The Duke’s Artful Muse (Preview)

Chapter One

July 1817

Bath, Somerset

The bleakness of the moment did not ruin the beauty of the summer’s day. A warm heat built up on Charlotte’s exposed neck as she bowed before the fresh grave. She had long ago discarded her parasol and didn’t care where it was. Her beloved father was buried beneath the still soft earth—that was the only thing on her mind. Everyone had left and returned to their lives, but Charlotte couldn’t go. Not yet.

How do I live without you, Papa? What do I do now? Michael has been gone for years and Uncle Arthur … Well, Uncle Arthur is Uncle Arthur. I don’t want to be alone, Papa. You should have taken me with you.

The devastating loss of the man who was her whole world had rendered her thoughtless and unable to look ahead. All that mattered was here and now, that she was alone. And an unmarried woman. That worsened the situation. Charlotte was now at the mercy of others, but she was still too overcome with grief to process what that meant for her. At least she could cry in peace now. Charlotte hated showing emotions in front of others, especially if it concerned tears and leaky noses. She didn’t like people seeing her at her most vulnerable because it made her feel weaker. Vulnerable people appeared powerless, a target for others to exploit them. It was worse for commoners, the lowest of people in their society. Charlotte was a commoner and a woman, so her worth was almost non-existent in the eyes of their society. However, Charlotte wasn’t completely powerless—her mind was her weapon.

Charlotte’s mother had pushed for her to be educated, and after she died, her father continued her studies. Mathematics, the sciences, languages, geography, history—she had studied these and more with the help of governesses and masters. This wasn’t usual for a commoner, but her father had spared no expense to continue his wife’s dream. Owning his own successful haberdashery had provided the money needed to do what other commoners couldn’t, setting them apart by a fine margin of haves and have-nots. Fine margin because commoners would always be commoners unless they somehow became part of the gentry or, even more unlikely, married an aristocrat.

Charlotte didn’t know what her mother had hoped to achieve by having a daughter who was as educated, if not more, than an aristocrat’s offspring. Perhaps she had wanted Charlotte to have every opportunity to improve her station, to become more.

I cannot become more if I never venture further than my little world, Mama. Our home, the shop, Papa—this is all I know. Now Papa is gone, and our home and shop …

Charlotte didn’t know what would happen to them. Her brother, Michael, should have been here to take care of these things, but he had left many years ago and never sent any communication to let them know where he was and if he was well. The only person who could take control of everything was Uncle Arthur, but that didn’t give her any hope. Uncle Arthur was not the responsible sort. He was a taker, someone who used others and rarely felt remorse. He was a bumbling buffoon, a minimally educated man with enough pride to fill the Thames. Pride in a fool was a dangerous thing.

Charlotte sighed. Perhaps her grief had not made her thoughtless after all.

“Charlotte, dear,” a woman called behind her.

She stilled before quickly wiping away her tears and hoping she looked presentable enough. Charlotte turned to the woman, her eyes widening slightly at the younger man beside her. She dropped into a curtsey, her mind overworking with the need to remain calm. It wasn’t the woman who unsettled her, but her son. Charlotte was an intelligent woman, and she wasn’t young and impressionable at the near spinster age of twenty-four, but she became a tongue-tied fool whenever the duke was around.

“Your Graces,” she said, dipping low and rising.

“How are you, dear,” the Dowager Duchess of Kent asked. “We are so sorry for your loss. You must know how I respected your father and how I’ll miss him.”

“My father respected you as well, Your Grace,” Charlotte replied. “He’d be glad you came to pay your respects.”

“We could not have done anything else, Miss Emerson,” the duke told her. “We have known your family for many years. To be anywhere else would have been impossible.”

Charlotte smiled. She could feel the sincerity in their voices—her father would have been happy. These people were aristocrats, possessing the highest titles after the royal family. The mere fact they had taken time out of their lives to pay respects to a commoner spoke volumes about how they felt about her father. There was no wonder to it because Charlotte’s father had been a great man, the best kind of person and father anyone could ever hope for.

“Dear, what can we do for you to make everything easier?” the dowager duchess asked, her kind, green-flecked brown eyes filled with compassion. “We can never lessen your grief, but we wish to make your life easier. Please, tell us what we can do.”

“Yes,” the duke affirmed. “We wish to help in any way we can.”

Charlotte was momentarily arrested by the duke’s gaze. His eyes were similar to his mother’s but with more green than brown and so piercing. She could never hold his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time, so she dropped her eyes. Charlotte had often wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through his thick, auburn hair, but unless he bent down and allowed her to touch it, she would never be able to reach his head. The duke towered over most, his broad, muscular shoulders adding power to his magnificent form. While some men were all shoulders and no legs, the duke was well-balanced with large, muscular thighs that …

Oh my. I think I should stop. My face is likely pinker than the handkerchief in my pocket.

People expected her to wear black because she was mourning, but her father had been a man full of life and colour, so black just wouldn’t do. However, to observe the social customs, her outwardly garments were all black, but everything else was in colour, from her pink stockings to her pink handkerchief. Her parasol had been black, but she had tied bright pink ribbons around the rim. That had earned her a few raised eyebrows, but given the situation of losing her father, they had allowed her this little leniency.

“Are you feeling ill, Miss Emerson?” the duke asked. “Perhaps we can take you somewhere to sit. You have grown rather pink.”

“I feel just fine, Your Grace,” she told him.

“Are you certain, dear?” the dowager duchess asked. “You may sit in our carriage until you feel better.”

“There is no need, Your Grace,” said Charlotte. “I assure you. Would you please excuse me?”

“Wait, dear,” the dowager duchess said. “Please, we’d like to help you. Is there anything you need?”

Charlotte had hoped they had forgotten about their offer to help her. Her father had never accepted help from anyone, teaching her to do the same. He praised hard work above taking things from people but encouraged giving to all who needed assistance. There was probably a balance between giving and receiving, but Charlotte preferred not to accept anything unless she was confident she could repay that person. It didn’t seem possible to repay people who already had everything, so Charlotte was more comfortable saying no.

“I have all that I need, Your Grace,” she said.

“Perhaps there is something you might like,” the dowager duchess suggested. “Whatever it is. You need only name it.”

“I am grateful for your offer, Your Grace, but I assure you I have all I need,” Charlotte insisted. “Would you please excuse me? I must return to the house.”

“May we take you home, Miss Emerson?” the duke asked.

To sit near him in an enclosed space for fifteen or twenty minutes was asking for trouble. Charlotte had no understanding of her reactions around him other than being certain that she wasn’t frightened of him. She didn’t believe she was frightened of him, but she could be proven wrong. All Charlotte knew, and had known for the last five years, was that he caused odd sensations within her that rendered her a tad breathless, perhaps a little confused, and quite nervous. The constant fluttering in her belly whenever he was near was evidence of that.

“I prefer to walk, Your Grace,” she told him. “I need more time alone.”

“We understand, dear,” said the dowager duchess. “Being alone during such a difficult time is important, but being with others who care is also a necessity. Know that there are people who care about you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Charlotte replied and curtseyed. “Have a good day.”

The dowager duchess nodded. “Take care, dear.”

Charlotte briefly looked at the duke, who offered her a slight smile. She quickly lowered her head and walked away, collecting her parasol from where it hung on the fence. She didn’t recall leaving it there, but it was undoubtedly hers. No one else had dared to put pink bows on their parasol. However, it made her different from others, which she liked. In a world where everyone had to conform, Charlotte stepped away from tradition in small ways and sought her own path. It wasn’t easy when everyone was confined to cages that society had created, but she believed she was slowly bending the bars of her cage. One day, she would burst free and breathe in the fresh air of opportunity.

There has to be more than this life of keeping one’s head down and following the rules. Mama and Papa lit a fire in my heart when they taught me the value of learning. I intend to stoke that fire until it’s a blazing flame.

***

Emerson Household

Her home was less than an hour away when ambling along, so she must have walked at a snail’s pace because she arrived well after an hour. She had hoped to return to a quiet house where she could take a long bath and curl up in the parlour with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. Charlotte had recently learnt how to make the chocolate blocks necessary for hot chocolate, and she had to admit they were better than the ones she bought from Mr Denver’s shop. However, she wouldn’t tell him that because he was sensitive about his confectionery.

However, instead of the silence she craved, Charlotte was met with the grating noise of chaotic chatter. There had to be at least four voices speaking at once, with the shrieks of …

Geese from hell? No, that cannot be. There is no such thing, although those voices certainly sound hellish.

Charlotte’s dark brown eyes widened as two children streaked across the foyer, one screaming blue murder while the other held a candlestick high in the air. The menacing and gleeful expression on the girl’s face was both devilish and amusing, but unless Charlotte wanted a bloody child on her hands, she had better interfere. She still didn’t know what was going on, but the children were a start.

She ran after the girls, grabbing one by a ribbon attached to a long braid. The girl jerked back and fell on her bottom, her lower lip wobbling as she looked up at Charlotte accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte immediately said. “I didn’t mean to grab your ribbon. How is your scalp?”

The girl rubbed her head; her face scrunched in a thoughtful expression as she tested her scalp. She frowned slightly, her features soon smoothing.

“My scalp feels fine, but you shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “Mama will not be pleased.”

“She won’t be pleased knowing you were brandishing a candlestick in the air,” Charlotte countered. “What did you plan to do with it? Bash the other girl on the head with it?”

“She ruined my dress,” the girl said, pointing at a rip in her dress. “Mama gave us all new dresses for our new home, but now mine is all ruined. That’s not fair. I’m supposed to be a pretty princess, so our new papa will love me.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows knitted together as she absorbed the little girl’s words. Firstly, she didn’t know who she was, but her talk of a new home and a new papa was disconcerting.

“And where is your new home and new papa?”

“Why, right here,” the little girl said. “This is our new home—Mama said so. Our new papa is rather old, but Mama said he’ll look after us and make sure we live like princesses.”

Charlotte’s belly knotted. “This is your new home? This house?”

The girl nodded. “Yes. Mr Emerson—I mean, Papa—will marry Mama and become our new father.”

For a moment, Charlotte thought they were talking about Michael, but he wasn’t the sort to take on responsibilities like children. That only left … Charlotte groaned. Her uncle was the one behind this sudden chaos in her family home. She and her uncle were going to need to have a talk about what his plans were concerning his upcoming marriage and living in the house. He had said nothing about his plans for the future, and now he was forcing them upon her without warning.

“Come, let me help you up,” said Charlotte, taking the girl’s hands and pulling her. “Why don’t you find the other girl and forgive each other? She damaged your dress, and you ran after her with a candlestick—I would say you’re even.”

“The other girl is my silly sister, Susan,” she said. “I’m the eldest. My name is Emma. There’s also Peter, Dorian, and Beatrice—she’s the youngest.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “There are five of you?”

Emma nodded, her wheat-coloured plaits bouncing on her shoulder. “Our papa died when Mama still had Beatrice in her belly. He fell off his horse and didn’t wake up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said, compassion prompting her to touch Emma’s head.

Emma shrugged. “Mama was very angry. She said Papa was a fool while he was alive and a bigger fool when he died because he left her all alone with five children. She says women have nothing in the world without their fathers, brothers, or husbands. She, Grandpa, and Grandma were not happy when we had to live with them again, and—”

“I understand,” Charlotte interrupted, disturbed by how much the little girl knew. “You shouldn’t think about all that, Emma. Only remember that your papa loved you, and you are not helpless just because you’re a woman. Can you remember that?”

The girl frowned. “But Mama—”

“I know, but you don’t have to think about that,” Charlotte insisted. “Now, I’m going to speak to your mother and Uncle Arthur for a moment, so why don’t you play outside? We have a lovely garden outside.”

“Mama said we shouldn’t dirty our clothing,” Emma protested. “It’s important we make a good impression, she said.”

“Very well,” said Charlotte. “Go upstairs to the first floor, turn right, and enter the second door on your left. It’s filled with all my childhood toys. You can play with them. You and your siblings. Are they in the room with your mother?”

Emma nodded. “And our new papa, and Grandpa, and Grandma. They’re having tea to celebrate that Mama will marry our new papa and move into our new house.”

If Charlotte had a shilling for every time Emma had mentioned ‘new,’ she would have a sackful of spending money. Not that she didn’t have any money but having more certainly made one’s life more comfortable.

So, Uncle is entertaining his wife-to-be and her parents in my home on the day of Papa’s funeral. No wonder he left so early. I thought he was perhaps overcome with grief, but I suppose that was too much to ask of someone as self-centred as he.

Her brother and uncle were alike in their self-serving ways. Despite Uncle Arthur being the older brother, he certainly hadn’t behaved like one. Charlotte’s father had started a business, bought a home, and made an excellent reputation among the people of Bath. His hard work paid for their house, the servants who served them, their carriage and horses, and the overall comfort they enjoyed daily. Now, it seemed her uncle had claimed it for himself. Of course, according to the laws of the land, the next male in line would inherit everything, but she had hoped her uncle wouldn’t be so selfish. She had evidently hoped in vain.

Two young boys holding a little girl’s hand entered the foyer, pausing when they saw her. The little girl broke away from the boys and approached Emma, grabbing a fistful of her dress before placing her thumb in her mouth.

“This is Beatrice,” Emma told her. “She’s only three. That is Peter and Dorian—my brothers.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” said Charlotte, smiling at them. “Emma, why don’t you find Susan and take your brothers and sisters to the room I told you about? I’m sure there’s something for all of you.”

Emma nodded. “Yes, that sounds more exciting than sitting in the parlour all day.” She looked at her siblings. “Come with me—this lady says we can play with her old toys.”

“My name is Charlotte,” she offered.

“Charlotte,” said Emma with a nod. “Come along.”

Amazingly, her siblings followed her without question. She was clearly the ringleader, although Susan might be the rebel of their group. Charlotte waited until they were at the top of the stairs before going to the parlour. The voices were no longer talking over each other, but their conversation was lively and littered with laughter. Charlotte knocked on the slightly ajar door before walking inside, not bothering to wait for someone to give her entry. This was her home—these people were outsiders.

“Charlotte,” her uncle said. “I wondered when you would arrive. Come and meet the Jenkins family. We are soon to be in-laws.”

“Yes, apparently so,” said Charlotte, unimpressed with the scene before her. “Good day,” she added, nodding at the Jenkins. “May I speak to you, Uncle? Just a moment in the hallway will do.”

“Right now?” her uncle asked. “But as you can see, I’m busy.”

“Yes, this is what I wish to speak to you about.”

“Can it not wait?” her uncle said.

“No,” Charlotte told him firmly. “This matter cannot wait a moment more. Frankly, this situation begs for attention.”

“Very well,” her uncle grumbled. “Please, excuse us,” he said to the Jenkins. “My niece lost her father, so obviously, she is still overcome. I am all the family she has left.”

“Why, yes, darling,” the younger female said. “We understand perfectly. Our condolences, dear,” she said to Charlotte.

Charlotte nodded once. “Thank you. Uncle?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, yes,” he said, gesturing at the door. “After you.”

Charlotte marched out of the door, telling herself to be calm. Lashing out at someone was never the answer because it meant losing control of the situation. She walked to the end of the hallway, waiting for her uncle to catch up.

“You have embarrassed me in front of my in-laws, Charlotte,” her uncle said. “I can only imagine what they must think of our family name.”

“I hardly think what I did is anything compared to what you did, Uncle,” she said. “You said nothing about coming to live here, and now I hear you are getting married, becoming a father, and moving into my home. Do you not think you should have discussed this with me?”

“Why?” her uncle asked. “I am the next in line to inherit everything. That is the law.”

“Michael is the one who should inherit everything,” Charlotte argued. “In fact, I think I should put more effort into finding him, starting with writing a letter to the last people who saw him.”

Charlotte attempted to walk past her uncle, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Just wait a moment there, young lady,” he said, his voice dipping. “You are not sending a letter to anyone.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow and looked at his hand on her arm. Her uncle quickly released her, avoiding her gaze.

“You have forced my hand, dear,” her uncle said, his voice less threatening. “I didn’t want to tell you this on the day of my brother’s funeral—God rest his soul—but you leave me no choice.”

“What is it you wish to tell me?”

“I may need to sell the shop to cover your father’s debts,” her uncle said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I need to sell the shop,” her uncle repeated. “Your father wasn’t the great businessman you believed he was. I looked over everything, and I’m afraid that is the only solution.”

Charlotte had to laugh. “That is impossible. I managed the books, so I would know our financial state. Papa’s shop is doing well. Very well, in fact. Why would you lie about such a thing?”

Her uncle’s face turned a mottled red. “Lie? Are you implying that I’m lying?”

“I managed the books, Uncle,” she said. “I know everything about Papa’s financial affairs.”

“You’re just a woman, dear,” her uncle told her. “What do you know about such things? If I say that is the situation, then that is what it is. Who are you to argue with me? It seems all that useless education has given you thoughts beyond your capabilities. You should know your place.”

“As my uncle, should you not take care of me instead of forcing a new situation upon me on the day of my father’s funeral?”

Uncle Arthur pulled his head back. “I think you forget yourself, Niece, but I forgive you. Today has been a difficult day for you, so outlandish outbursts are to be expected. Now, I suggest you go and lie down while I entertain the Jenkins. We can discuss my plans later this evening.”

Her uncle gave a fake smile and walked off, leaving Charlotte angry and silent. This was not the last of this conversation, but she needed to gather her thoughts. She could bathe and curl up with a book and hot chocolate in her room until she felt ready to come out and face the world again.

If I ever feel ready to face the world again.

 

Chapter Two

Willoughby Estate

Dinner with the Russells was never an exciting event. Hugh had even forgotten about the dinner, but his mother reminded him of it a mere hour before their guests arrived. It seemed that courting someone took effort and time, more than he was willing to give. However, he had made a commitment, albeit all but forced on him, so he had to keep fulfilling it for as long as necessary.

If only Mother had not made a silly rule about having dinner once every fortnight with the Russells. She can be so insistent.

“You are rather quiet this evening, Your Grace,” Lady Caroline commented. “Is something on your mind?”

There certainly was, but he couldn’t tell the woman he was courting that he was thinking about another woman while having dinner with her.

“My mind is a little preoccupied this evening,” he admitted. “But it’s nothing you need to concern yourself about.”

Lady Caroline smiled sweetly. “Everything about you concerns me, Your Grace,” she said. “I mean that in the best possible way.”

Hugh returned her smile. “Thank you for your concern. Would you like more wine?” he asked, calling a servant over. “Our butler always selects the perfect wines for our meals.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” said Lord Fairclough, her father. “I admit I’ve had thoughts of trying to convince Mr Holton to work for me instead, but your servants are fiercely loyal to you.”

“Peter!” his wife cried, laughing uncomfortably. “How can you say that? But you are right in saying that His Grace’s servants would never leave him. I have noticed how they all adore him.”

“The servants are loyal to the family,” Hugh corrected. “We ensure a fair, safe working environment for them. They are servants with lives of their own and not slaves who must mindlessly obey us. Our respect for them results in them serving us well.”

“What excellent advice, Your Grace,” said Lady Caroline. “We have a lot to learn from you.”

“It’s basic human decency, My Lady,” Hugh replied. “Sometimes, people forget that servants are people, not beasts. We already have more than them—why make life harder for them by treating them unjustly?”

“I think that’s a tad harsh, Your Grace,” said Lord Fairclough. “Commoners are accustomed to harsher conditions, so I do not think they mind it if we’re a little harsh at times.”

“It is for that precise reason that they are accustomed to harsh conditions that we shouldn’t add to their troubles,” the duke said. “Everything should be within reason. Imagine how you would feel if you were having a terrible day, and someone mistreated you on top of all that. It’s enough to tear a person down. One can only imagine the state of their minds and hearts.”

“Oh, how kind and sympathetic you are, Your Grace,” said Lady Caroline.

“Certainly,” her father agreed. “Showing kindness is a wonderful trait. We merely have to be careful about letting them think we’re equals. That would disrupt the country, wouldn’t it? They’d start demanding far too much, and we would lose everything we hold dear as aristocrats.”

Hugh didn’t answer immediately. His experiences had taught him that waiting several seconds before responding to someone gave one the upper hand in a conversation. It was a little trick he had picked up some years ago and used frequently.

“Well,” he said after a while. “History has taught us that mistreating people leads to uprising and unstable conditions. Treating them well would ensure their happiness in their current circumstance.”

“Of course, you’re right,” Lady Fairclough expressed. “Even my dear husband will admit that. Is that not right, dear?”

Lord Fairclough nodded, although he didn’t seem sincere. “Yes. His Grace is perfectly correct,” he said and cleared his throat. “I think I’d like more of that roast mutton.”

Hugh inwardly smiled. The earl had a lot of pride, and being told he was wrong undoubtedly made him choke on his own bile. Better he gulp down another piece of juicy mutton than think about how a younger man had bested him.

The conversation turned to the latest London Season, which he was glad he was no longer part of. However, he did leave London with a courtship thanks to his mother’s meddling. She had called it a concern for his future and the family line because he was over thirty with no signs of settling down. Hugh had only agreed to set her mind at ease, but he had no intentions of having anything come from the courtship. Lady Caroline was a sweet woman and lovely-looking, but they had nothing in common, nothing that mattered. Hugh didn’t believe being of the same social class was enough reason to be with someone. Perhaps it was just difficult to find anyone interesting, or rather, it was challenging to find someone in his social class interesting because a commoner had managed to intrigue him for some time now.

Charlotte Emerson was an enigma to him. She seemed easy and difficult to understand simultaneously, which drew him to her like bees to honey. However, she preferred avoiding him, which hurt his feelings. He understood she knew his mother more, but he had also been to the haberdashery many times. Hugh didn’t understand why it irked him so much that she wouldn’t talk to him for longer than a few minutes, three at best. He only learned more about her by listening in on her conversations with others, which only left him wanting to know more about her.

How does a commoner know so much? Perhaps it’s rude for me to think in this manner, but her knowledge far surpasses any woman I’ve met. I’m quite certain I heard her speaking French the last time I was in the shop.

It wasn’t just her mind that he found alluring, but her exotic looks. Perhaps they were not exotic in the truest sense, but her dark features contrasted so brilliantly with her pale skin that one couldn’t help staring. Her eyes alone were bright yet so dark that he felt he was being sucked into them. However, he didn’t mind the sensation because she also had so much peace in them, like still waters on a mild spring day.

“Your Grace?” he heard Lady Caroline say. “Is something the matter?”

Hugh turned to her. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that I’ve called you several times, and you didn’t respond,” she told him, her amber-coloured eyes searching his.

Hugh felt his cheeks warm with colour. “Well, erm, I suppose I’m tired. I was busy researching something of interest.”

“Indeed?” she said. “What is it about?”

“The importance of the moon to ancient civilisations and the world today,” he said. “Some claim the moon has magical properties, while others look at it from a scientific point of view. It’s rather interesting and …” Hugh’s words trailed off as he recognised the glazed look in Lady Caroline’s eyes. “But you don’t need to concern yourself about that,” he finished.

“Oh, no, I find it fascinating, Your Grace,” she insisted. “Please, tell me more about it.”

“I don’t think it’s suitable dinner conversation, Lady Caroline,” he replied. “Has anything of interest caught your attention lately?”

“I heard a circus will come to Somerset this November,” she said. “It hasn’t been confirmed, but I would like it to be true. I’m particularly interested in seeing all those odd-looking people. I once heard of a woman with a real beard growing all the way to her navel and a pair of conjoined twins. Apparently, a magician even caught a mermaid, although that might not be so true.”

“Why would that be the least probable truth?” Hugh asked. “Some say the mythical creatures we have claimed mere myth are all real, but in hiding. There was a time when they roamed the Earth as freely as we do, but persecution pushed them into secret places.”

Everyone at the table laughed. “Surely, you do not believe that, Your Grace?” said Lord Fairclough. “Werewolves? Vampires? Mermaids? Faeries? Those are just myths.”

Hugh shrugged with a smile. “Who am I to say anything? The feats humanity has achieved today would have been called witchcraft just a few centuries ago. Herbalism, which was quite normal before, is now considered witchcraft by many. It seems things change based on people’s fears or what suits a few people who want to control the masses.”

The table fell silent for the second time that night, but Hugh was comfortable with silence. In fact, he loved silences—it aided his digestion. Too much talking to the wrong people made his food bubble uncomfortably in his stomach.

“It seems we keep heading into topics that simply don’t suit dinner time,” his mother said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like, who will take over my favourite haberdashery? How terrible for dear Mr Emerson to leave us so soon.”

“I’m afraid I do not know who that is,” said Lady Fairclough.

“Have you never shopped at Emerson’s Haberdashery?” Hugh’s mother asked. “He has the best quality fabrics in all of Somerset, if not England.”

“I never do my own fabric shopping,” said Lady Fairclough. “The modiste does it for me. I trust her.”

“Oh, I am quite selective, so not even the most trustworthy of modistes will do,” his mother said. “I must see the whole process through, from creating the design to the finishing stages when all the additional pieces are added like ribbons, lace, and such.”

“Well,” said Lady Fairclough with a sniff. “Such things take up a lot of time, and I’m afraid I do not have much of it.”

“Each to their own, my dear Lady Fairclough,” said Hugh’s mother. “I’m just sad that such a wonderful man has passed away. My heart just bleeds for his lovely daughter, Charlotte. Such a sweet girl. It’s a pity she didn’t accept our help.”

“She sounds like a proud commoner,” Lord Fairclough commented.

“I agree, Papa,” said Lady Caroline. “How dare she deny help from Her Grace?”

“Charlotte is not like that,” Hugh told them, already annoyed with their accusation. “She is the least proud person I have ever met. She merely doesn’t accept anything she didn’t work for.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace,” said Lady Caroline. “You even understand the way a commoner thinks.”

It had nothing to do with kindness, although he would never be unkind to Charlotte. He sincerely liked her, not romantically, but as a person. Everyone who knew her well spoke highly of her, and she undoubtedly added to people’s lives. A person like that was rare to find.

Why can I not find someone like that who is suitable for me? I would court them with no questions asked.

***

Willoughby Estate

Hugh was glad to see the back of the Russells later that evening. They had caused him more fatigue than usual, which indicated he was growing weary of being around them. He would have to think of a kind way of ending his courtship with Lady Caroline, or he would have angry people on his hands. Lady Fairclough seemed to think a marriage would be the eventual end to their courtship, so she would get a rather large surprise once he ended it. Mothers acted far too prematurely concerning their daughters, which just caused greater disappointment.

“I’m worried about Charlotte, dear,” his mother said, breaking into his thoughts.

Hugh was as well, but he didn’t want to show it. To do so would indicate that he cared for her above and beyond what was proper for a man of his status.

“You have done what you can, Mother,” he told her. “What more can you do?”

“But you do not understand her predicament,” his mother said. “I didn’t want to discuss this bit before the Russells, but I received a letter from Mrs Jacobs this afternoon.”

“Mrs Jacobs?”

“The florist next to the haberdashery,” his mother explained.

“Oh, yes, I remember Mrs Jacobs,” he said. “I just haven’t had much reason to go to the florist.”

His mother pursed her lips. “Yes, because you refuse to show Lady Caroline the attention she deserves as the one you’re courting.”

Hugh sighed. “Let’s not argue about this now, Mother. Tell me what was in the letter.”

“Well, it’s just terrible what her uncle is doing to her,” his mother said. “He is apparently selling the shop and kicking Charlotte out of her family home.”

Hugh sat up straighter in his chair. “He cannot do that!” he cried a little more strongly than he expected. “That house is her home. Who is he to kick her out?”

“The next male heir,” his mother pointed out. “He has every right, I’m afraid. The poor girl will be without employment and a home soon.”

“That is not fair,” he said, although he knew it was perfectly legal.

“I agree, dear,” his mother assured him. “Which is why I believe you should take her in and hire her as a maid in our household.”

“Hire her as a maid?” he asked in surprise. “What makes you think she would agree to that? Charlotte is a highly educated woman, Mother. You have heard when she speaks about subjects that commoners wouldn’t usually know.”

“I know that, dear, but this is our only option,” his mother said. “She is a commoner, dear, and a woman. There aren’t many options for her.”

Hugh had to admit that his mother’s idea appealed to him, which was why he should reject it. There should be no reason for the thought of having Charlotte in his house to appeal to him. No reason at all.

“I understand,” he finally said. “But she might have another solution already.”

“Yes, she might,” her mother agreed. “However, you should still go to the shop tomorrow and speak to her. Mrs Jacobs says Charlotte is still working there for now.”

“I do not know, Mother …”

“Please, dear,” his mother begged. “I would never forgive myself if we could have helped her but did nothing. She has no one, dear.”

Hearing Charlotte had no one struck a chord within him. She didn’t deserve whatever was happening to her, so he should at least offer help once more. He needed to set aside whatever feelings he thought he had or opinions that didn’t align with helping her.

“Very well, Mother,” he said. “I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”

At least this time, she would have to speak to him for a little more than a few minutes. This concerned her future, after all.

***

Emerson Household

Charlotte looked around the dinner table, trying not to hate everyone. She hadn’t been at the house for several days after arguing with her uncle and Mrs Robinson, choosing to stay with Mrs Jacobs, the florist beside her father’s shop. Charlotte hadn’t wanted to be at home after her uncle betrayed her father, and since she didn’t have any other family, Mrs Jacobs had been her last resort.

Maybe I should have just stayed away and asked Mrs Jacobs to work in her shop, but I know she can’t afford an extra mouth.

The florist was helping to support her widowed daughter and children, so adding more financial pressure on her would be wrong. However, she could have squeezed in another day because dinner with her uncle and the Jenkins was uncomfortable. Charlotte barely ate her food or offered conversation, but nobody cared. Her uncle and the Jenkins were content in their little bubble; she was just the outsider. Perhaps the children would have kept her entertained, but they had been sent to bed before the adults had dinner. She was just glad this was the last course.

“May I speak to you for a moment, Miss Emerson?” Mrs Robinson asked after dinner. “We can sit over there,” she said, pointing at armchairs across the drawing room.

Although she referred to herself as a Jenkins, she still carried the last name of her dearly departed husband.

“Do you think we could talk tomorrow?” said Charlotte. “I’m rather tired and think I shall just head to bed.”

“Please,” Mrs Robinson begged. “It will only take a moment. It’s important.”

Charlotte inwardly sighed. “Very well.”

She pushed herself out of the chair and followed Mrs Robinson, all but falling into another armchair.

“This is such a hard time for you, dear,” Mrs Robinson began. “My kind heart breaks for you.”

“Erm … thank you?”

Mrs Robinson nodded, evidently pleased with herself. “You’re welcome, dear. So, while I feel terribly sorry for you, I feel I must warn you that you will not be able to live here once my children and I move here. After the wedding,” she added for clarification.

Charlotte’s fatigue disappeared. “Are you telling me I cannot live in my own home?”

“Your uncle’s home, dear,” Mrs Robinson corrected, her thin lips stretching into a smile. “My soon-to-be husband. He owns this home now.”

“My brother now owns this house,” said Charlotte. “This is my home. This building belonged to my father and mother—I will not leave.”

“From what I hear, your brother disappeared many years ago,” said Mrs Robinson, her smile turning cruel. “Everything your father owned falls to your uncle. As his wife, I have the right to ask you kindly to leave this house. I counted all the rooms, and this house is just perfect for my family. You have no room here. Not anymore.”

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. This was beyond cruelty. She had just buried her father, yet her uncle and his wife-to-be were expelling her from everything she knew and loved.

“Uncle,” she cried, standing up. “Uncle, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, dear,” her uncle said.

“Uncle,” Charlotte insisted. “This is a matter of grave importance. Only you can settle this matter.”

Her uncle left his in-laws and approached them, a deep frown marring his already-lined forehead.

“What is it?” he asked. “This is rather rude, you know.”

“Mrs Robinson has just informed me that I need to leave the house,” said Charlotte. “The house my father made a home for me—his daughter. How can his only child leave this house?”

“Well, erm, you see …” her uncle said, scratching the back of his head.

“Arthur, dear,” said Mrs Robinson, winding her arm around his. “There is simply no room for her, dear. We’ll be married in less than a month. Surely that is enough time for her to find work and accommodation elsewhere? You need to think about our family, my darling.”

“You’re quite right, Cecilia, dear,” Uncle Arthur replied, patting her hand affectionately. “I need to think about our family. You, me, and the children.” He turned to Charlotte. “I’m sorry, my dear. Cecilia is quite right. There is no room here for you.”

“No,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “You cannot chase me from my home. You know Papa wouldn’t like this. You’re going against his wishes.”

“Your father’s wishes are the last things on my mind right now,” Uncle Arthur told her. “I need to take care of my family.”

“I am your family!” Charlotte cried. “I am your niece, the only daughter of your younger brother. How can you do this to me? To your brother?”

“Well, this is a little too melodramatic,” said Mrs Robinson. “Do you not think so, darling? Your niece is giving me such a headache. You know how fragile I am, which is why I need a strong man like you to take care of me.”

Uncle Arthur puffed out his chest. “You know I’ll take care of you, dear. You and the children. They are mine now.”

Charlotte snorted. “Do you even know their names?” she asked. “What do you know about raising children?”

“I suggest you watch your tongue, Niece,” her uncle warned.

“Am I still your niece?” she asked. “One would not think so. You are discarding me mere days after I buried my father—why would you do that to me? How could you do this to me? Can you not see how wrong this is?”

“What is wrong here is you arguing with your uncle,” said Mrs Robinson. “Have you no respect for your elders?”

“Have you no respect for family ties and bonds?” Charlotte hissed. “You are the one kicking me out of my home. You are the one likely manipulating my uncle to discard his family in favour of a new one. Why? Are men so weak that they forget their honour so quickly? I shudder to think what my grandparents would say about this situation.”

Everyone grew silent as her chest heaved, her breath coming out in harsh bursts. She was angry, so angry that she was trembling. She was still grieving, for heaven’s sake! She had lost her father mere days ago, and now she was losing everything else. It was just too much. To her amazement, she started laughing. Big, uncontrollable guffaws that made her breathless. She clutched her belly when it began to ache, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

“She has gone mad,” said Mrs Robinson. “What should we do, darling?”

“Charlotte?” her uncle said tentatively. “Are you well, dear? Should I call for the physician?”

That made her laugh even more. Her uncle was suddenly showing concern, yet he was also kicking her out of her home to make room for his new family. She couldn’t understand how no one else saw how amusing everything was.

“Perhaps a physician is not what she needs,” said Mrs Robinson. “Who does one call when someone has become insane?”

“Insane, she says,” said Charlotte in between laughter. “I’m being chased from my home, and I’m the insane one.”

“Perhaps you should go to bed, dear,” her uncle suggested. “This has been a difficult time for you, and understandably so.”

Charlotte hiccuped, finally calming down. “Yes, sleep sounds perfect right now.”

“We can talk again in the morning,” her uncle said, attempting to be soothing. It only grated on her already stretched nerves.

There was nothing to talk about. Her life was falling apart, and she could do nothing but go to bed and wake up the next day to do more of the same thing.

You left me alone, Papa, and now I have nothing. Why does everyone I love leave me? Mama, Michael, and now you. Even Uncle Arthur has abandoned me.

Dragging her weary body out of the room and upstairs, Charlotte somehow made it to her room and collapsed on the bed. Perhaps she would never leave the cage.

---

“The Duke’s Artful Muse” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Betrayed by her uncle and cast out of her own home after her father’s demise, Charlotte’s fate is in the hands of a notorious Viscount with cruel intentions. Lost in despair, a glimmer of hope emerges when she finds refuge in the employment offered by the enigmatic Duke of Kent. Within the opulence of his estate, her heart flutters whenever he is near. As their friendship evolves amidst their shared passion for art, Charlotte senses a deeper connection growing.

Can her blossoming love for him overcome the societal barriers that keep them apart?

Hugh Willoughby, the esteemed Duke of Kent, has long been imprisoned by the weight of responsibility, devoid of love. Following his father’s passing, his artistic talents lie dormant until the arrival of Charlotte who reignites his drawing passion. Her artful nature rekindles his own and she secretly becomes his muse who breathes life into his world. While his tender emotions for her grow stronger, he fears all the threats that put their path to happiness at risk.

If only the vibrant colours of their love were not shadowed by the ton’s hatred…

As their shared love for art becomes a beacon of hope to their blooming romance, Hugh and Charlotte will face daunting obstacles. While a scorned woman’s wrath and the vengeful actions of a man from Charlotte’s past are risking their dreamy connection, they must fight against their prejudice and doubts. Will their love conquer the surrounding schemes and prove destined for eternal greatness?

“The Duke’s Artful Muse” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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