Page 1 of A Virgin for the Duke of Thorns

CHAPTER 1

October 1812

The air was thick with the scent of illness, pervaded with the heavy fragrance of liniments and medical concoctions. The curtains had been closed, lest a draft should find its way into the sickbed and its frail occupant.

Alice had become so familiar with the pervasive atmosphere of her father’s bedchamber that her mother had often complained that the scent of medicine had begun to stick to her clothes. It was with this same familiarity that she now approached her father’s bed.

The Marquess of Brandon had once been an impressive figure in her life. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest to see him now reduced to a fragile invalid dwarfed by his enormous four-poster bed.

“Papa,” she called out to him gently. “Papa, it is I, Alice. I have come.”

“Alice…”

The sound was soft, almost a whisper, followed by a fit of hacking coughs. Alice immediately hastened to her father’s side and handed him a glass of water.

The Marquess took a few sips before he sighed and lay back on the pillows that had been used to prop him up.

“My dear child, where have you been?” he asked her.

She smiled tremulously at him. “You already know where.”

He nodded. “The library.”

“Yes, Papa, the library.”

Her father had always known that the library was her favorite place, second only to her rooms. Yet, he had always asked her where she was, as if he meant to learn more about her. As if there was anything of note to her day beyond the mundane.

“My dear girl,” the Marquess rasped, his eyes bright with affection for his eldest daughter, “I am afraid that your papa cannot wait any longer.”

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she reached out to clasp his hand. That strong hand that had held her up countless times as a child was now so frail and bony, as if a single harsh squeeze would shatter the fragile bones and ligaments under the paper-thin skin.

“Do not talk like that, Papa,” she told him softly. “You still have many more years ahead of you.”

He shook his head. “Let us not delude ourselves further, Alice. This body of mine can hardly sustain me anymore. I only wish for you and your sister to be settled before I pass.”

She hung her head at his words. “It is only the autumn wind, Papa. You will get better come spring…”

“You must marry, Alice,” her father cut in through her paltry excuses. “For your sake and your sister’s. While I delighted in your antics, I cannot indulge them any longer.”

Her heart sank at his words. Her dear, kind Papa had always—as he had just said—indulged her hobbies. She supposed she should be grateful—most fathers in the ton would not countenance such frivolity in their daughters.

As a well-bred young lady—the daughter of a marquess at that—she was expected to fulfill her duty to her family and marry. To secure the necessary connections that would secure their position amongst their peers by securing a good match.

In all honesty, the Marquess had already been quite patient with her. She was now in her third Season and without any prospects at all. Even her own Mama had been fretting for most of the summer.

Why must I marry? Alice wanted to cry out. Why must Society force women into such a dreadful thing as the marriage mart, expecting them to be docile creatures while the men did as they pleased?

She wanted to rebel against her father’s charge, but she knew deep down in her heart that this was the sad reality for a young lady of the ton.

And as it turned out, her father had run out of patience. He could not wait any longer.

“All right,” she conceded. “I shall endeavor to find a suitor this Season.”

The Marquess shook his head sadly. “I am afraid I cannot wait that long, Alice. You a have a week to find yourself a husband of your choice, or I shall have you betrothed to one of my own choosing.”

“A week?” Alice gasped in shock. “Papa, how could I ever find a husband in that amount of time?”

Even the most renowned beauties took at least a fortnight to secure an offer. How much longer would it take for someone like herself! She was no great beauty, and while she excelled at dancing, she was equally as bad at music. Her dismal skills at the pianoforte had become something of a joke amongst the ton.

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