The Duke and the Accidental Bride (Duchesses of Convenience #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ I told you we should have brought an umbrella! I knew it!”

“Oh, it is not that bad, Martha,” the Honorable Isabella Gouldsmith laughed as she hurried down the driveway, holding a hand above her head in a vain effort to blot out the rain. “Rather trivial in the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t you say?”

Behind her sat the carriage which Isabella had just arrived in. The journey had been beset by gathering storm clouds and high winds, holding off on rain until the second that Isabella arrived. And where it might have been smart to have turned back and sought shelter in the safety of the carriage... Isabella was stubborn to a fault.

“You’re all wet!” Isabella’s elderly maid and chaperone, Martha, rushed ahead of Isabella, heading for the steps which led to the front door of the manor. “And your uncle will not appreciate –”

“I do not care what my uncle thinks,” Isabella cut her off, hand still held above her head; an action which did little as the rain was falling thick and fast and, most importantly, wet. “I am infinitely more concerned with why he has asked me to be here today.”

“Something you could also have found out whilst dry. Oh, this rain!”

“Little we can do about it now,” Isabella chuckled at her maid’s distress. “And look how wet you are. Here.” She swept in and attempted to shield the elderly maid.

“Do not worry about me.” Martha exclaimed. “You are the one who –”

“Does not even wish to be here.”

“Is getting wet!”

“Let us get inside then, shall we? Unless it is somehow also raining indoors.”

“Of course!” Martha was up the steps in a flash, fist already raised before her as she proceeded to hammer on the closer door. “Oh, come on now!” She knocked harder. “Where is he!”

“I should not be surprised,” Isabella muttered, beginning to shake a little as she felt her dress becoming soaked through. And that wasn’t to speak of what the rain was surely doing to her make-up! “Knowing Uncle Leopold, he is standing on the other side of the door right now, taking pleasure in the knowledge that we have been caught in this weather.”

“Miss! You should not say such things,” Martha gasped, again knocking loudly on the door.

Isabella snorted. “A harsh truth is still a truth, Martha. And my uncle is nothing if not deserving of such an observation. I would not even be here right now if not for his nature. Antagonistic and petty.”

“It is a strange thing,” Martha said, still hammering away on the door. Her blows were loud but the rumbling of thunder which seemed to shake the earth beneath them did much to drown them out. “His inviting you here, is my meaning. And you are certain you do not know the reason?”

“You read the same letter as I.” Isabella had forgone the effort to block out the rain and was now rubbing her arms to keep herself from catching a chill. Soaked to the bone in what was an auspicious beginning to what was an auspicious meeting.

“Even still...” Martha clicked her tongue. “Lord Langham should not have requested to meet with you without first asking it of your mother. He should know better.”

“Ah, now who is badmouthing my uncle,” Isabella said with a wry smile.

Martha’s eyes widened and she began to stammer. “I did not mean – I am simply pointing out that – it is proper for --”

“Oh, I know what you meant.” Isabella waved the poor woman down. “And I agree with you. It is most peculiar. Alas, it is not as if I have much of a choice...” As she rubbed her arms, Isabella leaned back and looked upwards, observing the front of the closed-off manor as a sense of melancholy swept through her which had nothing to do with the chill.

Langham Estate always brought with it feelings of sadness and loss, even despair. As a young girl, it had been Isabella’s home, her late father’s before her, and before that his father’s and so on. But recently, just a few years ago now, her uncle had kicked her and her mother and sisters out without warning, wanting it for himself.

Leopold Langham was a cruel man. Not in ways that were typically evil, more selfish and self-aggrandizing. When Isabella’s father had died nearly a decade ago, her uncle had inherited his title and his wealth, leaving Isabella's mother to rely upon him as if they were stray dogs begging for scraps from the kennel master.

Not a true monster, he gave them enough to survive on, while ensuring at the same time that they knew their place and if he so wished it, he could end them without losing a wink of sleep.

Needless to say, when Isabella received a summons from her uncle, demanding that she present herself on his doorstep at this hour without informing her mother, she did not ask why or to what cause. She simply made sure that she was there.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Martha cried out. With both hands wide open, she began to beat on the door as if she was trying to knock it down. “Hello” she wailed. “Hello! Is anyone --”

The door swung open suddenly to reveal a young manservant who Isabella did not recognize. He eyed the two of them with a sense of dispassion, even trepidation when he saw how soaking wet they were. No sense, however, of apology for having kept them waiting.

“Welcome,” he said as he stepped to the side and gestured for them to enter. “Lord Langham has been expecting you.”

“It is about time!” Martha muttered. She stepped back and wrapped an arm around Isabella as she shepherded her inside and out of the rain. “I never in all my life...”

“Isabella, welcome!” Lord Langham held his arms wide as he swept across the room to greet Isabella. “I know I say this every time that I see you, but you grow more beautiful with each passing day.”

Somehow, and considering the circumstances, Isabella very much doubted it.

The manservant who had ushered Isabella and Martha inside moments ago, directing them straight to the drawing room, had not bothered to offer them a towel to dry themselves with, leaving the two women looking like drowned rats seeking shelter from a sinking ship.

“U -- uncle,” Isabella shuddered from the cold as he took her by the arms, holding her back to get a better look at her. “It is wo – wo -- wonderful to see you, as always.”

“My God!” her uncle cried suddenly, as if only just now noticing how disheveled she was. “What on earth -- is it raining outside? I had no idea.”

“Just a little.”

“Renfield!” He looked past Isbella to his manservant. “Fetch some blankets and towels, won’t you? And be quick about it! Oh, come here, you poor thing. By the fire...” Still holding her by the arms, Isabella’s uncle led her across the room and sat her down on a couch by the fireplace. “There,” he purred as he helped her settle. “I am so sorry, if I had known what the weather was doing, I would have had Renfield wait for you outside.”

“It is quite alright,” Isabella said, shuffling forward on the couch so that she was closer to the fire; the heat began to warm her, doing little for how she must look, but at least it made her feel a bit better. “I am here now.”

“Yes,” her uncle said as he stepped back. “And I am so glad that you came – and I must apologize also, for all this secrecy. And the demand!” he chuckled. “I cannot imagine what you must be thinking.”

“The same as I often think about you,” Isabella said before she could help herself.

Her uncle’s face dropped, quickly followed by a curving of his upper lip in a way that she recognized only too well. He did not like being talked back to, and he loved reminding those he thought beneath him that he was not a man to be spoken to in such a manner.

Careful now, Isabella. Uncle Leopold might be an insufferable old wart but he also holds the keys to Mother’s fate. And my own, for that matter.

She was about to apologize. Not something that she enjoyed doing, but she knew to be necessary. Best to at least try and be civil.

Only then, and most shockingly, her uncle laughed. “Ha! That tongue of yours...” He shook his head in jest. “You always were a sharp one, weren’t you. You’re like your mother in that way.”

Isabella balked at the response.

Leaning back, she glanced at Martha – standing on the other side of the couch in a bid to warm herself by the fire – who appeared just as shocked as Isabella was by this most strange reaction. It might have been the first time that she had ever heard her uncle laugh.

“Ah... yes, I am... glad to have come,” she said lamely, mostly for lack of an idea what she should say.

“And I am glad to see you here.” Her uncle was then quick across the room. “Shall I fix you a drink – where is Renfield with those towels and blankets?” He looked about the drawing room. “Honestly, good help can be so hard to find.”

“I am quite alright, concerning the drink,” Isabella said, now eyeing her uncle with extreme confusion. “I would rather speak of the reason that you have asked to see me.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her uncle was by the liquor cabinet, where he poured himself what looked to be a glass of whiskey. He took a sip and smacked his lips before making his way back to her. “Again, I am so sorry for all the secrecy but in this instance, it was required. And I must ask that whatever is to happen here tonight, that your mother be kept in the dark. That woman...” He rolled his eyes. “I swear that she invented meddling.”

“If that is your wish,” Isabella said slowly, still eyeing her uncle as she waited for what was sure to be the punchline.

“Oh, not just my wish, but His Grace’s also.”

Isabella blinked. “His Grace?”

“Well, yes.” Her uncle looked down at her as if she was daft. “His Grace, the Duke of Fangsdale. The reason that you are here.”

Isabella blinked again. “I... what does His Grace have to do with this?”

“Why, he is the reason that I have asked you to come. Did you not wonder what he was doing here?”

“Here? What are you...” Isabella turned around on the couch and swept her gaze across the drawing room, certain that her uncle had lost his mind.

The room was cloaked in shadow, the sole light source coming from the hearth which was blocked mostly by her body sitting before it. It left the corners of the room darkened, which was why Isabella had barely paid them any attention – far too concentrated on getting warm, and her uncle’s odd behavior.

Only now, looking closer, Isabella spied for the first time a man standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a sense of what she might have mistaken for boredom and extreme disinterest was his stern gaze not focused so squarely upon her that it was as if she were a lamb, he a wolf, and he was eyeing her off as he waited for the perfect moment to pounce on and then eat her.

A sudden cold swept through her body; overpowering the heat from the fire. He was taller than her uncle, broader in the shoulders, wider in the back, thicker in the legs; a hulking specimen of a man that looked as out of place as if a tree had sprung up in the back corner of the room.

But it was that cold, dispassionate gaze that brought with it a chill. Never mind how objectionably handsome he was. Dark eyes. Dark, wild hair. Square features all. His stare... it was so intense that Isabella felt it in her stomach like a hand was wrapping around her insides. Her heart began to race with what felt like fear, and where she knew that she should look away – for safety, if nothing else -- she simply could not bring herself to do so.

“Your Grace!” she gasped.

“Did I not...” Her uncle looked between them. “My God!” He gave his head a shake. “I am an absolute dolt sometimes. Too many late nights and early mornings. Work has been ravaging me, Isabella. My mind is in about a dozen different places of the moment.”

Her uncle chuckled as he looked toward the Duke as if expecting him to step forward from the shadows and introduce himself. He did no such thing, arms folded, his glare now fixed on her uncle.

“Right. Yes.” Her uncle cleared his throat and then held his hand out as if to wave the Duke toward them. “Your Grace, I would like to introduce you to my niece, the Honorable Isabella Gouldsmith. And Isabella, this is, of course, His Grace, the Duke of Fangsdale.”

Isabella was quick to jump to her feet, even if her entire body was shaking. But not from the cold. It was His Grace’s stare, the command that it embodied; the fiery discipline. It sent a shiver through Isabella’s body, again having nothing to do with the chill.

“Your Grace...” Suddenly, Isabella became very aware of her appearance, and as she stepped around the couch, she did what she could to flatten her dress and wipe away the smudged make-up on her face... a rather vain attempt for she knew she must look abhorrent. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“As it is my pleasure to have brought the two of you together.” Her uncle was quick to step between them, rubbing his hands together and laughing nervously. “His Grace and I have recently entered into business together, you see, and it was during one of our many long, productive conversations that he broached a topic with me that, to be perfectly honest, I was beyond grateful to be made privy to. The fact that he would even think to ask me of such a thing is beyond generous.”

Now Isabella understood why her uncle was acting this way.

He was and always had been the embodiment of a social climber, desperate to belong and to be accepted by those he thought above him socially, while harboring resentment toward them because he also thought himself their equals.

If there was a man more powerful and in the same room as her uncle, Isabella knew that her uncle would be the first to fall to the ground and lick his boots if so asked. And from the way her uncle was behaving right now, she got the distinct impression that few were as powerful as His Grace.

“But he did,” her uncle continued. “And naturally, your name came straight to mind. I considered your sister, Louisa too, of course, but I know what an idealist she is. Nowhere near as practical as you are. I told His Grace of you, he asked for this little rendezvous, and here we are.” He clapped his hands together proudly. “So, what do we think?”

Isabella frowned. “About what?”

“Oh!” her uncle’s eyes went wide. “Did I not say? Gosh, again, my mind is in a dozen places. I really am --”

“Langham,” the Duke suddenly growled.

It was spoken softly. Like the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon. But Isabella felt it shake the room, vibrating up her legs and through her body as if he had taken her by the arms and shaken her himself. The command in that single word. The force of it!

And her uncle, as if he had been struck by lightning, froze mid-sentence. He then turned and looked at the Duke, waiting for his orders, too afraid to say the wrong thing.

“So many words spoken, so little actually said.” The Duke pushed himself off the wall and started across the room; a tidal wave sweeping toward them. “I know fishwives who blather less than you do.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace! I was simply trying to explain --”

“You explained nothing,” the Duke snapped. He reached where her uncle was standing, and his physical size compared to her uncle took Isabella’s breath away. The man was a mountain! “Leave, now. I will take care of this on my own.”

“I... you wish for me to leave?”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Langham.”

His eyes went wide. “Of course!” He jumped in the air and spun about. “I shall check on Renfield. See where he is with those blankets!” Her uncle was quick to hurry to the door and throw himself from the room.

“And your chaperone too, please,” the Duke then said of Martha. He did not bother looking toward the elderly maid, keeping his hardened gaze fixed on Isabella in a way that made her knees tremble.

“Ex -- excuse me?” Isabella stammered.

“What I wish to speak of requires utmost secrecy.”

“Oh...” She blinked and glanced at Martha who still stood by the fire. “I assure you that Martha is not one to gossip.”

“And I assure you that I do not like to repeat myself. Now, if you do not mind...” He did not raise his voice. He did not appear angry or put out. He simply spoke the words, expecting them to be heeded, because that was who this man was.

“Ma -- Martha.” Isabella swallowed the lump in her throat. “If you will wait outside.”

“Miss, I do not know if that --”

“It is quite alright, Martha,” Isabella spoke up. “I will be fine.”

Martha hesitated. She looked between them, clearly uncomfortable at the thought of leaving her alone. “Well... I will be right outside this door. Shout out if you need anything.”

Slowly, Martha walked across the room, stepped outside, and closed the door behind her, leaving Isabella and the Duke alone for the first time.

It was a strange sensation that crept inside of Isabella as she forced herself to meet the Duke’s gaze. Some of it was fear, for she suddenly felt powerless and completely at this man’s mercy. Alone as they were. The darkened room. Even the flames in the fireplace seemed to have softened, as if smothered by presence.

But there was something else... the way her heart raced in her chest... how warm she suddenly felt in her body... all while unable to look away, even if she felt that she should. Isabella was both terrified and entranced.

“I want to apologize for the subversion,” the Duke began; his voice deep and commanding. “Lord Langham handled this situation poorly.”

“Oh.” She blinked, caught off guard by the apology. “That is quite fine --”

“But it was necessary,” he spoke over her. “The fact is that I find myself faced with a dilemma, and after confessing it to Lord Langham, it appears as if you, Miss Gouldsmith, might be the perfect person to help me solve it.”

She hesitated, not certain if she should speak. But he raised an eyebrow at her, as if giving his permission. “Wh -- what is this dilemma that you speak of?”

“Next week, I am hosting a dinner with some members of my family. My mother and my grandmother to name a few. Who will be there is not important. What is important is your place at that dinner.”

“My place?”

He nodded. “I would like for you to attend, Miss Gouldsmith, at which time, when asked, you will confirm that the two of us are courting one another and have been doing so for some --”

“What!” Isabella blustered before she could stop herself.

His Grace’s jaw clenched at the interruption. He paused, making sure she was finished. And then, he continued. “That we are courting. That we are happy. That we are enjoying one another’s company, as is right. And that as far as you are aware, we intend to remain in such a state until at least the end of the Season.”

He looked at her for a response, to which Isabella gave none.

Her mind spun at his words. She tried to fathom what he was saying. To make sense of it! Surely, she had misunderstood?

“Well?” he promoted.

“I do not...” She cleared her throat.... and again, attempted to flatten her dress and push her hair from her eyes. “I do not understand.”

“I was perfectly clear.”

“You wish for us to pretend to be courting one another?”

“For the evening, yes.”

“But why?” she asked in a fluster, her mind spinning faster than she could keep track of. “We do not know one another. We have never met or spoken – why me? Why any of this!”

Careful, Isabella. Do not become irate. When that happens, you tend to speak without thinking and I very much get the sense that His Grace is not the type to appreciate that.

“The reason is not important.”

“Of course it is!”

His jaw clenched again, and he fixed a warning glare on her. “What is important is that this will benefit you as much as it will me.” She almost laughed at that but forced it down. “I have been speaking with your uncle of your circumstances and --”

“My circumstances?” she cut him off again. Her eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth when she saw the side of his mouth twitching.

“Yes...” He growled softly. “Your circumstances. At twenty and one you have no suitors, nor is there any indication that this Season will change that for you. From what I have heard of you, there is good reason for it.”

“What does that mean --” Again, she caught her tongue, and again it was too late.

“If word spreads that you and I are courting, it will do wonders for your reputation,” he continued. “One night is all I ask. A single night of pretending and the effect it will have on your life will more than cover the...” He clicked his tongue. “The moral quandary which I am sure you are feeling.”

Isabella didn’t know if she should have been angry, insulted, or grateful! All felt correct. What His Grace was saying made perfect sense and was true enough. But it was the way that he was saying it that struck her the wrong way.

“And if I do not care about any of that?” she said.

He sighed. “Then think of your uncle. I am more than aware of your family’s situation, and I know personally how grateful your uncle would be if you were to do this for me. And how upset with you he would be if you did not.” He raised a knowing eyebrow at her, the implication of his meaning clear.

Isabella felt a flair of anger ignite inside of her such that she met the Duke’s gaze with a glare of her own. And she might have done more than that... was she not wholly aware of the truth that he spoke.

He was blackmailing her. It was as simple as that. And considering the hold her uncle had over her and her family, it was a very effective form of blackmail to boot.

“So...” She continued to glare at him. As handsome as he was, she saw right past that. A cruel, manipulative monster is what the Duke was. A beast! “Those are my choices, are they? To be your... your plaything for the night, lest my uncle become upset.”

“Not the words I would have used,” he said without a hint of emotion. “But if that is how you wish to see it. So, do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He chuckled. “You always have a choice. But choices come with consequences, Miss Gouldsmith. Some good, some bad. Now...” Suddenly, he stepped in closer, so close that he was less than a foot away. Towering over her, she caught her breath, very nearly stumbled back and might have, had his hand not found its way to her waist. His touch sent a pulse through her body, and she gasped, eyes wide, heart racing with fear... and something else. That something else rose in her as he leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper as his mouth moved to her ear. “Do we have a deal?”

Her mind was frozen. His hand on her waist... the feel of his body so close to her own... the power that radiated through him in ways that she had never felt before.

She stood with her mouth hanging open, her heart rate rising, her stare meeting the Duke’s as if trapped by it.

“Well?” he asked.

Isabella wanted to say no. Of course she did! If for no other reason than to put the Duke in his place, for she was not one to be commanded and ordered about like a house-trained puppy! But she had heard the Duke’s words, she recognized the threat, and she knew that if she was to say no… her uncle, as unforgiving a man as he was, would become even more so.

In short, she had no choice.

“Ye -- yes,” she stammered, trying desperately to control herself.

“Good girl...” His breath was a whisper, and it had her skin breaking out into goosebumps. And then, suddenly, he stepped back and straightened and the spell he had cast broke. “I will leave instructions with your uncle. But I expect to be seeing you next week. Do I make myself clear?”

The Duke was not used to being told no. He was not used to not getting what he wanted. And this conversation, this request , made that perfectly clear. Isabella had met a lot of lords and even dukes in her life, but none were like this man. None radiated that sense of assurance and power and command like he did.

A natural troublemaker, Isabella yearned to say no and fight this. But one look at his eyes, that steeled gaze, and her legs became jelly and any sense of resistance she might have felt was destroyed such that she was reduced to exactly what he desired of her: a complacent plaything to do with as he so pleased.

“Yes,” she said weakly, utterly defeated. “I understand perfectly.”

As you will come to understand that I am not one so easily cowered. As regrettable as this situation is… I have no doubt that His Grace will come to regret it even more than I.