Chapter 1
London, England March 1812
Another stack of documents was placed with a mighty thud on the desk before him. Contracts, land holdings, tenants to be looked after, and bills to be paid following his father’s passing had been consuming so much of Royce’s time that he had yet to have a spare moment for himself.
“Will there be anything else, my lord? I-I mean, Your Grace?” the man asked hesitantly.
“Another three of me perhaps, and another five years to sort through everything,” Royce grumbled, as he raked his hand through his hair and looked around.
Heaps of papers covered every available space on his desk, not a bit of its rich mahogany color visible. Except for his chair in front of the fireplace, everything in the room was covered with thick piles of papers, ledgers, and various documents. The bookshelves lining the walls were the only things holding the one thing for which they were meant.
Sighing, Royce pushed himself away from the desk and attempted to make his way through what should have been his study.
“Mr. Milby?”
“Yes, Your Grace?” Mr. Milby responded quietly. He was a tall, gangly, and timid man with mousy brown hair and had been sent as a representative of Tarpley and Thompson—his father’s solicitors.
“I have been at Derrington Chase for the past year since my father passed, seeing to tenants and the like. I gave ample notice and expected everything to be in order upon my arrival back in London. Could you please explain to me why my father’s records are in such disarray? I can barely imagine that he would have tolerated such carelessness.” Royce tried to imitate his father’s commanding tone.
“I-I have not the faintest idea, my lord…Y-Your G-Grace.” Mr. Milby said as he nervously messed with the top hat in his hands.
“Have your employers send you and a few others to come organize this mess. If done quickly and correctly…perhaps I will not take my business elsewhere.” Finally reaching the sideboard, Royce poured himself a drink. “Would you care for a drink, Mr. Milby?”
“Oh, no. Thank you, Your G-Grace. That is, if you have no further need of me, I have another meeting I must get to.”
“Of course.” Royce nodded. “Deliver my message to your employers. I will expect to see you within the week, with help, or I will search for another business that will see the job done correctly.”
Mr. Milby bowed repeatedly as he backed toward the door. Being more focused on bowing rather than where he was going, he bumped into a precarious pile of papers and pieces of parchment scattered as the pile fell to the floor with an echoing thwack.
“I-I do apologize, my lord…I-I mean Your Grace.”
“Leave them,” Royce muttered over the rim of the glass.
“Are you quite sure, Your G-Grace?” Mr. Milby asked hesitantly.
“I said, leave them,” Royce said a little more forcefully.
“As you wish. Good day, Your G-Grace.” Mr. Milby bowed once more and hastily left the room, seeming relieved at being dismissed from Royce’s presence.
Truthfully, Royce could not blame the man. He was in a foul mood and had been since his father had passed. Making his way to his chair, he sat, burrowing down into its comforting softness.
Nursing his drink in one hand, he covered his eyes with the other and sighed. This was a nightmare. It had been a year, and he still was not ready to take on this responsibility, though he doubted anyone ever truly was.
Royce threw back the rest of his drink. Until the solicitors got their act together and sent a few men here to make sense of everything, there was nothing further he could do.
He looked at the stack of papers Mr. Milby had knocked over and decided he should pick them up lest they become damaged. Royce bent down and riffled through the papers, picking up the few that had seen fit to scatter as they fell. He glanced about to make sure he had left nothing behind, when he noticed a letter wedged beneath the settee.
Royce picked up the letter and saw his name written in his father’s elegant hand across the front. He wondered why it had been with estate records instead of being given to him directly.
He added this to the ever-growing list of things to discuss with the solicitors when they came back…if they bothered to show at all. Breaking the dark green wax seal embossed with the Exeter crest, Royce sat back down and read.
Dear Son,
If these words reach your eyes, it means I have departed from this life. Please, do not let my death cast a shadow over the time we had together as a family. Instead, let the warm, golden glow of the sun guide you toward a new chapter in your life, as you lay the foundation for the legacy you will one day leave behind.
My solicitors have been somewhat neglectful of their duties to this dukedom, and I acknowledge my responsibility for it. I have not been as vigilant as I ought to have been. These last few months have been…difficult. But I sincerely hope they have everything in reasonable order.
Royce glanced around the room. If this is what the solicitors deemed as having everything ‘in reasonable order’, it is no wonder he had not received this letter until now.
That aside, there is one more thing I have yet to address, and I would like to share it with you now, in hopes that you will grant me this last favor.
It is uncommon and even looked down upon among the Ton to marry for love. Therefore, when I married your mother, I was marrying for all the reasons the Ton deemed acceptable. Then, the day you were born, I realized what it meant to love and be loved in return.
With the best intentions in mind, I approached my closest friend, Mr. Ezra Rowntree, with this request. If you are unwed by the time you are thirty, and Mr. Rowntree’s daughter Della has accepted no other suitor, I would like you to offer her your hand in marriage.
I know that my request may seem sudden, but I care for Della as if she were one of my own, and I would like to see her settled as much as her father. Mr. Rowntree is a respectable man, and I am honored to call him my most cherished of friends. This is one last thing I can do to bring the people that mean so much to me together.
Always remember, life is what we make of it. And sometimes…it has a way of reminding us that what we think we want is not always what we need. I am proud of you, my son.
Your father,
Reginald Derrington
Duke of Exeter
Royce nearly choked on his drink. He had turned thirty not two weeks ago. Before that he had spent his time at his family estate, Derrington Chase, establishing himself as the new duke. He stood abruptly and paced in front of the fireplace, raking his hand through his hair.
His mother had insisted on holding a ball to celebrate his return to London and his birthday. It had been the first event he had attended since his father passed and knew the remarks about securing a wife and producing an heir would be rampant. When his mother had mentioned the ball, he decided it was as good a time as any to begin searching for the new Duchess of Exeter.
Informing only his mother of his plans, Royce asked to be introduced to women who she deemed a good match. His only request was that she keep quiet about his intentions so marriage-minded mothers would not accost him at every turn. If those women got even a hint he was searching for a wife, they would surround him like a flock of chickens at feeding time.
The only thing Royce refrained from informing his mother of was a requirement he had imposed on himself. Of the candidates his mother presented to him, he would only consider the ones who were the opposite of what he was usually attracted to. Doing this would ensure his interest in his wife was minimal, which would decrease the likelihood of him falling in love.
At the ball, his mother presented him to several possibilities, and then she introduced him to Miss Putnam. He vaguely remembered her making her debut with his sister and Della.
Miss Putnam was the daughter of Lord Milton; graceful, with golden-blonde tresses, and a calm, but serious bearing. Within moments of being introduced, Royce had decided—without having said more than a few words to her—that she was the one he would ask to be his Duchess.
After calling on her, a few conversations at various balls, carriage rides, and one walk in the park, they came to an understanding. Miss Putnam’s only request was to be formally asked to be his wife once the details with her father had been settled. She also agreed that a marriage between them would be one of convenience, nothing more. No messy entanglements, no hearts to be broken.
Her father, Lord Milton was a stocky man with a round belly that showed his fondness for food and drink. His arrogant and over-bearing personality was unappealing, but if Royce hoped to make Miss Putnam his duchess, he would have to learn to deal with the man.
He only wished Lord Milton was more concerned about the happiness and security of his daughter, rather than what doors his daughter’s new title would open for him.
Royce settled back into his chair and re-read the letter, but its words remained unaltered as he let it go and watched it float to the floor. With a furrowed brow, he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and closed his eyes. His father wanted him to propose to Della Rowntree?
He struggled to remember his last conversation with Della or if she had been among the mourners at his father’s funeral, but the memories from that day were hazy. He and his best friend, Aden Carmichael, Lord Aynesworth, had been traveling the continent before his father fell ill, enjoying the revelry of being two young men without a care in the world. Unfortunately, that carefree happiness did not last, and his world was turned upside down after receiving a message from his mother, just days after returning.
What was he going to do? Well, he supposed he needed to speak with Mr. Rowntree first.
“Giles!” Royce bellowed while struggling to find his way to the desk, yet the heap of papers he had gathered impeded his progress, causing him to fall to the floor as Giles walked into the room.
“Your Grace? Your Grace, are you in here?”
“Yes…” came Royce’s muffled answer as he flopped onto his back.
“Good heavens!” Giles was understandably taken aback by the sight of his employer on the floor, but he quickly regained his composure and pretended nothing unusual was occurring.
“I need to have a message sent to Mr. Rowntree.”
“Right away, Your Grace.” Without being asked, Giles retrieved a quill and parchment from the desk and handed it to Royce.
Royce nearly laughed at the awkwardness of the situation, but hastily scribbled a note and handed it back.
“Is there anything else I might help you with?”
“No, thank you.” Royce’s pride prevented him from accepting help just now. “In fact, I think I will just take a nap while I am down here.”
“If you are sure.”
“I am,” Royce said, folding his hands behind his head.
“Very well.” Giles nodded, affecting his usual unruffled demeanor. “Enjoy your nap, Your Grace.”
The sound of the door clicking shut resonated in the room, marking Giles’ departure, and left Royce lying amongst stacks of papers that served as a poignant reminder of a life that ended too soon. He looked around the room as the cold of the hardwood floor bit at him through his shirt and wished it would somehow freeze away his memories of that stormy night.
His mind had barely registered the faint sound of his mother’s sobs or the slow, thoughtful movements of the staff as they prepared the room. Yet, the haunting image of Grayson and Desmond’s faces filled with despair upon their arrival—after realizing they had missed the chance to speak with their father one last time—would be etched in his memory forever.
Once they had left, Royce remembered standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at his father’s still form, willing him to take a breath, to sit up and say everything was right with the world, but he never did.
The heartbreak he witnessed his mother go through made Royce realize that marrying for love was a risk he would never be willing to take. Of course, losing one’s partner would never be easy, but a thought occurred to him.
If love was never part of the equation, then perhaps losing them would be a bit more bearable. It may be unfeeling and selfish to think such things, but it would be best for everyone involved if he did not permit such a soul-destroying emotion into his marriage.
A knock on the door startled him, and Royce looked at the clock. He had been lying on the floor for nearly two hours, lost in the memories and his uncertainty.
“Your Grace?” Giles’ voice came from the other side of the door. “I have a message for you.”
“Enter,” Royce said, scrambling over to the desk.
“A response from Mr. Rowntree.” Giles handed Royce a letter.
Your Grace,
I will be at my residence for the rest of the day. Please stop by at your convenience.
Mr. Rowntree
“Thank you, Giles. Please have Titan readied.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Also, your mother would like a word with you before you leave. She is in the drawing room with your sister.”
“Tell her I will be there momentarily,” Royce said, shifting some papers around on his desk.
Giles bowed and left the room.
Royce grabbed his coat from where it lay slung over the back of his chair and made his way toward the drawing room, wondering how he was going to handle this situation. Why would Mr. Rowntree not have said something by now if it was a request he desired to see fulfilled? Had he even told Della about the arrangement he had made with the Duke?
If not, surely Mr. Rowntree would recognize the advantage of handling the matter quietly, without Della finding out.
Royce stopped to talk to his mother where she sat sipping her tea with his sister Margaret, or Maggie, as she liked to be called. Della and Maggie had been best friends since birth. Indeed, Della Rowntree had been a part of his family for more than half his life, as their fathers had become good friends.
A mutual acquaintance had introduced his father to Mr. Rowntree, after some valuables were to arrive on a ship but had vanished without a trace. It had been said Mr. Rowntree was adept at locating lost items, capitalizing on the three ships he owned with the East India Trading Company, and the two that traversed the seas to America. And after several months of diligent work, Mr. Rowntree traced the whereabouts of the Duke’s valuables and saw them returned safely.
When the Duke’s praise of his work reached the ears of the Ton, many of them opened their homes to him and even hired him to find their own personal items that had gone astray. Others simply looked down their noses at the fortune Mr. Rowntree had amassed from his work in trade.
Unlike many people of the Ton, Mr. Rowntree had earned everything he possessed through hard work and dedication. Many of the men and women who considered themselves part of the upper crust of society did not possess such qualities. These people had lived lives of leisure, untouched by the toil and sweat of manual labor. Royce acknowledged that he, too, had lived a privileged life, but he had always shown respect for those who tried to improve their circumstances.
He said goodbye to his mother and Maggie after sharing his plans to meet Lord Aynesworth at White’s, a gentleman’s club on St. James Street, later in the evening. Knowing that Maggie would have insisted on joining him, he deliberately left out any mention of Mr. Rowntree’s residence. This was not just a casual visit, but a visit that had the potential to impact his future marriage.
It was imperative that he resolved this situation before his meeting with Lord Milton and the public announcement of his engagement to Miss Putnam. And he most certainly did not want to think about the chaos that would ensue if anybody were to find out about the agreement.
Giles opened the door as Royce approached and gently closed it behind him, denying him the satisfaction of slamming the door in annoyance. Usually, when he slammed the door, anyone in his general vicinity knew not to approach him for idle chat, giving him a wide berth so they did not cross paths with an irate duke. He was not typically in a sour mood, but lately, that seemed to be the only way he presented himself.
He only wanted to do right by his father and honor the sacrifices he had made to restore the dukedom from the brink of ruin. But it was proving difficult since the solicitors hired by his father had shown themselves to be completely inept.
Swinging up onto Titan’s back, Royce set off toward the Rowntree residence and concentrated on the steady rhythm of the stallion’s powerful strides, letting it drown out his worries about how the conversation with Mr. Rowntree would unfold.