Page 5 of The Dueling Duchess

Chapter 1

Whitechapel, London

February 1816

Twenty-two years later

Cecile shot the playing card out of the handsome young man’s hand, and he screamed and jumped.

She let out a stream of curse words, both English and French strung together.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Gerry Wheeler said, squirming beneath her wrath.

Gerry was twenty-three years old and—by far—the most beautiful man Cecile had ever seen. He was also the most cowardly.

Cecile slid her pistol into its custom-tooled holster, took a deep breath, and forced herself to speak slowly and kindly—neither of which were her forte.

“Gerry, I think it is time we part ways.”

“Oh, please, please, please, Miss Tremblay! I’ll get better—I swear I will.”

“It has been two months, Gerry. You scream more now than you did your first day.”

He caught his plush lower lip with perfect white teeth. “I don’t mean to—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Cecile had to laugh at that. “Nothing is wrong with you, Gerry; most people—at least normal ones—do not care to be shot at.”

“But I love working at the Fayre, Miss Tremblay. It’s become a home to me.”

He wasn’t the only one—Farnham’s Fantastical Female Fayre was like a home for Cecile, as well.

She sighed and patted him on his broad shoulder—having to reach up quite a way to do so. “I’m sure we have something here you can do. I shall talk with Beryl and Wilfred tomorrow and see what there is.”

Beryl and Wilfred were Cecile’s managers and they kept the Fayre, with all its different theatrical acts, running smoothly.

“Oh, thank you. Miss Tremblay, you won’t be sorry, I promise.”

She probably would be, but she would deal with that when it happened.

It was Sunday, the only night of the week there was no show at the theater, so there was not much activity backstage.

Cecile liked to practice her routine and work on her ledgers on Sundays because she enjoyed the feeling of having the entire building to herself.

Her building and her business.

Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Although she operated Farnham’s Fantastical Female Fayre—the very first all-female circus in England, although now there were several imitators—she didn’t actually own it outright.

Instead, she was part of a four-person syndicate that included three wealthy investors whom she’d convinced to purchase the Fayre from Marianne Simpson.

Marianne—who was also Cecile’s closest friend—had inherited the Fayre from her uncle Barnabas, who’d died last year.

At first, Marianne had tried to just give Cecile the business.

“I can no longer operate it, Cecile, and it’s not as if I need the money I’d get from selling it.”

That was because Marianne had married the extremely wealthy Duke of Staunton.

As much as Cecile had appreciated Marianne’s generous gesture, the theater on Newcastle Street and the large house attached to it were worth a great deal of money, and it did not sit right with her to accept such an extravagant gift.