Page 1 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
CHAPTER ONE
APRIL 1813
New Montrose Hall
Duncan Montrose, seventh Earl of Eastwick, cleared his throat as he glanced up from the letter in his hands.
He peered over the rim of his spectacles at his eldest daughter, Emmeline, seated primly across the breakfast table. The morning sun, slanting through the tall windows, caught the streaks of silver threaded through his iron-grey hair. His eyes were pale hazel, matching those of his daughter.
Emmeline, known by all in the family simply asEmma, raised an eyebrow as she bit into her toast.
“I have some…news, which is rather thrilling,” Duncan began, holding up the parchment. “This letter reaches me from Redmane Manor, from the Duke of Redmane himself. It contains invitations for the entire family to a ball he is hosting in a week.”
Emma almost choked on her bite. She recovered quickly, of course, lifting her teacup to conceal the betraying flush that had crept up her neck. “That is indeed exciting, Papa,” she murmured behind the porcelain rim. “I imagine the girls will require new dresses for the occasion too.”
Duncan’s brows drew together in thought. “Ever practical, Emma. Yes, they will want something new to attend a Ducal ball. Though I do not know what is wrong with what they have.”
Emma offered him a beatific smile. “Nor I. They have many adorable dresses. But, you know how Rosie and Josie are.”
The door to the breakfast room burst open then, and Charles entered, his head immersed in the pages of a London gossip sheet. Close on his heels came his younger sister Rosaline—known to all asRosie—craning her neck to peer over his shoulder.
“Have you seen this bit about the Duchess of Sussex, Charlie? Well, I’m not the least surprised, given all the nonsense surrounding the Earl of Somerset,” Rosie said in a thrilled and scandalized whisper.
Charles gave a solemn nod. “A disgruntled lady’s maid, formerly employed by the Duchess, is given credit for the story.”
“But so sloppy in its writing.Icould do so much better.”
A heavy scoff came from the head of the table. “A female journalist, my dear? Over my dead body, and I should say all of the editors in London too. It is a man’s job.”
“Then I shall content myself with becoming an author. Though I should like to write about scandal and intrigue,” Rosie mused, hand pressed delicately to her heart as she gazed dreamily into the middle distance.
They sat, Charles still immersed in the paper, Rosie pointing to paragraphs and phrases she thought particularly worthy or unworthy.
“Enough of that literary effluent. I will not have it at the breakfast table,” Duncan grumbled, “we have news if the two of you would care to listen?”
“How dearly exciting!And what news is that, Papa?” Josephine, known simply asJosie, effused, as she entered at the precise moment to hear their father’s words.
“Yes, do tell, Papa,” Rosie added before her sister had finished speaking.
The four children shared red hair and brown eyes of various shades. Emma was closest in color to their father, while Charles was the darkest.
While Rosie and Josie were pretty, that prettiness had matured into grace and true beauty in Emma. She resembled a womanwho appeared in a portrait on the wall behind Emma’s seat. It depicted a radiant matriarch with crimson hair standing by a proud, handsome man in the uniform of the Royal Navy. The man was Duncan, and the woman was his late wife and mother to the four children.
“Is it that you have finally relented and purchased a townhouse for us in London?” Josie exclaimed in excitement.
“Do not be silly, Josie. Property is far too expensive at the moment,” Charles answered in their father’s stead. “I am sure Papa refers to the bloodstock we have in the stables. It is in dire need of replenishment. There is a stallion in Cheshire that would be an excellent sire. I could write to my friend—”
“If I may be allowed to speak at my breakfast table,” Duncan interjected irritably. “We are all invited to the Duke of Redmane’s ball at Redmane Manor. To be held next Saturday. No, I have no intention of buying a townhouse in London. And no, I shall not seek to breed the next Ascot champion either!”
He held up the letter, which bore the seal of the Dukes of Redmane, a tower atop a hill.
Charles and Rosie looked suspiciously at Emma.
Josie furrowed her brows. “That is quite short notice, is it not, father? One week?”
“Oh, you are so obsessed with etiquette, Josie,” Rosie groused.
“And you are too little concerned with it, Rosie. There is more to life than the gossip columns.”
