The Duke’s Undying Devotion (Forged Alliances #3)

CHAPTER 1 The Past

The Past

Oakley Hall, The Duke of Aycliffe Estate

Her parents had betrayed her.

It said something about her relationship with them that she wasn’t shocked by this. What angered her was she had not realized their intentions until this moment, when her mother, in her most smug tone, had announced that they had promised her to Lord Montfort, the Duke of Aycliffe’s heir.

“Well? Aren’t you happy, you ungrateful girl? What do you have to say about this, Josephine?”

Her mother’s voice, shrill and petulant, pierced through her shock.

Happy? No, she couldn’t say she was happy to be promised to a man she had never met, had seen only once from afar, and knew only by his reputation as a rake. The match may seem advantageous—a rich, young, and reportedly good-looking heir to a dukedom. But it was not what she was looking for.

Hot and cold raced through her as she sank into the lovely settee embroidered with flowers.

The sumptuous room she had been assigned at the Duke of Aycliffe’s estate disappeared along with her dreams of marrying for love.

Of finding someone to love her. All she saw was a gilded cage.

She had walked into a trap, and the door had slammed shut behind her.

The house party she had been glad to attend, as she thought it would give her a reprieve from the London season and a chance to visit one of England’s most famed gardens, now took on a sinister note. The entire reason for the party was to announce the engagement.

But why now? Her parents had promised her three seasons in which to find a suitable husband.

This was just the second. And she was trying.

She had cultivated every feminine grace that was required of a debutante.

She attended every ball. Conversed and danced with every eligible gentleman.

She had even been courted by a few…none that had turned her head or won her heart, but at least a couple of them she thought she could come to care about with time.

Her father had refused to even entertain their suit.

Even as she pondered the question, the answer came to her.

Of course her parents never had any intention of honoring their promise.

They had just made it to ensure her cooperation—nay, her enthusiastic participation in the season.

To make it easier to parade her through the ton until they could find someone to foist her upon.

Someone to their liking, not hers. Someone they considered suitable and well connected.

Without her knowledge, they had been auctioning her to the highest bidder.

That’s all she was worth to them. A daughter was not as valuable as a son.

A daughter could not inherit. Her only value to them was as a pawn for advantageous alliances.

And their criteria for what constituted an advantageous match differed greatly from hers. She didn’t care so much about titles as she did about character. Didn’t focus so much on money as she did on kindness.

She could never be happy with a rakehell of a husband. He would ignore her and shame her. How could she respect or love such a man? And if, by some pathetic flaw in her character, she was stupid enough to succumb to any tender feelings for such a man, he would only break her heart.

Either way, she would be unhappy. Forever.

Marriage was until death. She had never known love in the twenty-one years of her life, but she believed it existed and had hoped to achieve the happy state of loving and being loved.

Marriage was her only chance of having a loving home.

But she wouldn’t get that if she married the wrong man.

She had to try to untangle herself from this.

“I thought we had an agreement that you would give me three seasons in which to find a suitable husband.” She was proud her voice came out even and suitably composed.

“Bah,” her mother swatted the air with her hand, dismissing her concern as if it were an annoying fly.

“As if you could ever do better. He’s the heir to a duke and a fine young man at that.

You should be thanking us for arranging such a brilliant match for you.

Lord Montfort is the catch of the season.

Every debutante will be jealous of you.”

Josephine didn’t give a fig what other debutantes thought. But she saw the futility of arguing with her parents. They had achieved the biggest coup possible. Had secured the pinnacle of a grand alliance. Nothing short of a miracle would make them desist from this course.

She could always defy them, of course. No one could force her to walk down the aisle or say her vows.

Not in theory at least. There were other ways to force people against their wishes. What would her parents do if she took such a rebellious stance?

She shivered. At best, they would banish her to the most remote of their estates. If they felt sufficiently vengeful—and she feared were she to reject a future duke may provoke exactly that—they could go so far as to have her committed. It was so easy to have someone declared insane or hysterical.

She needed to tread carefully. Outright defiance was not an option. She had to be subtle and think. What if her intended canceled the engagement? Maybe he didn’t want this any more than she did. If she could convince him of their unsuitability, surely she would be held blameless, would she not?

“Of course, Mother,” she belatedly replied to her mother’s last comment. “Now, could I rest for a bit before dinner? I’m exhausted from traveling and want to look my best tonight when I meet my intended.”

This reply, uttered in a respectful and demure manner, seemed to satisfy her mother.

“You do that. I myself might rest for a bit. Just make sure your maid wakes you in time to get ready for dinner.”

With that, her mother turned and swept from the room, leaving behind the lingering ghost of her overpowering and utterly unsuitable perfume. The cloying scent was a perfect reflection of the unwelcome news—intrusive, oppressive, and impossible to ignore.

The walls were closing in on her. Contrary to what she told her mother, she had no intention of napping. She was too agitated for that. What she needed was fresh air and green vegetation. Flowers and nature. She always thought better outside.

Grabbing a shawl, she sneaked out of the room and into the freedom of the outdoors.

The late afternoon sunshine gilded the magnificent gardens of Oakleigh Hall, the ancestral estate of the Dukes of Aycliffe, highlighting their beauty and giving them an almost otherworldly appearance.

They were empty at this hour, which suited her.

She longed to enjoy them in solitude. To escape her problems by getting lost among the manicured hedges, cascading fountains and riotous flowerbeds.

They welcomed her like a warm, perfumed embrace.

The scent of roses and lavender drifted to her nose, leading her deeper into the gardens as she inhaled deeply. It seemed it was the first real inhale she had taken in hours. Days.

When she was far enough away from the house, she turned. There was something haunting about these gardens that went beyond their beauty. Something ineffable, but real. A feeling they inspired that soothed the soul and calmed her spirit.

In the distance, beyond the emerald expanse, the grand house rose like a palace from a fairytale. If this was such an enchanted realm, did that make her intended her true love match? She chuckled at her own fancifulness. She was definitely past the age of believing in fairytales.

It seemed as if she was trying to talk herself into this marriage by inventing fanciful notions.

She pivoted, turning her back on the house and gardens. A few more steps brought her to the entrance of a maze. Before plunging into the green tunnels, she let her gaze roam once more over the gardens of the estate her fiancé would one day inherit.

She needed to think. To strategize. What possible excuse could she give to refuse to marry the young, wealthy, and purportedly handsome heir to a dukedom? If she told her parents she wanted love, devotion, faithfulness, they would think she had taken leave of her senses.

Perhaps she had. Perhaps the match her parents had arranged was the best she could hope for.

As if you could ever do better.

Her mother’s words came back to taunt her. She had to admit that in a year and a half of endless teas, stilted conversations, and glittering ballrooms, she had found no trace of the love she longed for.

She knew it existed. Even in society's artificial glow, she had glimpsed true affection between some couples.

But perhaps she wasn’t made to inspire it.

Her parents knew her best, didn’t they? And they had never found her especially lovable. Not as a child, not now. Perhaps this arrangement was their way of doing what they thought best for a daughter who lacked whatever mysterious quality made one worthy of being loved.

She turned down another lane, traveling deeper into the maze. The aromas of lilies, gardenias, and roses perfumed the air here, wooing her nose. Given the right circumstances, she could be happy here.

So what if her husband didn’t love her? No one ever had. And possibly no one ever would. She had to face reality and adjust her expectations. Not a grand love, then. But maybe a congenial union?

Unfortunately, she didn’t know if even that would be possible with Lord Montford. This proposed engagement meant so little to him that he hadn’t even attempted to make her acquaintance, much less court her.

Unless…Maybe he was as unhappy with this arrangement as she was. Maybe his parents had contrived this union without his consent, just as hers had.

If that was the case, she might find an ally in him. She would withhold judgment until she met Lord Montfort and was able to ascertain if there could be genuine affection between them.

The rumble of deep, masculine voices arrested her step. She stilled, straining to hear where the voices came from. Was there someone else in the maze? Meeting a strange man in this secluded part of the gardens, alone, could be ruinous.

Stepping quietly so as to not give away her presence, she turned down a different path. But instead of getting farther from the voices, she seemed to be getting nearer, until she got close enough to discern words and snippets of conversation.

She shamelessly eavesdropped, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. As the identity of the other visitors to the maze became evident, a plan formed in her mind. This could be the opportunity she needed. If she dared seize it.