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  The Unintended Duchess

  Regency Romance

  By: Kate Coleman

  The Unintended Duchess

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  Unintended Duchess

  Chapter 1

  “You shall marry him.” Cecilia wished that she could put her hands over her ears to stop her mother’s lecture, but the dressmaker had wrapped the material so tightly around her chest that she was afraid to move.

  “It was a simple misunderstanding.” She said, as a reply. “Neither of us knew the other was in the room until I fell, and you came upon us in that instant.”

  “If you had been on opposite sides of the room you would still be obliged to marry him.” Her mother replied. “Madeleine, that top is cut too high.”

  Cecilia clamped her hands to her chest, refusing to let the dressmaker move the cloth. “It is fine.”

  “Fine!” Her mother turned on her in a flash of rage. “You know full well that it is far from fine. I never expected this of you, Cecily.”

  “Cecilia.” The girl continued to tug at the cloth, trying to extract a little more covering from the tightly bound cloth. “The Duke says that…”

  “I know what the Duke says. I am surprised that you are so willing to agree to his demands.”

  “You have always wanted me to be more obedient.”

  “I wanted you to be more obedient to me!” The Dowager threw up her hands in exasperation. “If you had only listened to me, and obeyed my commands, you would not have been standing in the parlour with the Duke when we came to find you. Then we would not be in this unfortunate position.”

  “You regard my marriage unfortunate?”

  “Naturally. I would not have dreamed that we would be having a hasty, private marriage in order to remove the taint of scandal from your character. He may be a Duke, but this whole thing is the worst that could have happened to you.”

  “Then I won’t marry him.” Cecilia smiled at her mother. “Then you won’t have to face the embarrassment of living with a daughter who has shamed you.”

  Her mother shook her head. “It is too late for that. Your reputation requires that he marry you. Your behaviour is already notorious.”

  “I did nothing.” The dressmaker unpinned the cloth, and allowed Cecilia to step down from the stool. “It was entirely innocent. You can’t blame me for this.”

  “Oh, Cecily.” Her mother said. “It is my fault, I have spoilt you. But you cannot escape from the consequences of this.”

  Cecilia walked into her dressing room, and slipped the morning dress over her head, letting the maid run behind her to tie the strings, which held the dress in place. Her mother followed behind after a moment, and Cecilia saw her mother in the full light of midday. Her face seemed to have aged a dozen years since last week, and there were flashes of grey in her hair, which before had been a perfect brown. She cast a quick look at her own reflection in the mirror, noting the nut-brown hair and eyes, and the off-white complexion of her skin. In a few day’s time, it would be the face of a Duchess looking back at her from her mirror, but now she just looked small and plain, a humble baronet’s sister with no fortune of her own.

  She pulled herself away from the fussing of the maid, and came to sit beside her mother. She didn’t pick up her stitching, as was usual, but instead took up a book. She read a page, and then closed the book, laying it on her lap with a sigh.

  It had been so different, before the Winchester Ball. Her mother had been eager to show off her unmarried daughter, and Cecilia had been there with her sister, Lady Arlton, their mutual friends, and a mix of admiring men. There had been dances, and then the dinner. It was when they stood up again for the second part of the ball that things had gone wrong.

  How the newly created Duke of Barwick, Matthew Dugget, had come to be there, Cecilia wasn’t sure. He must have been invited by one of the group, but they had all steadfastly denied it, and really, it was too late for recriminations. He had been allowed to sit at the top of the table, as though he was the guest of honour, but why or how was another puzzle, which seemed to have no answer. She had been seated lower down the table, unnoticed by the Duke or the other guests, speaking to no one and giving none of the men her attentions.

  Just before the dinner ended, she had gone out into the hallway in order to get some air, and had then wandered into the parlour, directly across the landing from the ballroom. She had been standing at the window, too close to the curtain perhaps, and had heard nothing.

  She had not heard the Duke come in, but he had been there a moment later, when she went to turn back towards the ballroom. Her foot had caught the edge of the pillar next to the fireplace, and she had fallen onto her hands and knees. As she fell, she became aware of a fine pair of legs, and then an exquisitely stitched pair of dancing shoes. She fell with a gasp, the legs stepped forward, and she heard, “Miss Cecily.”

  As she looked up from her prone position, the door, somehow closed, had opened, and she turned her head to see her mother, her sister, and her friends frozen, horrified, in the doorway. A man’s hand had reached down to her shoulder, and she grasped it eagerly, allowing herself to be raised to her feet.

  As she put her feet back firmly on the ground, she gave a quick look at her rescuer. Soft blue eyes met hers in a twinkle of amusement, and she had gasped, quickly extracting herself. As she turned towards her mother, she saw that it was too late, that the damage had been done. The whole world had seen her on her knees in front of the Duke of Barwick. Now, there was nothing she could do to save her reputation.

  The worst bit had been the silence from the Duke in the days that followed. She had thought, at first, that he must have been called back to the War in Egypt, but then she heard that he had gone to London and was living near to his club. Terrible behaviour, her mother had called it, and Cecilia didn’t know what to do. Her brother had offered to fight the Duke, but she knew that he was all talk.

  The Duke had come to the house five days after the Ball, and he had not spoken to her. Instead, he had shut himself in the drawing room, talking earnestly to her mother and brother. Nearly two hours after his first arrival, she was summoned down to the room. There, formally and in front of her relatives, he had offered for her hand. Before she could act or say anything, her mother had stepped forward, grasping her daughter’s hand and placing it in the Duke’s. She had not even been able to accept the Duke’s marriage proposal, and instead her mother had accepted for her.

  She knew that it was, to the casual observer, a good match. Her father, Sir Harvey Goss, had died leaving the family penniless. Her brother, with too high an opinion of his own worth, had done nothing to restore the fortune. Alice, Lady Arlton, had been married before their father died, and offered no support at all, leaving the family to make their own way into society. She would never have been able to make so good a match in London.

  The only cloud on the horizon was the Duke himself. Matthew Dugget had not been born into the purple, and in fact had no connection to the upper ten thousand. He was a soldier, a very good master of fighting men, and in the current climate they would need such men. That was the reason for his title, and so while some might think that Cecily was gaining much from her marriage, some of the ton would say that she was
marrying beneath her station.

  Chapter 2

  The wedding was performed in the small chapel at the back of her brother’s house. It had been built centuries ago to allow her Catholic ancestors to worship, but it was only used for occasional ceremonies now. She had not planned to marry here, if she had ever found a suitable spouse, but as the circumstances demanded a quick and quiet wedding, the chapel seemed the ideal location.

  When she stepped into the room, her long brown dress sweeping the floor behind her, she saw that the Duke had not yet arrived. She walked to the front, where her brother stood nervously, and sat down wearily upon the bench. She wanted to run out of the chapel, to defy her mother’s insistence on the marriage. As she sat there, she had a dream of running off to the coast, leaving her family and the Duke behind her and choosing to live free of their interference for the rest of her life. She knew that she couldn’t do it, really. The disaster at the Ball was a stain on her character, not his, because she was the woman. He could choose not to marry her, but she could not refuse his offer if she ever wanted to be in society again.

  The sound of voices in the hall outside the chapel made her stand up. She looked quickly at her brother, who had finished fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat, and was now standing to attention. The door opened, and the Duke came in, surrounded by his friends.

  She had to suppress a gasp as he walked down the aisle, his dark blue coat decorated with his many awards, which flashed and caught the light as he moved only made his pale, almost white, trousers and waistcoat stand out against the dark of the room. He gave her one long, searching look, and then went to stand in front of the deacon.

  Cecilia and her brother hurried to join him, and together, they knelt down before the altar. The deacon, an old man who knew her family well, took the offered licence, and merely held it between pages of the Bible as he read out the wedding ceremony. The only minor friction was when he called her Cecily, and the Duke hastily insisted that she was Cecilia. The Deacon had paused for a second, in doubt, and then carried on as though the correction had not been made.

  There was no celebration after the wedding, no warmth of friends greeting them and laughing with them about their wedding. No teasing, knowing jokes about the days to come, and no wise friends there to help her drink an extra glass of wine before she went to bed. She would have her own bedroom now, not connected to her mother’s as before, and the Duke would come to visit her at night. As she stood in the drawing room, cradling her first glass of wine and only half-listening to her mother, she looked across at her new husband. It didn’t seem such a bad thing, after all, to be married to a Duke.

  He turned to look at her, giving her a blank and almost unfriendly stare, and she returned his look with a puzzled frown. What was he thinking, that he would look at her so coldly, and without the affection that a husband should show to his wife? Agreed, they had not wooed or been engaged in the usual manner, but the ring was on her finger now, and that should be good enough for him.

  She came towards him, expecting at least some conversation, and instead he turned away, looking into the deepest parts of the fire.

  “Are you cold?” She asked. “When we go home, I will have a fire lit in the bedroom if you like.”

  He stared at her in frank astonishment, and then shook his head. “I am not cold.”

  “Then what are you thinking about, husband?”

  He gave snort of laughter. “Only married five minutes, and already the chit wants to know what I am thinking.” He paused, looking across to where her family were standing, apparently oblivious to the new couple by the fire, and then leaned in towards her, whispering so softly that she could barely hear. “I am thinking, madam, that my attendance at the Winchester Ball was a mistake, if not a tragedy. Now I am saddled with a wife that I didn’t expect to have a month ago.”

  She stepped back, but he caught her arm, pulling her towards him.

  “Don’t take affront, Duchess.” He said. “I am only replying as you have requested. Now you know my thoughts, do they satisfy your curiosity?

  With no reply, she instead turned her head away from him, looking out of the window. She was struggling to suppress her anger and disappointment, and could not manage to speak. Finally, he let go of her arm, and walked out of the room without saying goodnight. She hastened after him, climbing into the carriage without assistance, and landing, gasping for breath, on the seat opposite him. He looked unsurprised at her arrival, and neither spoke as the carriage took them to the Duke’s estate.

  There was no fire in the bedroom, and Cecilia stirred uneasily under the sheets in the enormous bed, feeling hopelessly smothered by the vast mattress and large, soft pillows. Late into the night, the Duke opened the door, leaning heavily on the doorframe before lurching into bed. The study clock struck several hours, and Cecilia guessed that it was about three or four in the morning.

  There was no more progression from the Duke last night, and when she woke, she saw that he was spread out on top of the sheets, head touching the pillow but legs sliding over the edge. She leant over, and poked him on the shoulder, making him jump to his feet and clutch at his waist for a gun that wasn’t there.

  “You were asleep.” She said, and he looked at her with rolling eyes, like a stallion about to rear and throw off its rider.

  “I was, thank you. Now I am awake.” He walked over to the window, and sat down on the ledge.

  “Are you…” She paused, not knowing the correct way of asking a husband whether he was going to get into bed.

  He saved her by shaking his head quickly. “I think this marriage has been enough of a mistake without carrying it on. I plan to return to London tomorrow. You will, of course, come with me, but your time is your own. After the next week, I imagine that you will stay here while I return to my regiment or stay at my club in London.”

  She blinked at him in surprise. “You come in here, drunk to bed, and then tell me you have no intention of…” She let the sentence end there, incomplete.

  “I apologise for any confusion. This is my former room. Last night, I was too drunk to remember that you were here. It won’t happen again.”

  “It won’t happen again!” She cried out, flinging the sheets away and climbing out of bed. “Is this the way you behave to your wife? I should have known better than to agree to a match with such a parvenu.”

  “Oh, that is it, is it? I should have realised that you would be a snob, with such elevated rank as yourself. What is it? A Baronet’s daughter? A financier’s granddaughter? Don’t look surprised. I researched your name and family before I came to make my offer. I was concerned that I might end up married to a miller’s daughter.”

  She struck the bed with her hand. “You researched me, did you, worrying that I might be trying to trap you into marriage? Maybe I should have looked into your ascendants, assuming that I could find any. Maybe you intended to force me into marriage by sneaking into the parlour? After all, I am at least of gentle birth.”

  He flushed, and stood up. “Trap you, Madam? Oblige you to marry me? No! In fact, before this little disaster, I had intended to seek the hand of Lady Emmeline Twisdon. That is why I came here, and why I asked for land near here. You think I wanted to marry you for your blood? I had an Earl’s daughter ready to accept my offer.” He stood up, and walked quickly to the door. “Then I had to put that dream aside to save your reputation.” He closed the door behind him with a bang, leaving Cecilia standing, shivering, beside the bed.

  Chapter 3

  Two days had gone by since the wedding, and the Duke had not paid her any more attention than on the days before their marriage. Cecilia found herself standing on the low stool in her mother’s drawing room again, being fitted for another dress. This one was a deep blue, which complemented her colouring and made her skin look translucent and golden, rather than sallow. Her mother was sifting through her box of jewels, trying to match some of her gems with the colour of the dress. Eventually, she threw the
box aside, and pulled out a simple diamond necklace.

  “This is the first gift your father ever gave to me, while we were courting.” She placed it around her daughter’s neck, letting the drops brush the upper hem of the dress. “I think that you should have it now, as a Duchess.”

  Cecilia put her hand to the necklace, feeling the cold metal of the setting, which seemed to transfer its frost to the stones themselves. “Are they real diamonds?”

  Her mother sighed. “Yes, dear. If your father had invested more in bonds, and less in costly presents, I would be a wealthy woman today. Instead, he spent all of the money that should have been your brother’s inheritance. I only hope that the Duke will take some of the jewels in lieu of a dowry.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “It is too late now to bribe him with riches. We are married and must live together. I am sorry, Madeleine, I won’t move again.”

  The Dowager piled her stones back into the box, securing the closure with her key. “I won’t need these any more, Cecilia. I think it would be best if you took them. At least try to live comfortably as his wife.”

  The dress was for the Grand Ball, to be held in the Duke’s honour now that he had received his estates. It had been intended as a public ball at first, but since the Duke’s marriage, it had settled into a private affair. Cecilia knew that at least some of the people would be coming to inspect the new Duchess, and to try to judge exactly why the Duke had married her.

  They arrived a little later than the invitation stated, and the Duke was in a foul mood when the carriage finally stopped at the Assembly Room. He stepped down from the carriage, and had almost reached the bottom step into the Rooms before turning, and coming back for his bride. She was halfway through stepping down from the carriage herself, with no assistance, and he caught her arm tightly, nearly pulling her down.