The Duke's Reckless Engagement

Chapter 1

“Ahh, it feels good to be back in England,” Mrs. Hughes said as Miss Beatrice Ashford gazed out the window of the carriage at the passing countryside.

The view from the window was undeniably beautiful: green hills rolled in every direction, undulating softly with the landscape.

Atop them grazed herds of sheep, flecks of white against the green like smudges of white paint on a canvas.

The patchwork fields were separated by low stone walls, which snaked their way across the countryside toward small hamlets where smoke rose from the chimneys of thatch cottages.

It wasn’t just beautiful;, it was uniquely English. Although France was just across the Channel, Beatrice had to admit that it had an entirely different character, one she had gotten to know well after the last two years that she and Mrs. Hughes had been abroad.

But now they were back in England, her days of frolicking around France reading poetry and learning to paint were gone, replaced by the duty and responsibility that had summoned her home.

That duty was currently resting in her hands, in the form of the letter her brother had sent to her in France.

“You are not reading that again, are you?” Her guardian, Mrs. Hughes, clucked, glancing over at Beatrice and frowning with disapproval. “It is not going to change, no matter how many times you read it, you know.”

“I know,” Beatrice sighed, smoothing out the letter in her lap, her sharp blue eyes skimming over the words once more.

“But I keep trying to parse through what Theodore is saying. His writing is obtuse. I cannot tell if he simply wants me to marry, or if he has a gentleman picked out for me already.”

Mrs Hughes held out her hand. “Let me see it again, dear.”

Beatrice handed her the letter, and Mrs. Hughes read through it, her brow furrowing more deeply with every passing sentence. Beatrice, who had the letter almost memorized at this point, could practically see the sentences forming in her guardian’s soft, gray eyes.

..I know that your time in France was formative, and that it was important to your development as a young lady…

…I am happy that you were able to spend this time abroad after the tragedy of losing Mama and Papa so young…

…I know you fear there is no one to shepherd you through the difficulty of your first Season…

…But return you must and face what is required of you, namely, marriage to an eligible gentleman, someone rich and powerful, who will foment our family’s position…

…I have no doubt that you will rise to this duty with equanimity, especially when you meet those that so eagerly await your return, and who have heard nothing but praise of you…

…We have not always seen eye to eye, but I have every faith that my choice will not fail to be acceptable to you…

“It is that last line in particular which makes me think he already has a gentleman picked out,” Mrs. Hughes said, frowning as she handed the letter back to Beatrice.

“Throughout the rest of the letter, he seems to refer to your potential husbands in a group, as if there are several suitors in mind. But then that last line, about how his choice will not fail to be acceptable to you…”

“I know,” Beatrice said, her throat dry as she folded the letter back up and placed it in her reticule. Her hands, she noticed, were shaking slightly as she did so. “I cannot quite believe that he would pick someone out for me. A lady is supposed to have a say in who she marries, is she not?”

Mrs. Hughes placed a hand on Beatrice’s knee, her eyes soft.

“Ideally, yes,” she murmured. “And there is still hope, in my opinion, that your brother will want to hear your preferences. But he is young and trying hard to fill your father’s shoes, to be the head of the household that you need.

I imagine he feels the best way to do that is to take a strong hand and find someone for you that will be a good match.

It is hard out there for young ladies, dear.

You have never had a London Season, you have not seen how brutal it can be… ”

Mrs. Hughes shook her head and looked away.

“Gentlemen will present the best sides of themselves to eligible, wealthy young ladies such as yourself, to lure them in, then, once they are married, show entirely different sides of themselves. I have known many young ladies who have ended up in terrible marriages because the gentlemen they believed ‘loved’ them have turned out to be louts and fortune-hunters.”

“But what makes you think my brother is better able to tell if a man is a fortune-hunter or a lout?” Beatrice insisted. “He could be fooled by a gentleman just the way I could!”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Hughes said. “But gentlemen know one another’s characters better than ladies do.

They also are less likely to be taken in by feelings and fancy.

And young ladies are… naive… by their very nature.

You must be kept innocent of men’s indiscretions.

You will not know a man’s true nature the way your brother might.

It is possible that your brother is only trying to do you a favor by choosing someone for you. ”

Mrs. Hughes sat back, removing her hand, and Beatrice closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she let Mrs. Hughes’ words wash over her. She wished, not for the first time, that her mother was still alive. If Lady Ashford were here, she would surely know what advice to give Beatrice.

She had loved her husband, Beatrice’s father, and she had often told Beatrice the story of how they had met and fallen in love, when she was just eighteen and he asked her to dance at Almack’s. She had tripped and fallen over herself during the previous dance, humiliating herself.

Her mother had been sure that no man would dance with her after that, until the handsome, dashing Viscount Ashford had approached her, and asked if she would care to take to the floor with him.

“He saved me,” Lady Ashford would always say, her eyes lighting up in a mysterious way that Beatrice had always longed to understand. “And for that, I fell in love with him right away.”

Beatrice had always believed that when it came to her own marriage, she would also have a love story as sweeping and romantic as her mother’s. Her mother had always encouraged her to believe that as well.

“You are my beauty, my dearest,” Lady Ashford would say, as she helped to pin some of Beatrice’s dark hair up around her head.

She had always preferred to do this herself, rather than leave it entirely to the lady’s maid.

She would then kiss the top of Beatrice’s head and say, “Beautiful and clever. I am so proud of you.”

But now Lady Ashford was gone. She and Lord Ashford had died four years previously in a tragic carriage accident, leaving Beatrice and Theodore orphaned. The two years that had followed their parents’ death had been very difficult.

Theodore had drawn inward, shutting himself off from his sister and from anyone who wanted to help.

Beatrice had been so lonely she had sometimes felt as if she were going mad.

And while her brother visited London more and more often to seek out distraction in his duties as the new Viscount, she was trapped at home, her thoughts preying upon her.

It was Mrs. Hughes, her former governess and now companion, who had first mentioned she might like to go abroad. Once this idea had taken root, Beatrice could not let it go.

She wanted to get out of Kent, away from her thoughts and her memories, away from the ghosts that haunted her. She could go to London, yes, but London meant joining the ton and finding a husband.

France, however…

France meant adventure.

And for a girl who had never had adventure, it had sounded like heaven.

“He was very generous with me when I told him I wanted to spend several years abroad,” Beatrice said slowly. “I cannot forget that. And I am deeply grateful.”

Theodore had not been thrilled by the idea, but, with Mrs. Hughes’ help, he had eventually come to see how miserable Beatrice was stuck at home.

And after several months of consideration, he had acquiesced.

It helped that their aunt and uncle lived near Nice, and Beatrice had stayed while she was in France, with Mrs. Hughes as her chaperone.

“Perhaps he is being generous again now,” Mrs. Hughes ventured. “Perhaps he only means to help guide you by picking out a gentleman for you. It does not mean that he will force you to marry this man against your will.”

“I hope so,” Beatrice said, but a small voice in the back of her head was saying something else entirely.

The fact was, her brother did not know her anymore. She had been a girl of eighteen, fanciful and poetic, when she had left for France. She was a woman of twenty now. She had spent the last few years reading, learning, and traveling throughout France with her aunt and uncle.

She was no longer the naive lady that Mrs. Hughes described, and that her brother surely expected. She did not need him to guide her.

She wanted to guide herself.

And while her brother might have picked out a gentleman who was suitable for her, there was no way he could possibly have picked out one that was compatible with her.

She would have to steel herself, when she arrived home, and say these things to him, if she was to take charge of her fate and decide for herself whom she would marry.

At that very moment, however, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Beatrice was thrown forward, almost colliding with Mrs. Hughes, while outside, she heard the horses whinny in distress and the driver swear loudly.

“What on earth is happening?” Mrs. Hughes cried, clutching at Beatrice. “Is it highwaymen? Oh, Beatrice, we are doomed! Doomed! Quick, hide all your jewels!”

“It is not highwaymen,” Beatrice said crossly, as she stuck her head out the window.

It was evidently clear after a brief glance what had happened: the back wheel of the carriage had broken, sending the carriage lurching to one side.

The driver quickly dismounted, and Beatrice pulled open the door and stepped outside.

It took several minutes of consultation with the driver to ascertain that the wheel was beyond repair.

“I will need to get to the nearest village and commission a new one, m’lady,” the driver said brusquely as he ran a hand through his hair.

“In the meantime, we will have to leave the carriage here. You and Mrs. Hughes can ride the horses, and I will walk behind you. I believe that the nearest village is only a mile up the road.”

It was not an ideal situation, but there was nothing else to be done.

So as the sun began to sink toward the horizon, Beatrice and Mrs. Hughes mounted the horses and rode toward the village, the driver following behind on foot.

Once they reached the village, the driver was able to locate a stable where he might commission a wheel, while Beatrice and Mrs. Hughes checked in at an inn.

It was a small establishment, with a thatched roof and dark beams out front in the Tudor style.

And the moment the door opened, the smell of cooking meat came wafting toward them, making Beatrice’s mouth water.

As they stepped inside, Beatrice caught sight of the sign hanging over the door: The Hart & The Hound, Chiddingstone.

She halted in her tracks. Chiddingstone…

She knew that name.

It was the name of the village closest to Vivienne’s home, Pendleton Manor. It had been many years since she had visited her best friend’s home in Kent, but she remembered the name Chiddingstone, because it was so unusual. She and Vivienne used to laugh about it together.

“What is wrong, Beatrice?” Mrs. Hughes asked. “Why have you stopped?”

“I just remembered that Vivienne lives close to here,” she said. “Just several hours of riding away!”

She took her traveling companion’s hands and squeezed it. “Oh, Mrs. Hughes, you must give me leave to come and visit her! We are already delayed by several days. It will not take long to ride to hers, and then we might even stay there for a few days! It will be far more comfortable than here.”

Mrs. Hughes, however, shook her head. “We cannot delay any longer, Beatrice. Your brother bid us to return post-haste. And I know that if we detour to visit Miss Carlton, we will only get delayed longer.”

“We will not!” Beatrice insisted. “We will pass a day or two in comfort and then be on our way--”

“You will want to stay with your friend whom you have not seen in years for longer than a few days,” Mrs. Hughes said, putting her hands on her hips.

“I am no fool, Beatrice. This is just a tactic to delay returning to your brother and meeting the man he has picked out for you.” Her gaze softened.

“I do not blame you for being nervous and wanting to delay something that may be very unpleasant. But I think it is better that we face this and get it over with. Delaying it will not make it go away. It will only make things worse and deteriorate the trust between yourself and your brother.”

Mrs. Hughes turned firmly away and headed down the corridor toward the reception. Beatrice, however, remained behind, staring bitterly after her companion.

What trust? She wanted to ask. She did not trust her brother at all. And he was deciding her fate for her without even asking her permission.

Well, she was not going to accept that. If she had to become a proper lady of the ton and be the dutiful sister and wife, then she needed one last adventure first. One last opportunity to feel as if her life was her own and she made her own fate.

Tonight, she would take a horse from the stables and go to see Vivienne. She would be back in a day or two, in time for the wheel to be fixed. But before that, she was going to make the most of her freedom, while she still had it.