How to Charm a Duke in Five Easy Steps (Regency Hearts #6)

Chapter 1

Linthorpe House

Berkeley Square, Mayfair

James Westham, the Duke of Linthorpe, stared down at the line of carriages in front of his home.

No matter how much time he had to prepare for such gatherings, he would never be truly ready.

Not really. How could he be when his mind was focused elsewhere?

Focused on things he couldn’t control and didn’t understand.

Of course, Doctor Wells had no hesitation in telling James what he didn’t understand.

At least the man had been honest, James supposed.

He would give the fellow credit for that.

Wells hadn’t offered false assurances in any way.

Instead, the doctor stressed that while James might never experience another episode, he’d also made it quite clear that James might suffer more episodes and they might even be worse than what he’d already experienced.

Apparently, the medical literature on the subject was rather limited.

While the causes were not well understood, the doctor had stressed more than once, a great many men had gone on to lead long and full lives without ever experiencing a second event.

Unfortunately, neither title nor money could guarantee such an outcome.

That had been three weeks ago. Three weeks had felt like an eternity, and the conversation was never far from James’ thoughts.

The good news, if there was good news, was that James had not suffered another episode since that fateful conversation.

He also had not slept particularly well.

In fact, he found himself taking mental inventory of his condition at odd moment.

In the carriage. In the House of Lords. Once, absurdly, in the middle of a conversation about the unseasonably cold temperatures with his valet.

Even with all that determined focus, James had yet to arrive at any useful conclusions about his situation.

Through it all, his mind kept returning time and again to the single most important thing in his life.

Hannah.

What was he going to do about his daughter?

He did not want to make her an orphan. She had his brother Daniel, of course, and Aunt Harriet both of whom doted on the girl.

But Daniel was bound for Bermuda once he married.

And Aunt Harriet would not live forever.

Where would Hannah be then? Who would keep their eye on his daughter? Who would love her like he did?

If only Alice had lived.

He had not allowed himself to think about that in quite some time.

There had been a comfortable logic, these three years since Alice’s passing, that Hannah was too young to miss what she had never known; and that he was managing, and that his managing was sufficient.

He was becoming less certain of those things, which was bloody inconvenient.

James looked at the clock on the mantel.

Half past seven. Guests would be filling his hallways by now. He wished he had the desire to greet them. He did not.

Of course, the gathering had been Aunt Harriet's idea, presented to him with the cheerful inevitability of something that was already decided and his opinion on the situation held no bearing whatsoever.

James heaved a sigh. A small supper in honor of Daniel and his bride-to-be, Miss Caitrin Beckett.

And a few close family friends. It was a normal thing to expect.

After all, the wedding was just three weeks away, the banns had already been read, and the plans already in his aunt’s capable hands; just the family and a smattering of close friends, nothing too elaborate, perfectly easy.

"Perfectly easy," James muttered to himself as he started for the corridor, wondering, momentarily, if he could get away with hiding in his study for the duration of the evening.

But Aunt Harriet would have him strung up in a heartbeat.

So, he pushed the thought away and he continued toward the inevitable like a convict headed to the gallows.

The truth was that he didn't dislike entertaining in general.

He disliked the sort of entertaining that required him to be ornamental.

Balls and assemblies, soirees where he was expected to circulate and be charming on command, events where his presence was the point and his comfort was not a consideration.

A small supper was different. Supper with Daniel and Miss Beckett, and people he actually knew, or mostly knew. That he could manage.

Aunt Harriet had mentioned, almost in passing, Miss Beckett’s younger sister.

Corinna, he thought his aunt had said. She’d described the girl as rather remarkable, but in a way that James had learned, from a long experience of his aunt's remarking upon young women, to treat with measured skepticism.

Aunt Harriet had described previous young ladies as "quite delightful," "perfectly charming," and "a very accomplished lady.” James had then found himself across the dinner table from the ladies in question, watching each one perform her own rendition of “Impressing the Duke”. Each time, James felt wearier from the experience. And all of that was before he’d even suffered that bloody episode.

God help him if Miss Corinna had any intention of trying to charm him this evening. He simply was not in the mood to entertain such nonsense.

Oh, if Bernard Beckett could see his daughters now!

Margaret, the Duchess of Hythe, settled on a brocade settee in the corner of the Linthorpe drawing room.

Her spot was near enough to see the room at large and all its players but without being too close as to be obvious with her interest. It was something she’d mastered in her five decades in London, feigning aloofness.

Her old friend Bernard would have been proud of her efforts.

Cara, his eldest, was now perfectly matched and settled with the Earl of Darling, a coupling that still held the ton’s fascination.

It wouldn’t be long before Margaret could say the same about Caitrin, Bernard’s middle child, and the dashing Lord Daniel Westham, as the pair would be wed in a less than a month’s time.

Indeed, Margaret’s efforts had been unparalleled this last season, even if she did say so herself.

With the two oldest Beckett sisters situated, Margaret could turn her focus solely on Bernard’s youngest and perhaps most challenging daughter, Corinna.

She shifted her gaze to the girl in question, near the Linthorpe mantle.

Bernard’s youngest and most tenderhearted child was as lovely inside as she was out.

Margaret had known this guileless girl since she was small enough to fit under Bernard's arm, had watched her grow on their regular visits to England over the years. At five, Corinna had been the child who wept over an injured gull on the beach at Brighton. At eleven, she had somehow acquired a three-legged cat on the streets of London and brought it aboard her father's ship in an attempt to save the creature. Now at eighteen, Corinna was a rare beauty. This evening, the girl’s light red updo was arranged just so with little pearl pins to match the delicate necklace at her throat. And her gown of the palest blue silk made her appear like the most ethereal of angels, gracing the room with her presence. She was, in short, the sort of girl the ton would love to chew up and spit out if someone wasn’t watching out for her.

Luckily, Margaret was just the sort of someone Corinna needed in her corner.

Even so, the girl was managing rather well on her own that evening.

She was holding court with Margaret’s own grandson Lucien Gates and his friend Mr. Archibald Atherton.

If Margaret thought either fellow would be the best match for Corinna, she’d move heaven and earth to see the match made.

Unfortunately, Lucien was not in the position to be the perfect match for anyone these days, and…

Well, Mr. Atherton was the heir to his father’s healthy viscountcy and as pleasant a fellow as one was likely to meet.

Corinna, however, had unknowingly and rather innocently set her sights even higher.

About as high as one could set her sights, to be honest.

Margaret sighed at the task at hand.

She just wasn’t certain the Duke of Linthorpe would be the best match for Corinna, and that was if the man in question could even be brought up to scratch.

She almost regretted mentioning any of this to her dear friend Harriet Upwell.

But Margaret had mentioned Corinna’s infatuation.

So, that proverbial ship had already sailed.

Once Harriet had learned of Corinna’s interest in her nephew, the countess had been singularly focused – especially upon the fact that Corinna hadn’t realized he was the Duke of Linthorpe when her tendre was first born.

It was, after all, easy for any girl to think herself in love with a handsome, eligible duke.

Dukedoms held that sort of power over fanciful girls and their more calculating counterparts alike.

But for Corinna to be besotted with the man before learning his identity…

Well, Harriet did want to see her both of her nephews happily settled with women who loved them for themselves and not for their titles.

Therefore, Corinna had risen in Harriet’s esteem tenfold and she was actively engaged in the situation.

Unfortunately, subterfuge was not Harriet’s strong suit.

As if on cue, Harriet settled beside Margaret on the settee, a small glass of ratafia in her hand. The countess’ lips pursed a bit impatiently. “Are you certain she’s taken with him?”

Margaret cast her a sidelong glance. “Have I ever mischaracterized a situation before, my dear Harriet?”

Her friend frowned rather churlishly. “She has not looked at him even once since she arrived.”

"She has looked at him," Margaret replied, without inflection.