Matters of a Duke’s Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

The crowd that entered into Vauxhall Gardens through Mr. Barrett’s house was a riot of excited chatter and eyes that keenly assessed those around them. Among the group was Lady Felicity Merriweather, who linked her younger sister’s arm tightly, guiding her through the crush as best she could. The buzz of anticipation and excitement hung heavy in the air, pushing the tide of visitors onwards.

“Heavens, Daphne, you would just have to pick the busiest day.” Felicity and Daphne’s mother, Lady Victoria Merriweather, sent a scathing scowl toward both the sisters. Lady Merriweather’s pale face was flushed, as Felicity was sure her own was. Although her own was caused by a slight panic at the thick of the crowd, her mother’s was a hot and bothersome flush. Daphne, however, was rosy with pure excitement.

“Mama, if we cannot experience Vauxhall Gardens in such crowds then there is little point in coming at all!” Daphne exclaimed, tugging on Felicity’s arm tighter. Despite the three years between them, and the thought to attend Vauxhall Gardens being Daphne’s idea initially, Felicity felt herself getting swept up in the joy of it all.

Her sister, only recently debuted at the start of the Season the previous month, looked around as they finally passed through the entryway into the gardens. The many sections spread out before them, different paths branching off to various attractions. The Grand Walk cut a broad length of pathway right down to the very end, where it intersected with another path. Further, at the far reaches, almost hidden due to the distance, was the Dark Walk.

Felicity hurriedly averted her gaze, knowing the rumors of lovers who had many a rendezvous there.

Even if the concept itself was terribly romantic—and scandalous, she reminded herself—she would never do such a thing. It was not as though she had anyone to attend a romantic rendezvous with, anyway.

The crush of the crowd urged them past the Rotunda and Pillard Saloon, for it was the Orchestra that drew the ton in that late afternoon.

“Stay close to me, Daphne,” Lady Merriweather instructed. “I do not want you flying away in this… this elephant stampede.”

Felicity and Daphne laughed at their mother’s displeasure as they ventured deeper. Around them, music already sounded from the direction of the Orchestra, and the sound of other ladies and families laughing together filtered through the summer day. Every patch of walkway and grass Felicity could see was packed with people.

She blinked, momentarily distracted by twin butterflies that fluttered around one another, stalling for a moment, simply watching.

She was jostled from behind, and caught herself, glancing back in annoyance.

“Felicity,” her mother snapped. She hurried to catch up with her mother and sister who had found a way through a clearer patch of people. But the more Felicity tried to reach them the more she felt separated.

“Felicity!” Daphne called out.

“Daphne!” Felicity didn’t raise her voice, but her frustration snapped out. How had her arm slipped from Daphne’s? She watched her sister’s blonde ringlets disappear the thicker the crowd grew around her, and Felicity’s heart pounded. She was a stone in the middle of a rushing river current.

She couldn’t be left alone, shouldn’t be alone, and she fought her way to get back to her family. Cursing her sister for insisting they attended the gardens that day, cursing herself for allowing herself to get too excited and distracted, she tried to push through.

“Excuse me,” she said firmly to those in her way, trying to slip around others. “Excuse me—excuse me.”

But nobody parted enough, and the more she looked over heads—somewhat failing, for it seemed every tall, top-hatted patron of every family was suddenly in her way—she couldn’t spot her family anywhere.

“Are you lost, my lady?” A voice came from behind her, and she whirled around, stumbling into somebody else at her back. She felt knocked every which way as she tried to right herself long enough to look at a young lord whom she recognized from Daphne’s debutante ball last month.

“N-no,” she stammered. “Excuse me.”

Felicity tried to duck around more bodies but only found herself shoved aside, lost to the current. Soon, she realized she had surged past the Orchestra, and was ejected from the crush of the crowd near the Octagon Rooms and Center Cross Walk. Vauxhall Gardens was not an entirely new place to her, but she had visited with her mother on quieter, spring days. This walkway, at least, would lead her back to the entrance. At least she thought.

It was approaching the height of summer, and Mr. Barrett had opened the gardens to celebrate some new addition to his outdoor spectacle. Daphne had spoken about it over breakfast that morning but Felicity couldn’t recall what the addition itself was, her attention too fixed on her newest read.

She lingered on the Center Cross Walk, watching as the river of guests didn’t let up for a moment. Glancing behind her, she saw the wall of hedges lining the Lover’s Walk ahead. She quickly looked away, noting the other pathway before that. Archways rose over the trees around the garden, indicating a straight path back toward the entrance.

Hurriedly, she went toward those arches.

She continued to curse her lovely, excitable sister in her head over and over. Daphne had gotten swept up in her debut eagerness, wanting to attend every social event the ton had to offer, but Felicity was into her third Season, and her own elation had flagged a long time ago, replaced by disappointment.

Toying with a lock of her auburn hair to steady her nerves, Felicity sped up, glancing around before she picked up her skirts a little to help hasten herself. So focused on her panic and need to return, Felicity didn’t realize anybody approached from around the corner as she veered around it. She smacked right into somebody and cried out in surprise as she stumbled back.

Her breath wheezed out of her as she immediately lifted her gaze.

Her eyes landed on a man perhaps a few years older than her. A lord, if anything was to be guessed by his fine tailcoat and silk, black cravat. Felicity’s hope rose even as no apology was offered.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said instead. “I did not mean to—to walk in your path.”

She met eyes of pure, icy blue, and she blinked, taken aback. Most men smiled, offered a hand to steady a lady, apologized first out of proprietary, perhaps hoping to earn favor if the lady was pretty and desirable enough. But this lord… he merely looked detached and stoic as he looked down at her.

“It is fine, my lady,” he said, nodding once at her before striding on. “Enjoy the celebration.” Aghast, Felicity wondered if he really wouldn’t apologize for not looking where he was walking, either. The man paused at her staring after him. He frowned but continued on.

“Wait!” Felicity cried out, her hand reaching to stop him from walking away. Her fingertips improperly grazed his coat cuff, and she cringed, yanking her hand back. “I apologize again. I—it is just that I do not want to wander the gardens alone. I do not really know my way around. At least not these parts.”

Those hard eyes stared at her from beneath raised brows, as if he did not believe her. Felicity blushed when she realized how it sounded like an attempt for companionship. Despite the lack of feeling in his gaze, his face was otherwise very handsome. A strong jawline and pronounced cheekbones framed a mouth that was pulled into a grimace. His dark hair curled at his coat collar and was swept from his forehead in a way that made him only more dashing. Yet it exposed those cold eyes, giving him a stare that was intimidating. Paired with his dark clothing, Felicity tried to keep her wits about her.

“I do not mean it improperly,” she was quick to amend. “I am trying to find my way back to my family, but I do not usually enter the way I did tonight.”

“The Kennington Lane entrance,” he guessed, nodding behind her. “It is relatively new.”

“I believe so,” she said. “My father usually takes me through that way when we are visiting casually. But my mother guided me today through Mr. Barrett’s residence for the celebration.”

The lord hummed at her, his mouth twitching. His eyes swept around them, and she desperately wanted to tell him that she was not the sort of woman to swindle or trap a man. But it was clear he held no trust for anything else.

“Please,” she tried again. “I—I just do not want to be separated and need your help to—”

“No.”

The cold response came bluntly, suddenly, and it caught her off guard. “Sorry?”

“No,” he repeated, his jaw clenched as he stepped back. This time, the distance was too great for her to reach for him. Her hope fell as she looked around, the walls and trees rising too high to see her true way. Felicity’s chest tightened with panic. “Good day, my lady.”

And then the man was gone, striding away with the nonchalance of a man who thought he was too good and too high above to help her. Dismayed, Felicity watched his retreating figure, finding nobody else walking the pathway. In the face of the crush through the main walkway the silence was a blessing, but in terms of Felicity quickly finding her way back, it was not.

Making a rough noise of irritation in her throat, she began logically walking in the direction of where the entrance ought to be. Vauxhall Gardens was expansive, and when it came to the more hidden trails—trails designated for secret lovers and public lovers who simply wanted privacy away from the ton’s gossip mill—Felicity was out of her depth.

Only once did she turn back to seek out the handsome but rude stranger who had dismissed her so abruptly. She couldn’t help but wonder who he was.

I ought to be glad, Felicity thought to herself. Better a rude stranger than a man to take advantage of her while alone. Still, his slight against her had stung.

Moments later, she looked behind her again, pausing. The back of her neck prickled, as if she was being watched, but when she searched around, she only saw several couples up ahead paying her no mind. The paths all intersected with one another, and she swept her gaze over them all, trying to find the source of her worry. When there was nothing there, she turned her attention back in the direction of the Orchestra. The prickling didn’t dissipate. Felicity inhaled sharply, trying to swallow down her fear. Perhaps the lord she had met wasn’t far away and had come back to check on her.

Shoes on the paths behind her had her glancing again but as soon as she did, there was a skid of

noise, a rustle of bushes, and Felicity saw the corner of an emerald-green tailcoat disappear into a hedged alcove, out of sight. She thought about calling out, to know if anybody truly was there, or if her panic was playing tricks on her. But she didn’t, and fear clenched around her chest. She was defenseless if she did call out, or that could be interpreted as garnering attention.

Her breath short, Felicity quickly hurried away.

She didn’t want to be caught wandering alone.

Soon, she saw the top turret of the Orchestra, and her chest eased in relief. Finally.

Her mother immediately spotted her, and her eyes narrowed on Felicity as she beckoned her over.

“Where on earth did you go?” Her mother asked, her voice high with hysteria. “I had poor Mr. Barrett hounded to look for you!”

“Mama, I am well,” Felicity insisted, not wanting to cause her mother any distress, even if her own heart fluttered with the residual anxiety of her own. “I am here now. I got pushed off the main path.” She said nothing of her encounter with the handsome stranger, or her scare over potentially being followed by another man.

What color had the lord’s tailcoat been? He wore dark colors but… green?

She could not recall but she was certain he hadn’t followed her. After all, why follow her when he had dismissed her plea for help?

That meant there had been another stranger.

Felicity swallowed, mustering a smile at her mother. “Do not let my mishap ruin this for Daphne. Where is she?”

“She is speaking with the Countess of Harlbury’s daughter over there.”

Felicity’s mother’s voice was still curt with worry rather than the anger Felicity expected with being gone for so long. Felicity looked to where her sister stood with one of her friends, the two of them animatedly talking as they not-so-discreetly looked around at the young lords in attendance.

“She will have no trouble finding a suitor,” Felicity noted. Her sister was pretty—the very gem of the ton, really. She had already been named one of the most eligible ladies of this Season’s debuts along with the girl she was speaking with, Lady Tessa Harlbury.

“Your father has Lord Graham in mind,” Felicity’s mother told her, but a quick assessment showed no sight of the young lord.

“A future marchioness, then?” Felicity asked.

“I want the best for you both,” her mother said. “It will be a rank higher for Daphne. We have no sons to continue your father’s earldom, so I wish only the most elevated ranks for you both. I even have my eye on a duke’s son for her.”

And what of me? Felicity was not brave enough to ask her question. Her mother had chosen the same options for her upon her own debut. It was her own fault she had not succeeded, too lost in her search for love and not enough on duty. She wanted to marry; she did not want to need to marry, and that was why she had already passed two Seasons without securing a match.

“You have received enough offers, Felicity,” her mother scolded, as if reading her thoughts. “I presented you with the sons of marquesses and earls. You refused them all. Even Lord Sanford.”

“Lord Sanford was already graying at my debut,” Felicity muttered. “And none of them ever truly asked about me. They wanted my qualities for boasting purposes rather than to get to know me. I was a checklist for them rather than a person.”

“Felicity,” her mother sighed, shaking her head. A pinch of guilt nestled in her at how weary that sigh sounded. “You are my eldest daughter, and I worry for your future. This is your third Season. You must marry well, my darling. Do you… do you not think it is time to put away these ideals of love and focus on your future security?”

When Felicity could only lapse into silence, her mother continued. “After all, I did not love your father when my own parents set up our marriage. But in time, I came to love him. I came to see Merriweather House as a home. Perhaps you might follow in my footsteps. Love can always blossom, Felicity. In fact, some people may argue it is a quiet blessing if it does not ignite immediately. That way, you know the love is deeper and far greater, for it has had time to brew.”

“Brew,” Felicity echoed. “Mother, it is the matter of my heart, not a cup of tea that will strengthen with time.”

At that, her mother smiled reluctantly. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind. In fact, we are attending Lady Cardale’s ball next week. Will you let me set you up for some dances?”

Felicity nodded dutifully. “Please, though, Mama, do not introduce me to more men old enough to be my grandfather. My father, even.”

Her mother sighed again, linking her arm through Felicity’s. “Darling, if you continue to refuse every younger suitor in London, and beyond, then you have to understand you leave your father with less and less options to provide me with for you.”

The worst part was that Felicity did understand, and that was partially why she felt so wretched. She could not betray the yearning her heart had for love, but she would only corner herself by clinging tightly to that. She gazed out at her sister, hoping that Daphne would have enough time to find her love match, even if Felicity was half-resigned to the fact that her own might not happen. Not this late on, anyway.

Daphne finally spotted her and rushed over. “You were gone for so long I half feared you were lost among the Dark Walk!”

“Heavens,” their mother laughed. “Do not mention such a scandalous thing so loudly, Daphne.”

Daphne blushed but giggled quietly, taking her place at Felicity’s side again. In her pale blue dress, and with her blonde hair and the green eyes the sisters had in common, she was the perfect image of a ton lady on the cusp of a prosperous Season, no doubt.

Good things will happen for her, Felicity thought. And for me… I can only hope I can please my mama and that my love match is waiting for me. For she was aware of her time running out, and she could not be the Season’s spinster. Her heart ached at the thought of it.

She turned her gaze to where an announcer stood atop the Orchestra platform.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being guests of Vauxhall Gardens on this celebratory evening. Mr. Barrett has prepared a most admired firework display for you this evening to commemorate, as well as a short announcement of the new addition to the gardens. Do enjoy your evening. Thank you.”

The low, rough voice of the handsome stranger that had dismissed her so abruptly echoed in her mind, his dismissive enjoy the celebration lingering.

As Felicity listened to the speech, she looked out at the crowd, wondering where he had disappeared to, for she did not see him. Forcing him from her thoughts, she let her mind wander further. Who else in the crowd might catch her eye at next week’s ball?

Was her future love in attendance?

Could she still hope for the love match she had long dreamed of?

Chapter Two

Spencer Dunne, the Duke of Langdon, stalked through Vauxhall Gardens, his eyes pointedly fixed ahead. He did not make eye contact with anybody, even as he was aware of the eyes that tried to catch his. He made his way down the Grand Walk, emerging from the other path he had been on, his thoughts firmly distracted from the lady he had accidentally walked into not long ago.

He had glanced back once when he reached the turn onto another path, finding her hurriedly making her way in the opposite direction. There had been a moment where Spencer had paused, considering going back, until a couple had entered the path, spotted him, and forced him onwards with their whisperings.

Despite his rank, Spencer felt as though he was constantly trying to run away from them all. All, with their gossip and their speculation about his life, their casts of judgement when he had done nothing to them, nothing to slight them. Nothing to encourage or dissuade the rumors, either.

Why bother wasting his breath? The ton would believe what it wanted to, and he had seen his name in the scandal sheets enough times already, the damage to his reputation already done. He didn’t need to add more to with a confrontation.

Spencer grimaced as he approached the large crowd gathered around the Orchestra, but thankfully, the brown-haired earl he was looking for stood away from the crush of guests that day, already looking around. Once he clapped eyes on Spencer, he smiled brightly.

“And here I thought you would never show up. What time do you call this?” Rupert Rinhart, the Earl of Wexley, regarded Spencer as he walked up to him. His friend looked rather amused. “Although, by the sour look on your face I am starting to think it best if you had not showed. Do not scare away the ladies, Spencer.”

“The ladies will be preoccupied with the fireworks,” Spencer answered gruffly, sliding his hands into his pockets. His eyes did not scan the surrounding part of Vauxhall Gardens. He definitely did not search for an auburn-haired lady, nor did he wonder if she had made it back safely. “Crowds and loud noises are two of my most disagreeable things. Why did you talk me into this, Wexley?”

“Last week, ballrooms and marriage-minded matrons were your disagreeable things,” Rupert countered. “And you are a duke. Heaven forbid you actually act like one and show your face properly and make conversation with others.”

“I am making conversation with you.”

“And only me. Expand your horizons. I am simply here to remind you of how you ought to behave. Do follow my example at your earliest convenience.”

Spencer shot Rupert a scathing glare, while Rupert merely looked back at him, unphased, but he couldn’t fight the grin off his face for very long.

“And to haul me to Vauxhall Gardens of all places,” Spencer muttered, unable to help his annoyance.

“It is a marvelous place, is it not?” Rupert laughed quietly.

“Scandalous,” Spencer corrected. “There are too many hidden pathways, too many dark corners. I do not trust any of it.”

Rupert paused where he had turned his attention to an assessment of the ladies in attendance and turned to look at him again. “Something has happened.”

Spencer clenched his jaw and nodded. “I had a run-in with a young lady on Grand South Walk, not far from where it would divide into Lover’s Walk, actually. She approached me asking for help, claiming to be lost. I turned her away, even though she looked rather helpless.”

“Did you recognize her?”

Spencer shook his head. “As you mentioned, I scarcely attend these sort of things and do not expand my horizons. Not recognizing her is one of the reasons I dismissed her. You know how some women can be. Their mothers will arrange a meeting intended to trap men into marriage. It is terrible, and I just do not trust anybody in regard to that. One moment, she could have been alone, needing help, and the next I am taking her as a wife after we are caught alone together. Who can be certain of genuineness?”

“Or you could have turned her away, as you did, and find out later that she got very lost and was truly just a girl wandering alone. She asked you for help, and she trusted you to provide it. Goodness knows how you ever seemed approachable, though.”

Despite his friend’s teasing, Spencer did also wonder such a thing. Rupert was always trying to wipe the scowl off Spencer’s face with a witty comment, but although Rupert smiled easier, quicker, he, too, could possess a fearsome, stoic expression.

“I am sure she found her way back just fine,” Spencer sighed. “If I see her I will apologize for my impulsiveness. Speaking of ladies, though, where are your sisters?”

Rupert sighed, nodding to the cluster of women up ahead, lost in the throng of guests, with hair the same color as Rupert, all boasting different styles. The twins, Georgina and Amelia, danced with another young lady, while the eldest of the sisters, Beatrice, watched over them with pursued lips, as if she was their chaperone rather than Rupert. She resembled Rupert most, and Spencer wondered if his friend saw the similarities in himself and his siblings.

“How are things going with their chaperoning?” Spencer asked.

Rupert shook his head, letting out a short laugh. “Beatrice has taken it upon herself to decline proposals until she sees the twins courted. Georgina and Amelia had a very successful debutante ball last month, and received some offers, but they insist on playing games with their suitors, making them guess who is who.”

“Ah, and if the guess is wrong…”

“They reject the suitor,” Rupert finished. “It is exhausting and frustrating, and Beatrice is telling them they do not have the time to be foolish. My mother has written from Wexley Hall in the countryside, saying that she will intervene if the behavior continues, but I would rather it does not come to that. Be glad you have no siblings, Spencer. They are nightmares in themselves.”

Spencer fell quiet for a moment. Perhaps a sister to oversee the marriage of would not be so terrible in exchange for what he did have responsibility over. “Sisters, no, but I fear as though I will blink one day, and Alexander will be the most eligible bachelor in the ballrooms, and I will be handing the dukedom over to him, hoping he does not break the hearts of too many disappointed ladies in his pursuit of a wife.”

Rupert let out a quiet laugh. “For his own sake, I hope Alexander does not take after you with your lack of social skills. That way, he will have a far better time on the marriage mart. However, you must first focus on your own pursuit of a wife.”

Alexander’s small face rose in Spencer’s mind. He thought of the pout he always sported, and the way his cheeks were often red. He was always pranking his governess before sprinting away, always red-faced with mirth.

“He is only seven, at least,” Spencer sighed. “He has the whole world to experience before he even has to start learning what marriage means. And you are correct, I am turning my focus to that…”

Rupert took his gaze off his sisters for a moment to stare at him, surprised. “You desire to be wed again?”

“Desire? Heavens, no. Have a need?” He sighed heavily. “Alexander needs a mother again, even if his actual mother was hardly anybody he would have looked up to …” He paused, forcing his thoughts past the lingering grief and anger that rose whenever he thought of Lady Sophia Dunne, his late wife and Alexander’s mother. “I want him to have more stability.”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose as Rupert carefully asked, “what has the little spirited boy done now?”

“Only this morning, he asked his governess for some milk and biscuits to accompany his lesson, claiming he had slept poorly. Once she left the room, Alexander snuck out of the window—ground floor, thank Heavens—and when Miss Nightingale returned she found him clambering up the apple tree outside. She called for me, and all he did was giggle. Giggle.”

“Perhaps it is because he knows you will not do a great deal to reprimand him,” Rupert guessed gently. “You are easy on him due to your own guilt of not being more present for him.”

“That is why I hope he can have a mother figure. Somebody who can… help me… and be there for him. You know more ladies through your sisters, and meet with more lords who may have siblings, daughters. I have my heir, so I do not need more children, and this might soften the request you make to any lady you think is eligible. If you put together a list for me to consider, I will think more seriously.”

He could still see his friend’s surprise, but Rupert nodded. “I will. There are several unwed ladies from Beatrice’s debut Season that I can first look into. You will want somebody who is not so recently debuted if you are primarily bringing her in as a mother figure. A younger debut will simply want the jewels and lifestyle of a duchess.”

Spencer grimaced, having not given that a lot of thought, but he hoped for a lady in her early twentieth year regardless. He was eight and twenty, and he did not want such a large age gap that he would feel too out of his depth, nor did he want a young, blushing debutante expecting too much, or somebody that would have her friends visiting every day. He grimaced, trying to ignore the anxiety swirling in his stomach.

His eyes once again looked out, hoping to catch a glimpse of auburn hair and the pale lavender dress the lady had worn. I should have escorted her, he thought. After all, I must wed anyway. Even if she had been tricking me into an arranged meeting to be caught out, at least I would have skipped the effort of finding a wife.

He knew that. Even if the very thought of marriage sent him almost spiraling toward the nearest gentleman’s club to calm his overthinking with a strong drink, Spencer knew he had to do the right thing. But when the memory of his first marriage lingered like a terrible shroud over his shoulders, full of silent rooms and laughter that had only ever come mockingly, Spencer was not certain he was comfortable to go through with his plan. Could he endure the constant worry his last marriage had brought him? Could he endure watching the clock, the vigilance that caused him more sleepless nights than any marital intimacy brought?

But he had to.

For Alexander’s sake. He had not been a good father, but he could do something for his son.

“You know,” Rupert spoke up, “I could begin the list now. I hear there will be music played after the fireworks. It will be a most romantic setting for you to get ahead and ask a lady to dance. It has been some time since you took to the dancefloor.”

“And it will remain that way,” Spencer countered. “I need a wife, that is all. It can be a formal arrangement without any frills attached.”

“Truly, Spencer? You are allowed to have fun when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“My heart is not important,” he said, his voice tight. I learned that lesson the hard way. “I just need names, Wexley.”

“Of course,” his friend finally conceded. “Lady Cardale is hosting a ball next week. I will have a list prepared for you in time to give it to you that night, if you choose to attend. If not, I will bring it to you the following morning.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You will be attending?”

Rupert nodded. “As you search for your duchess, I must search for a countess. My mother has already recommended me several ladies, so I will ask them to dance. Although, if news spreads of you looking for a wife, I hardly think any other men will have a chance.” He laughed lightheartedly, meaning well, but Spencer grimaced.

His stomach already clenched at the thought of the fluttering fans and battling eyelashes, the great effort of complimenting him, the ways women faked a swoon to be caught or noticed. Hopefully, the rumors would not spread too fast or too strongly.

“I will consider attending,” he muttered eventually.

“Good.” Rupert smiled widely at him, clapping his shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse me, I see Beatrice being spoken to by Lord Wetherby, and I heard he recently has become a marquess. I do not want to risk her waving him away.”

Rupert quickly hurried over to his eldest sister, momentarily leaving Spencer standing on the fringes of the Orchestra, alone. He looked out at the crowd, wondering who might find their way onto Rupert’s list. He swore his eyes caught on a lady whose hair turned copper beneath the lights of the Orchestra, as she danced, but when he looked closer, she was gone.