Chaperoned By Her Enemy Duke (Love and Yearning in the Ton #1)

Prologue

At only seventeen years of age, Lord George Ellsworth, the Earl of Ellsworth, ought to have been looking favourably upon his future.

After all, he was set to be the Duke of Cumberland one day, as his mother so often reminded him – his father forever threatening that it would never come about if he did not step up and commit to the duties he had set before him.

But in the gardens at Fernworth Manor, the residence of his oldest and truest friends, he found himself mulling over another future set to befall him.

Perched on the fountain wall at the very centre of the gardens, he kicked his legs, deep in thought, unable to admire the beauty surrounding him as he had once done.

No longer did the birds seem to sing, nor did the butterflies shine so brilliantly in the early afternoon sunshine.

Even if they had, he would not have noticed for his mind was entirely set upon the war.

Napoleon had been causing trouble for several years, and up to now, he had been safe in the knowledge that he was too young to join in the fray.

But the years had passed, and the time had come for his decision to be made.

Or rather, king and country had made it for him.

Soon he would be shipped off to France to join his comrades, whether he liked it or not.

And the thought of it, of leaving all of this behind, terrified him.

“George?”

At first, he barely heard her for he was too deep in his mind.

But there had never been any chance of ignoring Lady Cecelia Flannery. At only fifteen years of age, she was already blooming into a lovely young lady, at least on the outside. Though the thought of her ever being the prim and proper young lady her mother hoped her to be was laughable.

As she stood before him, her raven-black hair all-atumble as if she had been playing in the nearby hedgerows, George couldn’t help taking note of her.

Drawn from his inner melancholy by her striking green gaze, George couldn’t help offering a smile. It felt weak upon his lips, and he fought against the lump in his throat.

It was her he would miss the most.

“George, whatever is the matter?”

The concern was raw in her voice and just like that she dropped down onto the wall beside him, laying a hand upon his in a most unladylike manner.

He ought to have removed his hand, he ought to have reminded her that they ought to keep their distance now as she drew closer to coming of age, as he was seventeen and considered an eligible bachelor for all the ton to croon over.

Yet, at that moment, he desired her touch, her comforting gaze, and the way she brushed her shoulder against his.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. His light brown locks – that had grown too long for his mother’s liking – fell forward to frame his face before he brushed them back behind his ears with his free hand.

“Come on, Georgie, you know you can’t hide anything from me,” she said, cocking her head in a way that reminded him of one of his father’s spaniels.

He might have laughed at that had he not been so down.

With a half-smile, he squeezed Cecelia’s hand.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cece,” he said, and it was the truth. There was nobody he would rather be sitting there with at that moment than her.

And as if she sensed he required further comfort, she leaned in closer, her fingers gripping his tighter.

“Wherever else should I be than my own gardens?” she pointed out, her voice thrumming with amusement. Cece could always be counted upon to lighten the mood no matter what was occurring.

“I suppose that is true,” George responded, dropping his gaze to his now stilled feet.

“George, what is it?” Cece pressed. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me. I have never seen you so quiet and studious.”

George bit the inside of his lip. He ought not to whisper a word of how he was feeling. He ought to follow his father’s rules to keep everyone and anyone from knowing his business, his inner turmoil, his struggles. A duke was to comport himself respectfully, in a businesslike manner, always.

And yet, he was no duke, yet, and this was Cece. How could he not admit to her how he was feeling?

“I …” He stammered, struggling to find the words. “I’m frightened, Cece.”

The second the words left his mouth, George started regretting them.

Had she been anyone else, she would have got up and laughed at him, mocking him for his sincerity.

Yet, Cece was not that kind of lady. She would not hurt him in such a manner.

Instead, she turned on the wall to look directly at him as she asked, “Frightened of what?”

“Of leaving, of going to France,” he admitted unable to utter the words, of going to war, and yet, thinking them all the same. Of leaving you.

“Oh, George,” Cece whispered, her gaze softening.

And there it was, the reason that George found himself falling for this beautiful young lady repeatedly.

Rambunctious, rebellious, messy. Those were all words to describe the girl sitting beside him. Those were the characteristics that everyone knew of her, but there was another side to Cece. A side so rarely seen by the world, a side that George liked to think was only reserved for those she loved.

“You need not worry,” she insisted, taking his hand in both of hers.

“I am quite certain they shall not put you on the frontlines. You’re your father’s heir, the heir to Cumberland.

I am certain all will be done to ensure you come home safely.

And you will do all you can to come home safely, won’t you? ”

The concern in her gaze deepened and tugged on George’s heartstrings until he felt the urge to pull her into his embrace. Fighting it with all his might, he instead laid his free hand upon top of hers, squeezing her fingers between both his hands.

“I shall always come back to you, Cece,” he promised her, his lip trembling a little as he attempted to find the words to tell her the truth, to tell her that when he returned home, he wished to see her secured, to see her happy.

He closed his eyes, able to imagine a future beyond the war, beyond all the fear he felt, a future with her.

And when he opened his eyes once more, he was prepared to tell her so, to see if perhaps she felt the same. After all, how could he leave without knowing how she truly felt?

Yet, before he could utter a single word, the sound of laughter came rushing towards them.

“Cece! George! Come and play with us!”

It was Mary, Cece’s younger sister, almost as rambunctious as Cece herself, yet not nearly so charming.

She was followed quickly by Catherine, their other sister, and Walter and Elizabeth, the children of one of the other lords whose residences were close by.

All young and innocent, George felt his heart clench at the thought of leaving them all.

Their faces – so happy and carefree – only made him more terrified of the future that was soon to befall him.

He gripped Cece’s hand all the tighter but as if she had suddenly remembered her mother’s important lessons, she snatched her hands away and rose to her feet.

“What game are you playing?” she asked as the group stopped before them, Catherine gazing between them as if she had noticed the moment they had been having upon their arrival.

“I do hope we are not interrupting anything,” the second sister said, but neither Cece nor George had the chance to respond.

“We’re going to play blind man’s bluff,” Mary explained, lifting the pale blue scarf in her hand.

“Hey, that’s my scarf,” Cece protested, reaching for the garment, yet Mary was quicker, swiftly snatching it out of her reach.

“Then you had better play with us if you wish for it back,” Mary insisted, her smile beaming. She turned to Elizabeth and added, “I think she is frightened of losing, don’t you?”

“I am not,” Cece protested, and this time, when she reached for the scarf, she managed to pluck it from her sister’s hand. “Though I do believe that George should be ‘it’ first. He is, after all, the oldest amongst us.”

“I thought the youngest always went first,” George blurted, his cheeks reddening as he saw the amusement on his friends’ faces.

“What’s the matter, George? Are you worried you might lose?” Cece goaded, wafting the scarf in his face.

Rising to his full height, towering over the younger children, George glowered at her.

“Everyone is always worried they will lose against you, Cece,” he pointed out, and she looked at him playfully.

“It isn’t my fault I’m too clever for you,” she said, and George couldn’t help laughing. Were her mother there she would have scolded her for disrespecting his intelligence. But that was another thing George loved about Cece, her desire to challenge him at every turn.

And so, he folded the scarf and prepared to tie it around his head.

“We shall see about that, won’t we?”

The looks that passed between the others suggested that perhaps they too felt the tension between the pair, though if they did, they made no mention of it.

“Here, let me help you,” Cece said, once more showing him that softer side of her as she slipped around to his back and helped him to tie the scarf.

Though the world around him went dark, there was no mistaking the light he felt shining at his back as Cece’s fingertips brushed the back of his neck.

He shivered involuntarily, praying that nobody else had noticed.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Mary asked, and everyone started to laugh.

“Even if he could see, he wouldn’t tell you,” Walter pointed out, and the corner of George’s lips twitched upwards with amusement.

“I promise, I can’t see,” he assured them.

“Well, in that case, spin,” Cece ordered, and just like that, she gripped his shoulders, spinning him until he felt quite dizzy.

Then just like that, their group scattered with a wave of laughter and taunting, running off into the gardens to hide.