A Duke’s Second Chance (Preview)

Chapter One

Eleanor could not sit still. She was about to fall off her seat from a mixture of excitement and impending doom. Her shoes had been discarded somewhere under the settee long ago, and one leg dangled over the edge where it swung back and forth in agitation. Her tea, cold with a little milky film on top, sat untouched on the mahogany table beside a plate of biscuits. They were likely soft from sitting in the air for the last hour, but Eleanor couldn’t pull herself away from the book in her lap.

Impatiently turning the next page, she devoured the scene with all the desperation of a reader fully invested in the heroine’s plight. Adeline had just escaped through a window after the marquis kidnapped her and locked her up with his harem of mistresses. Eleanor was surprised Adeline did it without crying or fainting, but her hysterics were undoubtedly to come.

“Why must women cry and faint about everything?” she muttered.

Perhaps her loveliness allowed it. The author’s description of the heroine was the usual—a delicate beauty who made men fall in love with her with just a look. Eleanor was enjoying the story, but it would be nice to have a heroine who wasn’t defined by her beauty alone. Perhaps she needed to be pretty to get away with all her tears and swoons. Eleanor certainly wouldn’t get away with hysterics every time life grew challenging. She was too plain-looking for that.

“How long is she going to run around before she stops and thinks of a good plan?” said Eleanor, tsking at the heroine.

Another prerequisite for beautiful heroines was apparently not having the ability to plan, although escaping through the window had been a surprising and much-needed change from her usual maiden-in-distress character. At any moment, someone would rescue her because her self-preservation skills were nearly non-existent. If someone didn’t save her, the next possible option was the dastardly marquis finding her and dragging her back to the house. Eleanor, of course, wanted a happy ending for the heroine, but it would be more exciting if the marquis caught her. She would never admit this to anyone—not even her best friend Julia—but she loved powerful men and danger. Fictional, of course. Or perhaps not—she wasn’t entirely certain yet. Not that she had a choice either way because no one was truly interested in her.

At twenty-three, Eleanor had been on the marriage mart for several years. She had received a few proposals over the years but on account of her handsome dowry rather than her appearance. In all honesty, she wasn’t much to look at, although Aunt Helen often said her golden curls were her crowning glory. They fell to her knees in a thick and curly mass that always took an entire day to wash, dry, comb, and set. She detested hair arrangements that forced her lady’s maid to pile her hair atop her head, so she usually got away with plaiting it and having a few of those plaits surround her head like a wreath. The rest were secured into a rolled and tucked coiffure at the nape of her neck.

Eleanor’s hair was the only thing she shared with her beautiful mother because everything else on her face was very much her father’s distinct features. Her moss-green eyes, a light smattering of brown freckles, dimples, and overly plump lips made her unequivocally her father’s daughter. Some relatives had described her lips as ‘ethnic’ because they were not the delicate petal lips associated with English beauties. The ethnic comment was merely an indirect stab at her father’s colorful heritage. Besides French, Spanish, and possibly Russian (some relatives still denied this heritage), someone had hinted that his great-grandmother was half Romany, hence Eleanor’s thick lips.

Frankly, Eleanor loved the idea of having such an exotic relative. Her mother’s side was English, with perhaps some Scottish somewhere along the line, but they certainly had nothing interesting in their bloodline.

Another page-turn elicited a toe-curling squeal from her. Theodore, a soldier in the marquis’s employ, and Adeline’s love interest, had appeared to save her.

“Awfully coincidental, isn’t it?” she murmured.

The marquis sent Theodore away after discovering the soldier’s budding love with Adeline, yet he had somehow gotten away and found her, despite not knowing where she could be. Certainly, it made sense to assume she was under the marquis’s roof, but running into her while fleeing her captor…well, it was quite the coincidence.

Sliding lower in her seat, Eleanor planted her dangling foot on the plush carpet and flexed her stocking-less toes. She hated wearing the cumbersome things and much preferred loose breeches when she could get away with them, which was hardly ever. Aunt Helen was very particular about dressing appropriately, even when at home. Her motto was, “One never knows when the right gentleman will come calling.” Eleanor had to wonder if her aunt was merely optimistic or pityingly hopeful about the right gentleman wishing to marry her niece. The few proposals Eleanor had received were rejected because the suitors were everything she didn’t want—money-hungry men who would stifle her until she became his footrest.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Eleanor bolted upright, her book hitting the carpet with a soft thud. “Aunt!” she cried.

Aunt Helen entered the parlor with a disapproving air and hawk-like brown eyes that saw everything, even the things one tried to hide.

“If you’re going to spend your time reading instead of doing something worthwhile, at least do it properly,” her aunt said. “Slouching in your seat is not only unladylike but also bad for your posture.”

Eleanor didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times she’d had this conversation with her aunt. While she loved Aunt Helen to bits and pieces, especially after she sprang into action to take care of her after her parents’ deaths, she was just too set in her ways. She didn’t have the adventurous spirit of her late brother or the teasing manner of her late sister-in-law. Everything was black and white—color was prohibited unless it was pale and unlikely to draw too much attention.

“Sorry, Aunt Helen,” she said as she felt around with her toes for her shoes. “I’m just so invested in this book by Ann Radcliffe.”

“Oh, that woman who tells all those dark, horrific stories?” said Aunt Helen. She gracefully sank into an armchair and moved her feet to the side like the perfect lady. “I would rather eat raw liver than read one of her books.”

“She’s a good author, Aunt Helen,” said Eleanor.

“Good authors will not get you married,” her aunt replied. “You’re now twenty-three, dear. The last thing I want is for you to become a spinster. You’re such a lovely girl.”

“You know why I’m not married, Aunt,” she said.

It didn’t take a well-learned man to know that wallflowers were not a man’s first, second, or third choice. They were more of a means to an end, especially if the man’s family coffers were low or empty.

Aunt Helen sighed and left her seat to sit beside Eleanor. She took Eleanor’s hands and looked into her eyes with all the compassion and affection of a doting aunt.

“Dear,” she began, “you’re a special woman.”

Eleanor laughed mirthlessly. “Special? That is as terrible as saying I’m an ogre. Or is that ogress? Troll is just as good. Or bad—I don’t know.”

“Oh, Eli-bear,” said Aunt Helen, using her childhood nickname. It brought back many wonderful memories with her parents. “You’re just different, that’s all.”

“If this is your way of making me feel better that I’m at the bottom of every barrel, then you’re going about it the right way.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” her aunt accused. “What I mean is that you’re a different kind of beauty, one that isn’t appreciated in a country of people as dull and mundane as plain-boiled potatoes. Look at all this hair,” she said, lifting a heavy lock and rubbing it between her fingers. “And your skin!”

“Is partially covered in unsightly brown spots,” Eleanor added.

“Those spots make you look youthful and fresh,” her aunt said. “You also have lovely beauty spots highlighting your beautiful green eyes and luscious lips. I wish I had those lips.”

Eleanor laughed, this time with sincerity. “You lie, Aunt Helen!” she said. “No one wants these lips, but thank you for being so complimentary. It’s nice to hear nice things once in a while.”

“Then I’m not doing my job as your aunt if it’s only once in a while,” Aunt Helen claimed. “I have plenty of wonderful things to say about you, like your brilliant wit, intelligence, kindness—I can go one if you need more.”

Eleanor smiled. “No, that isn’t necessary.”

“But you believe me, yes?” her aunt asked. “You’re too good for the men of the ton, but unfortunately, they are the ones you’re expected to marry. If I were God, I would create a man just for you. He would be handsome, intelligent, affectionate, and obsessed with everything about you. Most importantly, he would love you just as you are because he recognizes an amazing woman when he sees one.”

Eleanor appreciated her aunt’s efforts to make her feel good about herself. However, it wasn’t really a matter of raising her spirits and self-confidence but addressing the concern that unless she magically transformed into an acceptable beauty or married a blind man, she was still as undesirable as a wart on a woman’s face. If being a wallflower was unattractive, one could imagine how much more unwanted a woman was when she enjoyed discussing literature, sharing her opinions, and needing more in life than balls and having tea and biscuits with other women.

 

Chapter Two

Nathaniel glanced around the room, his deep blue eyes briefly observing the members of the gentleman’s club. Some men were on their way to getting tipsy, while others were focused on playing cards and barely touched their drinks. Those were the serious gamblers, the ones who frequented illegal gambling halls and kept that part of their lives away from their public image. Nathaniel only knew about them because his younger brother, Richard, had friends in high and low places.

Richard had always been the fun, easygoing brother who easily made friends with anyone. He also had the ability to blend into whatever world he wished, be it an underground boxing club for commoners or riding with the Regent’s party. Nathaniel enjoyed hearing Richard’s stories, although he didn’t approve of some of his brother’s activities. He was never directly involved in anything illegal, but some of his behavior was questionable.

“Your play,” his brother said, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Nathaniel nodded, inspecting his cards before selecting one and placing it on the pile. “Look at that,” he said. “I win again.”

Richard scowled and tossed the rest of his cards on the table. “I give up. I’m undoubtedly having a bad night.”

“When do you ever win against me?” Nathaniel asked. “I taught you how to play. You cannot be greater than your master.”

“Yes, yes, so you say,” his brother replied. “But the day is coming when Nathaniel Radford will be great no more.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “I have spent forty years being great—what will change that now? You will always have twelve years to catch up to me. You need to face the fact that the gap will never be closed.”

Richard shook his head. “Everyone thinks you’re a humble man, but you’re frighteningly conceited. You do well hiding that flaw.”

“What you call conceited, I call confidence,” Nathaniel replied, shrugging. He pushed his empty glass toward his brother. “Fancy getting me a refill, little brother?”

“Fancy doing it yourself, big brother?” Richard countered.

“Is this how you repay me for all I’ve done for you?” Nathaniel asked.

He was merely jesting—he didn’t need to be repaid for being a protective older brother. It was just amusing to use the reason and watch his brother squirm with indecision. His rebellious nature wanted to defy the order, but his respect and affection for Nathaniel usually fought against his stubbornness.

“Fine,” he eventually replied. “But I’m only doing it because you finally agreed to come to London instead of playing the hermit on your country estate. I’ll return in a moment.”

Nathaniel grinned and nodded as he leaned back in his chair. It had been a while since he had spent time in a gentleman’s club. His brother was right about him preferring to keep to his country estate. It was more peaceful and he could be alone with his thoughts far more than staying in London during the Season. However, Richard was relentless, so Nathaniel decided to take the plunge and be part of the insanity of the London Season. Balls, dinner parties, tea parties, riding parties, garden parties—the Season was relentless with social engagements, people finding marriage partners, building connections to further their influence and power, and simply having a good time.

Nathaniel used to relish the Season, but that was when he still had his beautiful wife by his side. Beatrice had been his sun, moon, and stars, the woman who made him relish the day and brought comfort at night. Losing her had been gut-wrenching and soul-crushing. He might as well have died right along with her because his world grew bleak and uninhabitable. However, as with all survivors of tragedies, life must go on.

He stood up to stretch his legs a little and considered going home a little earlier than expected. The gentleman’s club didn’t have the draw it once did years ago. Its brown, black, and green interior still looked largely the same. The leather armchairs dotted the room, round mahogany tables, walls lined with green wall-hangings, and paintings made up the quintessential man’s club, devoid of any feminine touches. Nathaniel had to wonder if a woman’s club would be just as respected. Some men might argue that a woman’s home was her club—she didn’t need a separate place for just women to meet, drink, and gossip. Although, on second thought, women could do that almost anywhere, just as men could.

“Your whisky, O Great One,” Richard said as he returned. He slid the glass into Nathaniel’s hand and plonked down in his chair. “I overheard a few fellows talking about an opera show tomorrow evening. Why don’t we attend? I have a box.”

“What play is it?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrow. “It’s not precisely something I would expect given the instances of questionable behavior in the play.”

“That is what makes it interesting to watch,” said Richard.

“I suppose so,” Nathaniel replied, raising his glass to his lips.

“So, shall we attend?” Richard asked.

Nathaniel shrugged. “I’m not against some Shakespearean entertainment. I think the last play I watched at the Theater Royal was Hamlet. I’m not keen on tragedies.”

“Which is why A Midsummer Night’s Dream will be perfect,” his brother pointed out. He gathered the cards together and shuffled them. “I’d like to try again.”

“Play with someone else,” Nathaniel told him. “I’m leaving after this glass. I just want to go home and rest. I can send the carriage to return for you if you’re not ready to go home.”

Richard sighed and laid the cards on the table. “I should have known you would want to leave early,” he said. “I suppose I’m also ready to leave.” He leaned closer over their table. “There’s just a bunch of old men and terrible gamblers here. No one of interest. I hoped to at least run into someone more exciting.”

“Life is not all about searching for excitement,” Nathaniel told him.

Richard rolled his eyes. “So says the self-confessed hermit,” he said. “You’re opposed to anything remotely interesting.”

“I’m going to the play tomorrow evening,” Nathaniel pointed out.

“One thing does not cover years of doing nothing but reading and writing in your stately home,” said Richard. “I plan to liven your life so much this Season that you’ll return home a different man. Or perhaps you will not return home for a long while and just enjoy what London has to offer.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Do you honestly believe that? You’d be a fool.”

“I always do my best work when the odds are against me,” said Richard. “It makes winning all the more sweet, like the first sun-ripened peach in summer. Or strawberry. No, pineapple. Delicious fruit, that. Exotic, just how I like my women.”

Nathaniel looked skyward and said nothing. Richard was a terrible rake and had a penchant for foreign women—the darker, the better. Women with golden complexions, dark hair and eyes, and voluptuous bodies were his Achilles heel. Nathaniel couldn’t count the number of times his brother had succumbed to his baser desires and found himself in a duel with an angry husband or father. Instead of changing his ways after so many brushes with death, Richard received a rush of emotions that only those addicted to unfortunate substances could receive.

Richard undoubtedly had their father’s love for women, especially those already taken. It was a thrill to have what others told them they couldn’t have, but eventually, that euphoric feeling of staking one’s claim had disappeared. It was probably why Britain desperately needed to colonize lands across the world. That power from conquering something couldn’t be equaled to anything—apparently, Nathaniel wouldn’t know. He had never felt the urge to overpower anything.

“It just occurred to me that this is whisky,” he said.

Richard raised his dark eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

They had the same coloring—dark hair, eyebrows, dark blue eyes, and fair skin, but Nathaniel was a little taller. Not that it mattered since they were both over six feet and towered over most people.

“I said this is whisky,” said Nathaniel.

“Yes, I realize you said that, but I’m wondering why,” his brother replied. “This is your second glass. How can you only just realize you’re drinking it?”

“Do you blame me?” Nathaniel asked. “Since when did this club serve something illegal? This is Scottish whisky. This comes from the Highlands—I recognize it.”

He would know because he had bottles of it at home from a cousin who thought nothing about their laws. He was a Highlander through and through, and owned a distillery with some of the best whisky Nathaniel had ever consumed, and he believed he had every right to bring his whisky across the border. If the Lowlands could do it, so could he—that was his argument. However, since it was contraband, it was brought nestled among what his cousin considered inferior whisky from the Lowlands.

Richard grinned. “So, you picked that up. I wondered when you would realize it’s our cousin’s whisky. I was tempted to say something about it to those obnoxious old men who decide who joins the club and who doesn’t, but I would rather have this than that awful stuff they sometimes serve.”

“Well, things do certainly change around here,” Nathaniel replied. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”

He enjoyed his next sip even more, knowing just how much his cousin relished seeing the English drinking his contraband whisky. Perhaps he should send his cousin a letter and let him know about the development, although he likely already knew.

A coughing member caught his attention. The large man stumbled to his feet, knocking back his chair as he flailed about in distress. It took another moment to realize the man was choking, and no one knew what to do. Nathaniel had once watched a farmer turn a lamb almost upside down and hit the animal’s back rather hard, but that would be impossible with the large man. His girth alone would prevent him from bending over. There had to be another way to help him.

“That man is going to be dead in a matter of minutes,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

Richard stood up and followed Nathaniel. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Something,” Nathaniel replied.

Men were panicking around the choking member. Some were tapping him on the back and bending him over the table, but nothing was helping. Nathaniel figured he was big enough to get his arms around the man and pump his chest several times to dislodge whatever was lodged in his throat. In theory, squeezing his chest seemed like it could work, but he had never done it before. Still, it was worth a try.

Nathaniel pushed the other men out of the way without a word—there was no time to be polite. In his opinion, the English were obsessed with politeness.

“What are you doing?” a member asked angrily. “The man is about to die!”

“Calm down, sir,” Richard insisted. “Allow my brother to help.”

“Is he a physician?” another member asked.

He was rather young to become a member, which indicated that perhaps he didn’t go through the usual thorough and tiring process to join the club.

“Hush, you idiot,” an older man hissed. “That is the Duke of Devonshire. Do you want trouble heaped on your head?”

Nathaniel grinned. Perhaps his years of being a daredevil and not a man to be trifled with had not disappeared. While Richard certainly was the crazier of the two of them, Nathaniel couldn’t plead complete innocence. He’d had his moments before he married Beatrice and became a responsible and mature man.

Grabbing the man above his protruding belly, Nathaniel gave a sudden and firm squeeze. The man wheezed slightly, but he continued to choke. At this point, he was growing reddish-purple from lack of air filtering into his lungs. Nathaniel didn’t know if what he was doing was helping, but he continued to pump the man, nearly lifting him off his feet with effort despite his size.

Finally, mere seconds before Nathaniel gave up, the man violently coughed up what looked like a piece of Stilton cheese. The man slumped on the table, nearly upending it.

“Thank you,” he panted. “Thank you.”

Nathaniel patted his shoulder. “Just chew your food properly next time,” he suggested.

Most of the spectators returned to their prior activities. They appeared no longer interested now that the man wasn’t choking.

“Where on earth did he get the cheese?” Richard asked, wrinkling his nose at the slimy blob on the table. “They do not serve that here, or am I mistaken?”

“Benson keeps it in his pocket,” a member commented when no one else replied. “It’s why he usually reeks of it. Most unpleasant for the rest of us. The man is obsessed with Stilton.”

That explained the offensive stench emanating from the large man. Nathaniel initially believed it was a lack of hygiene. Nothing a good bath or two wouldn’t fix. However, it was just a matter of stinky cheese, so the matter was even easier to remedy.

“Well, Stilton nearly offed him, didn’t it?” Richard carelessly pointed out. “Interesting end to our evening, though. Ready to go, brother?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said, straightening his attire. “I’ve had too much stimulation for one night.”

After ordering someone to get the man something to drink, they left the club and got into their carriage moments later.

“You know, I’m surprised you’ve managed to avoid London for so many years,” Richard remarked once they were settled. “Your bank is here, and so are our other investments. Surely, you would have needed to come here occasionally?”

“I had everyone come to me,” Nathaniel replied. “Simple.”

“I suppose power, influence, and wealth bring everything to you, even when you’re out of the way,” said Richard. “It also makes you lazy and too comfortable.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Nathaniel. “Lazy and too comfortable?”

Richard raised his eyebrows. “You know precisely what I mean. Life is passing you by, and you’re missing it. It’s painful to watch.”

Nathaniel sighed. He knew precisely what his brother meant. “I’m here, am I not?” he said. “I admit that my grief has kept me away from everyone for years, but it’s not as numbing and consuming as before. I would still rather keep to myself and think about Beatrice, but I’m here. That must count for something.”

“It does,” Richard replied. “It does.”

A weighted invisible blanket descended on the carriage, smothering them in a mixture of sadness and longing. Beatrice had not only been a wonderful wife but also the sister Richard never had. He had adored her and grieved her for months after her death. Some would think they were blood siblings. No matter how much he liked to think about his wife, Nathaniel didn’t want to sink into a bog of pain and undo what little progress he had made moving forward.

“I haven’t heard you mention anything about getting married,” he said. “You may be the second son, but at twenty-eight, I think it’s time for you to settle down. You cannot be a rake forever.”

Richard looked at him for a moment before he threw his head back and laughed. “Being a rake is my life’s calling,” he said. “Why on earth can’t I continue along this path?”

“Surely, I do not need to answer that?” said Nathaniel.

Richard grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps not, but I’m content with my current life.”

Nathaniel wanted to point out the double standard. Richard didn’t want to change his life despite the dangers it posed, yet he expected Nathaniel to move on and live. As far as Nathaniel was concerned, they both partook in activities that were not necessarily good for them. They were undoubtedly two peas in a pod.