The Rake and the Mad Duchess (Brides of Disaster #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Miss Celestine Hargrave watched her sister shovel a slice of cake down her throat as if the world might end at any moment and she was desperate to finish the sweet treat before it did.

“There is an age-old tradition that you should be made aware of,” Celestine said with a wry smile. “It is called chewing, Isolde. You might wish to try it.”

Miss Isolde Hargrave narrowed her eyes at Celestine but did not stop her shoveling.

If anything, it looked as if she tried to fit even more of the cake down her gullet; she was a naturally rebellious teenager of eighteen, and by making a comment about her eating habits, Celestine had only ensured that they would be ignored.

“Fine,” Celestine chuckled. “Be stubborn. Just don’t let Mother see you.”

“I am hungry,” Isolde said thickly. “Is it my fault that Mother…” She swallowed. “… has not let us eat all day.”

“So that you could fit into that gown,” Celestine joked. “Personally, I am surprised she did not send word ahead, assuring there were no treats available to you. She ought to know better.”

“Yes, she ought to,” Isolde said with a wicked grin. Her eyes then darted to the right, the table where there was more cake to be had. “If anything, this is her fault…” Isolde reached for another slice of cake.

Celestine laughed at her sister’s antics as she swept her eyes over the ballroom to search out their mother.

She found her watching, which had her standing in front of Isolde to block her from sight.

Celestine did not care how Isolde behaved.

If anything, she encouraged it, because a young lady ought to be herself.

“There you are!” Sweeping toward the two young ladies came the third Hargrave sister, Miss Marigold Hargave. She looked panicked, such that she did not notice the way Isolde was eating. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Here we are,” Isolde said simply.

“It is Mother,” Marigold said, dropping her voice as if they might be overheard. “Have you seen her this evening? Worse, have you seen what she has been doing?”

“No…” Celestine looked to where their mother was, and she sighed as she noticed her heading their way slowly.

“She has been sticking her nose in, is what,” Marigold said. “Making it known to every single lord here that her daughters are oh so eager to be courted. Making it seem as if we are desperate!”

“Not a surprise,” Celestine said with a curling of her upper lip. “It is not as if she has been subtle about her intentions.”

“I told her not to be so forward,” Marigold grumbled. “I told her that there is no rush! But would she listen?”

Celestine chuckled. “You are better off having a conversation with a brick wall. You know how Mother is.” Again, she glanced toward their mother who, thankfully, had become distracted on her way toward them.

“I’m going to speak to her again,” Marigold said. “I am going to make her listen!”

“Good.” Celestine nodded as if she agreed. “You do that while I work on growing a pair of wings so that I might fly.”

“This is not funny, Celestine!”

“Am I laughing?”

“Well, you are not helping.”

“I will talk to her.” Celestine took her younger sister’s hand. “You will only say the wrong thing, Marigold, and make it worse. Let me speak to her and…” She sighed. “Perhaps I can convince her to take it easy tonight. It is only the third event of the Season. There is no rush.”

“Good luck,” Marigold scoffed. “You will need it.”

There were four Hargrave sisters in total.

The eldest, Ariadne, was already married and utterly in love; she was the sister who their mother was most proud of.

Marigold was nineteen and while she was well-behaved, she was a little too blunt and forward-speaking for her own good.

Isolde was eighteen, this was her first Season, and she was rebellious and bold and free-spirited in the ways that younger women often were.

And then there was Celestine…

Once, not so long ago, Celestine was the type who wanted to fall in love and marry, just as she was proud to admit it. But much had changed since then, and now Celestine was the least likely of the three remaining sisters to find a man and settle down.

To put it bluntly, she simply did not believe in the concept of love.

What was more, she believed that love was a lie used to trick and manipulate women into bondage.

And because she believed this with all her heart, she had dedicated her life to making sure that her two younger sisters did not have this fate forced upon them.

And if my mother hates me for it… well, that is a small price to pay.

She turned from her two sisters to brace herself for her mother’s arrival.

The ballroom was filled with scores of guests, all enjoying the evening’s event as it was still early enough in the Season that such balls as this had yet to become a chore.

Through the vast crowds, she found her mother, she made eye contact, and she held it as if to warn her mother of what she was walking into.

But then…

“Oh, no!” Isolde cried out.

Celestine spun about and groaned when she saw the reason for her younger sister’s antics. The poor thing had somehow managed to spill a slab of cake onto her pink gown, staining the front in a way that might have been amusing was it not so tragic.

“I told you to chew,” Celestine said.

Isolde’s face had turned pale and she looked about the busy ballroom with fear. “I did not mean to. I… I… what do I do?”

Celestine took a quick survey of the situation.

The three sisters stood toward the back of the ballroom but there were still plenty of people nearby, and more than a handful of them glanced across when they heard Isolde cry out.

A few snickered. Several rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

And when their mother arrived… she is sure to be furious.

“Marigold, take Isolde to the retiring room and clean Isolde up,” Celestine ordered her sister quickly. “And try and keep her covered.”

“Come on…” Marigold took Isolde by the hand. “Quickly now.”

Isolde looked appropriately distraught. Although she was not eager for courtship like many of her age, she was still aware of social expectations and the effect of rumor mongering. A small incident like this, if left to fester, would surely have tremendous negative repercussions.

“… oh yes, he proposed just yesterday,” Celestine heard a woman’s voice announce from her right. “I was so surprised. Truly, I could not believe it! He has always been a romantic.”

An idea came to life and Celestine allowed herself a wicked smirk.

“Engaged, you say?” Celestine turned to find Miss Madeline Rosewater speaking to a few of her close friends. “How wonderful!” Celestine swept toward them, making a show of it.

Madeline eyed her warily as she no doubt knew of Celestine’s reputation… one which I am about to make infinitely worse.

“Might I propose a toast,” Celestine said, pitching her voice high as Isolde and Marigold slipped away. “To marriage! Sure to be a disaster, almost certain to be built on lies and deceit, but eternal nonetheless so that we are left with no choice but to claim otherwise. Congratulations.”

Madeline Rosewater and her friends gaped at Celestine’s less-than typical toast. And those in the immediate vicinity, close enough to overhear, frowned and scoffed and shook their heads as they muttered words of judgement that Celestine was only too used to hearing by then.

However, over their shoulders, Celestine spied Isolde and Marigold slip through the crowds, unnoticed, and thus saved from embarrassment.

Perhaps not the most subtle of distractions, but it will have to do.

“Celestine!” From behind Celestine, her mother suddenly appeared. “Will you…!” She snatched Celestine by the arm and dragged her away.

“Truly, I wish you well!” Celestine called over her shoulder as she was dragged away. “Give my best to your future captor for me!”

Celestine’s mother, Lady Ophelia Hargrave, the Dowager Viscount of Fairbrook, seethed not-so-silently as she pulled Celestine through the crowd and toward the back of the ballroom.

Her hand was a claw and it dug into Celestine’s arm so that even if she wanted to wiggle free, she would not be able to.

Her mother was sure to be furious with her, but that was a risk Celestine was happy to take. Her charge in life was to look after her sisters, and if that meant sacrificing her own position in the ton, so be it.

“What is the matter with you?” her mother snapped once they were alone.

“What did I do?” Celestine asked innocently. “I was merely congratulating a friend. Is it my fault that I am willing to say what others will not?”

Lady Ophelia was forty-nine years old but the stress of looking after her daughters had aged her greatly beyond those years.

Once, she might have looked much like Celestine; indeed, Celestine had been told often of their similarities.

The same chestnut hair, thick and curled.

The same expressive hazel eyes, a tad too big for their face.

The same shorter stature with sweeping curves, and the same regal features that made a beautiful face.

Only now… she really has grown old these past few years, a fate I am determined to avoid, one that starts with avoiding married life.

“What has happened to you, Celestine,” her mother sighed. “You used to be so much more…” A shake of the head. “You were a good girl, the type that any mother would be proud of.”

“Are you saying that you are not proud of me?”

“I am saying that you have changed,” her mother said flatly. “You seem determined to embarrass yourself, as if you have a vendetta against your own reputation.”

“I am only being true to who I am, Mother.”

“No,” she said. “You are being purposefully cantankerous and wild. I mean…” She looked about the ballroom and dropped her voice. “You know well what people call you.”

“I do not care what people call me.”

“You should,” she said. “If not for me, then for your sisters.”