Page 1 of The Wrong Duke

CHAPTERONE

“We have to talk. Now!” Miss Martha Forbes came at Amelia like a bullet from a gun. Her face was covered by the Bauta mask she was wearing, but beneath it, her green eyes were ablaze with panic.

“What are you — woah!” Martha grabbed Amelia by the hands and pulled her away from the table of drinks that she had been lurking beside. It was a prime spot for doing such a thing, running along the far side of the Grand Hall, a perfect location for viewing the festivities without fear of calling attention to oneself... while also, providing a chance to sneak a drink when her father wasn’t looking. “Martha! What has gotten in to you!”

“Not here!” her friend hissed as she dragged Amelia through the crowd of eager debutants and excitable lords, passed the dance floor which was just now starting to sway from the bodies waltzing across its floor, and toward the back of the Grand Hall to a small alcove that was as out of the way as it was out of sight.

“Is everything, all right?” Amelia tried again, worried now by the panic that had taken her best friend. “What has happ —”

“Not here!” she hissed again, flashing her eyes over her shoulder as she continued to lead.

Amelia rolled her eyes at her friend’s theatrics but chose to say nothing more. Knowing her friend, it was gossip that had led her to behave this way. A lord she had her eye on was Amelia’s guess. It was the first ball of the Season, a veritable who’s who of eligible bachelors that ladies such as she and Martha should have been in the throes of being courted by — that was the entire point of these balls, after all.

And indeed, when Amelia had last seen her friend not five minutes ago, that was what she had gone to do. Amelia had been happy to leave her to it, feeling no desire to join her because Amelia knew that such flights of fancy didn’t apply to her. She might have liked them too. She might have loved the idea of falling for a handsome viscount or a charming marquess, but that simply wasn’t her lot in life because her father would never allow it.

In fact, her father had already hinted strongly at the man to whom he intended to see her married. Not that she had ever met the man. Not that he cared. It was simply her lot in life, and as was the world that Amelia lived in, there was nothing she could do about it.

“Here!” her friend announced, pulling her into the alcove. “This should be safe enough.”

“Safe from what?” Amelia sighed. “Honestly, Martha, you’re acting like a cat with its tail caught on fire.”

“And for good reason!” She had a petite frame, standing no taller than Amelia’s shoulders. A pretty face too with curly brown hair and emerald green eyes, sharp features that were matched by a sharper tongue. A ball of energy was how Amelia always thought of her, far more than what was reasonable for one so small. And right now, she was shaking from it. “I was walking through the ball just now.”

“Yes?”

“And I saw your father and my father talking.”

“All right.”

“I thought to ask my father if he had found any suitors for me — you know, save me having to do all the work myself.”

“A fine plan,” Amelia chided. “Is that what this is about? You don’t like the man whom your father has selected?” She then added bitterly, “At least your father will likely listen if you protest.”

“What? No.” She took Amelia by the hands and met her eyes through the mask. “It’s your father, Amelia! He didn’t see me — I am sure of it. But he and your father were talking.” She blinked. “About you.”

Amelia pulled back. “About me?”

“Yes!” Martha glanced about, careful that they weren’t being overheard. There was no need to worry though as the ball was in full swing, the laughter and merriment beyond the alcove was loud and abrasive, and for someone to hear, they’d have to walk right up and insert themselves between the two ladies. “I didn’t hear why he means to do it or when, but he was certain of the fact. So certain that he told my father that by the end of the Season, it would be done!”

“What would be?!” She already knew the answer. Oh, how she knew.

“You would be wed! You know that he has his eyes on Lord Malnor for you already. And that —”

“It’s not a sure thing,” Amelia corrected. “He has mentioned it, but beyond that... well, you know how my father is.”

“Be that as it may, he’s not taking any chances,” Martha hissed. “I didn’t hear him mention any names specifically, but he said that if his latest efforts don’t work the way he hopes that... that...” She swallowed. “That he will take matters into his own hands.”

“Meaning?”

“The way he spoke...” Martha’s expression was aghast. “He plans on treating your hand like an auction, selling you to the highest bidder.”

Amelia snatched her hand back. “He wouldn’t!”

“That was the gist. You’re the daughter of a viscount, Amelia. He knows what that’s worth. And from the sounds of it, it’s not station that he cares for. Nor is it renown.” She looked right at Amelia, her meaning clear. “He wants money. He told my father as such. And you...” Her face dropped and beneath the mask, Amelia could see the pain in her friend’s eyes. “You’re his ticket.”

Amelia felt sick, such that she was glad for the small alcove her friend had pulled her into because it was spinning now, and if she had been among the party goers, all that noise and all those colors, she might have loosened her bowels before she could control herself. Rather, she simply held her stomach and doubled over, reaching for her friend who gave her a hand and stroked her back in comfort.

Why was she even surprised? That was the real question. Her father was a cruel man, a bully. A man who took pleasure in asserting his power over the weak and helpless because it made him feel more important. Paired to that a horrible gambling problem, one which she knew had seen him fall into mountains of debt, and it was no wonder he was using one of his only two daughters as a way out. The way his mind worked, he would have seen it as his right!

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