The Duke That I Marry: A Spinster Heiresses Novel Read online

  “Finish it, Grandmother. What happened?”

  “I believe Hardesty murdered William.”

  Shocked, Matt stood. He took a step away and then came back. “Murdered? He broke his neck in a riding accident.”

  “There wasn’t a horse in the world William couldn’t ride. He’d never come off. However, shortly before he died, he told us he believed he’d discovered who Hardesty truly was and he was going to confront him. William’s body was found close to one of the places Henry had left money for Hardesty.”

  “Did William go after the blackmailer alone?” That seemed particularly foolhardy.

  “Apparently. He was alone when he was found.”

  “Was the magistrate notified of your suspicions?”

  “It appeared an accident ,” she stressed. “We would have looked silly lodging a complaint of murder. And we wouldn’t have told him anything about William’s . . . life. And we won’t .” A touch of the autocratic dowager colored her last words. “I’ll not let anyone sully my son’s reputation.”

  Matt raked a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of something that seemed almost fantastical. “The blackmail stopped?”

  “Yes, after William died. We wouldn’t have paid another shilling . . . if we’d had it.”

  Matt paced the length of the room, trying to process all that he’d heard.

  “Henry blamed himself for what happened to William and he was furious with me,” Minerva admitted. “His heart couldn’t stand the betrayal and I lost him.” She appeared every year of her age and more.

  Matt had nothing to say.

  She looked to him. “But what’s done is done. It is over. Honor was everything to Henry. As it was to William. And now, it is up to you to save Mayfield.”

  “By marrying the Reverly Heiress.” He curled his hands into fists at his sides. The world would judge Matt by his ability to rebuild Mayfield. The responsibility of such an overwhelming challenge weighed heavy on him.

  “It is your role,” she replied simply. “You are Camberly.”

  Yes, he was. A role his father had shunned. An unreasonable anger toward his sire rose in him as well. He was in this position because his father had fallen in love with Rose Billroy. He’d made the decision to free himself of the responsibilities of the Addison name and any claim to the title.

  But Matt couldn’t do that. He was Camberly. As Alice had claimed, the title was his birthright.

  A new purpose formed in his mind, one he had a feeling his grandfather and uncle would approve. “I want to know who this Hardesty is.”

  Minerva jumped to her feet. “No , Matthew, please. We have not heard from the odious man since William’s death. Let it be.”

  But he couldn’t. “I would be interested in what George has to say about this.”

  “George—? Matthew, it is done. It is over . I pray no one ever finds out about any of this. The shame would kill me.”

  “I’m not of a like mind. This Hardesty is nothing more than a common thief and, according to you, a murderer. If there is a way to track him down and bring him to justice while also wringing the money out of his worthless hide, I plan to pursue it—”

  A knock sounded on the door. “What is it?” Matt asked, annoyed.

  “A letter just arrived by messenger for you, Your Grace,” the maid said through the door. “I was told to tell you it is from Miss Reverly.”

  He walked over to the door. Throwing it open, he took the folded missive from the maid, who said, “The messenger said Miss Reverly does not need him to wait for an answer.”

  Frowning, Matt looked to his grandmother, who was very interested in the letter. “Thank you,” he murmured, and shut the door. He cracked the seal, but his mind wasn’t on missives from his “betrothed.” No, he was thinking of how he quickly he could hunt down this Hardesty.

  And then his plans changed as he skimmed Miss Reverly’s letter. She actually had a lovely hand. He had thought her writing would be awkward and full of the silly loops that women often favored to make their handwriting distinctive. Miss Reverly’s penmanship was highly readable and her style direct.

  “What does she have to say?” Minerva asked.

  “She says she is releasing me from my promise—”

  “She is jilting you? ”

  “Apparently.” He found himself surprisingly displeased. Yes, he was angry about the marriage, but he did not like receiving the boot.

  Especially in such an abrupt manner . . . and after he’d started to warm to the idea of marrying her for her much needed money.

  Minerva stamped around in a worried little circle. “She must not do that . You have stop her. You must go to her at once and tell her that she can’t cry off. If you let her jilt you, you’ll be tainted. Heiresses of her wealth are not common. Everyone will wonder what is wrong with you. They will ask questions. There are already whispers, what with you and Letty.”

  She’d said the magic words. Matt had no desire for Letty to know that another woman had found him lacking.

  “I will ride to London immediately,” he said, already moving toward the door. It was half past eleven. He could be knocking on Miss Reverly’s door before four.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Minerva promised. “We must have a wedding, Matthew. Everyone in London is expecting one.”

  Chapter 2

  Willa Reverly was blessedly thankful for the knock on her bedroom door.

  “Miss Willa, the Countess of Dewsberry is here to see you,” Annie, her Irish maid, said through the door.

  “Bring her up immediately,” Willa said, rising from her desk and the stack of papers she’d been staring at for hours in a vain attempt to make sense of her life now that she’d ruined it. For all her intentions, she’d written two things. The first had been the early morning message to Camberly ending her betrothal. The second was her desperate plea thirty minutes ago to her dear friend Cassandra, begging her to come “at once or I shall go quite mad. ”

  “And have the tray of cakes I ordered brought up,” Willa informed the door. “I want cake.”

  Because cake always made things better. Or, at least, cake made her feel better.

  Willa crossed over to the looking glass. She had managed to dress. Annie would never let her go a day without being perfectly attired. However, she wasn’t at her best. She pinched her cheeks, trying to put color in them, and pushed in the pins that had come loose from her heavy hair that had been twisted into a coil at the base of her neck. That was when she noticed she had ink stains on her fingers from her two letters and hours of toying with her pen trying to decide what to write.

  She hurried to the washstand to scrub them off.

  Her bedroom was as opulent as any room in a palace. Thick carpets covered the floor. The drapes were made of the finest stuff in blues and greens. It was a restful room and one that Willa, Cassandra, and their other friend, Leonie, had enjoyed over the years when they’d gathered to hash out the ball the night before or to complain when parents were being unrealistic in their expectations.

  One of their chief frustrations had been being dubbed the Spinster Heiresses by the gossips. Was it their fault their fathers had enough power and wealth to demand only the best, titled husbands for their daughters? Husbands meeting their demanding standards weren’t just ripe for the plucking. It took time and effort to attract such attention. Consequently, the friends had lingered on the Marriage Market for three long, interminable seasons. Hence, the nickname Spinster Heiresses.

  In truth, each father had turned down numerous offers for his daughter’s hand because they could afford to do so. Leonie’s father had been a rich nabob. Cassandra had been the heir to the Bingham fortune. Willa, whose father was the financier Leland Reverly, was the richest of them all and her parents’ only child.

  Now Leonie and Cassandra were both married and, surprisingly—and of interest to Willa—happily so. They loved and respected the men who were their husbands. That had given her hope for her own
happiness—until the Duke of Camberly had destroyed all her romantic notions.

  The irony was he had been considered the prize of the Season. Every marriageable young woman had wanted him. They had stalked him. Laid traps for him. Flirted and engaged him in every way possible.

  And Willa had caught him.

  Except, this morning, she had thrown Camberly back—

  There was another knock. Willa flew to the door and threw it open. Cassandra was there, looking golden and radiant.

  The two friends were a study in contrasts. Most men had to look up to Cassandra to meet her eye, and she was as fair as a field of grain.

  Willa, who was dressed in a gown of the palest rose edged in finely fashioned lace, and shoes with the slightest hint of a heel, feared there were hitching posts taller than she. She could claim to be five feet if she held her head up really high, and wore small heels.

  Her hair was a rich, dark brown, and so heavy and weighty, it was the bane of her existence. She spent hours brushing and braiding and it took as many as fifty pins to style. She dearly wanted to crop it short in the latest fashion, but her father refused to let her cut so much as an inch off.

  And what her father wanted, the household, including Willa, was expected to obey.

  “I’m thankful you’ve come,” she told Cassandra as she pulled her into the room. Annie and a footman followed with a tray of cakes and strongly brewed tea and milk.

  “Willa, what is it? Your letter—” Cassandra started before Willa warned her to silence with a finger up to her lips. Cassandra immediately stopped speaking, her blue eyes a bit surprised and confused that this would be one of those conversations.

  In the past, Willa had been the one her friends confided in. She rarely had secrets . . . but she had one now. Except her secret would not be kept quiet for long. Too soon the world would know what she’d done.

  The two friends awkwardly waited for the servants to finish their duties and leave.

  The moment the door shut, Cassandra demanded, “What has happened? Your letter said you needed me for the ‘direst’ of reasons.”

  “Sit here,” Willa said, directing her to the pair of chairs before the cold hearth. The refreshments were on a table between them. “Are you feeling well?”

  Cassandra had shared only yesterday that she believed she was with child. The only other person she’d told besides Willa was her husband, Soren, because that was how close the two friends were.

  “I’m fine. I barely show at all, and thankfully so. I would not wish to miss celebrating your marriage with you.” Unlike Leonie, who was advanced enough in her pregnancy that she’d been advised not to travel.

  “I would not have noticed if you hadn’t told me.” Willa picked up a small footstool and started to place it under Cassandra’s feet, until she realized her friend had no trouble reaching the floor, unlike her.

  Nor was Cassandra to be put off. She caught Willa’s arm and gently tugged it for her attention. “What is it? Why did you summon me so urgently?”

  Willa slowly stood, the footstool and cake tray forgotten.

  “I have broken my betrothal to the Duke of Camberly.”

  Cassandra stared as if she had spoken gibberish. And then she sat back in the chair, her head tilting. “Beg pardon? Did you say you ended the betrothal? The one where you are having the wedding tomorrow ?”

  Willa nodded.

  “The betrothal ,” Cassandra pressed as if still uncertain she understood, “that has your servants rushing around preparing for a wedding breakfast? An event that will be the talk of London? The whole reason Soren and I ventured from Cornwall?”

  Biting her bottom lip, Willa nodded again before whispering, “Yes, that one.” She admitted, “I’ve broken it. I’m done.” And with those last words came a heady rush of both amazement at her audacity and pride in herself.

  “Lord, that feels so good to say,” Willa declared. “I’ve sent him packing. I’m finished with him. I’m free .” She spread her arms wide to declare to the room as a whole, “I will not be marrying Camberly, who is too full of his own consequence to give me any of his important time. I’ve shown him what’s what.”

  However, her friend’s response was not as Willa had hoped. Cassandra’s mouth opened, but she appeared too stunned to speak.

  Willa filled the void, albeit with less exuberance than her previous declaration. “I know giving the duke the boot is completely out of character for me. I almost can’t believe I’ve been so daring. I’ve surprised myself. Why, I’m almost as strong-willed and unpredictable as you or Leonie.”

  And then, Cassandra found her voice. She sat forward in the chair. “You are not serious? Please tell me you are not serious?”

  “But I am. I had a messenger deliver the letter this very morning. There will be no wedding.”

  “No wedding? On the morrow? Oh, Willa. Willa, Willa, Willa . . . ” Cassandra stood, her movement so abrupt, she almost knocked over the table with its cake and teapot. She caught the table before it could fall, steadied it, and then sat back down. “You jilted a duke? A day before you are to marry him?”

  Annoyed by Cassandra’s reaction, Willa said primly, “That is one way of seeing it.”

  “I believe that is the only way of seeing it. And your father approved of this?”

  Willa took the chair opposite Cassandra’s. She folded her hands in her lap, squared her shoulders, and admitted, “I haven’t told Father yet. I will,” she hurried to add. “But, frankly, I’m a bit surprised by your reaction.”

  “I’m definitely stunned by your actions.”

  “You make it sound terrible. I’m not ‘jilting’ him. I just released him.”

  “Released, jilted. They are both not good words. At least, that is the way the world will see it. Camberly asked you to marry him and you said—”

  Willa cut her off with an impatient noise. “Camberly never actually asked me for my hand. He talked to Father, and Father accepted for me. I wasn’t even consulted.”

  Cassandra leaned forward. “Did you not attend your betrothal party? The one with two hundred in attendance? Soren and I heard about it even in the wilds of Cornwall.”

  “I was there.”

  “Willa, why did you not speak up then if you didn’t wish to marry him?”

  There was the crux of the matter.

  “You know how it is, Cassandra. It was flattering to receive an offer from the man all the other debutantes wanted. And the marriage pleased Father. I was hoping for the best.”

  “He will not be pleased when he hears this news.”

  Cassandra was right.

  “I know it is hard to speak up, but, Willa, by agreeing to the betrothal, you gave your word, your family’s solemn promise.”

  “Except Camberly is nothing like the man I believed him to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Willa stood. She crossed over to the chest of drawers and opened the top one. From beneath some folded clothes, she took out a slender book and walked back to her friend.

  “A book, Willa?” Cassandra half laughed her surprise. “You were not much of a reader.”

  “I’m not illiterate. I just don’t carry on about them the way you do. However, this one touched me. It captured my imagination.”

  Cassandra reached to take the book. “I know you are not illiterate,” she said as if in apology and opened to the title page, but then words failed her. Her expression turned incredulous. She looked up. “This is Camberly’s book of poems. You found it.”

  When the new Duke of Camberly had first been introduced to London, everyone had scrambled to find a copy of Love Fulfilled written by Matthew Addison. He’d penned the poems when he was in university and a nobody. Consequently, very few volumes had been published.

  However, once he’d been named duke, there hadn’t been a woman in London who hadn’t wanted to read it. The city had been full of rumors of how the poems had laid bare the young and handsome Camberly’s heart.


  Cassandra reverently turned the pages. “I tried everything to find it. How did you manage?”

  “Father’s money.” Willa took her seat, crossing her arms tightly against her waist. She sat on the edge so her feet touched the floor. “That book is why I agreed to marry Camberly. I mean, he called upon me perhaps twice before he and Father agreed to a marriage. It was all very quick. However, I had read those poems, and for the first time, someone’s words spoke to me. There is so much kindness and compassion in them. He talks about how true, everlasting love is a haven in life. And a man in love owes his beloved his honesty, loyalty, fidelity. I believed Camberly the man was the same as Camberly the poet.”

  “He must be,” Cassandra answered soberly. “He wrote them.”

  “He couldn’t have,” Willa responded. “I’ll never believe it. The duke is nothing like the poet. And I expected you to be more understanding.”

  Cassandra closed the book. “I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t give you my honest advice. Willa, what you have done is more than making your father angry—”

  “Oh, he will be furious.” Willa was not looking forward to that conversation. She tapped her toe impatiently.

  “As he should be. This path you are taking will ruin you. It won’t be terribly kind to Camberly, either. And it doesn’t make sense because, let us be fair, you, Leonie, and I would have done anything to land such a catch only months ago. You won him. You will be his duchess .”

  Willa untightened her arms and aimed a punctuating finger at the book. “I don’t want to be a duchess. What I wanted was the man who wrote that poetry. That man is attentive and kind. He respects women. He values the people in his life. Camberly himself has proven he is not that good of a catch.”

  Cassandra began ticking off the reasons she was wrong. “He has an enviable title—”

  “There are better titles,” Willa muttered. She reached for an iced cake off the tray. Eating cake always calmed her nerves.

  “He is handsome—”

  “I can’t quibble over his looks. He turns female heads wherever he goes. I haven’t met one yet who didn’t ogle him.”