Page 1 of The Duke's Concealed Vow
Prologue
Dalenwood Manor, 1808
Rowan Davenport drew heavily on the fresh pipe that dangled from the corner of his mouth. He held the bowl of it tightly as he glowered out of the window of the parlor of Dalenwood Manor, where he had locked himself in there before. A storm had begun. His cheeks were still hot and his blood still boiling after the argument that had ensued with his father. It wasn’t the first time that the topic of the argument had been discussed between the two men. However, that was the first time it had turned so nasty.
As heir to his father’s dukedom, Rowan was expected to learn everything his father taught him about ducal responsibilities. He was to begin the process of working his way into his father’s business circles, speaking with the duke’s current partners and associates, as well as attending meetings with his father with potential future partners. He had been raised with the understanding of such expectations, and as Marquess of Davenroot, he had learned many similar duties already. He also knew that he was to produce an heir of his own, so that their family’s legacy would continue. And that was the current point of contention between Rowan and the duke.
The Duke of Dalenwood had, since Rowan’s eighteenth birthday, been reminding Rowan about the importance of marrying. And the duke impressed upon him that he needed to marry well. Rowan’s bride, according to his father, needed to be refined, sophisticated and the very soul of propriety and class. She also needed to be the daughter of a high-ranking, very wealthy nobleman from a most respectable family.
“Your wife will be a reflection of your own legacy’s reputation and status,” the duke would always say. Rowan understood what his father meant. However, he did not agree that matches should be made based on the biggest fortune or the highest titles.
That viewpoint was what had led to the argument with the duke. He had summoned Rowan to his study right after breakfast, to discuss business matters, he had said. But when Rowan had taken his seat and the glass of whiskey that his father had poured for him, the duke’s real motivations became immediately evident.
“You are now twenty-one years of age, Rowan,” the duke had said as Rowan sipped his drink. “It is time for you to fulfill the most important part of your ducal duties.”
Rowan hadn’t needed to ask what his father meant. He understood that the duke meant his marriage prospects. Or rather, the lack of them, as Rowan had always felt that he should marry for love. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to find a woman worth courting. The trouble was that the ones to whom his father introduced him were all the same: shallow, snobby and more desperate to marry someone of high status than his father was for him to do so.
“Father, I cannot just marry a woman because she is pretty and comes from money,” Rowan had insisted.
The duke had waved his hand dismissively at his son.
“So you’ve said before,” he said. “But that is simply the way in our society. You are fortunate that I have not made a marriage arrangement for you already. Heaven knows I have received plenty of offers.”
Rowan had bristled at the thought, shaking his head.
“I am but twenty-one years old, Father,” he said. “I am too young to consider settling down right now. You know that I had plans to travel more for business and see more of the world.And besides, marriage is something that can wait until I have inherited the dukedom after your passing.” And once I have found a woman that I truly love, he’d added silently.
The duke had rolled his eyes at Rowan, further irritating him. He had gripped his glass tightly as his father sipped from his own, waiting for the duke’s counter argument.
“I also know that you would be doing far less business than dawdling in your travels,” he said firmly. “You have a good head for business. That is, when you choose to use it.”
Rowan had bristled at the implication.
“And what is that supposed to mean, Father?” he asked.
The duke had shaken his head and held up his hand in a gesture of surrender. But his expression did not look contrite. Rather, he had looked smug, as if he had accomplished something by insulting his son.
“It means that you could spend a bit more time focusing on the responsibilities that you will inherit as duke,” he said. “There is nothing worse than an ill-prepared duke taking over an entire dukedom, and I only wish to see that that does not happen to my own son.”
Rowan had drawn from his glass deeply, choking on his drink to suffocate the words on his mind. One should think that you had more faith in your own son, he had thought as he swallowed the burn from the drink. He loved his father, and the two of them rarely argued. But the duke was pushing Rowan to his breaking point. And even if it was with good intentions, he had no intention of allowing it.
“I have spent my life preparing to inherit your legacy, Father,” he said, his anger bubbling just beneath his words. “I dare say that I would be prepared to take over the dukedom tomorrow, if I must.”
The duke shook his head, and his eyes grew solemn.
“A duke who would baulk at the idea of taking a wife to behis duchess is hardly prepared,” he said.
Fed up, Rowan had slammed his glass down on the desk. He had considered reaching for the bottle, which sat on the corner on his father’s side, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want his father to think that he had allowed the drink to speak for him. He exhaled sharply and looked the duke directly in his eyes.
“Not being prepared to take a wife at this time hardly makes me ill-prepared to rule as duke,” he said. “In fact, I think it best if I were to get accustomed to the important duties of being a duke before I brought a young lady into my life.”
The duke had looked at Rowan as if trying to determine whether he was serious. When he decided that he was, he had sighed, clicking his tongue.
“That is the kind of thinking that tells me you would not be ready to take over the dukedom in a year, let alone a day,” he said. “I must say that I am very disappointed, Rowan.”
Rowan set a firm gaze at his father. He was finished arguing with his father about the subject. He had made up his mind. And as he had told his father, he had plenty of time to find a bride. He would not be rushed because of some perceived urgency to marry, just because he would inherit the dukedom some unspecified day in the distant future.
“Father, when I marry, it will be for love,” he said. “I cannot bear a lifetime with my ducal responsibilities and my home cold and without love from a duchess who was obligated to marry me, and would most likely harbor resentment about our union for the rest of her life. I will marry a woman with whom I am truly in love. And I will not be moved to change my mind.”
