Page 3 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

A clock chimed somewhere in the house, and he remained silent, doing all in his power to make the moment uncomfortable for his hostess as several pairs of footsteps thundered down the hall and continued past the room they were seated in. A shriek erupted, followed by laughter as the group’s heavy tread could be heard bouncing back up the stairs to the second floor.

It was yet another spike to his damaged heart—the shouts of pure merriment and happiness that had not been found in his own home for many, many years.

“Miss Marce Davenport,” he teased, hoping his newly discovered intentions were adequately veiled to ensure her cooperation. “I have a proposition for you…”

Chapter 1

London, England

February 1820

Much had changed for Marce Davenport in recent years. As she paced the warm, soothing office that had once been her mother’s treasured sanctuary at Craven House, she listened for approaching footsteps, shrieks of laughter, or even the angry shouts of her bickering siblings. However, nothing could be heard.

The house was shrouded in utter silence, something Marce had never thought possible.

No door slammed on its hinges above stairs.

The constant clang from the kitchen was no more.

Even the endless pounding up and down the steps had ceased.

For the first time in all her life, Marce was unequivocally alone.

The deep feeling went far beyond the physical to a daunting mental solitude that threatened to drag her down. The silence echoed inside her, filling her with more of the aching emptiness that had slowly overtaken her as the years passed. She was an outsider within her own home—a woman whose lies had distanced her from everyone she loved.

The most damning part was that Marce’s siblings had become so accustomed to her aloof nature they didn’t realize the secrets she held inside. They saw her quiet reserve as simply her way, not as the sad loneliness it was. They mistook her domineering fortitude regarding family matters as her way of controlling them. However, they didn’t notice her grasp on the strings gradually slipping away as the years came and went.

If her siblings heard her sobs in the dark of night, they did not ask what haunted her.

It was her burden to bear—alone.

She glanced at the missive on her desk; the familiar, heavy-handed script summoning her and instructing her to be ready for departure at precisely noon and not a moment after. The carriage would arrive with no one but a driver to escort her the two hours to the Whisper Hook Inn on the outskirts of Welling in Kent.

The same as it had for nearly eight years.

Eight long, lonely, solitary years.

At least in that regard, there was comfort in routine.

With four siblings underfoot, and a household brimming with other guests, lonely should be the last emotion Marce felt. Alas, her burdens were not something she spoke of with anyone, especially her family. It was her obligation to care for Judith, Samantha, Payton, and to a certain extent, Garrett, her brother. And that was what she’d done during the many years since their mother’s passing—without complaint, hesitation, or remorse. Never had they need worry over finances. Never had they gone hungry or spent a cold night without a fire in the hearth.

Marce had done all she could to see to their education and proper upbringing.

Finally, it was Marce’s turn to find happiness.

Or risk going mad.

With Jude and Sam properly wed, and Payton, her youngest sibling, having recently taken a position as a governess, Marce was free to explore her own options for the future. Perhaps complete happiness would always elude her, but contentment would suffice. At twenty-eight summers, Marce would be firmly classified as on the shelf by society. Thankfully, she had no aspirations to be part of the beau monde of London, a group that had shunned her mother and turned their backs on Sasha’s orphaned children.

No, a cottage on the cliffs of Dover or a modest house in the wilds of Cornwall were much preferred to the hustle and bustle of town life—as long as room allowed for the many women who sought Marce’s help in improving their lots in life.

She moved around the desk her mother had favored. The private office was atrocious and overwhelming, even to Marce, with its gold and red décor—Sasha Davenport’s favorite hues. As an ode to her mother, Marce had never altered the room, keeping it as it was before Sasha’s death. Originally, the space had been a comfort to her and her siblings. A place where they found solace and truly felt the presence of their mother, though she was long departed from this world. But in recent years, it had become Marce’s personal prison, filled with deception and the secrets she kept hidden from her family.

All manner of things she was ashamed to be a part of—so much so, she’d never gained enough courage to speak of it to anyone.

Yet, she’d spent years with no other choice. Her family came first, even before her own needs and wants.

The tall clock in the foyer chimed. Twelve times. Its familiar gong echoed through the empty house—one still bouncing off the walls and shuddering down the corridors as another began. Peculiar that only a few short months before, Craven House had been filled with such boisterous noise the peal would have gone all but unnoticed in the midday commotion.