Chapter One
Valor Nicolet, the last of the duke’s daughters, had been dreading this moment all her life. She was to go to Town as a lady out in society. She’d never wished to be out, she wished to be in!
She’d been scheming to avoid being out most of her life. Valor had done everything she could think of to keep her sisters at home and her family as jolly as they always had been before they’d begun going to Town. However, one by one, they’d all married, leaving her behind.
When it became apparent that she could not stop them from leaving, despite her ever more outrageous efforts, she turned her thoughts on how to at least save herself from being forced out of the Dales and into some strange household with some strange man.
That had been the start of her campaign to remain by her father’s side as his hostess, forever.
He, she, and their dear Mrs. Right could carry on as they had always done.
She’d even had hostessing clothes made. At least, her idea of what the hostessing clothes of a mature matron might look like.
In retrospect, she was glad she’d grown out of them, as she could see now that they had been rather dreadful.
After Winsome had wed, she had visited that household for some months and then she and her father had retreated to the quiet and safety of their house in the Dales.
She’d tried out several gambits over the years to convince the duke that she ought never leave.
One, taking over the buttering of his toast and explaining that nobody but herself did it just right.
The duke explained that he wished for a more suitable future for a duke’s daughter than “butterer of toast.” Two, making comments about the duke’s supposed frailty and wondering how long it would be before he was entirely incapacitated and needed a nurse.
As he was a hale and hearty individual, that was not as convincing as she’d hoped.
In a fit of desperation, she began pretending she was consumptive. She’d gone so far with it that eventually she was being wheeled out to the garden in a chair to take in the air. However, the boredom of it finally did in that plan and she had been forced to stage a miraculous recovery.
As she was trying out various machinations, her father was broaching the subject of a season more times than she could count. He’d even ignored it when she was, for some weeks, in a wheeled chair and pretending to be slowly fading from life.
His reasoning was rather frightening. Her idea that she, the duke, and Mrs. Right might live together forever was physically impossible.
He would die, Mrs. Right would die, and then her worst fear would come true—she would be left alone to face a strange man.
She’d never set eyes on the duke’s heir and none of them knew what he would be like.
He might be cruel, and he might even bring a cruel wife. Valor would be seen as the worst possible inconvenience. The estate would no longer be hers. She would be an interloper with no claim. What was likely to happen to her?
The duke speculated they would not throw her to the road as that would reflect badly on them, but they would leave her in the Dales alone for long stretches as they certainly would not take her to Town for the seasons. She would be an expense they would not be eager to pay.
One of her sisters could take her in, but then they all had their growing families to contend with.
It would be decided that she ought to stay in the Dales, as that house had always been her home.
She was not really convinced of that; she thought any of her sisters would take her in.
But it did raise the idea of being a burden on them, which she did not like.
She’d have to stay in the Dales if she wanted to avoid it.
There she would be, alone in the Dales, left to listen to the sounds out of doors that frightened the wits out of her.
The foxes’ screams in the middle of the night had always terrified her.
These days, she was now intellectually convinced it was a fox she heard, but her heart could not dismiss that it sounded like a woman being murdered.
After all, if a woman were being murdered how would she ever be saved if everybody just presumed it was a fox?
At least she’d given up accusing the vicar of somehow being involved in the murders. She sensed he was grateful for it.
Her father pointed out that when this new duke’s children came, she might be pushed into acting as their governess, as so many spinsters before her had been.
Suddenly, it would not be seen as convenient to have her at table, as the children needed her more.
By slow degrees, she would be made a servant and slowly disappear from view.
It was a very grim picture the duke painted.
And then, time did some of the work for him.
She did grow and mature by degrees and she did find she rather desperately wished for children.
Her thoughts continually drifted toward what sort of mother she might be and how interesting her children might be and how in her last years she might be surrounded by grandchildren.
She’d grown up in a house near bursting with people and she began to think becoming a lonely spinster held less charm than it had done.
She did not want to care for somebody else’s children, she wanted her own.
In the meantime, she longed to see her nieces and nephews. Grace’s boy, Miles, had even begun to write her letters. His last outlined how he intended to marshal his cousins into an army of sorts, and should she have her own children then of course they must be a part of it.
Isabelle was seven and would have a lot to say for herself.
Lily would be turning five and was there a more charming age?
Serenity’s Daisy and Verity’s Henry were both two, which was of course an awkward age. The positive of it was that it would not last forever.
And then the most recent arrival, Winsome’s boy Leland, who was using all his time these days in figuring out how to get on his feet. She wished to see them all!
She even began to think that having a husband might be favorable too.
She really could not even say how that idea had begun to seem a good one.
At one moment she was positively revolted by the idea of Mr. Stratton staring at Felicity while she slept, and horrified that her sisters’ husbands were in the same room with them while they were trying to sleep.
How had the revulsion and horror slipped away and been replaced with a curiosity?
It was a very strange thing, but it had.
She’d first noticed this development when she’d seen a peddler going by in his cart. Next to him had been a simply dressed but very handsome young man. She’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him, which had taken her entirely by surprise.
However, this new idea of a husband could not be just any man.
He had to be the right sort of husband. Other ladies might be impressed with derring-do, manly action, loud voices, and the amount of space a man seemed to take up.
For herself, she would look for a rather quiet and gentle individual.
She wished to live peacefully somewhere with as little excitement or danger as possible.
She wished to walk her horse, not gallop it.
She wished to be assured that the screams out of doors were only a fox.
A quiet yet protective baron with staid habits and no ambitions might be just the thing.
Valor had even begun to be hopeful that such a man existed.
The duke had assured her that it was so.
He further added that she would likely have very good luck with those sorts as they were often overlooked in favor of more forceful and strong-willed gentlemen.
She’d begun to imagine a very handsome gentleman who liked to read and collect books.
Perhaps he might have an insect collection and would stare at his butterflies all day.
Or he might collect coins or even snuff boxes as Lord Petersham did.
He was softspoken and not prone to a temper.
Though also, he must be strong, he must be her protector.
That really was it—a strong and protective, yet quiet and calm, rare books collector.
Just now, the duke came jogging into the dining room waving a sheet of paper. “Well, Val, Lady Misery has not let us down.”
Valor knew very well that her father had been eagerly awaiting a letter from her aunt, known to the wider world as Lady Marchfield. That lady, insistent that a duke must have a butler when they were in Town, had been in the habit of installing them.
The duke did not wish for a butler. His household was run perfectly well under the management of his housekeeper, Mrs. Right, who also did not wish for a butler. So it would begin—a butler would be installed and Mrs. Right would uninstall him in the most amusing way possible.
The duke took his chair. “Listen to this,” he said, “she sends one Mr. Hubert Huberville. She says he’s been dismissed without a reference from two households and is so desperate we will never get rid of him.
He’ll hang on like a barnacle to a boat.
She writes that our diabolical housekeeper is finally to meet her match. ”
The two footmen, Charlie and Thomas, snorted at the sideboard. They knew as well as everybody else that it was always a mistake to underestimate Mrs. Right’s creativity and determination in getting rid of a butler.
“I cannot imagine our Mrs. Right ever failing to eject a butler. My poor aunt,” Valor said, “she would be happier if she gave it up. She is always to be disappointed that her man does not succeed.”