Beguiling The Duke. Eva Shepherd
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face. ‘Not this again. You and your plans to modernise will be the death of me. If you marry the American you won’t have to worry about silly steam trains and traction engines. I want to look out on people using scythes to bring in the harvest—not horrible pieces of wheezing and coughing machinery.’
‘That’s as may be, Mother, but I’m sure the tenants would rather live on a prosperous estate, where their homes and livelihoods are protected, than in poverty in what you see as a picturesque setting.’
‘Oh, pish-posh.’ The Dowager waved her fan more rapidly. ‘Anyway, you’re twenty-eight now. It’s time you married. You shouldn’t let that unfortunate incident with Lydia Beaufort put you off marriage for ever.’
Alexander clenched his jaw so tightly it began to ache. Unfortunate incident. Was that how his mother described something that had all but devastated him?
He inhaled deeply to release the tension gripping his neck and shoulders. ‘Lydia Beaufort has nothing to do with me not wanting to marry the American. And that, Mother, is my final word on the subject.’
It might be his final word, but he knew from experience it would not be his mother’s.
She frowned her disapproval and looked around the room, as if seeking further support for her argument. She spotted Charlotte, sitting quietly in the corner reading a book.
‘What about your sister?’
Charlotte looked up. ‘What about me?’
‘Well, you’re going to need a husband soon. Heaven only knows no man is going to want to marry a girl who reads as much as you do and is always getting involved in these ridiculous social causes unless she comes with a decent dowry. Your brother wouldn’t be so selfish as to deny you the happiness of marriage.’
Charlotte slammed shut her book. ‘For your information, I have no intention of—’
Alexander shook his head slightly, giving his younger sister a silent signal that now was not the time to fight that particular battle with their mother.
Charlotte scowled at her mother and forcefully opened her book again, breaking the spine. She frowned at what she had done, and then went back to reading.
‘I will make sure Charlotte is well provided for,’ Alexander said.
‘Yes, and you can make sure she is well provided for by marrying Arabella van Haven.’
Alexander shook his head and sighed audibly.
‘Anyway,’ the Dowager continued, undeterred. ‘It’s all arranged. I’ve invited her to a house party this weekend. You’ll be able to discover for yourself just how ideal a bride she will make and how lucky the man will be who marries her.’
Alexander sprang to his feet. ‘You’ve done what?’
‘Oh, sit down, Alexander, and don’t glare at me like that. I’ve invited her for the weekend. It will give you a chance to get to know her.’
‘Mother, haven’t I told you often enough that we need to economise? We cannot afford to host lavish parties.’
The Dowager flicked her fan at him. ‘It’s just a small house party—nothing too elaborate. And you can see it as an investment in the future. Isn’t that what you’re always going on about? Well, meeting Miss van Haven will be an investment in your future.’
She sent him a victorious smile.
‘Putting aside the complete lack of logic in your argument, you’ve invited her here under false pretences. I won’t lie to her. I will make it clear at the first opportunity that I will not be marrying her.’
‘Oh, you and that overblown sense of honesty. You were just as bad when you were a boy, but I would have thought you’d have grown out of it by now.’
‘Would you prefer it if I told lies, the way Father and Grandfather did?’
The way Lydia Beaufort did.
His mother’s lips tightened, but she made no reply.
‘Our family has lost just about everything. Surely you don’t expect me to lose my belief in the importance of honesty as well? And if Arabella van Haven is as virtuous as you say she is then I’m sure she will also believe in the value of honesty and will want to know the truth.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard she does value honesty in all things. I’ve also heard she’s modest, gentle, demure, and temperate in all areas. And they say that she...’
Alexander sat down and sighed as his mother went back to listing the litany of virtues possessed by the apparently saintly Arabella van Haven.
It seemed his mother would not be stopped in her plan to make her the next Duchess of Knightsbrook, and he was going to have to endure the company of the title-seeking heiress for the weekend. But eventually his mother and the American would both realise his mind was made up, and Arabella van Haven would have to pursue some other duke, earl or marquess desperate for American dollars—because the position of his wife was not for sale.
It was magnificent. Simply magnificent.
Rosie stood just inside the entrance of Knightsbrook House and looked up at the ornate domed window in the ceiling, shedding a soft light over the two-storey entrance hall. She tried to settle her breathing as she took in the opulence and grandeur of it all.
The coach trip through the estate’s parklands had been no less spectacular, with its seemingly endless parade of trees festooned with spring foliage. When the trees had cleared and she’d first seen the expansive four-storey house standing proudly beside a large lake, dominating the landscape around it, her resolve had faltered. Arabella’s father was a man of immense wealth, but this was something more than just wealth. The house seemed to proclaim that here was the home of one of England’s oldest and noblest families—one that was reverently referred to as ‘old money’.
Rosie inhaled slowly and deeply. She would not be overawed by her surroundings. Nor would she be daunted by the stern looks of the ancestors staring down at her from the oil paintings that lined the walls of the expansive hall. Arabella’s happiness depended on her keeping her nerve.
She just had to remember who these people really were. They were a stuffy aristocratic family who had fallen on hard times. They were people so arrogant that they thought all they had to do was dangle a title in front of a rich American and then they could continue to live in splendour, despite having lost all their own money.
Well, they were about to find out that not all Americans were quite so easily bought. They needed to be taught a lesson, and she was just the woman to do it.
A man and a woman appeared at the top of the grand staircase and began the long descent.
‘That must be them, the rascals.’ Nellie scowled beside her. ‘Go teach them a lesson, Rosie.’
Rosie tried to calm her breathing and stifle her fluttering nerves. She just had to remember that she was no longer poor Rosie Smith. She was Arabella van Haven, daughter of a wealthy and influential banker. And she was a young woman whose tendency to misbehave in polite society made her a decidedly unsuitable bride for a member of the aristocracy.
‘Right...’ She gave Nellie a pointed look. ‘It’s time for Arabella to put on a show.’
Rosie spread out her arms wide, smiled and started twirling. Round and round she went, faster and faster, down the length of the entrance hall, her satin skirt spreading out around her in a pale blue circle.
The black and white marble floor tiles merged into one swirling mass. Priceless Chinese urns whooshed past her face. She whirled past statues, past the paintings of the ancestors, all the while emitting a loud whoo-whee noise. Dizzier