s frown.

“Of course I’ll ride with you,” she said suddenly. Though she had no idea how she was going to make it all fit.

“Come then,” he said, holding his hand out to her, his signet ring winking in the morning light. “We shall have our daily discussion later, won’t we, Mama?” he asked.

“Of course we shall,” her mama said.

He led Nancy down the hall and then he paused. “You’re not dressed for riding.”

She cleared her throat. “I have a great deal to do.”

“But I would like to take you out to the stables today and show you the Arabians. It’s the one thing I haven’t gotten to do that I really would like to.”

“Oh, out to the stables,” she said softly. “I don’t know if I can,” she rushed. “You see, I’m organizing the museum today and then…”

He took her hands in his. “I wouldn’t get in the way of your work for anything, my love,” he said. “You are too good at it, and I don’t wish to cause you distress. Perhaps I can come with you.”

Her heart leapt at how much he approved of her.

“You want to come with me while I do my work today?” She pursed her lips. “I’m paying calls on several ladies that I don’t think you will enjoy.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked.

“No, I just don’t wish to be a burden upon you,” she said.

“You? A burden?” he queried, shocked. “How could you possibly be a burden?”

And as they passed a ticking clock, she wondered, because she did feel like a burden. Perhaps she shouldn’t, but she feared that she was. It made no logical sense. He’d never treated her thus. But the feeling was old and deep, like black muck at the bottom of a well. She shoved it aside.

She all but bounced with relief beside him. He adored her as she did him. Her work was paying off. “If you’d like to come with me, then surely you should.”

He extended his arm to her, his long coat swaying about them. “Marvelous,” he said. “Lead on.”

And they whisked outside, down to the pavement, passing the beautiful houses that had become so popular with the reestablishment of the Greek style. She began to walk quickly.

“Are we in a hurry?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I have a whole list of people to see.”

“A list,” he said.

“Don’t you have lists?”

He laughed. “In my head.”

“How ever do you manage?” she teased, loving the feel of his big form beside her. “How ever did you manage without me?” she exclaimed.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he replied, giving her an indulgent smile, but her heart skipped at that because the truth was that he had been quite successful without her, and that made her nervous. She had to prove herself necessary.

And as they stopped before the house that she had planned to visit, he let out a groan. “Not the Applethwaites,” he stated.

“You don’t have to come,” she reminded.

“Right,” he sighed. “I told you I would. So, into the breach and all that.”

Her hand crooked in his elbow, they climbed up the steps and stopped at the blue front door. She rapped the knocker, and the butler opened the panel.

His eyes bulged at the sight of the duchess and the duke.

“We were not expecting the both of you,” he said, clearly trying to keep his calm demeanor. “But I’m sure Lady Applethwaite will be very pleased to see you both.”

In they went and were quickly put into the drawing room. Lady Applethwaite was sitting and waiting, and she let out a titter of absolute delight.

The room was quite fussy, filled with bric-a-brac and wallpaper that all but vibrated with florals.

She could feel her husband inwardly flinch at how claustrophobic the room was with its paraphernalia meant to show the Applethwaites’ wealth.

“Your Grace,” Lady Applethwaite gushed, standing and giving him a curtsy, which caused the bird and flowers in her hair to tremble.

“And Your Grace,” she added, turning to Nancy with slightly less enthusiasm. “How pleased I am that you could pay a call upon me.”

“Tea?” Lady Applethwaite queried.

Pierce’s gaze shot to the clock. Calling times were short…unless tea was trotted out.

“Do sit down,” Lady Applethwaite suggested with a grand wave of her hand that dripped with jewels.

Nancy sat opposite the lady.

“Now,” the older woman began, picking up her heavy silver tea pot, “I have a question for you about the organization of the marriage of my daughter.” Lady Applethwaite gave her a knowing if slightly rude look. “Do you think it would be possible for you and the duke to have her to tea? And you could give her a few pointers on how to catch such an excellent fellow, Your Grace?”

She could tell that Pierce didn’t enjoy that insinuation as he shifted in his boots.

“No visit is needed. I can tell you what drew me to my wife. She is intelligent,” the duke said. “And she’s capable. If you can encourage your daughter to be both those things, then she shall be wed in a trice.”

“Intelligent and capable,” Lady Applethwaite said, laughing so fully that her sausage curls bounced on her cheeks. “Oh, most men don’t want those things, Your Grace. You must be singular. How lucky you are, Your Grace,” she said, returning to Nancy.

“Oh, I know how lucky I am,” Nancy replied, taking her tea and suddenly feeling that this had been a terrible idea.

“She’s not lucky at all,” the duke said.

“Yes, I am,” Nancy put in.

“No, you’re not,” he countered. “My wife is too humble,” he added. And as if saying the same thing over again would make them stick, he declared, “Ladies should be capable and intelligent,” he said. “Especially if they’re going to run houses and estates as large as mine. Now, Lady Applethwaite, may I have that cup of tea? I do find that I am suddenly parched.”

Lady Applethwaite poured the cup of tea, thrust it forward, and he drank his rapidly.

“Wonderful to see you. Off we go,” he declared, putting his saucer down on the mantel.

And then he swept Nancy out of the drawing room, down the stairs, and out the door.

“That was very rude,” she exclaimed.

“She’s very rude,” he gritted. “She was condescending to you. You don’t have to be kind to these people,” he said. “I don’t think she would have given you the time of day before you were a duchess.”

Nancy rolled her eyes, though she was flattered by his desire to protect her. “No one in the town would have given me the time of day before I was a duchess,” she said. “But I am attempting to build a series of important and wealthy connections for you through wives.”

“I don’t want you to build me connections with people like that,” he gritted. “The Applethwaites don’t care how they get their money.”

“But they’re powerful,” she said simply. “They control key votes.”

He scowled.

“What about our dreams?” she said softly.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The school, the bread, all of that. Don’t you want me to help you achieve those things? Things that seemed important chatting over our little dining table. Or was that just talk?”

And then he stopped before her and took her hands in his. “Of course I wish that, my love, but I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” she asked, shocked.

He was silent and a muscle tightened in his jaw. “Because you are putting everybody’s needs before your own. When will you stop for yourself?”

“I don’t need to stop for myself,” she assured, stunned by his concern. “I am doing exactly what I want to do.”

He nodded, then took her arm and hooked it in his. “Whatever you say,” he said. “Where are we stopping next?”

“Lady Bridgeport.”

“Oh God,” he groaned.

“Come now,” she said. “Go and see your horses. You’ll be much happier, and I want a happy husband.”

“I want a happy wife. Lady Bridgeport doesn’t make anyone happy. She’s mean,” he announced without hesitation.

“You think she’s mean?” she teased, for she had had to put up with many a mean person as an employee.

“She is,” Pierce insisted. “She loathes the theater, she loathes poetry, she loathes opera, she loathes butter, she loathes sugar, and she loathes anyone with an independent thought, so she’s going to loathe you.”

“No, she’s not.” She grinned. “She’s going to love me because I know how to handle people.”

He let out a sigh. “Whatever you say I’m sure is the truth,” he repeated. “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Then you should go,” she said.

“But I want you to come with me,” he said softly.

“Go,” she replied. “I’m doing good work.”

“Yes,” he said gently. “Yes, you are. And I will not be a coward and retreat. Lead on, my love, lead on.”

She drew in a breath as she walked with her husband, feeling the heaviness of his usually light spirit. Was she making a mistake? Should she have taken the day off? No.

Perhaps a young lady who had been born with a fortune and a title could take a day off. But there would be no days off now for Nancy.

She couldn’t risk losing his admiration. She had to make him care every day. She knew what it was like to have a man who no longer cared enough to value their wife. Her father had shown that.

Her father had shown how little she was worth. But this time? She’d show her husband she was worthy, and he’d never be disappointed in her.

Chapter 16

Pierce didn’t know how to make Nancy stop.

She couldn’t seem to stop. He followed her about the house, but she was lost in lists. The fact that she was so devoted to her work and role as a duchess wasn’t the problem.

He didn’t need to be tended to. He wasn’t a pet. But Pierce was growing worried. Her cheeks were growing gaunt. Her eyes looked shadowed, and she wasn’t eating properly, no matter how hard he tried to ensure that she ate cake and meat and drank tea. She was working at such a breakneck pace that he was terrified that she was going to grow ill, and he didn’t understand what was driving it.

If it had simply been that she loved the work, he would have happily cheered her on. He was a driven fellow himself, and he had no desire to make his wife follow him step by step, doing what he enjoyed.

But there was something else behind her need for perfection. Her need to please him with her accomplishments. If the accomplishments had been to please herself? He doubted he’d be so alarmed. But it was more. It was coming from somewhere deep inside her that seemed…frightened. And for the first time in a long time, he felt lost. For he did not know how to help her.

And that was a feeling he could not fathom.

He sat on their bed, the big bed that she belonged in. He understood hard work. He had worked hard all his life, but this was something else. He admired her work ethic. He always had, and he didn’t want to take that away from her.

He stared up at the ceiling, his mind whirring.

Frightened.

The big duke who had traveled the world, faced pirates, faced wars, faced continents that seemed to be splitting apart with the revolutions on them, and now his wife was making him frightened because she wouldn’t come to bed.

After the ball, she’d claimed that she was not done with her work, and she had gone to her office, which was adjacent to their bedchamber, and she was still scribbling away. Her trunks were packed to leave the next morning. And what was worse, he knew that she had scheduled for the coach to depart before six in the morning, which meant she would not sleep at all. And her writing desk was ready, which meant she planned on working in the coach.

He folded his fingers together. He had never wanted to stop her from working. He still did not, but this could not be good. He threw the blankets back, strode to the office, and very gently opened the door.

“Come to bed, my love,” he urged softly.

“I can’t,” she replied, bent over her desk, her hair draped like a curtain over her work. “I have too much work to do. You go to bed. You rest.”

“I don’t want to sleep without you,” he said gently.

She did not look up. “That is so sweet, but I’m sure you’re capable.”

“I am capable,” he returned, stepping into her domain. “It’s that I don’t want to. Please come to bed. I love you. I want to have you in my arms.”

She still hadn’t even looked up from her ledger. She was scribbling so furiously.

“You will love what I have done with what Eileen, Pansy, and Victoria have found in the country. I am organizing a collection and have already reached out to a building in Manchester. They are going to—”

“Yes,” he cut in, his hands flexing as he felt powerless to make her see. “I understand. Of course, my love. You will do a magnificent job of it, but you will do a better job if you rest.”

She laughed. “Rest. Who needs to rest? I’m young and I’m strong.”

“You need to rest,” he insisted. “Everyone does. What is this?”

“Please,” she said as she lifted her gaze to his and smiled, but the smile was brittle. “Let me show you that I…”

“What?” he asked. “Show me what?” he demanded.

And then the smile vanished, and she snapped, “That you didn’t make a mistake.”

“Make a mistake,” he echoed.

“In marrying me,” she said.

He stilled.

She licked her lips and sat straighter. “You picked me because of what I can do. You picked me because of the work I’m capable of, and I can’t let you down, or else you might…” She swallowed then. “You might not want to be…”

He crossed to her. He grabbed her hands, the ink spilling across her pages.

“What have you done?” she exclaimed, yanking her hands from his and trying to fix the damage.

“I’m trying to make you listen to me,” he whispered, his heart breaking.

He tried to pull her into his arms, but she was too busy now, mopping up the ink.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that, but please, Nancy, you’re frightening me.”

“Frightened?” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to show you.”

“I know how capable you are, but that’s not why I picked you.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “No matter what you say.”

“I love you,” he said. “You’ve done something to my heart, and I want you to understand how much I love you.”

She tensed. “You say that, and I love you too, but I know what it’s like.”

“What?” he asked, trying to understand.

“My father used to say it all the time that he loved me, but it wasn’t enough,” she said. “I wasn’t worthy of his love. He clearly didn’t think so. He didn’t think me worthy enough to protect me or my mother. And so I must…”

The words crashed through him, and he felt horror creep up in him. Horror as he began to understand why she drove herself so hard. “What?” he rasped.

“I have to show you that I am worthy. Show you that your love for me means something.”

“Oh, Nancy,” he said gently. And he tried again to pull her in his arms, but she backed away.

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “You don’t understand what it was like. You’ll never understand.”

“Let me try,” he begged, but something had taken over in her. Something like a frightened little girl who could not see sense.

“No. No, you don’t,” she protested. “I know you are ashamed for what you think you did with your father, but you loved him, and he loved you. You both tried to take care of each other. And I know that you feel that you failed him, but you did the right thing. You did the best. My father could never do the right thing. He abandoned us. Because we weren’t enough. And I need you to see that I am…”

He stilled then as her voice died off and she stood alone, unwilling to be comforted. Unwilling or unable to see his love had no conditions.

“I don’t know how to convince you,” he said softly, gesturing at her desk. “That I love you without all of this. If you couldn’t do another day’s work,” he said softly, “I would love you. I would love you with all my heart, and I would never let you go.”

She shook her head. “It’s not true,” she said. “You would withdraw from me slowly as you realized that I have no value.”

She winced and her face hardened. “I have no real value, Pierce,” she said, “without my work. My father didn’t think so, and you will see that one day too.”

His heart sank. All this time, he had been so afraid of his own heart, his own disappointment of his father, but now he understood. She was the one. Her father, with his selfishness and carelessness, had done this.

She was the one with the broken heart, and that was why she mended everyone else’s.

Chapter 17

The Duke of Windbourne pounded on the Duke of Rivers’ door, and it was opened quickly by a rather startled butler who then ushered him in swiftly.

“Your Grace,” the butler said, his voice pitching up.

Pierce spun on his booted heel. “Yes, that’s me.” The bottle of brandy in his hand sloshed. “Now, where’s your bloody master? He has some things to answer for.” And Pierce bellowed, “I hope you’re happy, Rivers.”

Rivers, who must have been in one of the rooms just off the foyer, strode in and then stopped dead in his tracks. “What the bloody hell is going on?”

Pierce arched a brow, then gestured to his own disheveled state. “You did this.”

“I did what?” Rivers demanded, wary.

“You arranged this wedding for myself and my wife, and now it is all a disaster.” Pierce’s throat tightened as emotions stormed through him. “She thinks that she is worth so little. And no matter what I do, I can’t make her see that she is worth the entire world. What have you done?”

Rivers’ gaze softened.

Pierce let out a shuddering breath. “I am in a wasteland while she is so blind to my love.”

Rivers took one more look at him, snatched the brandy bottle away, and handed it to his butler. “This isn’t helping. It’s making you dramatic. You are acting as if you’re upon the stage.”

“I am not. This is my real life,” Pierce countered. “And this is your fault. Admit it. You arranged my marriage. Somehow.”

“Yes,” Rivers sighed, “it is. I won’t argue with you, and you’re the only person who’s figured it out. You’re too damn clever.”

Pierce nodded. “It’s true, but not clever enough to realize that the woman that I was marrying was never going to actually love me the way…”

“What?” Rivers challenged. “The way you want? To be the kind of person that you want?” Rivers snorted. “Of course she’s not. She’s a human being, as are you. Are you going to be the sort of person that she wants?”

“I thought I knew what she wanted,” Pierce said, swaying, his heart paining him so much he feared he was about to collapse with apoplexy. “But apparently I don’t.”

Rivers glared at him, then let out an exaggerated breath. “You’re buckling at the first bloody test, man. How can you do that?”

Pierce’s jaw dropped. “I am not. I have never—” Pierce swallowed. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Rivers gave his butler a quick look.

The butler nodded, looked at the brandy bottle, then rolled his eyes, muttering to himself as he headed out to the servants’ hall.

“Right,” Rivers began. “What did she say to you? Something about her father, right? Something about working herself into an early grave and showing you how wonderful she is.”

“Yes,” Pierce declared before he scowled. “I say, were you hiding in my house?”

Rivers arched a brow. “I don’t have to. She told me something like that just before you two wed, and I’ve been worried about it ever since. And here we are now.”

Rivers shook his head. “My God, man, how could you stumble at the finishing line? All you had to do was tell her that you would love her no matter what, sweep her into your arms, and kiss her.”

“That’s not true,” he growled. “I tried.”

Rivers let out a harsh laugh. “Did you try hard enough?”

He paused. Was that his problem, that he never tried quite hard enough? His father. He’d abandoned him, hadn’t he?

“No, no,” Rivers said. “I’m not trying to say you should have tried harder with your father. I can see that wheel ticking in your head and that’s not correct.” Rivers blew out a long breath. “But with her? Her heart was broken. I should have seen that better,” Rivers admitted, and it clearly nearly killed him to have missed this. “But I simply knew when I met her that you two were perfect for each other, and I refused to believe that I was wrong because I’m never wrong about these things.”

“Oh,” Pierce drawled, even as he longed to howl with his pain. “Who’s the arrogant one now?”

“Well, I’m a duke just like you. We’re both arrogant,” Rivers said simply. “It’s a problem, but so far, I’ve matched several couples.”

Pierce sucked in a breath. “Every one of our friends.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Do they know?” Pierce demanded.

“No,” Rivers returned quietly.

“You’re lying to them?”

“Yes,” Rivers said before he shrugged. “Well, a bit.”

“A lot,” countered Pierce.

“But it’s for a good cause,” Rivers insisted. “They’re all happy.”

“Because of lies,” Pierce pointed out.

Rivers narrowed his eyes. “I refuse to apologize.”

Pierce stood silent for a moment and then he said without hesitation, “Good. Never apologize. Because you are right. They are happy, and maybe it doesn’t matter how that happiness came about, but mine?” His voice broke and he somehow forced himself to whisper, “Mine is slipping out of my fingers.”

“Then go grab it,” Rivers said, crossing to him and clasping his shoulders. “The man I know would never be wallowing in brandy in my foyer, lamenting that his wife won’t listen. The man I know would charge across Arabia upon his stallion and sweep her into his arms.” Rivers all but shook, but then the duke gazed deeply into Pierce’s eyes and lamented with genuine confusion, “Why do people always collapse when they are the ones falling in love? Why is it that everyone around them can see what needs to be done?”

Pierce gazed into his friend’s confused eyes and suddenly felt for the duke. He had tried to make people around him happy and couldn’t understand why people resisted so.

“I don’t know,” Pierce said softly. “Maybe we’re simply too in the middle of it to see.”

Rivers let out a pained laugh, but then he said confidently, “Well, when it happens to me, I certainly won’t have that problem. I shall see clearly as if there was not a cloud in the sky.”

Pierce cocked his head to the side. “I can’t wait to see that. Maybe I’ll arrange a match for you.”

Rivers let out a bleat of alarm. “Please don’t. Now go get the woman you love. Never give up. That’s what she needs. That’s what she longs for. Someone who will always be there. Someone who will never let her down.”

Pierce’s lips parted and he understood. He genuinely understood and he vowed, “I’ll do whatever it bloody well takes until she sees that she was always worthy. It was her father who was not.”

Rivers smiled. “Good. Now, coffee first, then ride like hell.”

The coach ride was surprisingly cold and painful, and when Nancy arrived at the estate, she had gotten out and felt a wave of such intense fear and regret that she’d almost got right back into the coach and returned to London, but she couldn’t.

She had too much to do. Her hands were trembling. Eileen ran down the massive steps of the soaring Tudor great house that was built in the shape of an E and grabbed her hands.

“I’m so glad to see you, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Eileen declared as the light began to fade over the horizon and night began to settle in. “Were you accosted on the road?”

“I’ve had a fight with my husband,” she said. “I’ve disappointed him. He…” Nancy gulped, unable to finish.

“You? Disappoint anyone? Blighter,” Eileen tsked. “I’ll go down to Town and give him a piece of my mind, duke or no.”

“He wants me to work less,” she exclaimed.

Eileen stilled.

“Wait, what was this fight about?” Eileen asked as she all but dragged her into the massive house, with its dark wood beams overhead.

Eileen gave a quick and rather intense wave to Everett, who had already come down to the estate.

“Tea, Everett,” Eileen requested. “Things are unraveling.”

Ever helpful, Everett gave a fast nod.

Nancy’s thoughts rioted. They had been rioting since her discussion with Pierce. And all she could see was her father’s face. Her father telling her that she and her mother would be fine.

But they hadn’t been fine, and he had not thought them worthy of his time to ensure they were fine.

Eileen pulled Nancy into a drawing room, sat her down on one of the only available chairs, surrounded by stacks and stacks of porcelain plates painted with Chinese pagodas and furniture covered in sheets.

“Now tell me what happened,” Eileen said gently. “We shall sort this out. We sort out everything.”

It was the kindest thing anyone could have said and that somehow made it worse. The tears welled and spilled over her cheeks. How had she not realized how precarious she had felt in this life? The truth was that when her father had died, they’d been one step away from the workhouse. And it was only her work that had kept them out.

“The duke said he wants me to work less, that he wants to spend more time with me, that he’s worried about me. I worry him. That’s not supposed to happen.”

Eileen studied her for a long moment, her brow furrowing. Then she cocked her head to the side. “Well, he’s not the only one.”

“What?” Nancy gasped.

Eileen hesitated, then clearly decided on truth over platitude. “You’re working too much and too hard and your work is showing it. Must you be so proud? Please let us, and let Pierce, help you. Your pride might be the end of you. It’s all right if you aren’t perfect. He will love you, no matter what you do.”

“What?” She gasped again. She couldn’t fathom Eileens’s words, and her own vocabulary seemed to diminish. Pride? Was that true? No. It wasn’t pride, was it? And Eileen was wrong. Surely, Pierce wouldn’t love her…

She swallowed, shoving the thought aside as she returned, “I don’t feel proud, Eileen. I fear that I am not worthy of all his help. But tell me. What mistakes have I made?”

Eilleen gazed at her with sympathy.

“There were mistakes in your accounts because you’re tired,” Eileen confessed. Then she knelt before her and gazed up into Nancy’s eyes. “You’re not sleeping, my friend. And I had to correct one of your letters that was meant to go to the museum. You made a mistake in the dating of the Chinese plates. And you had the wrong name for the director.”

She sucked in her breath. “I never make mistakes.”

“Well, you are now, and it’s because you’re not sleeping enough.” Eileen placed a gentle hand on Nancy’s knee. “You’re trying to do too much. Why?”

She began to shake, her stomach churning as fear laced through her. “Dear God, if I make those kinds of mistakes, he’s going to see…”

“See what?” Eileen prompted, trying to understand.

Tears slipped down her cheeks and the words tumbled out of her, uncontrolled, unguarded. “That I’m just a girl, that I’m not wanted. That I’m clearly not worthy of anything. If I had been, my father would have taken care of me. That…”

Eileen grabbed her hands then and held so tight that she felt the woman’s nails dig into her hands. “Yes, you are just a girl. You are not worth anything except for the fact that you have united three friends. You have taken care of your mother, and you have made a man who was very lonely very happy, and you have given him purpose in a way that he’s never had before.” Eileen tsked, then mocked lightly. “Yes. You’re very useless indeed.”

She stared at Eileen for a long moment, and then she began to laugh through her tears. “Eileen, you weren’t supposed to say anything like that. And you weren’t supposed to tease so intensely.”

“Well, it’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? That you’re useless, that no one wants you? But it’s not true and I won’t listen to another word of it,” Eileen challenged fiercely. “You are wonderful, and we all adore you. And the more you try to prove how wonderful you are, well, frankly, the less wonderful you become.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s a problem.”

“It is,” Eileen replied. Then she said playfully, worry still in her bright blue eyes, “You’re becoming insufferable, and you’re making us all work too much. Before you married him, we had holidays, and we ate cake and had fun along Rotten Row and got new dresses. Now you just want to go from morning to night. It’s not good,” Eileen insisted. “How do you think that you’ll make him love you more by spending less time with him?”

The words hit her like a blow, but they were the exact words she needed to hear. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Eileen nodded. “You’re never, ever going to discover your own worth, and you won’t keep his admiration by driving yourself into an early grave with work, and you will do it.” Eileen arched a brow before she winked, clearly trying to bolster Nancy’s spirits whilst she spoke her truths. “I wager that you will get a lung complaint, and you will perish a terrible death, though you’ll look marvelous doing so.”

She’s scoffed. “People who have lung complaints do not look marvelous when they die. That’s only in penny novelettes.”

“Well, I do love a penny novelette,” Eileen countered. “And you’re right. I’ve seen people perish because of exhaustion and lung complaints in Ireland, and I won’t have you doing it to yourself now. And I’m deeply grateful to the duke for talking some sense into you.”

Her mouth twisted and her throat tightened as she suddenly felt very vulnerable. The most vulnerable she had since her father died, when she’d felt so entirely alone. “It didn’t feel like he was talking sense to me.”

“I’m sure it didn’t,” Eileen said gently. “But he loves you, and that is the most wonderful thing in the world, and you better not throw it away.”

“What are you throwing away?” a voice boomed.

Eileen shot up. “Oh, only happiness, Your Grace.”

“Not on my watch,” the Duke of Windbourne, Nancy’s husband, vowed, as he strode into the room. Well, as much as one could stride into a room packed with plates.

Despite the fear in her heart, Pierce was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen with his dark hair tumbling over his brow and his cloak flowing out behind him. He had clearly ridden hard and fast from London.

“If you’ll give us a moment, Eileen,” he requested.

“I’m glad you’re here, Your Grace. She needs you,” Eileen said.

And as she darted out of the room, Pierce all but growled, “And she will always have me.”

As soon as they were alone, he crossed the room and swept her into his arms, pulled her up onto her toes, and kissed her. He kissed her as if they might never see another dawn. As if this was the only kiss that mattered. As if he could make the world disappear and they could become one with the union of their lips.

After several moments of this, of keeping her firmly in his embrace, he pulled back, tilted her head by taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and declared, “Now, that should make you understand. I love you and only you. And the only thing I want to do is kiss you in the morning, kiss you in the afternoon, and kiss you at night,” he said. “I wouldn’t care if you organized another thing. Please stop organizing my speeches. Please stop making everything perfect to make me think you’re worthy. I don’t like perfection. I like reality. And the reality is I want you with me. Not off doing all these things. You should be eating more cake,” he said gently. “With me.”

She started to laugh through her tears, even as she felt as if she was melting into him, safe. “That’s what Eileen said.”

“Eileen is right. The Duke of Rivers is right too,” he said. “It is you and I who have gotten it wrong.”

“It’s so easy to get things wrong,” she said softly.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “My love, you’ve been hurt. It was no small thing which your father did. You were left alone to fight for yourself and your mother, and you don’t know what it’s like to have someone who wants to fight for you. But I’m going to bloody fight for you,” he said softly. “I’m going to fight for you for the rest of my life. Do you understand? And you don’t have to try to prove anything anymore. You don’t have to show me how wonderful you are because,” he said, cupping her face in his hands, “I know. I’ve always known and I always will know. You are the woman that I will always want. And no one could ever take your place. No grand lady, no titled person, no woman of the ton. You, Nancy. You stole my heart, and you better not ever give it back.”

“And you mine,” she professed, her soul crying out with joy.

Nancy surrendered herself entirely into his embrace and realized for the first time in years that there was nothing to prove. There was nothing she had to do except surrender, not just to his embrace, but to his love.

Epilogue

Fennyman loved seeing the Duke of Rivers happy.

The truth was he adored the old boy. He was as good as they came. Fennyman lifted his glass of champagne as Rivers charged up and down the hall, holding his bottle, drinking from the neck.

Lord Philip also had a bottle and was drinking his.

Harlowe was doing the funniest of dances, something he had learned from one of Lord Philip’s friends, a chorus girl. Harlowe was enjoying life very much these days, and Fennyman was glad to see it. The man was loosening his rigid manners day by day, month by month, and Fennyman wondered what he’d be like in a year’s time. Perhaps he could no longer be a butler.

Fennyman rather liked the idea of Harlowe joining him in the East End, working at the club and abandoning decorum.

But he didn’t know what Rivers would do without the fellow. Rivers had spent so long without friends or company, relying on his butler to make everything come true and give him conversation.

And there was one thing that was definitely certain. It was time for Rivers to be happy. Really and truly happy.

Oh, he’d seen it not long ago, after Skyburn’s match, when Rivers had contemplated his own picture and almost put it up on the wall. Rivers had almost realized it was time for himself to make a match.

Fennyman smiled. Rivers had no idea what was about to come.

“We did it,” Rivers exclaimed.

Lord Philip nodded.

“Indeed, we did. Close going there,” Harlowe said with a vibrant bow.

Philip blew out a relieved breath. “Who would have thought that one of our arranged marriages might not end in perfection?” he said.

“It only took a bit more time,” Rivers said, clearly trying to forget how he had nearly panicked. “You see, it all worked out.”

Fennyman nodded and winked at him. “Indeed, Your Grace. It does always work out for you, for all of us.”

“That’s right,” Rivers said. “And perhaps soon, Fennyman, bells might ring for you.”

Rivers waggled his brow. “After all, I can only imagine what you would be like with a perfect wife.”

Fennyman wagged a warning finger at the duke. “Oh, Your Grace, I would not wish myself upon any lady.”

Rivers nodded. “Yes, yes. I can understand why,” he said, “Very serious and all that.”

But then Rivers winked at Lord Philip and Fennyman had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling indeed.

Three years later

It had not been easy slowing down.

It had not been easy backing off all the tasks that she was used to accomplishing every day to sustain her mother. She didn’t need to sustain her mother any longer.

Family did that.

That was a new concept to her, that family actually took care of each other.

Pierce had given her his whole heart.

And, shockingly, he also gave a son’s heart to Nancy’s mother. Indeed, Nancy’s mother and Pierce were happy as two peas in a pod and going on walks together every day.

Three years ago, she had been certain that her mother was on death’s door. Now, her mother seemed to have kindled a vital excitement about life, writing her own poetry, going to salons, buying books, and supporting poets with the pocket money that Pierce gave her.

As Nancy and her husband sat in the beautiful townhome she had organized, welcoming in guests to their son’s christening party, she couldn’t stop the wave of love she felt for the little boy who was bouncing on her husband’s lap.

Pierce looked pleased as punch, and the boy looked beautiful and strong. She loved them both in a way that she never could have imagined. The love that she felt was so intense, so powerful, so, well, primal.

She knew there was no going back. Her life had changed utterly and entirely, all because of Pierce. And her new friends.

All because he had fallen in love with her and she with him. Because he hadn’t been looking for the daughter of an earl or even someone to organize his life. He had been looking for someone who could go toe to toe with him, who could banter with him, who could laugh at the world and somehow make sense of it when it made no sense at all.

And together they did make sense of it. No matter how painful it was, no matter how strange, how harshly people acted, she and Pierce went hand in hand, watching the world go by, doing the best they could to make the dreams of their friends come true.

And Pierce had stayed true to his word.

He met with Eileen and Victoria and Pansy, and he asked them about society and what was going on in it. And he always listened, and he always tried his best. He always made the attempt, as he had claimed, to change things.

Given the slow-moving, stubborn nature of the ton, change almost never happened. That was brutal. That was painful.

But Pierce and herself and their son, they were a change. And she believed that together, somehow, that was all what mattered.

Are you ready for The Marriage Managing Society?

From USA Today best-selling author Eva Devon comes a romp of a series in which a fed up, detail-oriented duke and the owner of a gambling den join forces to fix the ton’s failing marriage mart.

Their candidates have no idea what’s about to hit them.

What a Meddlesome Duke

Lady Polly Hapsley adores towering trees, babbling brooks, and studying all things out of doors! So, when she and her mother are invited to a house party at an estate with one of England’s oldest forests on its land, they must attend. In the woods, she meets a rather strange but handsome fellow and is mystified by how confidently he thinks he can control everything. The Duke of Rivers is everything she shouldn’t want in a man, but once they begin to banter, it is obvious that she has been sent into his life to help him find joy, love, and a world he never could’ve imagined! Now, if only he could stop being so stubborn!

Walks in the woods are well and good, but Gilbert Matthew Meadowview, Duke of Rivers, has too much to do to partake in such frivolity. Not only is he a duke, he’s managing the ton’s marriages in secret, and that’s more work than any one man should have. Yet, at a house party, he finds himself on such a walk, and meets one of the young ladies he’s determined to find a match for. Soon, much to his frustration, he realizes he might desire Lady Polly! But her optimistic and carefree view of life goes against his own skeptical view. Can a stubborn matchmaker fall for a carefree lover of nature? Only a whirlwind stay in the country, and a few passionate kisses, can tell.

Preorder Book 5!

What a Charming Duke

Book 1 is here!

The ton believes that Adam Crawford, Duke of Westfort, has lived a charmed life, but no one knows that, as charmed as his life seems, he feels cursed. Cursed to never know love. After all, not a single duke in his line has ever loved their duchess. Worse, they’re proud of the fact! His family thinks power is more important than love, yet Adam longs for more, and when he meets Miss Agatha Allen in the most surprising of circumstances, Adam wonders if he might have found it. But their spark could lead to disaster as easily as desire, for his family disdains hers, as they are beneath the Crawfords and have odd ideas.

Miss Agatha Allen cannot wait for her first Season and the love she will surely find. In her family, love goes hand-in-hand with marriage. She’s prepared for years, studying all a young lady must. A few stolen moments with the Duke of Westfort dare her to believe she’s found her match, despite his lofty standing and rather supercilious family, but there is a shadow in his heart and a family tradition of prizing power over love he doesn’t know how to let go of.

Can love and a pair of unlikely matchmakers help them find a way?

Book 1 is here!

What a Cheeky Earl (Book 2)

What a Mischievous Viscount (Book 3)

What an Unstoppable Duke (Book 4)

What a Meddlesome Duke (Book 5)