The Problem with Loving a Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

“I simply do not understand how you have all been in London a month and have yet to go to a really extravagant event.”

Josephine Spencer, the esteemed wife of Viscount Spencer, peered over her teacup at the Dunn women with a look of extreme disapproval. 

“You know people expect your attendance at these things,” she went on quickly. She nodded at her daughter, who sat beside her, looking mildly embarrassed. “My Blanche has been to the Elliots’ twice now and even attended a private dinner party in the company of their two very eligible sons.”

Rachel hid a smile. Blanche was her sister’s friend, and thus Rachel could be fairly certain that the Elliot men had not made as fine an impression as Josephine Spencer insinuated. Blanche had told her sister the morning after the dinner party that the eldest was a bore and the youngest a pill—neither sufficient to tame Blanche’s spirit. 

Josephine and Blanche were visiting for the weekly tea Lady Dunwood, Rachel’s mother, held in their honour. The hour was always reserved for only these two ladies, and only Rachel guessed the real reason their mother held the time sacred. Josephine Spencer was a gossip, and she always seemed to know the goings on in the ton. It was useful for knowing which balls to avoid and which to attend. It was useful for knowing who the latest and most eligible bachelors were. But more than anything, Rachel knew, it was pure enjoyment to gasp over the foibles of others. 

For her part, she attended the tea to see Blanche and because her mother expected it of both her and her sister, Ruth. 

“The Elliots are not the only ones who throw private parties,” Ruth chimed in now, setting down her teacup with prim propriety. “We may not have been at the balls you consider extravagant, but I believe we have chosen our engagements wisely thus far. The Season has treated us well.”

Rachel watched her sister quietly. Ruth had been born a mere three minutes before Rachel, and the two shared a striking resemblance. Both were slender and small, had pale blue eyes and fair skin, and sported the same long strawberry-blonde hair. Those who knew the sisters well could tell them apart, but it was still difficult. Rachel could see physical differences, like the dimple on Ruth’s right cheek, but to her, the real differences were in temperament. 

Rachel had always been bookish, drawn to mathematics and the sciences—both interests unbefitting of a lady. Ruth, on the other hand, had followed the path set out for her by both parents and governesses by learning music, dance, and embroidery to perfection. Ruth embraced the role of lady with every fibre of her being. Rachel could see it, and in her more honest moments, she could admit that she was a little jealous of Ruth’s ease in society. For Rachel’s part, she did only what was required of her and then slipped away from the limelight again to the pages of some philosopher or mathematician. 

She caught her mother looking at her with familiar concern and rallied quickly, forcing a smile. 

“Yes,” she said, echoing Ruth’s sentiment. “I think we have enjoyed some excellent company this season.”

“But you weren’t at the Milton Manor the Friday before last,” Josephine pointed out. “And it was a pity indeed. There was a host of officers in attendance.”

“Mother,” Blanche chimed with a slight smile, “you know that you do not consider officers to be a fitting match for girls like us. You said so on multiple occasions.”

“True,” Josephine retorted. “But you all look to best advantage when dancing alongside one. Surely, they have no prospects, but they are handsome, tall, and attired in a dashing red. You girls draw the eye when dancing with such heroic figures, and that is precisely what we want—to draw the eye of all the truly eligible gentlemen in the ton.”

Rachel resisted the urge to laugh aloud. “Spoken of like that,” she said, “one can imagine us ladies to be mere ornaments, no more interesting than the sword slung about a captain’s waist.”

Lady Dunwood brought in her breath in astonishment. “Rachel, there is no need to speak of men’s waists.”

Blanche smothered a giggle with her handkerchief, and her mother frowned in reproof. She turned her attention back on Lady Dunwood and her twin daughters. 

“Lady Dunwood,” she said deferentially. “I was not trying to critique the social choices you’ve made this Season—I am only setting the stage to urge you most soberly to consider attending the Westondales’ masquerade ball. There are advantageous matches to be had in abundance.”

Lady Dunwood smiled graciously. “Of course, we will attend Westondales’,” she said. “I would not think of missing such a moment in society and fashion.”

“Only the most worthy and prominent members of the ton are invited, as you well know,” Josephine said with barely contained excitement. “I cannot think of a better place for our girls to see the important people in society.”

Rachel couldn’t help thinking that the important people in society—the ones that could really make a difference—were the men who, like her father, spent their Season in the House of Lords instead of simpering over tea and planning their next ball gown. She felt so useless here, talking about lace when real issues were facing the country. 

“What is your costume?” she heard Ruth ask Blanche. “Rachel and I have something quite whimsical in mind. We are coordinating in a most fanciful way.”

“I thought to wear my pink silk,” Blanche said, twirling her fan from the ribbon around her wrist. “I am having a mask made at the milliners as we speak—it is to mimic the wings and elegance of a swan.”

“A pink swan?” Rachel asked with amusement. 

“You will say there are no pink swans in nature,” Blanche retorted, “but balls such as these are not supposed to reflect the natural world. They are to make us think of the remarkable—the impossible—and to turn our hearts towards romantic thoughts.”

“Rachel thinks there is nothing so romantic as a bubbling stream and an empty forest,” Ruth teased gently. Rachel knew she meant no harm and smiled in response. 

“It is not that I find them romantic,” she corrected her sister. “I only find them peaceful.”

“Well,” Ruth chirped, “I find ballrooms exhilarating. I do not think I would much enjoy feeling peaceful when all the world could be swirling around me in a grand and glorious dance.”

Rachel stayed silent, letting her sister dream.

Lady Spencer leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially, even though they were alone in the room but for a discreet servant standing by the door. 

“You will not guess who I heard will be in attendance at the Westondales’,” she said. “You simply will not guess.”

“Tell us.” Lady Dunwood took a sip of tea, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“There are rumours,” Lady Spencer explained slowly, “that the Marquess of Coltonwood is set to arrive in London any day now. He has been noticeably absent from the year’s festivities, and some had given him up for lost this Season, but I held out hope.” She lowered her voice even further. “Word is his arrival can only mean one thing. He is looking for a bride.”

Rachel wanted very much to roll her eyes. She could not imagine any man—even an eligible marquess—being deserving of this much drama and intrigue. She looked towards Ruth, expecting to share a glance of disinterest with her twin sister, but Ruth was already turning to Blanche, speaking in excited tones. 

“I have heard about this Lord Colin,” Ruth was saying. “Rachel and I read his name only yesterday in the society sheets. He seems a most diverse and well-travelled man.”

“The page only said that he had purchased a racehorse at Tattersalls,” Rachel said quietly. 

“A very worldly thing to do,” Ruth went on, her enthusiasm undampened by Rachel’s tone. “It shows he is a true gentleman, does it not?” 

“There is nothing in the purchase that delineates him from any other gentleman we might meet at the Westondales,” Rachel said, trying to keep her voice calm.

“Perhaps not in the society sheets,” Lady Dunwood said slowly, correcting her daughter, “but I have heard of the marquess’ business ventures, nobility, and gentlemanly nature for some time now. I have long been interested in meeting him in person, and whatever we may make of his demeanour, we cannot deny that he is a well-bred gentleman that any lady would be fortunate to meet.”

 

Rachel opened her mouth to respond that she had met many well-bred gentlemen in her brief month in London thus far that had not made her feel in the least bit fortunate, but before she could speak, Josephine interjected. 

“If the scandal sheets spoke only of Tattersalls, then I am disappointed in the extreme. Perhaps his parents went to great lengths to keep the truth out of the papers.” She leaned forward with raised brows. “I heard he left London two years ago after a most dramatic matter of the heart. I don’t know the details, but it sounded like a tempestuous romance nearly led to his ruin.”

Rachel smiled. “It seems every day I hear of another gentleman caught in some scandalous romance or another,” she said. “I see no reason this gentleman’s storied past should be a mark in his favour.”

“Do you really not?” Ruth asked with a laugh. “Rachel, it’s terrifically thrilling. I can only surmise from the story that the gentleman is capable of great feeling.”

At this moment, Rachel heard a familiar sound tumbling down the hall just outside the parlour. Seth. 

She had only enough time to turn around in the chair when the venerable heir of her father’s estate, Master Dunn, tumbled into the room in all his ten-year-old glory and came to a panting halt just shy of Rachel’s chair. His cheeks were bright with exertion, his straw-like hair sticking out at odd intervals, and his attention was fully focused on Rachel. 

“Rachel, you’ve been gone for such an awfully long time, and I could only just get away from Mr Ackenberry.” He looked back at the doorway behind him as though afraid the name alone would summon his tutor. “When will you be done with all this?” He waved his hand at the astonished ladies watching his entrance. 

Lady Dunwood stood, her voice firm. 

“Seth,” she said severely, “this is a most uncalled-for display. You can see that we are gathered for our weekly tea and can assume by warrant of the fact you were not invited that your presence here is an intrusion.” She smiled slightly, her soft spot for him coming through even amid the reprimand. “I am certain Rachel can help you with your studies at another time. For now, you must go back up to Mr Ackenberry at once and apologise for having slipped his grasp.”

“I can go,” Rachel said quickly, seizing on the chance to escape. 

“My dear,” Lady Spencer interjected with a disapproving frown, “you don’t mean to imply that you would be better suited at teaching your brother’s lessons than his tutor, do you? I imagine such lessons cover topics wholly unsuitable for a young lady.”

“Rachel is good at numbers.” Seth beamed, unaware of the bind he was putting his sister in with this confession. “She knows the answer to most problems without even requiring a quill.”

Rachel looked away from her mother’s chagrined face and focused her attention on Seth. 

“I will be upstairs in a moment,” she said. “Mother is right, though. You should first apologise to Mr Ackenberry for being disrespectful of his time and attention. I will come up shortly, and having been assured you have made proper amends, we can commence solving any difficult mathematical equations you’ve stumbled upon in your lessons.”

Seth, pacified, disappeared upstairs as quickly as he had come. Rachel turned to address the other women before they could protest. 

“I am very sorry, ladies. It seems I will have to leave you to your plans for the upcoming ball—you can see that I have much more pressing business.” She smiled and curtsied, taking her leave of the group before there could be more mention of the Westondales and the mysterious Marquess of Coltonwood.

Chapter 2

Colin Weston pulled aside his carriage window curtain and looked quietly at the passing streets. Lower-class London’s initial bustle and life had given way to the tidy streets and stone manors of the centre of society and wealth. He saw Westondale Manor ahead, set apart from the other houses of its size by a courtyard covered with vines and an elegant arched entryway. He knew his parents would be waiting inside, and this thought gave him pause when the carriage pulled up at last in front of the archway. 

He waited a moment before stepping out, thinking of his father’s letter tucked away in his coat pocket. You must come to London at once, son. Society has already given up on you; must your mother suffer your absence as well? George Weston had been wise to use his wife, Virginia, as the impetus to bring Colin home at last. He could resist many pleas, but his loyalty to his mother was complete. 

A footman opened the carriage door and stood aside to allow Colin space to climb out. Colin did so, stretching his long limbs and turning to thank the servant. 

“Will you have my trunks delivered to my room?” he asked the man. “I will go directly to the parlour to see my parents.”

The footman bowed. 

“I will deliver your things at once, My Lord,” he said soberly. “But I’m afraid Lord and Lady Westondale are out of the house making separate calls at present. They asked us to tell you they require your presence at supper tonight.”

Colin could not resist a breath of relief. He would have time to process his return home and all the memories associated with the London manor without his parents’ oversight. 

He turned and walked inside, climbing the familiar marble steps two at a time as he’d done as a boy. The butler greeted him, repeated the footman’s message, and then stepped outside to oversee the luggage. Colin stood alone for a moment in the entryway, surrounded by all the gilded glory of his parents’ wealth.

He could see that preparation had already begun for the masquerade ball his parents hosted every year. The great oaken banister was wound round with white roses, and gold filigree banners looped across the ceiling. He closed his eyes, a memory filling his mind. 

Lady Anne, standing at the base of the banister three years ago, her milky-white arm draped with a gauzy shawl, tilting her head up at him with a smile. Her dark brown hair, only a shade darker than his own, was pinned up in an alluring fashion and dotted through with jewels. Her eyes were fixed on him, her voice soft. 

“Colin, it is even more lovely here than you intimated.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at the grand chandelier aflame with candles. “I am quite taken aback by the beauty of it all. Shall we go in and find your parents?”

He could hardly breathe looking at her. She had taught him in six months what it was to adore someone with every fibre of his being. 

“They are quite taken up with their guests at present,” he managed. Then, seeing no mask, he added, “Where is your mask, My Lady?”

“I thought there would be no need for pretence with your lordship,” she said softly. “And you know I have permitted you to call me Anne. Between us, there is no formality.” She drew closer to him. “There is only truth. I can be wholly transparent with you.”

Colin snapped back to the present, his pride smarting at the memory. She had not been “wholly transparent”—or even a little transparent, as he had learned all too painfully only a few short weeks later. He had trusted her with his heart. He had loved her. Thinking of how she had looked standing here all those years ago, he was afraid he still loved her.

***

Colin remained in his room upstairs until the dinner bell was rung. He had toyed with the idea of waiting for his parents in the drawing room, but in the end, he waited for the security of a dining room table between him and his father’s disapproval. 

Lord and Lady Westondale were already in the dining hall when Colin arrived, and they nodded towards a seat near at hand without rising to greet him. 

They were regal people, certainly. Virginia Weston was attired in a dark purple gown with an old-fashioned bone bodice and embroidered edging. Her dark hair was tinged with grey and piled high atop her head. A feather rested there. Such an adornment would have risked looking preposterous on another lady, but on Virginia Weston, it spoke only of good breeding and taste. George sat at the head of the table, just to her right, dressed as well as his wife and sporting a generous pair of mutton chops on his cheeks. 

“We were sorry to miss you,” Virginia began with a benevolent smile. “I had a prior engagement playing Whist with the ladies, and simply could not miss. You know how people around here expect my presence to elevate the conversation.”

“Of course, Mother,” Colin said, giving a little bow before taking his seat. “I would not wish you to shirk your societal duties. I was glad of a rest before dinnertime.”

“Were your travels quite pleasant?” she asked. 

“It was travel by carriage,” Colin said simply. “I am thankful for the conveyance, but do not recommend such a tumultuous experience as ‘pleasant.’”

He waited until the first dish had been served and then addressed his father. 

“I was surprised to receive your letter, Father,” he said quietly. “Seeing as it was you who sent me away from London in the first place.”

George Weston dipped his spoon into his cold soup with marked precision, waiting a few uncomfortable seconds before responding. 

“Do not pretend it was a hardship for you,” he said. “I know you have been enjoying your time away from London. I think you prefer the countryside to our city estate.”

“I do,” Colin said, frankly. “I will not pretend otherwise. Originally, when you asked me to oversee your several estates in the North, I saw it only as an exile. Now, I have learned the peace to be found outside the busy streets of London.” He, too, took a sip of the dish before him. “And that brings me to my question. Why have you sent for me?”

“You know it is the Season,” Virginia said quickly, raising an eyebrow. “We had thought you would return, and when you did not send word of your coming, grew concerned.”

Colin set down his spoon and looked up at his parents. 

“Let us be direct in our communication,” he said. “I am a man of six and twenty now. The unfortunate events that led to my removal from London are now more than two years past. Let us speak openly about why you wanted me removed and have now asked for my return.”

George cleared his throat. 

“I told you that girl was no good for you,” he said sharply. 

Colin bit his tongue. It was just like his father to start out a conversation of vulnerability with an attack on Colin’s past mistakes. 

“You were proven right,” Colin said softly. “I admit that I was taken in by Lady Anne’s good nature. I believed her to be a woman of honour and beauty. I believed her to be in love with me.”

“And then you learned that she was in love with your money,” his father snapped. 

“George,” Virginia interjected calmly. 

“I am only speaking the truth,” George retorted. “The girl was only pretending to care for our Colin to save her father from bankruptcy. She thought a piece of the Westondale fortune would be enough to pull her family out of the gutter. If I had not investigated the matter myself, we would never have learned the truth. Colin would be married to her now, living out his days with a money-grubbing—”

“Father.” Colin set down his glass a little too loudly, bringing his father’s tirade to a stop. “We are still speaking of a lady. I was mistaken in her—I will admit as much—but it is my shame, not yours.”

“You can see how your shame spread to our family,” George said after a long moment. “That was the reason for your time out of London, as you well know. I could not keep the rumours at bay when you were walking the streets in a heartbroken mess, fuel for all the gossip.”

“I am glad my time away eased the burden,” Colin said wryly. He was beginning to lose his temper. “I believe I have paid for my foolishness ten times over. If you have brought me back to London only to scold me for my naivete, I would like to return to our Camden estate at the first available moment.”

“That’s not at all why we asked you here,” Virginia interjected quickly, tapping the table lightly to indicate the end of the first course to the footman. “We believe the scandal has faded considerably in the past few years and are hoping to arrange a happier future for our only son.” She smiled at him, and Colin saw a rare tenderness in her eyes. “You are not going to meet proper society in the countryside. You need to be in London for the Season and meet some sophisticated ladies.”

“It has been long enough,” his father chimed in curtly. “And we think it likely that enough new young women are coming out this year and last that your reputation will be wholly unknown to them. You should be able to make connections quite easily.”

“My reputation?” Colin frowned. “You speak as though I am a philanderer and a rake. I have no such reputation. I am only a man who fell in love with a woman who did not love him back. That is all.”

“That is worse than being a rake,” his father said, picking up his wine glass. “You seem pathetic and incapable. At least a rake shows drive and creativity.”

Colin shook his head. He had hoped the years apart would have softened his father, but the man was as controlling as ever. George Weston had all the markings of a man born into wealth and nobility: he was arrogant and confident and believed his way was the only right way. Colin had fought him when a boy, trying his own will against his father’s in a series of rebellious acts, but after Anne, he had no desire to fight. He wanted only to erect walls around his heart and avoid the same kind of hurt ever repeating. He wanted Anne gone from his memory. 

“I don’t want to fight with you, Father,” he said quietly. 

“Then you will come to the masquerade ball tomorrow night,” his father said. “You will make yourself known as a real gentleman and a worthy catch. You will dance with and charm the ladies. You will, in short, do your level best to find a woman worthy of your title and position.”

Colin looked at his mother, hoping for support. He knew at times she was a good foil for his father—offering leniency and perspective when it suited. She looked back at him and sighed. 

“Colin, you need not look so woeful,” she said. “It is not the end of the world to settle and find a bride. Your mistake last time was looking for enduring love. You will not make the same mistake again. Simply find a girl with a clear history and worthy connections—you will make a happy life together, I am sure.”

“You have until the end of the Season,” his father added severely. “I will be watching tomorrow to be certain you are making an effort.”

Colin pushed back his chair, his appetite gone. “With an ultimatum like that,” he said sarcastically, “who could not succeed in finding love?”

He left before his parents could reiterate the point they’d made over and over in the meal thus far. It’s not about finding love, Colin. That was your mistake last time.

---

“The Problem with Loving a Duke” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Lady Rachel, being an Earl’s daughter, never thought a suitor would approach her out of love. When she and her twin sister attend a masquerade ball though, a handsome stranger leaves her wondering if there is more to high society than what meets the eye. Their connection is immediate, but they fail to learn each other’s names. So when she later sees him dancing with her identical twin sister, Rachel cannot help but fall to pieces…

How could she let herself dream of a man she barely knows?

Colin, Marquess of Coltonwood, is no stranger to heartbreak. When the enigmatic Lady Rachel catches his attention with her wit and intelligence, he dares to start believing in love again. However, a confusion that leaves them trapped between a potential scandal and his father’s expectations, is the worst possible omen for their romance…

Will he be able to right the wrong, or will he be forced to marry a woman he does not love?

Rachel and Colin find themselves drawn to each other despite him accidentally courting her sister, but the obstacles do not stop there. Another man shows interest in Rachel and Colin’s father stands in the way of their union. Will they be condemned to a loveless life due to their honest mistakes? Or will they find the courage to fight the forces trying to manipulate them into misery and follow the truth of their hearts?

“The Problem with Loving a Duke” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!