His Duchess
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Table of Contents
Also By Charlotte Russell
His Duchess (His & Hers)
His Duchess | Charlotte Russell
His Duchess
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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Also By Charlotte Russell
About the Author
WHAT’S AN EXCEEDINGLY PROPER DUKE TO DO WHEN HE FINDS HIMSELF EMBROILED IN A SCANDAL OF HIS OWN MAKING?
Victoria Forster needs a husband. Orphaned, nearly penniless, saddled with an indifferent guardian plus a cousin intent on sabotaging her matrimonial hopes, she cannot afford to be a wallflower. Unfortunately for her, the only man in her path is a stuffy, well-above-her-touch duke. But with every fateful encounter, she glimpses more and more of the lonely, kindred soul behind the duke’s decorous demeanor.
Charles Danforth, Duke of Taviston, is seeking a wife. Nothing if not methodical, he determines a set of qualities his future bride must possess—neither love nor passion makes the list. Above all, she must be free of scandal so as not to tarnish the family legacy. Soon enough though, Taviston’s well-ordered life, impeccable social standing, and not-so-impenetrable heart are in jeopardy.
His Duchess
Charlotte Russell
His Duchess
Copyright ©2021 Charlotte Russell
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Images and Cover Art Illustration by Period Images, Pi Creative Lab, and Belen Designs. Cover Text and Logo by Charlotte Russell
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual living persons, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
To my own Victoria,
Strong, brave, and true
Chapter One
London, April 1812
Victoria Forster eyed herself in the cracked mirror one last time. The dress she wore was not only too long for her short stature but also too big in the bodice. Not to mention of such an ugly shade of green it made her eyes hurt. The scullery maid, Molly—no lady’s maid for the likes of her—had pinned the dress in so many places Victoria was afraid to move.
“Tell her I’ll not wait a minute longer!” Her cousin’s screech scrabbled down the corridor.
But move she must, or Louisa would leave for the soiree without her. Victoria could not afford to miss any social engagements, horrible gown or not. Molly gave her an encouraging smile and, ever so gingerly, Victoria made her way down the staircase of her cousin’s townhouse.
Louisa stood near the front door, her head tilted to catch something the butler, Morgan, had said. His words, whatever they might be, inspired a saucy grin on Louisa’s face.
Victoria was struck again by how young her cousin’s butler was. His muddy brown hair held not a trace of grey and Victoria had determined he was probably around thirty years of age. He certainly was an ambitious fellow to achieve the position of butler so early in his career.
Louisa’s grin vanished when she caught sight of Victoria. In its place was a nasty smirk. “Well, well, well. Don’t you look...atrocious.” Her cousin shook her head in disgust. “That color does not suit you at all.”
Victoria stilled her tongue. Louisa had chosen the gown for her. Louisa chose all of her gowns. None of them ever fit and all of them were as unfashionable as could be. There was nothing Victoria could do about it. She couldn’t wield a needle and thread to save her life and she certainly hadn’t the money to purchase her own gowns.
Swallowing her frustration, Victoria followed her cousin into the waiting carriage. Louisa’s husband, Mr. Barrett Browne, was Victoria’s guardian. The man rarely paid her any mind, especially when she’d been installed at his manor in Lincolnshire. Recently, after her twenty-fourth birthday, he’d decided his ward should have a Season in order to land a husband and remove herself from his expense sheet. Louisa had not embraced this plan with enthusiasm. She spent as little coin as possible on Victoria’s wardrobe and only reluctantly let Victoria attend various social gatherings with her.
Victoria was not certain why Louisa didn’t try harder to get her married off. She’d be out of her cousin’s hair once and for all, wouldn’t she? But then, who would Louisa order around? Upon whom could she pile insult after insult?
The obvious and unfortunate answer was the household servants. However, Louisa treated them with more respect and dignity than she did Victoria.
Louisa, sitting on the opposite seat of the carriage, looked down her nose. “Do not embarrass me.”
Victoria stared at her cousin. “When do I ever embarrass you?”
“Every time you step out of the house. I have no idea why you couldn’t just be left behind at Rippingale, as usual.”
“If I marry, I’ll be out of your life permanently.”
“It’s not worth the expense. Or my time.”
Victoria nearly deflated at that. It was one thing to know a truth. It was another to hear it given life. Many times over. Her father, God rest his soul, had not been a perfect parent, but he had loved her fiercely and vocally. She tried to keep his voice—and his love—alive in her head and her heart. He had always valued her as a person and she had decided, after his death, that she would be his legacy. No matter what, she would always fight for herself. For her dignity, for her right to speak up, for her right to be seen.
Louisa’s lips widened in a sugary, false smile. “Mr. Browne will see soon enough that wasting money on a Season for you is ridiculous. You’re unlikely to attract anyone’s attention. Plain of face, short as a child, dressed as if you are one pretending to be an adult. Enjoy this rout as it may be your last, if I have my druthers.”
Louisa’s smug chuckle filled the carriage. Victoria closed
her eyes. It was all well and good to insist upon her worth, but it didn’t do much good when Louisa turned a deaf ear. She prayed for mercy. Or, at the least, a decent man willing to marry her.
The coachman drew the vehicle to an abrupt halt. The door swung open and a footman pulled down the steps. Louisa swanned out of the carriage without a look back. Victoria followed gingerly, mindful of the dozens of pins keeping her respectable. Once inside the house—a baron’s if she recalled—they made it through the receiving line without incident. At the entry to the drawing room, Louisa put a hand around Victoria’s upper arm, holding her back.
“Yes, dear cousin?” Victoria asked, trying to keep up pretenses.
“Remember your place. Do not reflect badly on me.”
If that were truly her cousin’s concern, she wouldn’t allow Victoria to be dressed as she was. Victoria turned away, effectively releasing Louisa’s hold, and ventured into crowd.
This wasn’t a ball, only a crushing rout and Victoria needed to find a target and put her best foot forward. At just a couple of inches over five feet, there was no point in trying to survey the room. She must dive in. Despite her urgency, she moved sedately due to the precarious state of her bodice and the long hem of the gown, which threatened to trip her up at any moment. It took her ten precious minutes but at last she spotted a gentleman known to her.
Mr. William Beckersley. Age forty-two. Never married, thank the Lord. In possession of a moderate income, a home of his own in Jermyn Street, and a promising career in the House of Commons. Such a man must be in need of a wife. And lo, here was Victoria, in need of an escape...er, husband.
She hovered nearby while he spoke with another gentleman, a colleague perhaps from the direction of the conversation. Mr. Beckersley was of above average height by an inch or two, possessed a full head of light brown hair, and only a slight bulge of belly pushed his grey waistcoat out. Louisa had been forced to introduce Victoria to him a week ago, when he had come to call on Mr. Browne and she, Louisa, had not been quick enough in ushering (shoving) Victoria upstairs and out of sight. Tonight, that fortuitous introduction would serve her well.
“You’ll speak to Taviston then? I feel the duke can be a great help,” Mr. Beckersley said to his colleague, who nodded.
As soon as the other gentleman turned away, Victoria slipped into the spot he’d held and flashed a smile at Mr. Beckersley. “Why, good evening, sir! How do you do?”
The MP recovered his surprise quickly and smiled graciously. “I am well, Miss...”
“Forster, Victoria Forster. Cousin to Mr. Barrett Browne, if you will recall.” Inside, she cringed at the awkwardness of the meeting, but Victoria could no longer worry about such trivialities. She needed to marry. Beckersley needed a wife. He’d mentioned as much to Louisa last week.
“Ah yes, of course. Forgive my faulty memory.”
His politeness struck her, if only for the contrast to the way Louisa treated her. That boded well. “I wondered if I might speak with you about your search for a wife.”
“My...” His brow furrowed. “I’m sure I do not know—”
Victoria stepped nearer. “Please forgive my forwardness, sir. I heard you speaking with Mrs. Browne about your desire to wed. I simply wanted to campaign for the position.” Perhaps he would find the political vocabulary endearing?
“Miss Forster, this is quite unorthodox.”
She shook her head, agreeing. “And yet, I do not think I will disappoint, Mr. Beckersley. I am young, eager to wed, and well-educated in the art of running a household.” Only two of those things were true. She could learn all she needed to know about household management once she was securely married.
His jaw had gone slack. Then his gaze skittered around the room. She was losing him. “All I ask, sir, is that you consider me. I’m certain we would suit.” She would make sure of it.
“Mr. B! How are you this fine evening?” Louisa blew into their sphere, eyes bright and voice loud.
Beckersley once again smiled with grace and bowed. “Good evening, Mrs. Browne.”
Louisa tipped her head nearer to him and lowered her voice. “I am so sorry.”
His eyebrows rose. “Ma’am?”
With the slightest gesture, she indicated Victoria. “I’ve asked Mr. Browne to let me leave her home. For her own good, of course. One day some unscrupulous gentleman will take her up on her salacious propositions.” Louisa draped a hand on her throat. “She has no idea what she’s saying, poor dear. Certainly you, though, are wise enough to realize how her words could trap you. I can sense...”
Victoria had heard enough. It was clear from the aghast look on Mr. Beckersley’s face that Louisa had ruined any chance she’d have with him. She turned abruptly, once again looking to escape.
Rrrrippp.
The sickening sound seemed to echo all around Victoria. She stumbled but was able to look down just in time to see Louisa lift her heeled shoe off the hem of Victoria’s dress.
“Oh, do be careful, cousin,” Louisa said, her voice dripping with faux concern.
Victoria gathered up the torn skirt of the horrid green gown and careened toward the nearest exit. Unmindful of everyone and everything, she collided with and then bounced off the back of a dark grey superfine coat. She mumbled an apology to the right shoulder as someone else distracted the occupant of the coat with a greeting. “Ah, Taviston. How do you do this evening, Your Grace?”
With renewed urgency, she steered herself toward the ladies’ withdrawing room. Once inside that sanctuary, she collapsed in a heap on one of the chairs. She would not cry. She never did, no matter what Louisa threw at her. This was the first time her cousin had ever intimated she was a strumpet, however.
Still, she would not cry.
“Miss, does your gown need repairing?” The maid stationed within the room spoke up. “I’m fair handy with a needle.”
Victoria sighed and managed a genuine smile at the kind offer. “Thank you, yes, my skirt has ripped.”
The young maid indicated she should stand, so she rose. Digging in her basket, the girl withdrew a needle and thread. She sat back on her heels, eyeing the gown. “Well, no wonder it’s torn. It’s much too long. I can fix that in a trifle.”
And she did. In a matter of fifteen minutes, the gown was appropriately hemmed, and Victoria could walk freely.
“Thank you so much, Lizzy. You’ve saved me from further embarrassment.” As long as Louisa stayed away from her.
Victoria slipped her hand into the dangling inside pocket of her dress and withdrew a coin. It wasn’t much, but Lizzy deserved it. The girl bobbed a curtsy as Victoria headed once more into milieu.
She stood on the edge of the room, trying to plan her next move. She’d have a much better chance of landing a husband if Louisa weren’t present. However, she must play with the hand she’d been dealt.
“Miss Forster, is it?”
Startled, Victoria looked up to see a youngish man, blond hair swept forward a la Byron, grinning down at her. She did not know him.
“I am, and who might you be?” A prince from a far-off land? A suitor who had fallen in love with her from across the room? Wishful thinking.
“Henry Woodard, at your service.”
He swept her an elegant bow that was not at all appropriate for her lowly station. Victoria’s neck tingled in apprehension, but she curtsied anyway.
Mr. Woodard stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I hear you are looking for a man.”
“I beg your pardon?” She kept her voice neutral, unwilling to scare off this random man without knowing what he wanted. These were desperate times indeed.
“Rumor going around the card room,” he said with a roguish smile. “In need of a husband, are you?”
She was, but his tone indicated they each understood “need” to mean different things. He dipped his head low and she caught a whiff of alcohol-laced punch.
“I don’t particularly care whose bastard you’ve got hiding in there�
�� —he gestured toward her abdomen— “as long as you’ve got a large dowry sitting in the bank.”
She would not dignify that with a response. Victoria slithered along the wall until she could escape—yet again—into the crowd. This time, thank to Lizzy, she could move quickly and so disappeared before the odious Mr. Woodward could even stand up straight. Eventually, she wound up in a corner of the room where a number of chairs were set in rows. Most of them were occupied by older women who probably tired easily. Victoria had never been more grateful for a gift. She lowered herself into a seat between two of them, secure in the knowledge that no more rogues would approach her with outrageous propositions. She could only imagine what Louisa’s response would be if she heard these rumors. She spent the rest of the evening observing the interactions of those around her and regretting her lack of a dowry.
Well, it wasn’t so much that she didn’t have a dowry. It was that the sum was a paltry one hundred pounds. She’d secretly hoped Mr. Browne would add to that total, in order to expedite a marriage proposal. But alas, so far, he had not.
When Louisa finally came to collect her after midnight, Victoria said goodbye to her new friend, Lady Smitherton, who had sat to her right. Once in the carriage, to her utter relief, Louisa tipped her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. Not a word was said about rumors.
Thank goodness for small favors.
Chapter Two
“Miss! Miss! See here, whatever are you doing out alone at this time of night?”
Lost in the recollection of her observations at the rout, Victoria slowly turned her gaze to the man whose voice had shattered her tranquility. The fresh night air was just what she needed to plan out her sketches. Apparently, someone thought otherwise. The man’s long stride ate up the pavement of Grosvenor Square as he approached her, greatcoat flying behind him as if he were a bat on the attack. He drew to a halt directly in front of her. Her pet, Arthur, abandoned the worm he’d been inspecting and ambled over to sniff the intruder’s boots.