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Chapter One

Rule 1: Our marriage will be in name only.

London, 1816

Lady Charlotte Foster was trespassing on the Duke of Severn’s property.

She knew it—and she really ought to be ashamed of herself. But as long as no one discovered her, there was no harm done, she reasoned. And honestly, after years of being a demure, obedient daughter, it felt rather exhilarating to do something so wicked as breaking the law.

But if it meant finding the right husband, so be it.

Her servants weren’t at all happy with her decision to leave the coach and wander through the duke’s gardens alone. Her footman, in particular, had been insistent that he remain at her side.

‘I am not about to be attacked by shrubbery,’ she’d informed him. ‘I will inspect the property and return to the coach within half an hour.’ It was perfectly safe since it was November, and no one would be in the gardens. Certainly not His Grace, the Duke of Severn, who had a reputation as a reclusive curmudgeon. He probably wasn’t at home, anyway.

And so the driver had turned the coach around and retreated towards the long road, which would help her make a swift escape when it was time to leave.

Charlotte inhaled a frigid breath of winter air, smiling to herself as she inspected the grounds. There was nothing she adored more than spending time in her garden, nurturing life into greenery and blossoms. She had an entire library of books on horticulture, and when she married, she hoped to build the garden of her dreams. She had already sketched out dozens of ideas.

It had occurred to her that, if she chose a husband with enough land, she might indeed be able to create that garden. Which was why she had come to Severn in the first place—to determine whether His Grace might be the best candidate.

She had made her debut this year and had no lack of suitors—a wealthy dowry tended to have that effect. But although all six of her proposals were from titled lords, she had overheard her father talking about the Duke of Severn—and what she’d learned had changed everything.

Apparently, His Grace had thousands of acres of land.

True, the duke had also inherited a crumbling estate and was buried in debt. But the debts didn’t bother her, since her dowry could easily restore Severn.

But when she’d asked her father about the duke’s estate, her father’s expression had turned sly. ‘Severn is larger than anything you’ve ever dreamed of. If you wish, I could try to arrange an introduction to His Grace the next time he visits London.’

Larger than anything you’ve ever dreamed of. Yes, that was exactly the sort of temptation that had made her travel north of London on a reckless adventure to see Severn with her own eyes. If she was careful, she could easily be back home again by nightfall.

Charlotte stole a glance towards Severn House. It did seem overgrown by ivy, and the roof looked questionable. But beneath the disrepair, she saw potential. It could be beautiful if someone took care of it.

She hurried across the dead lawn and towards the stone wall at the far end of the garden, hiding herself behind a large boxwood. Then she smiled the moment she saw the rows and rows of rose canes. Oh, yes. This was exactly the sort of garden she could rebuild into the paradise she wanted.

Her parents would not question it if she married a duke. But she knew almost nothing about His Grace, other than her father’s assertion that the duke was quiet and rarely attended social gatherings.

But his gardens were wonderful. She edged her way around the perimeter, noticing dormant hydrangea bushes and dead lilies. It appeared that irises lined the opposite side of the wall, which made her smile again.

The idea of marrying a man for his gardens was quite a risk. His Grace might be cruel at heart. But surely that sort of gossip would have made its way around a London ballroom. No, the duke was likely someone who despised social gatherings.

However, before she made her decision about marriage, she would have to meet him and determine whether they would suit. She had very little experience with gentlemen, at least beyond dancing with them or conversing about topics that didn’t matter, such as the weather. And she couldn’t deny that the very thought of marriage worried her.

She would have to live with a man for the rest of her life and obey him. What if His Grace was an awful husband? The thought seemed to burrow into her skin, taking root.

Of course, that was assuming that he would even want to propose to her. But he did need an heiress, which she was, so there was that.

Charlotte continued walking along the wall, tracing the edge of a stone urn while another thought occurred to her. If she married the duke, she would have to share his bed. A twinge of fear caught her in the gut, for she knew very little about intimacy between a husband and wife. But surely it couldn’t be that bad? She had been kissed a time or two by suitors, and it had been pleasant enough.

Her parents had an amiable marriage. They slept in separate bedrooms and lived their own lives. There was mutual respect between them, which Charlotte admired.

Her older sister Evelyn hadn’t complained either, after she’d married a viscount two years ago. Although their marriage was ordinary enough, the pair of them rarely spoke to one another.

Maybe that was what a happy marriage was? Living parallel lives with an occasional interaction? It seemed rather lonely, to Charlotte.

But as she stared at the ruins of this garden, she couldn’t help but think about what her life could become if she married the duke. She could build the garden of her dreams, one with stone walls, fountains, and endless blossoms bursting with colour and sweetness that filled the air. It was also a large enough space where she could escape, if the duke wasn’t the sort of husband she’d imagined.

She could spend years designing a sanctuary, one where she could plant every type of flower she wanted. Perhaps she could even have a hothouse of her own one day.