Chapter 1
London, 1816
The rattle of carriage wheels on the drive outside alerted Edward to his mother’s arrival home. From the window by his desk he could see her take the footman’s hand as she stepped down. She would be walking through his door without bothering to knock in approximately ninety seconds.
Which gave him ninety seconds to steel himself for the job ahead of him. Most men, especially dukes, would be ashamed of fearing their mothers so. Once those men met Her Grace the Duchess of Wildeforde, they would understand.
A colder, more heartless woman had never lived. If she was, in fact, a living being and not one of the undead.
But he was determined. He’d come to London with the express purpose of informing the duchess that he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
And that she wasn’t going to like it.
Because it wasn’t the young girl his mother had saddled him with in an arranged betrothal inked before he’d even left his teens. Nor was it any other young girl of theton.
No, Fiona McTavish was an entirely unsuitable choice to be his duchess. Bold, forthright, smarter than most men of his acquaintance and totally unwilling to disguise the fact.
And common born. The daughter of a trouble-making farmer.
Were his mother like most women, she’d have an apoplexy when he broke the news. But his mother was more sharp and bitter than most women,so he was preparing himself for a stake through the bollocks.
He was determined. He’d been taught to avoid any hint of scandal, to repair the Wildeforde name after his father’s infamous passing; for thirteen years, he’d done exactly that. He’d not set a foot wrong. He’d fashioned himself into the epitome of the perfect aristocratic gentleman. Marrying Fiona would undo all of it.
He didn’t care. His brother and sister would forgive him. Once they’d met her, they’d understand. Fiona made him sing, quite literally. She challenged him to think and say radical things and indulge in pastimes that his peers would deem frivolous. The Duke of Wildeforde was never frivolous. She held him to a different standard, at once easier and more difficult to meet. He didn’t need to be flawless, but neither would she accept polished opinions of messy issues.
For her, he would ruin his good name.
Precisely ninety seconds after he’d seen her exit the carriage, his mother opened his study door and marched in.
He stood. “Mother.”
“Duke.” She moved to the wide, wingback chair in front of his desk and sat. “I was expecting you back two weeks ago.”
“I apologize for the delay.” Curse it. He was already on the back foot. “Actually, Idon’tapologize for the delay. Mother, I have some news.”
She sniffed. “I have some news myself.”
He swallowed, opened his mouth fully ready to declare his intentions, yet all that came out was: “By all means, you go first.” That was the coward in him, choosing to put off the skewering for another few seconds if he could.
“No, no. Get your news over with.” It was the sum amount of enthusiasm she’d ever shown for his personal interests. He pushed aside his disappointment.
“I’ve met someone,” he said quickly. “I know that complicates things because obviously I’m betrothed to Amelia. And Fiona, well, she’s unique in a way that will no doubt infuriate you but makes me so happy, Mother. Happier than I think I’ve ever been. I want to marry her.”
There, the words were said. It was like a tonne had been lifted from his shoulders. Whatever the consequences, the hard part was done.
So he waited.
Waited for his mother to rage, or to find some way to cut him. Instead, she regarded him for a long moment before shrugging. Just a little. That indifferent movement hurt more than anger or expletives ever could have.
“The Lady Dunburton died last night.”
“Graham’s wife? Curse it, what happened?” His cousin had been married less than a month. The last time Edward had seen the viscountess, she was blushing prettily on the way out of the church.
“A fish out of water dies gasping. You should remember that.”
His heart dropped and a pit of nausea formed in his stomach. His cousin had gone against social expectations. Despite immense amounts of backlash from his family, he’d married a young woman who manned the counter of her father’s bookstore.
Edward’s mother had turned crimson when she’d found out. They’d needed to replace a rug, two vases, and the wallpaper in the green, now yellow, room.
