To Dance with a Duke (Dollar Princess #2)

1. Chapter 1

“ Y ou are more than beautiful, Miss Parker.” The Earl of Cranford’s nasal voice purred in my ear as we danced at Lady Sheffield’s ball.

“Magnificent, stunning, gorgeous, alluring.” The last word was said in a long, drawn-out tone, his desperation on full display.

“If you’d allow me to show you the depths of my love, you would not question my devotion. ”

His devotion was not in question. Why he wanted to marry me was. If I was not in possession of my late father’s wealth, I was certain he would have nothing to do with me.

Relief washed over me as the orchestra brought the song to an end, and I was able to pull out of his death grip.

“Thank you, my lord.” I tried to sound pleased, but my voice caught in my throat.

For weeks, Mother had foisted the loathsome earl upon me and his ardor had only increased.

His hungry eyes followed me everywhere I went, making me feel like a fresh cut of meat in a butcher’s window.

He wasn’t in love with me, but in the money I possessed.

“If you’d let me propose marriage.” He tried to move closer as I stepped farther away, bumping into a crabby dowager of something or other.

She harumphed.

“Pardon me,” I said to her as I moved away—back into the clutches of Lord Cranford.

He smiled, his thin brown mustache lifting at the edges, as if I’d come willingly.

“Excuse me.” I pulled away from his hand. “I need to take a break.”

“But Miss Parker—Lily if I may—we have known each other for three weeks. Surely that’s time enough—”

“You’re embarrassing me,” I whispered as he followed me.

Lord Cranford’s daughter, Isabel, stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching us with her cat-like eyes. At the age of twenty-four, she was four years older than I, unmarried, and living under her father’s roof. And from the look on her face, she was not pleased with her father’s choice.

Not too far from Isabel stood my mother. She also did not look pleased, but for different reasons. A subtle tilt of her head toward Lord Cranford, and a warning lift of her eyebrow, made me wish I hadn’t looked at her.

I was thankful the ballroom was crowded. It appeared as if no one was paying attention to Lord Cranford and me. However, I’d quickly learned that someone was always watching, ready to report any little bit of gossip—real or imagined.

Lord Cranford caught up to me. He was older than my stepfather, yet their similarities were astonishing.

Both desperate for money, willing to marry anyone who was foolish enough to hand over her freedom.

Unfortunately, my mother had fallen victim to my stepfather, but I wasn’t so easily manipulated.

If I handed over my freedom, it would be my choice, under my stipulations, regardless of the pressure my mother imposed on me.

My money was mine alone. Father’s will had left half of his fortune to Mother and half to me. I could do anything I wanted.

“Perhaps we can speak later,” I said to placate Lord Cranford and my mother, knowing I was fighting a battle that had started the moment I entered my debut season in New York two years ago.

Because I was the oldest daughter, Mother had not wasted the opportunity to take me to Paris the next season, and then to London for the one I was currently enduring.

She’d brought me to nab a titled aristocrat with my inheritance and then she could return to New York triumphant, the mother of a countess or marchioness or—if she had better luck—a duchess.

I understood my role, and wasn’t opposed to making a home in England, though I missed my childhood home in California.

I was willing to marry a man I did not love if my life would have purpose and meaning, but no matter what happened, I would not marry a man I abhorred.

Lord Cranford took my hand and brought it to his dry lips. “I will wait an eternity for you, my dear.” After kissing my gloved hand, he added, “But later this evening would be preferable.”

A quick glance at Mother told me she was pleased.

Isabel scowled.

Lord Cranford bowed and then left my side to return to his daughter. He offered her his arm and escorted her onto the dance floor, petting her hand to soothe her as she spoke in a disgruntled tone.

I let out a sigh as Mother approached.

“We’re so very close, Lily,” she said, just above a whisper.

“Lord Cranford is not my ideal husband, Mother.”

“Pshaw,” she scolded while keeping a pleasant smile on her face, lest someone was watching, no doubt. “You knew what you were getting yourself into when we came.”

“I knew what you were getting me into,” I amended. “I’d rather be home, reading a book.” Or writing one, but I’d never admit that to her.

“Home.” Her smile slipped and the well-crafted facade she wore cracked slightly.

She was in her late forties and starting to show her age, though she used everything at her disposal to appear younger.

Her life had been hard growing up as her father had moved her family across the United States, chasing one dream or scheme after another.

Eventually, they ended up in San Francisco in 1859, ten years after the initial Gold Rush, and she’d met my father, Philip Parker.

It had been love at first sight.

Papa had been a merchant in San Francisco when the gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill in 1848.

Instead of running into the hills, he’d stayed in the city and bought every pan, pick ax, and pair of boots he could find, then marked up the prices to meet the demand.

A tin pan in early 1848 sold for twenty cents.

By 1849, he sold them for eight dollars apiece.

Within a year, he was the first millionaire in California, and by the time he met my mother, he was the wealthiest man west of the Mississippi River.

Instead of mining for gold, he had mined the miners, he used to say with a chuckle.

I smiled at the memory, still able to hear his voice and see the twinkle in his eye, though he’d been gone for ten years.

“You dislike New York,” Mother said, assuming I was referring to the home where we’d lived since Papa’s death.

“You know I don’t mean Manhattan,” I corrected. “California will always be my home.”

She pressed her lips together. “You agreed to this plan.”

I tried not to show my frustration. In California, we were Gold Rush royalty, but in New York, we were no better than the garbage tossed out the back door.

Our new money was not respectable, according to women such as Mrs. Caroline Astor, who turned her nose up at people like us.

Mother desperately wanted to fit into the society she had idolized since she was a child, and the only way to do that was to take me to London to marry an aristocrat.

Mrs. Astor could not snub the mother of a countess.

And since I had no life left in California, and did not like New York society, I’d agreed to her plan.

Lord Cranford had already lost his ancestral home to debt and bankruptcy. He was living in his London townhouse, and he was desperate for my money, while Mother was desperate for his title. The perfect plan—if it didn’t mean that I would be legally and morally bound to a man I couldn’t stomach.

A commotion in the ballroom caused everyone’s heads to turn toward the entrance.

The Duke of Severton had just arrived.

The orchestra continued to play, and people still danced, but there were whispers as heads tilted together and furtive glances were sent in his direction.

“So, the duke returns.” Mother lifted her eyebrows as she hurried away, no doubt to gossip with the other matrons.

Ruth Harrington and Martha Townsend, two American friends I’d known in New York, were soon at my side.

Both girls were pretty, outgoing, and stylish.

They, like me, were brought to England to make advantageous matches and were having the same problems I faced.

Old, stodgy aristocrats with little imagination or personality.

“I can’t believe he’s showing his face so soon after the scandal,” Martha said in her slow, purposeful way, her beautiful brown hair in a smooth chignon, not a strand out of place.

She was grace and elegance personified. Her father had made his money in the stock market, so she had been raised in New York and knew no other life.

“He’s desperate to find a wife.” Ruth moved closer to us, tripping on the hem of her gown, one of her wayward red curls falling out of her updo.

Her tight, ginger curls matched her vivacious, impetuous personality.

“And it’s been a week,” she added, her voice a little louder than she probably intended. “How long do you expect him to wait?”

Unlike Martha, Ruth had been raised in the South, her father making his fortune selling horses during the American Civil War. Her family was newer to society’s rituals and expectations, which made her a little uncouth and unique in our circle.

“I wasn’t sure we would see him again.” I watched the duke, more fascinated by him than ever before. Why had Clara Hill rejected him in favor of the American she chose?

His dark eyes scanned the room, as if he was assessing his options, and perhaps he was. Everyone knew he’d come to London for one reason: to secure an American heiress. Though he had to be aware of the reaction he was receiving, he appeared to be too aloof to care.

“Wasn’t Miss Hill one of your friends?” Martha whispered behind her well-placed fan.

“I didn’t know her long,” I told them, “but we were friendly.”

“She’s already on her way back to New York with her new fiancé.” Ruth moved closer to me to get a better look at the duke. Her curls tickled my face, causing me to move aside. “If the Duke of Severton wasn’t so scary, I might feel bad for him.”

“Clara and the duke were not formally engaged,” I countered. “But there was an understanding between them.” The ensuing scandal when Clara chose someone else had been on everyone’s lips all week.