Epilogue #3
“You are exactly where you’re meant to be,” Caroline told him, watching his smile turn his storm-grey eyes to molten silver.
“The lover in my arms, the best friend at my side, the canny ally and staunch defender at my back…everything you are is everything I need. How could I let you go? No, my darling, delicious, ridiculous man—I’m afraid you are well and truly trapped, for I cannot do without you now. ”
“You will never have to,” he said, ferocious sincerity turning the words into a vow as binding as those they’d said in that small Scottish chapel.
And he kissed her there on the hillside, the man who’d finally found his place in the world and the woman who knew he would never ask or want her to be anyone other than herself. She had always feared love, on some level—the loss of choices and autonomy, the loss of self.
But with Fitz, Caroline was more herself than she’d ever been. He knew her, he saw her, in all her parts and complexities and oddities, and he loved all of her.
That kind of love was no trap, she understood in a way that went beyond language or learning or science. That kind of love was true freedom. It would never keep her bound to the earth, her wings clipped, at the mercy of gravity.
In Fitz’s arms, with Fitz’s heart pounding fiercely against her own, Caroline took wing. And soared.
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Thank you so much for taking a chance on The Matrimony Trap! Keep reading for a peek at the first full-length novel in the Dukes in Disguise series, set in the same steamy Regency world as the Drake Family novellas.
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Don’t Let Your Dukes Grow Up to Be Scoundrels
Chapter One
England, 1819
Lady Gemma Lively smoothed the crumpled letter in her hand for the hundredth time, her gloved fingers brushing over the words she knew by heart.
…pleased to inform you that the new Duke of Ashbourn, in his beneficence, has determined you may keep the property bestowed by his late father upon your mother, Henrietta. You may travel to the village of Little Kissington to take possession as soon as may be.
In his beneficence, indeed. The new duke had no right to keep it from his stepmother and half-sisters.
However much he despised them.
Gemma’s fist clenched, rustling the paper.
Every other part of their father’s holdings and lands might be entailed upon the male line, making it impossible for Gemma and her younger sister to inherit.
But the property in question had been a gift, free and clear, settled upon the late duke’s second wife when they married.
A tangled wave of emotion struck her heart at the thought of her handsome, devil-may-care father, with his twinkling eyes and immense passion for life.
Sadly, the late Duke of Ashbourn hadn’t exhibited the same passion for planning and forethought.
Perhaps he’d spent it all in the first half of his life, before his prim, proper duchess died and left him at last able to break free of the mold he’d been forced into by society as a young man.
Or perhaps he’d simply intended to live forever, once he finally had a scandalous new wife he adored, who allowed him the freedom to carouse around London as he wished.
In any case, beyond assuming that the next duke would take care of things, he seemed not to have spared much thought for what might become of his second family in the event of his untimely passing.
Not that Gemma could throw stones. She’d never given much thought to her future either.
Marriage and children and settling down had always seemed like things that happened to other girls.
As the beautiful, wealthy daughter of a duke who had entirely flouted convention with his second marriage, Lady Gemma Lively’s life had been a pleasant whirl of all-night balls, boisterous house parties, and risqué French fashions.
Who on earth would give all that up for a life of dull, sober respectability?
Perhaps, a tiny voice whispered, if they’d had a bit more of a care for dull, sober respectability, their self-righteous prig of a half-brother wouldn’t have tossed them out of the ducal mansion in Grosvenor Square the instant he inherited.
Gemma ignored the tiny voice. Like so many of the things she used to enjoy about her life, including the carriage they rode in, regret was a luxury she could no longer afford to indulge. Smoothing the letter in her hand once more, she suppressed a sigh.
With the determined optimism Gemma’s mother was known for, Henrietta Lively said, “Everything shall be well. You will see, Gemma dear. I’m certain this place, this Five Mile House, will be just the thing. A wonderful new home for us.”
Gemma was less certain, but she was glad to see her mother attempt a smile in the midst of her all-consuming grief.
Her parents’ marriage had been a true love match, the connection between them unparalleled in any other match Gemma had ever seen.
That had been wonderful for them, if somewhat awkward for their children at times, but it also meant that Henrietta’s misery and shock at her husband’s unexpected death in a carriage-racing accident was severe.
“Five Mile House. It’s an odd name,” remarked Lucy from her position tucked into the corner of the swaying carriage.
The only portion of her face that was visible over the scandal sheet she was reading were her dark brows and the high forehead she’d inherited from their father.
The mahogany-brown hair she and Gemma had been gifted by their mother was mostly hidden beneath a black satin-trimmed bonnet, although several wisps and curls had straggled free over the course of the long journey.
“Lucy, for goodness sake,” Gemma said. “Haven’t you read that rag already?”
“Five times,” Lucy said from behind the paper. “It’s my last link to civilization. It will be days—days, Gemma—before I see another bit of gossip.”
“We aren’t relocating to a deserted island,” Gemma reminded her. “Undoubtedly, this village will have plenty of gossip of its own.”
“Oh, yes.” Lucy sniffed. “Who let Farmer Brown’s pigs trample the grass on the commons, and what does Mistress Ann put in her cottage pie that will shock you.
How fascinating. Meanwhile, the Duke of Thornecliff is embroiled in the most salacious drama involving a merry widow and an actual, bona fide nun, and I won’t get to see how it turns out until a week after all my friends! ”
“Thorne is a rake and a cad and a terrible cheat at cards,” Gemma reminisced, feeling fond at the memory. “What fun we had at Lady Ellery’s rout last month. He nearly gambled away his breeches to—”
Lucy huffed. “Ugh, Gemma! I simply cannot believe you refused to introduce me to him!”
“The Duke of Thornecliff isn’t interested in silly misses fresh from the schoolroom,” Gemma said crushingly, her heart seizing at the thought of eighteen-year-old Lucy in the same room as the dissolute, drunken lout of a duke.
It was one thing for Gemma. She was twenty-four, and she’d been a member of the fast set for years.
The men she’d danced and laughed and flirted with all knew the rules of the game as well as she did.
And for all her reputation, Gemma had never been truly tempted into much more than a dalliance with any of the gentlemen who dangled after her.
But Lucy was still an innocent, despite her irritating fixation on the latest tittle-tattle.
Not that Gemma knew her all that well these days, she realized with an unwelcome pang of guilt.
With such a wide gulf between their ages, once Gemma came out, she had not had much time for the gawky younger sister who tagged along after her, clamoring for attention.
“Girls,” their mother cried as Lucy drew in an outraged breath. A fresh flood of tears welled in Henrietta Lively’s lovely blue eyes. “Girls, please. No more squabbling. After all we’ve been through, and all the uncertainty ahead, can’t you please try to get along?”
The letter in Gemma’s hand crinkled again as her fingers tightened at the reminder of the change in circumstances they faced. “Yes, Mama. But if you could only try again to remember what sort of property it is that we’ve inherited? That would make me a great deal more sanguine about our prospects.”
A pretty flush mantled Henrietta’s softly lined cheeks.
She was still beautiful, Gemma noted with exasperated affection, the twinkle in her dark blue eyes unfaded by time, though currently a bit dampened by sadness.
The strands of silver streaking her dark hair gave her a dignified air that wasn’t entirely in keeping with the personality of the woman.
“Good gracious, what a fuss you make!” Henrietta waved her handkerchief distractedly.
“I have told you, time and again, that your father gave me the gift of Five Mile House on our honeymoon, as a promise that he would never stray more than five miles from my side for the duration of our lives together. It was a grand, romantic gesture! One doesn’t ask for a detailed survey of the attributes of a grand, romantic gesture! ”
“Of course, Mama, but given that we no longer have any servants, it would be nice to know whether we’re about to arrive at a large manor house or a simple cottage,” Gemma pointed out.
“Mr. Eggleston said the place has some sort of income.” Henrietta waved away crass matters of finance with an airy unconcern that made Gemma’s temples begin to throb.
It was tiring, at times, to be the only member of the family who seemed to understand that their new position in life was going to force them to economize.
“There will doubtless be plenty of servants on hand to care for our needs when we arrive,” her mother continued. “Although I do think it was badly done of your brother to refuse to let us bring along any of our people from Ashbourn House.”
The slight wobble in Henrietta’s voice when she referenced their childhood home in the heart of London softened Gemma’s frustration.