The Duke and the Vicomtesse: (Clean & Wholesome Regency Romance Book) Page 6
But what would she do? She needed a moment to contemplate her future before she simply resumed life at the Blooms. She would walk back to the wharf and think things through. Among the anonymous throng, she could think in peace.
She was weaving through the crowds lost in thought when she saw him.
The Duke. Walking, scanning faces as he did so. What on earth was he doing here? Her instinct was to turn away, disappear before he saw her.
But just as she was about to melt back into the throng, he turned.
Their eyes locked and held.
Marie-Therese felt her heart hit the floor with a thump.
She turned to walk away, but he anticipated her. He was upon her, grabbing her arm.
She turned and faced him. It was too late, now. She squared her shoulders, looking at him defiantly. Let him think what he liked of her! He was an engaged man; it meant nothing to her. Nonetheless, her heart started thumping uncomfortably as she looked him in the eyes.
“Miss Deauchamps.” His eyes bore into hers. “Your guardians are worried about you. What are you doing here?”
“Your Grace,” she said, slowly, curtseying.
“I came here, as soon as I heard,” he continued. He stopped. He seemed lost for words, for a moment.
“Your Grace, I can’t think why you would concern yourself with my welfare,” she said stiffly.
“Can’t you?” He stepped closer. “Miss Deauchamps, you must realize how much I admire you.” He stopped, again, but forced himself to continue. “So much so, I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you. You have haunted my dreams, ever since you left Derbyshire. I came to call on you, to tell you that myself.”
Marie-Therese looked at him in amazement. “Your Grace, I must confess, I am baffled. You are an engaged man. Lady Hawksbridge is your intended, is she not?”
He sighed. “She was. But I have broken off the engagement. My sister and Lady Hawksbridge led me to believe things about you, which I have since found out were not true. I overheard them after they returned from visiting you at Eden Hall. They confessed it was all lies, to discredit you in my eyes.”
Marie-Therese felt her heart thudding, again. Could this be true?
“I called on you, to tell you this,” he continued. “Only to find you vanished! Miss Bloom confessed all, of your sudden journey to France.” He paused. “Miss Deauchamps, I was intending to board the next ship to France to search for you. I no longer care what your status or wealth is. I only desire you to be at my side as my life companion.”
Marie-Therese gasped. “Your Grace?”
He took her hand. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my next Duchess?”
Marie-Therese felt tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, yes!”
Her heart was filled to overflowing. Marlborough looked at her, her own happiness and relief reflected in his eyes.
“Shall we leave? I feel your guardians would be relieved to hear of your safety,” he said. “What happened in France? Why did you have to go, so suddenly?”
“I will tell you everything, Your Grace,” she replied, smiling. “But let us depart. I do desire to see my guardians and assure them of my safety.”
They turned and walked back through the crowds, arm in arm.
Marie-Therese smiled, looking up at him. Her Duke. How was it possible? She had everything now. And she had all the time in the world to tell him of her adventures and how she had claimed her birthright. How she was a vicomtesse, again, in her own heart and mind.
A whole lifetime of stories, to share.
*** The End ***
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Protected by the Duke
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Protected by
the Duke
Chapter 1
Journey to London
T he coach lurched and Emily’s stomach tightened. She grimaced and looked out the window, hoping she could keep focusing on something other than the bumpy journey. It was difficult and even with all the rest stops she had been on the coach for some hours; the journey was beginning to take its toll.
For the umpteenth time since getting on the coach, Emily wished she had told her mother that she wasn’t going to London, that she wanted to stay home. Her father had died and all she wanted to do was mourn, even though their mourning periods had long finished. But her mother, the Lady Hartley, had told her that she needed to get away from their home in Lincolnshire and go to her aunt and uncle in London. It would do her some good.
It had been five years since Emily had last been on a coach and she still got sick when travelling. But that had fallen on deaf ears and she had been bundled onto the coach with the instructions she was going to have her first season in London and it wouldn’t be delayed again.
Emily felt like she had been tossed out of her house. The last thing she wanted to do, even though it had been over a year since Lord Hartley had died, was to enjoy herself. It felt disrespectful to her father’s memory.
The coach lurched again and Emily swayed in her seat, her hand going to her stomach. Across from her, the dark-haired young man who had alighted the coach the stop after Emily had, raised his eyebrows with a slight smirk.
“What’s the matter, Miss Hartley? Don’t like bumpy rides?”
Emily tried not to scowl at him. He was a little older than her and Emily had initially thought it would be nice to have someone to talk to. But he had been unnerving towards her, giving her these smiles that made her nervous. Emily had a good instinct when it came to people and this man, who had introduced himself as the Earl of Huntingdon, made her stomach feel even worse. She didn’t want to be in the same place as him but there wasn’t a choice unless she walked to London.
At least the consolation was they weren’t in the coach alone. There was a husband and wife with them, the Marquess and Marchioness of Lincolnshire. They had boarded the coach the same time as Emily. Both in their early thirties, they were pleasant enough and made small talk with Emily, calming her nerves for a time. Lady Lincolnshire, who was heavily pregnant with her fifth child, spent much of the journey sleeping; her husband, who was a quiet man, spent his time reading. Emily didn’t mind. Their presence was comforting, and they stopped things from being unbearable with Lord Huntingdon.
Emily gave him a grimace of a smile.
“I’m fine, my lord.”
“Are you sure? You’re looking a little green.” Huntingdon smirked and patted the seat next to him, which would have put her between him and the door. “Fancy sitting next to me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on. I can look after you. I am an earl after all.”
Emily gritted her teeth. Huntingdon was nothing if not persistent. And it was all she could do not to scream. Her parents
had instilled good manners into her but Huntingdon was pushing her patience thin. The man had been dragged up, not brought up.
She snatched her hand away as he reached for it.
“I don’t care if you’re an earl, a duke or the Prince Regent, I will not move.” She snapped.
She saw the smile fade from his face. But before Huntingdon could say anything in rebuttal, Lady Lincolnshire spoke up. Emily jumped. She hadn’t realized the older woman had woken up.
“Leave her alone, Huntingdon. She clearly doesn’t want your attention and she’s struggling. Just sit back and leave her be.”
Huntingdon glowered at her.
“This isn’t any of your business, Lady Lincolnshire.” He sneered. “Go back to sleep.”
That was when Lord Lincolnshire reacted. He snapped his book shut and sat up, glaring at Huntingdon sitting beside him.
“You do not get to be rude to my wife, Huntingdon.” His voice was low and Emily heard a dangerous tone underneath. His expression hadn’t changed, but he was angry. “And you do not get to treat Miss Hartley in a disrespectful manner. You have been rude to her ever since you got on the coach. It’s not good manners at all.”
Huntingdon snorted.
“We’re in a coach now, not a ballroom. Who’s going to notice manners?”
“I will.” Emily pointed out.
Huntingdon turned his glare from the married couple staring at him to her. His expression darkened, and he grabbed her hand, trying to tug her across to his seat. Emily cried out and swung. She may have been raised like a lady but her father had shown her a few ways to defend herself just in case a situation arose.
Emily hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
Her slap caught Huntingdon across the face. He was taken by surprise and let go, Emily almost falling over him. Lady Lincolnshire grabbed her and pulled her back onto her seat. Still clutching his injured cheek, Huntingdon glared at Emily.
He then tried to reach across again but Lord Lincolnshire intervened, using his cane across Huntingdon’s chest to pin him to the seat. Huntingdon was clearly surprised and tried to sit up but Lincolnshire held firm.
“That’s enough!” He snarled.
He then banged on the roof of the coach. Emily heard the change in the horses’ galloping and felt the carriage slowing. Huntingdon tried to sit up but was pushed back down.
“What are you doing? Why are we stopping?”
“Because you have been rude to Miss Hartley and I will not tolerate it any longer, especially not after you put your hands on her.” Lincolnshire snapped.
The coach stopped and moments later the door opened. Lincolnshire took advantage of Huntingdon’s surprise and bundled him out the coach. Lady Lincolnshire turned to Emily, taking her hand.
“Are you all right, Miss Hartley?”
“I think so.” Emily was still stunned over what had happened. She gave the marchioness a smile. “Thank you.”
Lady Lincolnshire grinned.
“Thank my husband, my dear. He grew up with four younger sisters. Being protective over women is natural for him.” She sighed. “I was tempted to slap him myself.”
Emily couldn’t help herself. She giggled.
“I would’ve applauded you if you had.”
***
Thomas Pemberton, Duke of Glastonbury, turned away from the window and the pouring rain battering at the windows, and glared at the woman sitting primly by the fire.
“Mother, why are you so obsessed with me getting married?”
Sarah Pemberton, Dowager Duchess of Glastonbury, wrinkled her nose in distaste. She looked like this whenever she was talking to her only child: constant disapproval.
“Because you’re twenty-three and you need a wife!” She snapped.
“I don’t need a wife.” Glastonbury sighed and leant against the window sill, folding his arms. He was fed up with this same conversation. “I may be a duke but even I know that at twenty-three you’re barely mature enough to look after oneself, never mind anyone else. I’m too young to be married and that’s the end of it.”
That had been Glastonbury’s mentality for several years and he stuck by it. He wasn’t interested in getting married and his mother knew it. But that didn’t stop her trying to push her agenda on him all the time. She would follow him around, turning up whenever he escaped to another one of his houses to check up on him. Glastonbury was sure she was expecting to find a secret wife, but that hadn’t happened yet.
He was tempted to pretend one day and see her reaction.
“Your father would be turning in his grave.” The duchess whined.
Glastonbury barked out a laugh.
“That’s funny because Father told me I could take as much time as I wanted finding a woman, wait until I was comfortable. That’s what he wanted for me.” He paused. “And he also told me not to be bullied into it by you.”
The duchess gasped. She looked horrified.
“My husband would never say that!”
“Oh, he did. He loved you, Mother, but he didn’t trust you. He knew you were a bully, especially to me.”
The dowager duchess loved her image and how it looked to everyone else. She wanted to be the perfect wife and mother, the consummate host. But it was a mask, a simple lie. Glastonbury knew the truth as did his father. Despite his love for her, the last duke knew exactly what she was like. The dowager duchess wasn’t a very nice person. And Glastonbury saw most of it. A lot of people believed she was a woman they could all look up to.
They clearly didn’t know her.
Please click here to read the rest of:
Protected by the Duke
Other Titles by
Grace Fletcher:
The Disenchanted Earl of Highmere Castle
The Earl’s Christmas Bride
Duet with the Earl
The Benevolent Earl
The Earl’s Unforeseen Love
The Marquess of Doreset’s Forbidden Love
Rescued by the Compassionate Earl
The Virtuous Earl’s Intervention
Nurturing the Fallen Earl
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Copyright © 2017 by Grace Fletcher.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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