Better Than a Duke

Prologue

The coach, a blue-and-yellow coat of arms emblazoned on either door, turned up the long drive of a large, stern house replete with turrets and gargoyles along the roofline.

The coat of arms, a bear with a dismayed-looking falcon in its mouth, seemed cheerier than the mansion, though the coach’s occupant wasn’t particularly fond of either.

Changing a three-hundred-year-old coat of arms, though, was devilish difficult, especially when other family members, who apparently disliked falcons, found it fierce.

Once the coach stopped, Beckett Raines, the Marquis of Hentrose, descended to the crushed oystershell drive and headed for the front door, which opened as he approached. A large, broad-shouldered man in yellow-and-black livery rushed out into the sunlight to meet him.

“My lord! We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

“We only stopped long enough to change horses,” Beckett said, handing over his hat and gloves as he continued into the house. “And I’m only staying long enough to hear this Season’s version of ‘the serious speech.’”

“No tea, then, my lord?” the butler asked, following him inside.

“No. An orange would be appreciated. Oranges are portable.”

“Very good, my lord. The dowager marchioness is in the morning room.”

“Thank you, Loomis.” Beckett turned right, up the side hallway. “Is she sitting in the morning room, or lurking behind the baubles cabinet, ready to spring out and terrify me?”

The butler cleared his throat. “Sitting, my lord. Last I saw her.”

“Ah. Unexpected. The orange, if you please. I’m famished.” Taking out his pocket watch to check the time, he walked into the long, opulent morning room. “Good morning, Mother.”

Georgiana Raines, the Dowager Marchioness of Hentrose, remained seated on the sofa, an open letter in one hand. Polished, petite, and sweet-looking—like a snake just before it struck. “You’re a day early, Beckett,” she said, setting the letter aside. “And where is Rebecca?”

“Your letter said it was vital that I call on you before the Season. I am doing so. What I am not going to do, however, is argue with you about my lack of a wife in front of my daughter.” He dropped into the chair opposite her. “I presume that’s what this summons is about.”

“Of course it is.”

“Who have you found for me this time, then? And be quick about it; I told Rebecca I’d be home tomorrow morning by nine o’clock.” He pulled out his watch again, clicking it open. “Which with continued good weather gives you … seven minutes.”

“You make it sound like I do nothing but hurl females at you. That isn’t so, you know. A name doesn’t pass from my lips to your ear until I have personally investigated, interviewed, and approved the lady in question.”

“Well, the female you hurl at me today will be the sixteenth chit in the past eight years. I believe your standards may be too low.”

The dowager marchioness lifted her teacup and took a sip, eyeing him over the rim. “I find it industrious of me, identifying two acceptable ladies a year. And don’t bother telling me there was only one this year and four that year or that I sent one after you twice. It doesn’t signify.”

Beckett drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “No, I don’t suppose it does. Not with only six minutes remaining. Who is it? And I told you, no more debutantes. They’re nearer in age to Rebecca now than they are to me.”

“Thirty is not ancient, Beckett. And a great many wealthy, powerful men prefer young wives.”

“I’m one-and-thirty. And no.” He stood. “If you mean to toss a child at me, I’m leaving now.”

“She’s not a debutante, for heaven’s sake. Sit down.”

He sat again, sinking back in the chair and swinging his watch back and forth over one mahogany arm. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.” It wasn’t curiosity; rather, until he knew who the dowager marchioness meant to send after him, he couldn’t finalize his strategy to evade capture.

“The granddaughter of the Duke of Milton. Lady Pauline Grenedy. She is four-and-twenty, not some young thing just out of school, but a polished, popular, well-prepared, and well-respected young woman. And she’s lovely.”

Duke’s family members, now. His mother must have been desperate, to consider adding someone of higher rank into her family circle, even as an in-law. “How many granddaughters does old Milton have now?” Beckett drawled, crossing his ankles. “Nine?”

“Oh, who knows. But she is one of them. Which means she has a very blue-blooded pedigree. She also has a great deal of common sense and is brilliant at navigating among her—and your—peers.”

His eye twitched. Common sense was a good thing for a woman to have.

As were skills at charting a safe course through the aristocracy.

And both were on his unwritten list of characteristics he’d want in a wife if he ever remarried.

“How is she brilliant at navigating?” he asked.

“That’s a rather nebulous description. Has she never beached a ship in the shallows?

Can she twirl through an entire ballroom without knocking aside a single dowager and simultaneously prevent pirates from boarding her schooner? ”

“You spend far too much time in your daughter’s company, Beckett. That’s what nannies and governesses are for, you know. To teach them arithmetic, and to keep them from being loud.”

“I enjoy Rebecca’s company. We’re composing a poem, presently. Its theme is the brevity of spring. ‘Sunny’ rhymes with ‘bunny,’ I’ve been informed, though I suspect the poem is subterfuge and she’s angling to make a pet of the little spotted one that’s been eating the garden flowers.”

Georgiana Raines sniffed. “Good God, Beckett. I don’t know where you learned to raise a child, but it wasn’t from me.”

“It certainly was not, Mother. Four minutes.”

If she heard the insult, she ignored it, which didn’t surprise him.

His mother had a remarkable ability to not care about anyone’s opinion but her own.

“Lady Pauline and her two older sisters have taken turns running their parents’ household since they each turned sixteen.

She understands how a house works and what being a wife and a hostess entails.

” His mother took another sip of tea. “She knows you’re a widower, that you have a daughter, that you need a son, and that you do not have a fondness for helpless fluttering and fainting. ”

And there it was, the inevitable mud-flinging in the direction of his late wife. “That’s your way of referring to Lydia, I suppose?”

“Is there a more accurate way to describe her? Flibbertigibbet, perhaps?” She waved a hand at him. “We both know Lydia Langford Raines’s life was a short, utterly bewildered tragedy.”

“Lydia was young,” he countered. “As was I. I wish she hadn’t agreed with everything I said, or believed everything anyone else said, or thought herself some sort of heroine from a Shakespearean tragedy, but she did give me Rebecca.”

“Yes, and she named your daughter on her deathbed so you wouldn’t change it. Becky and Beckett. So very amusing.”

“Rebecca,” he countered, emphasizing his daughter’s full name, “delights in stories about her mother, and neither of us will see Lydia impugned because you want me to remarry. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes. I’ve stepped too far. I’ve only been trying to see you and your succession settled for eight years, after I honored your full year of mourning.

Perhaps that has something to do with my impatience.

I know it’s not mourning stopping you now, and you certainly weren’t celibate before you married, so I can only assume you’ve been waiting to find the right lady. And I’ve found her for you.”

“If I wanted to remarry, I might wish to find a bride for myself, you know. Two minutes.”

“Just like you found Lydia, I assume? That went well. I did warn you that she was flighty.”

“She was sweet,” he countered. Sweet and silly. And after ten days of courtship and a special license to marry it had taken only a month of marriage for him to realize that that was the sum of her.

“For heaven’s sake, Beckett, as you noted, you’re one-and-thirty.

You need a male heir. And a wife who can introduce Rebecca into Society when it’s time, one who can host your soirees and charm your allies into supporting your causes, and one who can teach your daughter how to behave like a lady—and not like a man at his gentlemen’s club. Rebecca’s far too outspoken already.”

“She’s nine, for God’s sake. All nine-year-olds are outspoken.” He grinned. “This past spring she realized that one can collect seashells rather than just purchasing them. I’m going to have to take her to Dover or Brighton before the end of the Season.”

“It’s admirable that you dote on her, I suppose.

But she cannot inherit your title. That honor is presently held by your daft second cousin, Percival Farby.

And I refuse to allow that drooling looby to take the reins of this family.

So you will sit down with Lady Pauline, realize she is perfect for you, and offer for her. ”

“You seem to be skipping a great many steps, and making an even greater number of assumptions.”

“I only have one minute remaining.” She sat forward.

“Just listen to me, Beckett. You know I’m correct.

Eventually Rebecca will marry and leave home, and you’ll be alone, lonely, and knowing that your nearest relations are doing nothing more than waiting for you to expire.

I don’t expect you to fall head over heels with anyone.

I don’t think you want to fall in love. But a partnership, someone to aid your efforts and support them—that’s just logical.

And a son from that union would assure that the Raineses will continue as Lords of Hentrose.

And that Rebecca and her own offspring will be cared for long after you and I have succumbed. ”

Damnation. He hated it when she made sense. And in truth he had been thinking that Rebecca needed a mother to help her grow into the young lady she was already becoming. To teach her to navigate Society, in ways that would never even occur to him.

Beckett stood to look out the window. Just beyond, his coach waited on the front drive, ready to whisk him back home to Lincolnshire and Hentrose Park. Time was up, in more ways than one. “She likes children? Lady Pauline does, I mean?”

“She tells me that she does. Her grandmother says Pauline is the most levelheaded and even-handed of all her granddaughters.”

“So you’ve spoken to the duchess, too.” He turned to look at her, lifting an eyebrow. “And the duke, I assume? Just what have you done, Mother?”

“I’ve made no promises. But I have cleared your path.

His Grace the Duke of Milton approves of you joining his family.

He did question if you were still as overly …

jovial as you once were, but I assured him that you’ve become solemn and staid in your widowerhood.

I did not mention your cynicism or your present fondness for sarcasm. ”

“Well, thank God you didn’t call me dull.” Narrowing his eyes, he took a moment to interpret what she’d said and what she hadn’t said. Recognizing the canyon that lay between the two had saved him on more than one occasion. “You made no promises,” he repeated. “What did you give Milton?”

She sipped her tea. “Oh, pish. I only said that you were eager to find a new wife, and that you weren’t one to play with people’s feelings or reputations.”

“So you merely implied strongly that I would be offering for Lady—”

“As I said,” she pressed, “Lady Pauline has a great deal of common sense. In short, she is not someone who will drive you mad. She is logical and practical with a mind of her own, and the refinement to know when to use it. A perfect match both for you and for your high-spirited daughter.”

He couldn’t deny that both his household and his daughter could use a bit more refinement, and sooner rather than later—and not from his blasted mother.

With an inward sigh he faced the window again.

“Rebecca and I leave for Mayfair in ten days. When we arrive in London, I will meet with Lady Pauline Grenedy. She may have passed your examinations, but she hasn’t yet passed mine.

Or Rebecca’s. Because I am a father more than I will ever again be a husband. ”

“I’ll arrange it, though considering this is your family’s future we’re discussing, you might wish to avoid relying on a nine-year-old’s preferences.”

“Rebecca does have a fondness for anything pink. Or furry.” Beckett blew out his breath, facing the dowager marchioness again.

“As you said, my needs are competency, common sense, and aiding me in my duties—and most importantly, the mastery of propriety that will help Rebecca grow into womanhood. You are not to speak to the Duke of Milton about me without my permission. And now I’ll be going. ”

“You might stay and have a glass of wine to celebrate.”

“There’s a reason I live two days’ drive from this property and your gargoyles, Mother. And it’s not so I can drop by and celebrate your scheming with you.”

“The gargoyles keep me company. I chose Bellmire House for the view, and for the stone monsters. Not because of its distance from Hentrose Park.”

“Then I’m just lucky, I suppose, that the gargoyles chose a roof in Leicestershire.”

“Farsighted creatures, gargoyles are. I’ll see you in Mayfair, my dear.”