A Good Duke Is Hard to Find Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Christina Silverio

  Cover design by Daniela Medina. Cover illustration by Judy York. Cover photo by Shirley Green. Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  First Edition: June 2020

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  ISBNs: 978-1-5387-1749-3 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1748-6 (ebook)

  E3-20200522-DA-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Discover More!

  A Preview of SOMEDAY MY DUKE WILL COME

  About the Author

  Looking for more historical romances?

  To my husband, Eric, who gave me an engraved pen our first Christmas because he knew one day I’d succeed in seeing my dreams realized. And who is still, nearly a quarter of a century later, my biggest supporter. (Even though I still haven’t put a sword with a hidden compartment in the hilt in my books…)

  I love you, hunny.

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  Acknowledgments

  The Isle of Synne and its romantic misfits are so very dear to me. And I’m beyond grateful to the people who came to love it as much as I do and who worked so hard to bring it into the world.

  First and foremost, to my agent, Kim Lionetti. You are my safe port in a storm. Thank you so much for believing in me. And a huge thanks to the entire Bookends team for being wonderfully supportive since day one.

  To my editor, Madeleine Colavita, for loving Peter and Lenora (and Lady Tesh!) so very much. Your passion for this little world I’ve created and your dedication to making it shine make my heart so happy. And to Leah Hultenschmidt, Jodi Rosoff, Daniela Medina, Judy York, Luria Rittenberg, Joan Matthews, and the entire team at Hachette Book Group/Grand Central Forever, for welcoming me into your family. I’m so honored to be on this path with you.

  To my fabulous beta readers, Maria, Julie, and Joni, who gave me such incredible feedback. To Hannah, Susannah, Cathy, and the Le Bou crew for cheering me on and helping me work out the kinks. To Lenora Bell for inspiring my heroine’s name. And to Jayci for being my rock while I worked through edits. I appreciate each and every one of you.

  To all of my family and friends who have offered me their encouragement and support. If I mentioned you all here, it would double my word count! But know that your kind words have helped me in so many ways. I’m so blessed to have you all in my life.

  To my sweet pup, Miss Emma, for being my writing companion, and for inspiring Freya.

  To my readers. I never thought I would be able to say that, and that I do is truly a dream come true. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for all the love and kindness you’ve shown me.

  Last (but never least), to my husband and children. Every single day you let me know in words and actions how much you believe in me. I cannot begin to tell you how deeply I love you. Thank you, for everything and more.

  Chapter 1

  London, 1817

  At first it was a whisper, a breath of sound that crept through St. George’s like a mist.

  As the gathered guests grew aware of Miss Lenora Hartley’s arrival, it became a tidal wave of voices that slammed into her where she stood at the back of the church.

  She eyed the churning sea of faces that turned in her direction, dread snaking under her skin. For it was not smiles or curiosity or politeness in their eyes, but pity and an almost horrified glee.

  Lenora’s gaze snapped to the altar. Lord Landon was not there. A sweep of the area confirmed it. The dread that simmered under the surface transformed to a boiling panic, the ground beneath her feet as unsteady as sand in an outgoing tide. With effort, she kept her serene smile fixed firmly in place, yet her fingers convulsed in the wool of her father’s sleeve.

  Not again.

  Just then there was a burst of movement from the congregation. A woman in pale violet darted into the center aisle and hurried toward her. Margery. Lenora nearly sagged in relief to see her friend. The look in the young widow’s eyes, however, had Lenora’s panic returning tenfold.

  “My dear,” Margery said with forced joviality. She leaned forward to kiss Lenora on the cheek. Her next words, whispered hurriedly in her ear, turned Lenora’s blood to ice. “Go back to the carriage. Now.”

  Cheeks trembling to hold her smile, Lenora turned to her father. “Papa, I do believe I’ve forgotten something in the carriage.”

  Her father, quite against character, held his tongue. Without acknowledging their guests, he turned and guided Lenora and Margery out. Hold your head high, Lenora told herself as they stepped into the light of the bright morning sun. Down the steps—walk, don’t run—to the waiting carriage. Once safely ensconced within, Margery rapped sharply on the trap door.

  “Back to Sir Alfred’s house, and hurry,” she barked to the startled driver. As the carriage lurched into motion, she grasped Lenora’s hands tight, her velvet brown eyes sober in her pale face. “I cannot believe he has done this to you. What a horrid mess.”

  “Enough of the dramatics, Margery,” Lenora’s father broke in, his voice like gravel crushed beneath a wheel. “What the devil is going on? Where is Lord Landon?”

  Margery’s eyes hardened. “Would that I knew, for I’m of a mind to teach him a valuable lesson in being a conniving, despicable snake in the grass.”

  Lenora’s breath left her. Lord Landon must have done something horrendous to induc
e such wrath from her normally even-tempered friend.

  “Damn it, Margery, if you don’t tell us what the boy has done this instant, I will turn this carriage around and find someone who can.”

  Margery looked at Lenora. “I’m sorry, dear heart. There is no easy way to say this, but he’s gone and got himself into a duel.”

  Silence descended at that thoroughly unexpected pronouncement. Suddenly a wild laugh echoed about the interior. Lenora looked at her father and Margery in turn, only to see they were staring at her in shock. She had made that sound, had she? She flushed hot.

  “That cannot be right,” she blurted out. “Lord Landon. In a duel.” An image of her intended rose up in her mind, cool and calm and not dashing in the least. Again that wild laugh sounded. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Her father gave her a long look, as if assessing her sanity, before turning back to Margery. “Tell us everything you know, in as concise a way as possible.”

  It was an order, plain and simple, and not at all gently said. Blessedly Margery was more than familiar with his sharp manners and launched on. “Lord Landon met with Sir Francis Denby in Hyde Park at dawn this morning. Sir Francis was hit in the arm and an artery was severed. He may not survive. Lord Landon ran; no doubt he’s halfway to the continent as we speak.”

  “The blasted idiot,” Lenora’s father growled.

  Confusion and horror warred in Lenora’s breast. “What in the world could Lord Landon and Sir Francis have fought over to warrant a duel, of all things?”

  The pain in her friend’s eyes was acute. “It seems they fought over Sir Francis’s sister, Katrina.”

  Lenora blinked. “But why?”

  “Come now, girl,” her father snapped. “Even someone as dim as you should be able to figure it out.”

  His words hung heavy and cruel in the air. As Lenora’s stunned brain caught up with the rest of her, a horrified realization hit.

  “Do you mean to tell me that Lord Landon and Katrina…?”

  Margery nodded miserably. “It appears so. I’m sorry, Lenora.”

  Lenora fell back against the plush squabs. Was this some type of divine retribution? Three fiancés in as many years had left her. Granted, the first had not wanted to leave.

  Pain and guilt flared as she thought of Hillram, before she quickly shut him back into the fathomless box her heart had become.

  Even so, a memory had escaped, a creeping tendril that wound about her and would not be ignored. Hillram’s face, still and pale as death had claimed him. A sight that would haunt her the rest of her days.

  She had been given a year to mourn him before she had been paraded before the single aristocrats of London, a berry ripe for the picking in exchange for their support of her father’s political aspirations. An engagement had been made, with Lord Fig. When that man had run off to Gretna Green with his housekeeper, her father had matched her with Lord Landon. Who was now on the run for attempted murder.

  Again that mad laugh threatened. She clamped her lips closed and gripped her gloved fingers tight in the silver netting of her gown. Perhaps her father was right, that there was something wrong with her. Why else could she not see an engagement through?

  Her father grew alarmingly red and drew himself up, leveling an accusatory stare on Margery. “And you didn’t think to warn us before we walked into that nest of vipers at St. George’s?”

  “The news reached me as you arrived,” Margery countered. “You know I would never knowingly put Lenora in such a position.”

  He turned furious eyes on Lenora then. “Just as well you’re packed. Though it won’t be a wedding trip you’ll be taking.”

  “You’re sending me away?” He couldn’t mean it. They were all each other had for family.

  “Of course I’m sending you away.” He looked out the carriage window at the passing scenery. “Think of the scandal. Your third failed attempt at marriage? You’ll be a laughingstock.”

  Lenora pressed a fist into her roiling midsection, trying and failing to tamp down on the hurt that surged at her father’s words. It was only logical that he would want her far away from London at a time like this, she reasoned. And mayhap there was a silver lining to it all, in that she would finally be free of the unending social whirl her life had become.

  She took a deep breath, nodding firmly. “Perhaps it’s for the best. I can access my trust in a few years and quietly retire after that.”

  “You fool,” her father spat, turning blazing eyes on her. “If you think this is the end of it, you are mistaken. While you’re in the country, I’ll be clearing your name as best I can. With luck, I may secure you a husband by the winter. Perhaps,” he muttered, “Lord Gregson’s heir will be willing to overlook the stain on your name. Or even Viscount Burgess. They both owe me a great deal, after all.”

  Lenora’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You cannot mean to bring about yet another engagement.”

  “I can and I will,” he said, his voice as icy as she had ever heard it. He leveled a hard stare on her. “I’ll give you the rest of the summer, Lenora, to lick your wounds. At the end of that time you’d best be ready to do your duty and marry where I say you shall. And you’d best do all in your power to keep it from falling through this time around. Or you shall be cut off without a cent to your name.”

  That devastating proclamation was still ringing through the air when the coach arrived at the townhouse. The servants were ready and waiting, their faces wreathed in smiles. Those cheery expressions were quickly wiped, however, as her father stormed through the front door. “Lock up the house,” he ordered, “and don’t let a damn person through the door. Unless it’s Lord Landon. Then I will be happy to see him so I might wring his damned neck.”

  He headed for the stairs. Lenora, stunned, watched him go. She willed him to turn back to her, to say one kind thing after the devastation of the day. At the top he finally looked back. Lenora held her breath, hope filling her.

  His eyes swept past her to settle on the garlands of roses that decorated the front hall. “And have these damn flowers taken down at once. The smell is making me sick.”

  As he stalked out of sight, a roaring filled Lenora’s ears. He had never been one to indulge in softer emotions. Yet after the upheaval of the morning, his refusal to offer even one kind word made her feel as if she’d been punched. It was several long seconds before that miasma of shock was broken by Margery.

  “Please send some of the wedding breakfast up to Miss Hartley’s sitting room, Mrs. Clark,” she murmured to the housekeeper. “And some champagne as well. We could use something to fortify us.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Kitteridge,” the housekeeper said, rushing off.

  Lenora felt a hand beneath her arm, and then she was being guided up the gleaming staircase. She shook her head sharply, trying to regain control of her thoughts.

  “You should not have ordered up the champagne,” she managed through the fog of shock. “What will the servants think?”

  “I think, dear heart, the servants are the very last thing you should worry about.”

  Of course Margery was right. Lenora’s whole world was imploding. In the grand scheme of things, a little champagne in the morning was not of concern.

  They made it to her suite of rooms in short order. As Lenora collapsed into an overstuffed chair, she became aware of how quiet it was. This house should be ringing with voices and laughter, the rooms bursting with people, the wedding cake in all its frosted decadence gushed over.

  Instead she was locked away in her sitting room, dressed in a creased silver wedding gown and surrounded by trunks full of belongings that now had no set destination, while the food went to waste down below.

  As if reading her thoughts, Margery came close and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Shall I help you into something else?”

  Lenora looked down at the beautiful dress, created so carefully to her father’s specifications. “Yes.”

  Margery glanced
at the bronze traveling gown that hung ready for the wedding trip that would never come. Frowning, she ducked into the bedroom. From behind the door there came the sounds of shifting trunks, lids being opened, then slammed shut. When she reappeared, she held in her hands a well-worn pale green gown with twining green leaves embroidered at the hem. One of my favorites. Of course Margery would know it was. Her friend knew everything about her, from what books she read to how she hated tea with a passion.

  Well, she knew nearly everything.

  Without warning, Lenora burst into tears.

  “Oh, darling,” Margery cried, rushing forward. Plump arms went around Lenora’s shaking form, holding her close. A gentle hand drifted over the intricate braids in her hair. “This is not about Lord Landon at all, or even about your father. This is about Hillram, isn’t it?”

  Which only served to make Lenora cry harder. If Margery only knew…

  Her friend rubbed her back, mistaking her reaction for an admission. “I know you don’t like to talk of him. But Hillram wouldn’t have wanted you to pine for him all your life. As good as my cousin was, as much as I loved him, your life did not end with his death. Nor did it end with Lord Fig’s cowardly elopement. And it will not end with this, either. Lord Landon was simply not the right man. After all,” she said, her lips quirking at the corner, “no one in their right mind should have the name you would have, had you married him. Lenora Ludlow, Lady Landon? Really? It would have been a travesty.”

  For a single blessed moment, Lenora’s chest lightened. That mood, however, was brittle as finely spun sugar. The rustle of her wedding dress as she moved, the faint scent of ham and pastries wafting through the house, the muffled clink of glass as the servants went about dismantling the carefully planned breakfast buffet, was enough to bring her crashing back to earth. “I cannot do this again, Margery,” she whispered.

  “You can get through this,” her friend insisted, taking up her hand and pressing it. “You needn’t be lonely the rest of your days. You’ll make some man a fine wife and find happiness in it, you’ll see.”

  “You’ve accepted loneliness rather than remarry,” Lenora snapped, impotence over her lack of control for the future causing the angry words to spill out.