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CHAPTERONE
The Duke of Wingaterumbled out his irritation as his carriage jostled down the rutted road just outside his aunt’s Hampshire estate. “Meddling woman,” he grumbled as he yanked the curtain closed, blocking out the bucolic scene. It belied his mood.
And so few dared to defy him.
Why he’d ever agreed to come here was beyond him. He hated travel, especially in the heat of the summer when the carriage was stifling hot and the inns worse still.
Only the Baroness Greenburg, his aunt and one of his few remaining relatives, managed to harangue him into going anywhere this year and it had only been under the threat of disowning him that he’d finally agreed.
He had to smile, at least a little, at the sternly worded reply he’d received to his initial refusal to her invitation. She had a way with words that not even he could refuse. Or perhaps a way with thinly veiled threats. She was his mother’s sister and all the Fenton women had a spine forged of iron under their bows and lace.
A trait, for better or worse, he’d inherited.
He sometimes thought that women wore a strong will better than men. While his aunt, and his mother, God rest her soul, had been able to cajole as much as demand, he only seemed to know how to sternly order everyone about.
Effective as a duke but less so as a man.
In fact, he’d scared more than one lovely young lady away with his churlish attitude despite his best efforts to be kind and civil.
Which was why whatever his aunt had planned was a terrible idea. He knew he wasn’t just coming for a small gathering of close friends no matter what she’d insinuated. His aunt had matchmaking on her mind, had for the last few years at least.
Last season, she’d insisted he come to London for a week simply to see his cousins and he’d ended up taking her to every fashionable event for a fortnight where multiple ladies from excellent families had been thrust in his path.
There had been Miss Lucinda Wright, a baron’s daughter whose pianoforte playing was exceptional. But she’d look frightened to death of him every time he’d drawn near.
Then there was Lady Abigail Pennington whose beauty had inspired poets and artists alike. But she’d been rendered speechless in his presence.
And then there was Melisandre. She’d not been afraid of him in the least, but he had irritated her to distraction. Their courtship had terminated when she’d tossed a lovely crystal decanter in the vague region of his face. He had that effect on people.
His aunt had been quiet for six months at least and he’d assumed she’d given up. That she’d realized he was too unlikable for marriage despite being a duke.
And then her invitation had arrived and ended the unspoken truce. She hadn’t given up. She’d been lying in wait like a cobra ready to strike.
The carriage turned and he parted the curtain, realizing they’d reached his aunt’s home.
As the vehicle meandered up the long drive, he caught sight of a huge crowd waiting for him just outside the large double doors.
Small intimate party indeed…
“Stop the carriage,” he called to his driver, thumping on the wall.
The vehicle halted next to one of the large oak trees that lined the drive. Slipping out the door before the footman could even open it, he rapped his cane on the side for the driver to continue on without him.
This was exactly the sort of thing he did that infuriated so many.
But he couldn’t smile through the sea of introductions that was about to be tossed at him like rolling waves bashing the shore in a storm.
And so, while all eyes followed the carriage, he started around the side of the house, entering through the kitchen instead.
He breathed an audible sigh of relief the moment he stepped into the dark, cool interior. He’d been saved. At least momentarily.
Removing his hat, he hung it on a peg near the door and stepped from the lauder into the kitchen proper.
The room was quiet except for one lone maid at the end near the stove.
She hummed softly as she moved a bowl from one surface to another.
Reaching for the spoon in the bowl, she removed it and raised it to her mouth, popping the utensil between her lips before she pulled it out again with a low moan of satisfaction.
