Page 1 of The Duke and the Spinster

Chapter One

“Really Garrett, you are just avoiding the matter! You can’t put it off indefinitely!”

The door shut solidly – not quite slammed, but close.

Garrett Rutherford, the Duke of Kilmerstan, stared gloomily at his near empty brandy glass. Above him on the wall, the portraits of his father and his grandfather, looked down upon him. He felt their disapproval keenly.

His mother was, of course, right – not that he liked to admit it. He could not avoid marriage forever, not if the title was to have an heir – for his cousin, Lord Giles Fortnum, would make a terrible Duke, and Garrett had no intention of allowing him to remain next in line for the title. But the eligible women available amongst the right strata of society were enough to make a man feel ill.

He was beyond tired of being hunted by them, as if he could be caught and manipulated into choosing a Duchess. The harder they tried, the more he resisted.

He had come to despise social occasions, and had hoped that, upon retiring to Kilmerstan Castle for the summer, he might largely avoid them. That assumption was proving irritatingly wrong.

First, there had been the invitation, a few weeks past, to an occasion of sorts to welcome Viscount Mooresfield home. He had chosen not to attend, and was grateful for it, for, by all reports, the evening had degenerated into a shouting match between Mooresfield and the Earl of Banfield – an unpleasant man at the best of times, and one who Garrett was particularly displeased with, as he had been attempting to court Garrett’s sister Isabelle for some months. Anything that Garrett could do to break that association, he would.

And now, an invitation to another event at Hallingbrook Grange – one which seemed to have some hope of being of a more genteel and appropriate nature, but which still did not appeal at all. For Mooresfield had disappeared, to London he believed, for a week after the last event to much gossip and speculation. And then, not long after his return, had announced, to everyone’s surprise, his betrothal to Marianne Jones, the Baker’s daughter!

He knew that Mooresfield had never been very concerned with status, having spent most of his life as a third son, and never expecting to inherit, but still! Marianne was a nice enough girl, but the ton would crucify the man for choosing a commoner with such a background. He could imagine the gossip that must already be circulating.

This latest invitation was to a week-long house party, in celebration of that betrothal. The guest list, as discovered by his mother, was extensive.

He had to assume that summer boredom was responsible for so many of substance attending – or perhaps the spreading gossip meant that they all simply wanted to see the baker’s daughter who had captured the heart of a Viscount. Oddly enough, Isabelle had not seemed enthused at all, even though she normally loved social events. Regardless, his mother had almost begun to salivate at sight of the names of all of the eligible women who would be present.

Garrett knew when he was fighting a losing battle – he would have to attend, at least some of the activities – thank God he lived close enough to not have to stay at Hallingbrook! But his mother would not allow him to escape this – the Duchess was a force to be reckoned with, when she had set her heart on something.

Of course, if he attended, he would almost certainly see Lady Prudence. Lady Prudence Baggington was the bane of his life. She had decided some years before that she was destined to marry Garrett – and had thrown herself in his path at every opportunity since, even whilst he was still in mourning for his father, and his brother. She was the most irritating woman he had ever met.

He swallowed the last of the brandy, and deposited the glass on a side table. Perhaps a brisk ride in the summer twilight would improve his mood.

~~~~~

Lady Juliana Willoughby stared out of the window as the coach bumped over the last miles of the road to Upper Nettlefold.

The Nettlerush River ran beside the road, and the scenery was rather pretty, with the summer flowers and the green grass. She would have enjoyed visiting such a pretty place, had they been visiting for any other reason.

“Aren’t you excited, Juliana? We’re nearly there!”

Eleanor’s voice was light, musical, and always full of delight in the world. Juliana, as always, felt the contrast between her, and her sister, acutely. She sighed, and leant back against the padded seat as they bounced over another rut in the road.

“I have nothing to be particularly excited about, Eleanor, although I will admit that the scenery is pretty. This visit is, after all, primarily for your benefit.”

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy, Juliana – I am sure that you will meet some interesting and eligible men as well. There will even be a Duke present – an unmarried Duke!”

“Who will, undoubtedly, not even notice my existence. You, however, are far more likely to be noticed.”

“Don’t be so silly Juliana – I am sure that you will be noticed.”

Juliana sighed again, shaking her head. Their mother, used to this type of conversation, decided to distract them. Their father, as always on long journeys, was propped against the corner of the seat, and gently snoring.

“Girls! Must you have this conversation over and over? Eleanor – Juliana is older – why she’s nearly a spinster by most people’s accounting, and it stands to reason that you, at nineteen, and pretty as you are, will get more attention. Just accept it, and concentrate on finding yourself a husband – preferably a wealthy one.”

Eleanor nodded, with a sidelong glance at Juliana, and began to discuss with their mother who might be in attendance. Juliana kept the gentle smile fixed on her face, and went back to watching the world go by outside the window. Her eyes pricked with pointless tears, but she repressed them ruthlessly. By now, she should be used to it.

Being a spinster was infinitely preferable to being a clumsy, inelegant, too tall, too old woman amongst the glittering parade of young beauties. The tongues of the gossips of the ton were cruel. She’d had enough of their edge three years ago, and had avoided society as much as possible since.

Soon, they rumbled over an old stone bridge, the river rushing beneath, and the road took them into a large open square in the centre of the town of Upper Nettlefold. At one end of the square stood their destination – Hardcastle House.

It was a large building, which had once been an elegant manor, and now had been converted into a boarding house for the upper classes, a summer retreat for those who could not afford the prices in nearby Bath, or who were attending an overfull house party at one of the surrounding estates.