A Spinster to Heal the Duke

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" D on't you ever get tired?" Alexander Hunton, the Duke of Sterlin, sighed heavily as he downed the remainder of his drink. The fine brandy did little to soothe his mounting irritation.

The ball had become insufferable—loud, oppressive. He had retreated to this quiet salon to escape, but his solitude had been unceremoniously shattered by the very last person he wished to see.

"Why ever would I get tired of your pleasant company, Your Grace?" Georgianna Proctor, the Countess of Winston, cooed as she batted her eyelashes with exaggerated delicacy. Her fan swung idly before her chest, her movements purposeful, as if to draw attention to her bosom.

The widow had been relentless in her pursuit, never missing an opportunity to press her attentions upon him. And now, her persistence was grating. His patience, though vast, had its limits, and she was drawing dangerously close to breaching them.

Before he could utter a word in response, Georgianna smiled slyly. "Besides, it is only a matter of time before our companies become... permanent."

Alexander's jaw tightened, his mind stalling on the audacity of her words. She had grown bolder with each passing day. Her insinuations now bordered on the absurd.

"You sound remarkably certain of this permanence," Alexander said, his tone clipped, though he maintained the appearance of calm.

"Oh, come now, Alexander." She chuckled, a sound that grated on his ears.

" Your G race ," he corrected, his voice firm. He would not allow such familiarity, especially from her. Not tonight.

Georgianna's eyes narrowed for a brief moment, the smile wavering as she assessed him. But it quickly returned, a glint of challenge lighting her expression. " Alexander ," she repeated, defying him. Her voice took on a mocking lilt. "We are not children, you and I. We both know what you want."

What I want? He barely managed to keep his composure, though the irritation surged beneath his cool exterior. She knew nothing of what he wanted.

"And what is it that you want, Georgianna?" He leveled his gaze at her, his voice edged with a weariness he could no longer hide. If she had hoped for a different response, she was bound to be disappointed.

For the briefest moment, her confidence wavered, her smile flickering. But she recovered quickly. "Why, I thought I made my desires quite clear from the start, Alexander," she said, punctuating her words with another insufferable giggle. Her fan swirled with increased vigor, drawing his unwilling eye to the deep rise and fall of her chest.

"And I thought I made my position on the matter equally clear from the beginning," Alexander returned, his voice cold. The words were harsher than he had intended, but enough was enough.

Her eyes flashed, her jovial air cracking. "Your jokes are never-ending, are they?"

"I assure you, I make no jokes," Alexander said evenly. "And you know that well enough. There is no possibility—none—of your wishes ever becoming reality."

She lifted her chin, that familiar air of superiority returning. "Those are not words befitting a man addressing his future duchess."

A sudden chuckle escaped him, surprising even himself. The absurdity of the notion was finally too much to bear.

"My dear Georgianna," he began, and to his dismay, he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes.

"You are about as close to becoming the Duchess of Sterlin as old farmer John is to getting crowned the King of England," Alexander added, his words having a cold finality that he had no patience left to soften.

The transformation in Georgianna's face was immediate. Anger, raw and unfiltered, clouded her once coquettish features, her eyes darkening as the reality of his words sunk in.

"You are insufferable, did you know that?" she spat, her voice trembling with outrage.

"Only too well," Alexander agreed, his tone unyielding, though the weariness of the conversation was beginning to show. He had endured her incessant attempts at securing his favor long enough, and it had grown tiresome beyond measure.

"You will not get away with such mistreatment," she continued, her voice catching on the edges of emotion. The poised countess was unraveling before him, her mask of charm cracking under the weight of her frustration.

"Mistreatment?" Alexander's brows furrowed, the word igniting a sharp flare of anger in his chest. "Mistreatment is your incessant advances, despite my making my feelings abundantly clear from the start." His voice was low, almost a growl, as he leaned forward. "I will not marry you, Georgianna."

I will not marry anyone , he thought, though the words remained locked within him. Marriage, for him, was not a question of when, but rather, if.

Her lips trembled, and a tear, thick with defeat, slipped down her powdered cheek. She quickly caught it with a lavender satin handkerchief, her composure wavering with each ragged breath.

Alexander's jaw clenched. Despite everything, there was a part of him that detested the sight of a woman in distress, especially if he was the cause. Yet, he knew no good would come from giving in to any shred of sympathy she sought to evoke. Not when her intentions were as transparent as they were.

"You are clearly not thinking straight," she muttered, her eyes flicking to the decanter sitting atop the polished side table next to him. "It is the liquor talking. It must be," she concluded, her voice thick with tears as more spilled over, staining her cheeks.

He glanced at the half-empty glass beside him and then back to her. "Do not flatter yourself that it is the drink that makes me speak this way," he said, his tone cutting through the air between them. "This has been my stance from the very beginning."

"After giving you everything, Alexander!" Georgianna's voice cracked, trembling with her emotion. Her words hung in the air, bitter and sharp.

"Georgianna—" Alexander ground out, forcing himself to hold on to the last shreds of his patience. His temples throbbed as her accusations sliced through him, but he refused to let his temper rise to match hers.

"No, Alexander." She cut him off with a shake of her head, dabbing furiously at her tears as she stood abruptly. "We shall have this discussion again when you are sober." Her voice wavered, yet her determination was clear, her words punctuated by the fierce dabbing of her lavender handkerchief. "No is not your answer."

"I have never been more sober. Or surer of anything in my life," Alexander responded, his voice firm, each word measured.

Her eyes narrowed, that maddening look of disbelief crossing her features once again. She turned on her heels with a dramatic swirl of her skirts, making for the door. But at the threshold, she paused, casting a final glance over her shoulder.

"Do not be too sure, Alexander. Of anything." Her voice held a dark, almost ominous tone. "For only fools remain obstinately confident and sure of the uncertain future."

With that cryptic warning, she disappeared into the dim hallway, leaving the door half-open in her wake. Alexander stared after her for a moment, then let out a low, exasperated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration brimming beneath his calm exterior. He reached for the decanter once more, ready to pour himself another glass, anything to stave off the lingering irritation.

Just as the amber liquid was about to fill his glass, a familiar voice interrupted his solitude.

"Alex, there you are! I have been looking all over for you, man," came the voice of Colin Caldwell, the Marquess of Broughton. Colin's head poked through the half-open door before he strode inside, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something more urgent.

Alexander set the decanter down with a sigh, his reprieve slipping away yet again. "Is everything all right?" he asked, noting the unusual agitation in his friend's posture.

"I'm afraid there is trouble," Colin replied, his brow furrowed. "It's Percy, he?—"

"What happened to Percy?" Alexander shot to his feet, the words barely out of his friend's mouth before the fear seized him. His hand knocked the decanter in his haste, sending it teetering precariously on the edge of the table. But he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on his younger brother.

A sudden, sharp image flashed through Alexander's mind, unbidden. The memory struck him with the force of a blow—splintered wood all around him, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils. His brother's desperate cries echoed in his ears, mingling with the haunting rasp of his father's final words: " Take care of them, Alex. Promise me... "

It was a promise that had lingered, festering in his soul. A promise he had failed to keep.

And now, the thought of anything happening to Percy... God help him, he would be dead before he let history repeat itself.

"Relax, Alex. He is quite well, but I fear a scandal has arisen. He is said to have... compromised a lady," Colin replied, his words calm, though the gravity of the matter was unmistakable.

Alexander exhaled slowly, relief washing over him at the realization that Percy's life was not in immediate danger. "At least he lives," he muttered, though the trouble that now lay before them was no trifling matter. He gestured for Colin to lead on, bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation.

As they entered the powder room, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of disgraceful. Percy lay slumped across a chaise lounge, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over, the unmistakable stench of alcohol permeating the air. His clothes were disheveled, and he reeked of carelessness.

"Oh, hullo there, Sterlin," Percy mumbled, raising a feeble hand in greeting, though it barely lifted from his thigh. A hiccup escaped him, followed by a soft snicker from a nearby onlooker.

Alexander's eyes flicked to the small crowd still loitering about, eager for any morsel of gossip the scene could provide. Of course, the lady in question was nowhere to be found—he had expected no less. A woman of any reputation would not linger after such an incident.

"Good heavens, Percy," Colin muttered, his voice filled with disbelief as he took in the deplorable state of his friend.

"Let us get him out of here," Alexander said, his tone firm, bordering on cold. He bent down alongside Colin, and together they hauled Percy to his feet, though he swayed precariously, his legs barely capable of supporting his weight. With an arm around each of his shoulders, they guided him, staggering and mumbling, toward the exit.

Once they had reached the waiting Sterlin carriage, Percy all but collapsed inside, his body limp with drunkenness. Alexander turned to Colin, intent on expressing his gratitude, but was surprised when his friend climbed into the carriage behind them.

"Are you coming with us, or do you intend to return to the festivities?" Colin teased lightly, though there was a touch of weariness to his voice.

Alexander shook his head with a faint smile before settling into the carriage. As they made their way back to Sterlin House, Percy continued to fill the confined space with his incoherent mutterings, his words slurred and devoid of sense.

Upon their arrival, Alexander and Colin dragged Percy out of the carriage, supporting his weight as they maneuvered him into the house. The butler appeared at once, his expression fraught with concern, but Alexander waved him off, his voice sharp. "Fetch some tea, if you please. We must sober him up."

Once inside the study, they deposited Percy into a chair, his head lolling to the side as he groaned softly. Alexander began to pace, his irritation rising with every moment. Finally, he stopped and turned to Colin. "What precisely happened?"

Colin folded his arms across his chest, his face somber. "It is said that Percy was found with a lady in that very powder room."

"A... a pretty lady," Percy interjected, his voice thick with intoxication, as if the memory were one of triumph rather than disgrace.

Alexander's patience snapped. "Is that why you acted so recklessly?" His voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving. Percy blinked at him, the severity of his tone forcing him to sit up straighter, though his mind still swam with the effects of the evening's indulgence.

"You do realize what this means, don't you?" Alexander pressed, his anger barely contained.

Percy looked at him, his expression one of vague confusion, as though he were struggling to comprehend the situation. He turned to Colin, as though hoping for an explanation.

Alexander answered before Colin could speak. "Our family name, Percy, is now at risk. If we do nothing, the rumors will spread like wildfire, and we shall find ourselves ruined by mere association with your folly."

Percy blinked again, his brow furrowed in a futile attempt to understand. "Good family name. Right," he echoed, nodding slowly, though it was clear he was still too far gone to appreciate the gravity of the matter.

"Who was the lady in question?" Alexander asked, turning to Colin with a steadying breath.

Colin frowned in thought, then answered, "Lady Elizabeth Sutton. Niece of the Earl of Dowshire."

Alexander's jaw clenched at the name. Dowshire's niece? Of all people, Percy had managed to embroil their family in a scandal with the niece of one of the most influential men in the realm. This was far worse than he had anticipated. The ramifications would be devastating, and their family's honor now hung in the balance.

"Well, her father was the late Earl, and as he had no son, her uncle assumed the title upon his demise," Colin explained, his tone measured but revealing the gravity of the situation.

Alexander's gaze shifted to Percy, who sat slumped on the chaise, oblivious to the weight of his actions. "There is a clear distinction, Percy, between your escapades at the opera houses and your entanglements with gently bred ladies," Alexander began, his voice carrying the firm authority of an elder brother. "With the former, you may escape unscathed, but the latter requires responsibility—something you've yet to demonstrate."

Percy blinked, still slow to comprehend the severity of his actions, but Colin's brow furrowed in surprise. "What do you mean, Alex?"

"Why, Percy must do the honorable thing by this Lady Elizabeth and marry her, of course."

"Marriage? What marriage?" Percy suddenly sat up, his bleary eyes widening in alarm. The very word seemed to jolt him back to sobriety.

"The marriage you have brought upon yourself through your own recklessness," Alexander responded coldly, unwilling to offer him any respite from the reality of his situation.

"Oh no. No, no, no." Percy waved his hands, attempting to rise from the sofa but promptly staggered and collapsed back into the cushions. "I am not marrying anyone."

"And I refuse to allow you to drag our good name through the mud, tarnishing our father's legacy in the process," Alexander said, his temper flaring as the familiar vein throbbed at his temple. "You made a mistake. You must take responsibility."

"I would sooner die than walk to that bloody altar," Percy muttered with defiance.

Alexander's jaw clenched, frustration surging through him. Was this his doing? Had he been too lenient with Percy all these years, allowing him to indulge his every whim without consequence? Had he failed to teach him a proper sense of duty?

"What would Father say, Percy? Is this how you intend to disgrace his name in the eyes of society?" Alexander's voice was low now, his anger tempered by a quiet plea.

"Do not use Father to blackmail me, Alexander," Percy shot back, his face contorting with both guilt and anger.

"There is no blackmail here. I am merely reminding you of the honor you are about to destroy," Alexander replied, his tone unwavering.

Percy's jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, letting out a frustrated curse under his breath. "Fine," he bit out, his voice terse with resignation.

"Excellent. Wedding bells at last," Colin interjected, clapping Percy on the shoulder with a grin. "You've made the right decision, Percy."

Percy scowled, his expression darkening as he forced himself to stand just as the butler returned with the tea.

"Have some tea and retire for the night," Alexander said, his concern for his brother's welfare slowly overriding his earlier anger. "You need to rest."

"We shall call upon Dowshire tomorrow to formally request his niece's hand," he added, turning to the butler. "Prepare Percy's room for the night."

"There's no need. I'm returning to my lodgings," Percy mumbled, shaking his head. "And I do not need the tea," he added when Alexander began to argue.

"It will clear your head, Percy," Colin urged gently.

Percy's eyes flashed with irritation. "Would you require ‘clearing' after being forced into marriage against your will?" he grumbled, though his voice lacked true malice.

"Quite right," Colin chuckled, unfazed.

"You're simply doing the honorable thing," Alexander said, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Let me escort you back to your lodgings."

"I can manage that," Colin interjected. "My carriage followed us back. I'll see him home."

Alexander glanced at Percy, who seemed content with the arrangement, before nodding. "Very well. I shall collect you in the morning so we may call upon the Earl."

"Will you allow me to have breakfast first?" Percy asked, his voice still groggy.

"Of course," Alexander replied with a faint smile. "We'll break our fast together."

Percy gave a small nod before following Colin to the door. As he reached the threshold, he turned back, his expression softening. "Good night, brother. And I apologize for the trouble I caused tonight."

"You've chosen to take responsibility, that is all that matters," Alexander said, dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand.

After their departure, Alexander sank into his chair, the weight of the evening pressing down upon him. He had no illusions that the Earl of Dowshire would be anything less than agitated when they called upon him tomorrow. With a sigh, Alexander reached for a sheet of parchment and began to draft a letter, informing the Earl of their intentions to arrive in the morning. He hoped that by extending this courtesy, he might alleviate some of the Earl's anxieties over the scandal that had already begun to unfurl.