Cinderella’s Charade With the Duke (Regency Fairytales #1)

Chapter One

All William Sutherland, Duke of Wimberley, wanted was peace.

His daughter, Millie, shifted in his lap, having fallen asleep as he read her a story on the sofa in front of the burning fire, which kept the damp spring chill from the air.

Her head shifted, her small warm hand sliding from his untied cravat to his waistcoat.

Her fingers splayed instinctively over his heart.

He couldn’t help but smile and cover her hand with his own.

This, the hours between dusk and when Millie was put to bed, was his favourite time of day, and truly the only time that mattered to him any more.

It was just the two of them protected by the quiet of the setting sun.

He ran a hand down her smooth dark curls and rubbed her back in small circles with his palm.

His gaze flicked up to the portrait of his late wife, Cecily.

The sorrow he should feel over her death never came.

In truth, her passing was well…a relief.

For the lovely, sweet woman he believed her to be when he made his vows and promises to her was not the woman she was.

The only blessing in her early death from a carriage accident was that little Millie didn’t have to see what her mother truly was: a woman who enjoyed wasting money and taking a flourish with any man who would have her, married or not.

She had died in the throes of a tryst with such a man in a carriage accident over a year ago.

Evidently, the late Marchioness had enjoyed the confines of a carriage for her pleasures, as did the lord she was with.

The man’s widow had grieved publicly over the death of her husband just as he had grieved Cecily’s, but William often wondered if in private she felt the same relief he did. Of course, he’d never dare ask.

Truth was not celebrated in the ton.

Gossip and intrigue were.

A soft knock sounded on the door of his study. William glanced up and smiled at the sight of Mrs Chisholm hovering at the open door.

‘Anything else I can get you, Your Grace?’

‘No, Mrs Chisholm. Thank you.’

She nodded, but didn’t move. ‘Did you see Mr Simmons left you the tray?’

William frowned, sliding his gaze to the overflowing smattering of envelopes with wax seals and calling cards on the silver salver brought to him earlier in the evening in the hope that he might look through them.

He hadn’t.

‘I did,’ William replied.

She still didn’t move, waiting for more from him. ‘Are there any you wish for him to send an acceptance or decline to, Your Grace?’

He sighed, unable to mask his impatience. ‘I have not looked through them thoroughly. Nor do I wish to.’

‘May I speak freely?’ she asked, edging the toe of her shoe into the room.

He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Of course, Mrs Chisholm.’ The old woman had known him since he was a boy.

In many ways, she had become a mother to him after his own had passed almost a decade ago.

His household did not stand on rigid formality like others of such lineage in the ton.

They had become family, especially now that he and Millie were almost all that remained of his own.

Such informality had been one of the contentions between him and Cecily in the early days of their courting. He should have seen it as a warning.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t.

William shook off his malaise as Mrs Chisholm scurried before him, her petite plump frame the same as it always had been. ‘There are rumours,’ she began in hushed tones and settled in next to him on the sofa.

‘Of?’ he asked with a furrowed brow.

‘Of you being a recluse…and full of melancholy.’

‘And?’ He didn’t understand why this would be a problem.

If anything, he was quite pleased to hear it.

Perhaps people would start leaving him be.

Since his father had passed two months ago, he had been inundated with correspondence, visits and well wishes for his upcoming succession as the newly minted Duke of Wimberley.

But all he wanted was to be left alone.

‘You must think of her,’ she said, nodding to Millie. ‘She needs a mother and to be accepted by society, Liam,’ she said softly, using her nickname for him from when he was but a boy. It tugged on his heartstrings.

‘I am. I just have no wish to see anyone,’ he replied. ‘I have lost my wife and father all in one year and Millie…’ He did not say the rest aloud for he couldn’t bear to. His daughter had not spoken since the day of her mother’s death, as if the horror of losing a parent had locked her voice away.

The ache of missing her sweet cherub voice and lilting laugh was immeasurable. The anger he felt over her grief was unspeakable and he blamed his wife and her proclivities for his daughter’s suffering. He dared not seek out another wife and mother to Millie if the woman wasn’t damned near perfect.

‘If you have a betrothed, the fortune hunters and their well-intended mothers will cease their attentions and perhaps some of the…’ She paused as if searching for the right words. ‘Some of the unkind talk of the past might cease,’ she rushed out.

He cut a knowing glance to her. He knew ‘unkind talk’ was a mere substitute for scandal. Since Cecily’s death there had been a great deal of such unkind talk. ‘You think it will all cease with such an announcement?’ he challenged.

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps not cease, but it would at least lessen.’

He allowed his head to loll back against the sofa. ‘I cannot bear another disappointment. Or another fortune hunter. Or another…’ He didn’t continue. He didn’t wish to say it aloud.

She placed a hand along his forearm and squeezed it gently.

After a moment, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

‘I know I cannot understand your…disappointment,’ she began.

‘Not truly, anyway, but I wish the best for you and for your future happiness. We all do and Lady Buchanan and I have an idea to end your worries about such a future match.’ Her eyes twinkled.

He groaned. ‘I am terrified to ask what you and my cousin have been plotting.’

She pulled a piece of folded parchment from her apron pocket. ‘All you must do is select one from this list. Lady Buchanan has vetted each of them as being suitable as a wife for you and mother to Millie. And you know she knows everyone.’

He accepted the list and scanned the names with hesitation. At the end, he frowned and handed it back to her. ‘None of these will do.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they are all members of the ton. I will trust none of them with my daughter.’

‘Will you consider inviting some of them to the ball celebrating your succession, Your Grace? That will end some of the rumours.’ Her return to formal address saddened him. He preferred being Liam to Your Grace, but his life was long past such simplicities.

Millie’s day nurse came in to put his daughter to bed. He kissed Millie’s forehead and relinquished her begrudgingly. She was transferred easily to Miss Bellows’s arms as Millie was still asleep. He watched them until they exited the study. Then he returned his gaze to Mrs Chisholm.

‘I promise I will have a woman at my side at the ball to celebrate my succession as the Duke of Wimberley. You have my word. Will that do?’

‘For now,’ she said; her cheeks were pink, no doubt pleased from the progress of their conversation. He couldn’t begrudge her for looking out for him, even when he did not wish to look after himself.

‘And where will you find a presentable lady who is not of the ton in less than a fortnight?’

He sighed. Evidently, she was feeling emboldened by her success and pushed a bit further. He wished she had stopped while she had gained ground.

‘I have no idea as of yet, Mrs Chisholm.’ He was desperate to end this line of questioning. The idea of having another wife turned his stomach. ‘My focus must be on Millie for now. Speaking of which, when is the new governess due to arrive? I thought we sent for her already.’

He was eager to see if someone else, and in this case a woman far removed from the ton and the likes of Society as he knew it, might be able to unlock the hidden words within his daughter and provide her the kindness she’d deserved from the mother now gone from her life.

‘Later this week, Your Grace, if the weather allows. Stow is quite a distance and I am sure the recent rains have not aided their travel.’

He nodded, knowing such a distance was intentional. He wanted a kind, country woman to nurture his daughter, not someone who knew the vultures of London. ‘Pleased to hear it.’ Some of the pressure lifted from his chest. At least that was settled. Getting a wife would have to wait.

And, for once, the ton would have to wait its turn, too.

‘A ticket to London, please, Mr Sneed.’

Miss Hattie Potts rubbed the two coins in her reticule together and prayed it would be enough for a seat on the next stagecoach to her new employer located just outside London.

She’d never taken a public stagecoach with strangers such a distance before, but at least she wouldn’t have to travel alone.

Gaining confidence, she smiled and set the coins on the counter as Mr Sneed shuffled through some papers and then glanced back at her.

‘No need, Miss Potts,’ he answered behind the counter. Without looking at her, he pushed the coins back towards her.

‘Is it not enough?’ she stammered in lowered tones, her cheeks heating. She could hardly begin her new employment if she couldn’t get there.

‘Your transport has already been paid for,’ Mr Sneed answered, leaning closer with a wry smile. ‘No stagecoach for you,’ he replied with a wink. ‘A carriage has been sent for you from His Grace and it arrived last night. Exciting opportunity for you, Miss.’ He pointed behind her.