The Stolen Duke (Stolen by the Duke #10)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
“This is… it’s magnificent,” Lady Isabella Hunton breathed, staring out the carriage window, her gaze focused on the splendid scenery that was Everthorne House. A few strands of her wavy dark hair still hung in her face despite her maid’s efforts to pin them back.
Located on the outskirts of London, surrounded by a large, well-landscaped garden on each side, the truly breathtaking stone-walled mansion was rumored to rival Buckingham Palace in all its greatness, especially after its restoration.
“It truly is as the rumors say,” Isabella’s twin sister, Beatrice, chimed.
Her matching blue eyes sparkled brilliantly as she stared out the same window with a small smile etched onto her lips.
Leaning back, she ran her hands over her upper arms, where her shawl seemed too thin. “Magnificent, but very cold.”
“Do not worry, darling. I’ll keep you warm,” Her husband Leo whispered beside her, reaching for her gloved hands. His own hands were double the size of hers as he smiled down at her, his beard neatly trimmed along the edges.’
It was late in the year, November to be precise, and the weather all around the country had been but snow and rain, but that could not stop the nobles of London from fixing and attending events.
“It seems it’ll begin snowing soon,” Beatrice observed, shifting a little closer to her husband’s side..
“Hopefully, we’ll get you inside before then,” Leo responded and placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead.
Isabella was most comfortable around Beatrice, having shared everything with her from womb to room.
They were hardly separable, and Leo seemed to not only understand but accept it.
However, it was during moments like these where the two were so attuned to the other that they made no notice of their surroundings, nor people, and that included Isabella.
Of course, Isabella did not mind their displays of affection. Still, she could not deny that it made her feel a certain sense of longing mixed with inherent loneliness because she doubted she could ever have anything like that.
She tore her gaze away from her younger sister and looked back out the window until Beatrice once again broke the silence.
“Ah, that reminds me, a letter from Papa came before we left home,” Beatrice announced, sparking Isabella’s interest.
“What was in the letter?” She turned back with interest, not minding that Leo was still rubbing her sister’s hands to keep them warm.
“Nothing other than their safe arrival at Ironstone. Although Ellie caught a fever on their way, it was quite a hassle to bring it down, but it seems she’ll be just fine.” A soft smile of reassurance touched her lips.
Worry lines darted across Isabella’s forehead. Of course, their half-sister would be fine, but perhaps their stepmother wouldn’t have had a hard time caring for Ellie had Isabella been with them.
“I pray you heard clearly the part where I mentioned Ellie will be just fine?” Beatrice peered at her sister, who, having been caught, smiled instead.
“I’m aware of that, and I’m happy I’m here. It’s just… I worry about Ellie, and I cannot deny I miss them all a little,” Isabella sighed, stealing a glance at the mansion, which seemed closer than it had earlier.
“You must really miss them, then, if you’re more concerned about them than spending time with the one with whom you shared a womb.” Beatrice rolled her eyes, tapping her husband’s hand lightly and feigning indifference.
“No, sister. I’m grateful to spend this time with you.
Besides, if they hadn’t gone to Ironstone, I wouldn’t have come to the mysterious Everthorne House.
Hopefully, the participants will offer an entertaining show.
Perhaps, if all of them fall, I could find a moment to get a foil myself, if only to see what it’s like to hold one. ”
Before her sister could respond, the carriage halted, jostling them all slightly in their seats.
“Finally,” Isabella sighed.
A chill wind tossed the branches of trees surrounding the mansion as they alighted from the carriage. The promise of a chilly winter hung in the air as she took a deep breath.
“Welcome to Everthorne House, Your Graces, Lady Isabella,” the chief butler, a rather young man with sharp eyes, greeted them, with a crowd of lined-up servants ready to assist them, after which he led them inside.
Inside, however, Isabella was far more intrigued by the mansion itself and the beauty of the interior.
Candles flickered everywhere with polished sconces and crystal chandeliers with hanging prisms, whose lights reflected off the marble floors.
The scent of beeswax polish that clung to the air, mingling with the delicate aroma of fresh roses and jasmine arranged in overflowing bouquets along every corridor, filled her senses.
“I was made to believe this was an intimate fencing event, yet it seems as though all of London is in attendance,” Beatrice whispered, pulling Isabella back to the present.
Isabella noticed the people walking up, down, and around the hallway were not all servants but also guests dressed almost as lavishly as they were in pre-winter attire.
“Perhaps we are in for a surprise of some sort?” Leo suggested with a smirk, looking around.
A few steps further into the mansion, and the ethereal sound of the orchestra playing greeted them, right as the footman pulled open the ballroom doors, revealing more guests and an even grander interior.
In the middle of the room stood a raised platform, its edges draped in deep navy fabric.
Atop it, the polished wooden floor gleamed beneath the candlelit chandeliers, marked only by two slender lines indicating the fencing ground.
Slim rails bordered the stage while a pair of footmen stood nearby with gleaming foils laid neatly upon a velvet-lined table, ready for the competition to begin.
On the far left, a massive food display sat elegantly, showing just how much work and planning had gone into the event.
Carried away by such an unusual setup, Isabella barely noticed her sister and brother-in-law going over to greet an older lady, whom she suspected was the hostess of the event, Marguerite Remington, the Dowager Marchioness of Kendrick.
From what Beatrice had told her, Lady Kendrick was also the maternal grandmother of the Duke of Everthorne.
In all truth, Isabella knew absolutely nothing about the family and never had the faintest interest in them—aside from learning about the sought-after mansion, which rose to greater fame after its restoration.
“I heard from my brother that the Stolen Duke dares not show his face at events because…” the lady standing nearby paused, only to lean in towards her friends and still speak in the same octave, “… he is a fraud. The family is keeping it a secret to preserve their lineage.” She continued conspiratorially.
Gasps followed the absurd revelation, evidence that the gullible ladies had believed it.
“I assure you, it’s true,” the lady added, leaning back with one folded arm to watch the display of shock on the other ladies’ faces.
“Well, I heard that Lady Kendrick is the Duke’s maternal grandmother, said to have been with him since his return,” another lady muttered, sparking interest.
“Who knows? She could have been the one who orchestrated the plan with the fraudulent Duke.”
“I doubt they could say that right in the Duke’s face,” Isabella muttered to herself right at the moment her sister and her husband appeared beside her.
“What are you murmuring about?” Beatrice inquired, her blue eyes sharp and assessing, curiously etched on every corner of her face.
“Nothing important,” Isabella answered, though her eyes drifted back to the group of gossiping ladies.
This man had opened his home to them, offered something, anything beyond yet another tedious ball, and still, they speculated about him? The audacity was almost unbelievable.
In that moment, the orchestra ceased playing, and Lady Kendrick stepped into the very center of the room, tapping her glass lightly with a silver butter knife.
Her icy-blue gown caught the candlelight in a soft shimmer.
Even in her mid-sixties, the Dowager held herself with so much poise and quiet authority that Isabella could only hope to be as elegant as her in later years.
“My esteemed guests, if I might have your attention,” Lady Kendrick said, her voice gentle yet carrying easily.
The ballroom hushed at once. All eyes turned toward her, and the orchestra shifted into an even softer strain, granting the Dowager the space to speak.
“I thank you for honoring us with your company this evening. His Grace and I hope that this friendly…”
As Isabella looked about, she noticed the subtle shifts in the men’s postures. They were leaning in, eyes sharpened, lips twitching with barely contained satisfaction, as though they sensed an opportunity approaching.
Conversely, Leo seemed unbothered. By the look on her brother-in-law’s face, Isabella sensed that he had nothing to prove tonight, for his eyes were fixed on Beatrice.
Good, he should be spoiling her.
“You know,” Beatrice whispered to Leo, “it’s best you avoid participating in this competition. There are far too many men excited at the prospect of violence here. I would hate for something unfortunate to happen to you. Especially if it can be avoided.”
In response, Leo chuckled, nuzzling his nose in his wife’s neck.
“My love, I’m no posturing youth desperate to prove his mettle.
Let them hack at one another if they must. I’m perfectly content—more than content—with the prize already at my side,” he whispered back, pulling away and taking her hand in his as he placed a small kiss on the back of it.