Page 2 of Duke of Chaos

Juliet grumbled something incoherent as she slumped into her chair, her pretty pink lace dress wrinkling horribly with her poor posture. Lydia thought of correcting her, but knowing it was futile, she simply shook her head and walked away. She found their father Owen where he usually was when he was home; in his study.

“There you are,” Owen grumbled, his eyes moving from his paperwork to Lydia as she walked into the room. Unlike hercolorful sister, Lydia wore a simple cream dress with capped sleeves and a ribbon hem below the bust. Her long, wavy, light brown hair was twisted up above her neck into a respectable style that was neither harsh nor complimentary, but practical.

Her face was pretty like her mother’s had been. Soft pink cheeks with subtle cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin, a small nose, and expressive brows. Also similar to her mother, she had a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a slim, almost sprite-like frame. Lydia knew that when Owen looked at her he saw his late wife, and something about that angered him deeply.

Throughout the years she had learned to take his aggression in her stride and was rarely bothered by her father’s snide insults or his dependence upon her. Her ongoing stoicism meant she would not be compelled to marry, and for her, that was a price worth paying. Once Juliet was married, she had no further obligation to stay and take care of her father.

“What may I help you with, Papa?” Lydia asked kindly as he threw her a displeased look.

“How did it go with Lord Tarren?” he asked, pulling a letter out of an envelope.

Lydia smiled at him calmly.

“It went well, to be sure, but I do not believe it is a stable match,” she replied, the lie coming smoothly.

Owen grunted at this and then, with his eyes still on the correspondence, he replied “Perhaps that is for the best, as I have found a superior suitor for Juliet, who is on his way here as we speak. Tarren is an earl. Noble, yes. But the gentleman arriving shortly is a duke. Your sister Alice did well with hers and now look at her. Make sure that Juliet does the same.”

Owen gave the command quietly and without much of an edge to his voice, but it was a command all the same. Sorrow filled Lydia as she realized what this meant for Juliet. Her time to choose a husband had run out. The decision was now being made for her.

“Alice had three seasons to find a husband, Papa,” Lydia said, cautious with her tone. “This is Juliet’s first season. Perhaps it would be easier to help convince Juliet to marry a duke if she was allotted the same time?”

“This is not up for discussion,” Owen countered matter-of-factly, “The duke has made a request to call upon your sister and I will not only honor it but try my damnedest to get her married off to him. Alice had three seasons, yes, but she had not been approached by a duke in that time. Juliet now has, and that is that.”

“Are you saying you have already accepted a marriage contract on her behalf?” Lydia asked, apprehension tunneling through her at the thought.

Owen rose from his desk, his eyes growing dark as he looked down from his full height at Lydia.

“You may be five-and-twenty, girl, but you are still my daughter, and if you question me like that again I will remind you of your place,” he warned, his voice low.

Lydia recognized the powerlessness of her reality, and though her mind itched to snarl right back at her father, she only bowed her head and apologized.

“Be sure that your sister has no ill remarks on her tongue this evening,” Owen said as he made a dismissive motion toward her, “I have heard from others she has grown quite derisive.”

Lydia turned back to him at this, her stomach clenching, and Owen gave her a final warning look.

“Do not lie to me on your sister’s behalf again, Lydia,” he stated sternly. “I understand that I have given you certain freedoms, but they can be taken away in a single moment if you should prove unworthy of them.”

Lydia felt a chill go down her back, but she only smiled and curtsied at her father before taking her leave. Back in the sitting room, Juliet became boisterous at the news, much to Lydia’s surprise.

“Please tell me this means you shall act more ladylike this time,” Lydia asked as she watched her younger sister primp in a nearby mirror.

“Of course I am,” Juliet gushed as she pinched her cheeks and practiced her smiles. “If it is a duke it is most likely one of Duncan’s friends. Ambrose is off the market now thanks to Barbara, though I do love that it was she who caught him. Surely it is not Ezra. Morgan is the most agreeable. I am sure it is him and I am sure I can converse with him.”

Though Barbara was not their sister by blood she was loved as such, and her new husband Ambrose had indeed become another big brother figure to join her family. Neither Ambrose nor Duncan particularly cared for her father and would often engage with Owen simply to get him to stop badgering his daughters. It was a relief, one Lydia relished, but the thought of Morgan or possibly Ezra marrying her sister made her grimace.

Morgan was fun, boyishly handsome, and light-hearted, but he was as foolish as he was pretty and was often the one getting his little band of dukes in trouble. He was a rake through and through and seduced his ladies with flattering talk and a smooth voice, and often left them pining, broken-hearted, and loose in tongue. His stories of raking had become a well-discussed topic of conversation amongst the women of the ton.

On the other hand, though, Ezra was the complete opposite. Dark. Stoic. He had a sense of humor, yes, but it was wry and required a certain level of wit to comprehend. His jokes had never fallen short on Lydia and though they were at times vulgar she did indeed find them clever…but he wasemotionless.Void. Empty. And although the details of his ways with women had never been discussed, many had suspected that his proclivities were of a dangerous variety.

Lydia did not want either for her sister. She was sure Juliet did not want that either, no matter how good-looking both of them were.

“It could very well be a different duke,” Lydia replied, busying herself with organizing the books Juliet had pulled from the nearby shelves. “We do not know that it is Lord Frampton or Granthill.”

It could not be them. No. Neither of them would dare. They were not friends, per se, but…they just wouldn’t!

“What other dukes are on the marriage market this year that you are aware of?” Juliet asked glancing at Lydia through the mirror. “Aside from Lord Dennings.”

Juliet stopped as her eyes grew wide and turned toward Lydia with a grimace.

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