Chapter One
April 1814—Blithe Manor, outside London, England
All William Sutherland, Duke of Wimberley, wanted was peace.
His daughter, Millie, shifted in his lap, having fallen asleep as he read her a story on the sofa in front of the burning fire, which kept the damp spring chill from the air. Her head shifted, her small warm hand sliding from his untied cravat to his waistcoat. Her fingers splayed instinctively over his heart. He couldn’t help but smile and cover her hand with his own.This, the hours between dusk and when Millie was put to bed, was his favourite time of day, and truly the only time that mattered to him any more. It was just the two of them protected by the quiet of the setting sun. He ran a hand down her smooth dark curls and rubbed her back in small circles with his palm.
His gaze flicked up to the portrait of his late wife, Cecily. The sorrow he should feel over her death never came. In truth, her passing was well…a relief. For the lovely, sweet woman he believed her to be when he made his vows and promises to her was not the woman she was. The only blessing in her early death from a carriage accident was that little Millie didn’t have to see what her mother truly was: a woman who enjoyed wastingmoney and taking a flourish with any man who would have her, married or not.
She had died in the throes of a tryst with such a man in a carriage accident over a year ago. Evidently, the late Marchioness had enjoyed the confines of a carriage for her pleasures, as did the lord she was with. The man’s widow had grieved publicly over the death of her husband just as he had grieved Cecily’s, but William often wondered if in private she felt the same relief he did. Of course, he’d never dare ask.
Truth was not celebrated in theton.
Gossip and intrigue were.
A soft knock sounded on the door of his study. William glanced up and smiled at the sight of Mrs Chisholm hovering at the open door.
‘Anything else I can get you, Your Grace?’
‘No, Mrs Chisholm. Thank you.’
She nodded, but didn’t move. ‘Did you see Mr Simmons left you the tray?’
William frowned, sliding his gaze to the overflowing smattering of envelopes with wax seals and calling cards on the silver salver brought to him earlier in the evening in the hope that he might look through them.
He hadn’t.
‘I did,’ William replied.
She still didn’t move, waiting for more from him. ‘Are there any you wish for him to send an acceptance or decline to, Your Grace?’
He sighed, unable to mask his impatience. ‘I have not looked through them thoroughly. Nor do I wish to.’
‘May I speak freely?’ she asked, edging the toe of her shoe into the room.
He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Of course, Mrs Chisholm.’ The old woman had known him since he was a boy. In many ways,she had become a mother to him after his own had passed almost a decade ago. His household did not stand on rigid formality like others of such lineage in theton. They had become family, especially now that he and Millie were almost all that remained of his own. Such informality had been one of the contentions between him and Cecily in the early days of their courting. He should have seen it as a warning.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t.
William shook off his malaise as Mrs Chisholm scurried before him, her petite plump frame the same as it always had been. ‘There are rumours,’ she began in hushed tones and settled in next to him on the sofa.
‘Of?’ he asked with a furrowed brow.
‘Of you being a recluse…and full of melancholy.’
‘And?’ He didn’t understand why this would be a problem. If anything, he was quite pleased to hear it. Perhaps people would start leaving him be. Since his father had passed two months ago, he had been inundated with correspondence, visits and well wishes for his upcoming succession as the newly minted Duke of Wimberley.
But all he wanted was to be left alone.
‘You must think of her,’ she said, nodding to Millie. ‘She needs a mother and to be accepted by society, Liam,’ she said softly, using her nickname for him from when he was but a boy. It tugged on his heartstrings.
‘I am. I just have no wish to see anyone,’ he replied. ‘I have lost my wife and father all in one year and Millie…’ He did not say the rest aloud for he couldn’t bear to. His daughter had not spoken since the day of her mother’s death, as if the horror of losing a parent had locked her voice away.
The ache of missing her sweet cherub voice and lilting laugh was immeasurable. The anger he felt over her grief was unspeakable and he blamed his wife and her proclivities for hisdaughter’s suffering. He dared not seek out another wife and mother to Millie if the woman wasn’t damned near perfect.
‘If you have a betrothed, the fortune hunters and their well-intended mothers will cease their attentions and perhaps some of the…’ She paused as if searching for the right words. ‘Some of the unkind talk of the past might cease,’ she rushed out.
He cut a knowing glance to her. He knew ‘unkind talk’ was a mere substitute for scandal. Since Cecily’s death there had been a great deal of such unkind talk. ‘You think it will all cease with such an announcement?’ he challenged.
