Page 1 of Good Duke Gone Wild

Chapter 1

1816 England

The End.

Two simple words but with them came an onslaught of emotions. Setting her quill aside, Agatha felt awash with achievement. Relief. Yet…mourning. The end was always bittersweet. It was over. Done. An accomplishment completed. A goal set and met. At the same time, the story was done, and that meant she wouldn’t be writing about her characters again. They were gone. To live on in their book, but no longer residing in the front of her mind.

They had lived in her mind for the last few months, taking up quite a large amount of space, and she had poured her heart and soul into their story. She could only hope that a publisher would accept it.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Come in,” Agatha called out as a footman entered her room with a letter.

“For you,” he said with a quick bow. Her breath caught. And it wasn’t his words or his presence that had her heart reaching for its nextbeat. That simple tray with that deceptively plain missive held all the power.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Her heart had found its next beat and the ones following it, and they were abnormally loud.

The footman obviously had no inkling as to the weight of that missive because he held it as though it weighed nothing.

And yes, all right, scientifically it did weigh next to nothing, but to Agatha…it felt like she was trying to pick up an elephant between her thumb and index finger. In the same way that no amount of exercise could have built up enough strength for such a task, no amount of mental exercises could have prepared her for reading its contents.

This missive meant everything to her.

So somehow, miraculously, she picked up the elephant and held it to her chest. Dismissing the footman with a nod of her head, she sat as still as the open field she gazed upon outside her window.

A bead of sweat dripped down her back. Her heel started to shake and her foot began bouncing on the floor. There was a lion pacing in her stomach and a teasing monkey hanging from a tree.

A veritable safari had taken over her body, though she had never been on one. It remained a dream. Yes, a dream. Not a plan. Never could she imagine in her wildest dreams actually venturing out on a safari and seeing those animals in the wild. No. They would remain a daydream, an escape, and apparently today an infliction upon her body.

The missive crinkled under her touch. She needed to know what it said, yet somehow reading the reply felt as though it were making her future paths too final.

One answer would open innumerable doors for her.

The other answer would keep them closed to her.

And well, there, that was the thought she needed to stumble upon to incentivize her to open the letter. Being a lady, the doors were already shut, so she might as well open the letter. Since the latter response would change nothing, she had only a present to maintain or a future to gain.

At that conclusion, her fingers tore into the missive as she felt the erratic beat of her heart.

Her eyes scanned the words until she saw what she needed to find.

We regret to inform you that we will not publish your book.

Slam. Doors shut. But why the sound? The doors were already shut.

And then the stab to her heart twisted its knife. It shouldn’t have hurt though. The doors had always been closed. This was just formally telling her what she already suspected. What kind of publisher would want to publish a female author?

But then that sniffling voice of Hope dared to speak up. She knew published women, like Mary, the Duchess of Wellingford. Now a famous playwright. Lady Felicity, a published gossip columnist. And by no means did Agatha think herself of their caliber, but they were female writers that she aspired to be like. Though she would never admit that aloud.

So why? Why not her? Why had she been passed over? Again. This was the tenth rejection letter she had received.

She scanned the note for some clue as to their reasoning.

At this time, we feel you do not have the relevant life experience to make your writing realistic.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

And then the words blurred because the worst part of it was that they weren’t wrong.

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