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How to Fool a Duke
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How to Fool a Duke
The Husband Dilemma
Book 1
Mary Lancaster & Violetta Rand
© Copyright 2020 by Mary Lancaster & Violetta Rand
Text by Mary Lancaster & Violetta Rand
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
[email protected]
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition November 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
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Dearest Reader;
Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
The Husband Dilemma Series
How to Fool a Duke
Season of Scandal Series
Pursued by the Rake
Abandoned to the Prodigal
Married to the Rogue
Unmasked by her Lover
Imperial Season Series
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series
The Wicked Baron
The Wicked Lady
The Wicked Rebel
The Wicked Husband
The Wicked Marquis
The Wicked Governess
The Wicked Spy
The Wicked Gypsy
The Wicked Wife
Wicked Christmas (A Novella)
The Wicked Waif
The Wicked Heir
The Wicked Captain
The Wicked Sister
Unmarriageable Series
The Deserted Heart
The Sinister Heart
The Vulgar Heart
The Broken Heart
The Weary Heart
The Secret Heart
Christmas Heart
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Fed to the Lyon
Also from Mary Lancaster
Madeleine
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Violetta Rand
The Husband Dilemma Series
How to Fool a Duke
Highlands Forever Series
Unbreakable
Undeniable
Unyielding
Lords of Hedonism
Duke of Decadence
Viking’s Fury Series
Love’s Fury
Desire’s Fury
Passion’s Fury
Also from Violetta Rand
Viking Hearts
Raven
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Violetta Rand
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
About Mary Lancaster
About Violetta Rand
Chapter One
Sarah reached for the final note. She sang it with all the clarity she had been taught and all the emotion of which she was capable. And she held it perfectly before letting it fade into silence.
Exhilarated, she glanced toward Signor Arcadi. To her delight, he did not merely nod his grudging approval. He beamed. And then the applause broke out. Her audience rose en masse in spontaneous acclaim, rather than merely polite appreciation.
At last, she thought with anticipation. At last, I am ready…
She curtseyed deeply in gratitude, first to her audience and then to Signor Arcadi, who had trained her voice beyond a mere ladylike accomplishment to this level of skill and power. To have reached the stage of capturing this audience of cultured and talented people almost overwhelmed her.
“Better. Much better,” Signor Arcadi murmured and placed her hand on his arm with gratifying pride. Together, they stepped forward to meet the adulation.
Sarah could almost imagine she had just sung at Covent Garden, instead of a tea-time recital in a small assembly room in the backwater town of Whitmore. Yet in many ways, these people congratulating her were her peers, and their opinion mattered nearly as much as Signor Arcadi’s.
She was smiling so much; she thought her face would split. Hammy, more properly Miss Hammond, once her governess and now her companion, held her hands clasped under her chin in almost motherly pride.
The crowd parted, and she saw that her performance had been honored indeed. Lady Whitmore stood before her—a tiny lady, white haired and yet not quite elderly, supremely elegant in her simple silk gown and diamonds. As Sarah curtsied, Lady Whitmore extended her hand. Another accolade.
“You have always had one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard,” Lady Whitmore said kindly. “And now you are a credit to Signor Arcadi. A moving and utterly charming performance, my dear.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Sarah said gratefully, taking her hand. “You are all kindness.”
“And I am all pride,” Signor Arcadi beamed. “My favorite pupil. Until tomorrow, at least, when we will go over your mistakes.”
Sarah laughed. “Couldn’t you leave it until then to take the wind out of my sails?”
“He is a hard taskmaster,” Lady Whitmore agreed. “Which is why we so appreciate him here! Now my dear, I have an invitation for you. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Bringing Miss Hammy, of course.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, dazed by this fresh honor. “I would love to.”
“I’m afraid it will not b
e a dinner party, merely a cozy supper with just the three of us.”
“I look forward to it,” Sarah murmured. And she did. If only to tell Lady Whitmore that it was time for her to leave this sanctuary of art and culture, for it was time to take all her talents to the real world.
*
Lady Whitmore was the undoubted queen of her domain. Her castle sat on top of the cliff overlooking the sea on one side and the town of Whitmore on the other. On a fine spring evening, it was a pleasant walk up the hill from Sarah’s cottage. As she and Hammy drew closer, the castle seemed to lose its fairy-tale quality and become, instead, the defensive stronghold it was designed to be.
“It is as if she defends us all from up here,” Sarah mused as they walked under the arch of the outer, thirteenth-century walls. “Only instead of violent raiders, she repels prying eyes and unwanted family.”
“Yes, well, you must not speculate,” Hammy warned her. “It was always part of the agreement when we took the cottage.”
“We promised not to speculate about our neighbors,” Sarah argued, “not about her ladyship.”
“She is a neighbor, too,” Hammy said firmly.
“Yes, but don’t you wonder about her just a little? One would think she must be lonely up here by herself, and that is why she has made her village a sanctuary of the arts and learning for those others who care to hide from the world for whatever reasons. But she only moves among us occasionally, and even more rarely invites anyone to dine.”
“You do not know how many people dine here,” Hammy pointed out. “Or how often.”
“Well, we have been here more than a year,” Sarah pointed out, “and this is our first invitation. Do you suppose she knows we are leaving?”
The conversation had taken them across the wide courtyard which had been covered in lawns and gardens, to the front door, where Hammy frowned her to silence. There had been a time when Sarah would have sung at the top of her voice just for the fun of defying her, and she was still tempted. But she had learned good manners among everything else, so she merely smiled wryly and inclined her head while her old governess raised the large, iron knocker.
Almost at once, the great door swung open. A liveried, middle-aged footman bowed them inside, and Sarah looked about her in wonder. The entrance hall was a seamless blend of ancient carved stone and modern luxury. An indecipherable coat of arms carved above doorways, carpets on the stone floors, and even leading up the massive, curving staircase. Wall sconces looked as if they were made for flaming torches but contained candles.
An elderly, dignified butler materialized before them and asked them with a bow to follow him. He led them up the staircase and along a picture-lined gallery to a set of double-doors, which he pushed open.
He bowed into the room. “Your Grace. Miss Sarah and Miss Hammy.”
Your Grace. Sarah’s curiosity burgeoned. Their hostess, the sole occupant of the room before they walked in, was Lady Whitmore. Why would her servant address her as Your Grace? A title once reserved for queens, and now only for duchesses—among the female sex at least.
“Ah, thank you, Saunders,” Lady Whitmore said. Smiling, she stood up from a massive desk at which she had been writing, and replaced her pen in the elegant stand. “Ladies, please join me in a glass of sherry. Or would you prefer ratafia?”
Sarah, dragging her gaze from the massive leather-bound books and what looked like parchment scrolls that lined the cabinets around the walls, curtseyed and asked for sherry.
Lady Whitmore served them herself from a Venetian glass decanter into matching glasses. “This is the center of my world,” she said, presenting the glasses, and waving her hand around the room. “My library.”
Sarah sat on the comfortable, velvet-covered sofa. “It is a beautiful room. Are you engaged upon a great work here?”
“Many minor works,” Lady Whitmore replied.
“You have a wonderful view,” Hammy said, gazing in awe toward the window that overlooked the sea.
“My inspiration and my reminder of a mere human’s limitations,” Lady Whitmore said, choosing a chair close to them.
“What are the subjects of your works?” asked Sarah, who had once believed women had no need of learning and that bluestockings were to be pitied.
“Genealogy,” Lady Whitmore replied unexpectedly. “Largely. Also, I study human nature, which I suppose makes me a philosopher. We shall talk more of that over dinner, if you wish. But I would like to hear about you, Miss Sarah. Your little recital this afternoon was…dazzling.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, blushing with gratitude. “I have worked hard over the last year.”
“So Signor Arcadi tells me. Of course, he is delighted to have such a naturally sweet voice to train. But I understand you have not limited yourself to his training. You also attend lectures in art and the classic texts, poetry readings, and even the political salons. Your interests are wide.”
“They are,” Sarah agreed.
“And you, Miss Hammy? I believe you were Miss Sarah’s governess? Are you responsible for her voracious love of learning?”
“I would like to claim so,” Hammy said ruefully, “but in truth, it occurred in spite of me rather than because of me. I taught only the basic education and accomplishments thought to be necessary in a young lady of quality. And from the age of eleven, I’m afraid Sarah despised those things.”
“I was, alas, selfish and opinionated,” Sarah admitted. “And wild to a fault. I led poor Hammy in a terrible dance for the next five years.”
“Oh, it was not as bad as that,” Hammy insisted. “Although it must be said, you did worry your dear parents.”
Lady Whitmore’s perceptive gaze flickered from one to the other, although she kept her interested smile throughout. “Then what on earth led you to Whitmore? A positive hotbed of learning and accomplishments?”
“I grew up,” Sarah said lightly and sipped her sherry.
“At the ripe old age of, what?” Lady Whitmore wondered. “Are you even nineteen years old yet?”
“Almost,” Sarah admitted.
“Then you were just seventeen when you came to us, were you not? An age when most young ladies of your class are enjoying their first London Season and trying to catch a husband.”
Sarah couldn’t quite prevent the curl of her lip or the echo of the old hurt. “My parents did not feel I would compete well on the marriage mart. They sent me abroad with my aunt and uncle in the hope the experience would give me a little…polish.”
“Did it?” Lady Whitmore asked innocently.
Sarah laughed. “In all honesty, no. But it did open my eyes to many things, mainly my own ignorance. I realized there was more to the world than climbing trees and doing exactly what I wished. I learned what I liked to do and what I was good at—singing. And I realized I needed to broaden my mind as well as my accomplishments. Somewhere along the way, I heard of Whitmore, and when we came home, I asked Hammy to investigate for me. I am here with my parents’ permission, although I suspect they tell their friends I am still abroad.”
“Interesting,” Lady Whitmore murmured.
Saunders, the dignified butler, opened the doors once more. “Dinner is served, Your Grace.”
Again, Sarah had to swallow back her curiosity as they rose and accompanied Lady Whitmore to a dining room that was not the huge banqueting hall Sarah expected, but a pleasant, comfortable room with another charming view of the sea under the darkening sky.
“I prefer to dine here with my guests,” Lady Whitmore said. “Since comfort is so much more important than formality.”
The servants withdrew after serving each course, which added further to the sense of intimacy. At first, Lady Whitmore’s conversation was impersonal and pleasantly humorous. Only when the fish course had been cleared away and a game pie set before them, did their hostess ask Sarah, “So, have you found what you wanted to at Whitmore?”
“Yes, I believe I have. And I fear we shall be leaving quite
soon.”
“We shall miss you. Might I ask what you intend to do?”
“Go back to the real world,” Sarah said wryly, “and implement my new…knowledge.”
Lady Whitmore raised one intrigued eyebrow. “In what way?”
“In the way I always meant to.”
Lady Whitmore, who ate sparingly, laid down her knife and fork. “I would be honored to know what that is. As you may have guessed, I like to help my guests when I can, even when they leave us. Of course, you are under no obligation to reveal anything, but I have watched you grow and blossom here, and I hope I may be of some use to you. I know who you are, of course, but not the true motivation behind your long stay with us.”
Sarah shifted uncomfortably and reached for her wine. Without lifting the glass, she said, “I believe I am afraid to lose your good opinion. You will think me petty, and perhaps you are right, but I came to prove something to myself and to my family. And to…a certain high-ranking gentleman.”
“Perhaps you should begin at the beginning,” Lady Whitmore said calmly. “Which is that you were born Lady Sarah Merrington, the youngest daughter of the Earl of Drimmen.”
Sarah inclined her head with mock pride. “I shall not bore you with the story of my life! It will bring back too many horrible memories for poor Hammy here. I was something of a wild child. My brothers and sisters were much older, and so I played with local children at Merrin Park—the family estate where I was largely brought up. Most of my friends were village boys and farmers’ sons. One day, when I was about sixteen, my parents noticed me and were appalled. They decided I should learn to be a lady, and poor Hammy tried again to drum some manners and etiquette into me.”
“She could behave very well when she chose,” Hammy put in.
Sarah cast her a quick, apologetic smile. “Well, it made Hammy unhappy when I behaved badly, so I tried not to. Then, before I was even out, my parents arranged a possible—and brilliant—match for me. With the high-ranking gentleman I mentioned before.” She sipped the wine thoughtfully and set down the glass. “I should probably say that I had seen my older sisters make advantageous matches that made them neither happy nor interesting people, so I resolved that if I was to marry the duke, he would have to like me as I am.”