Page 2 of Married to a Wicked Duke
How long have you got?Frederick thought wryly.
He bit back the sharp retort that was on his lips and instead ground out, “If you do not mind, I would rather be left alone.”
“Oh, but—”
“I would rather be left alone,” he repeated, his voice louder this time.
The two young ladies exchanged glances, and then finally fell away. Just in time, the doorman opened the front door, letting Frederick slip inside without a word.
The library. Surely none of these mindless creatures will be in there.
He hurried down the passage and pushed open the door to the library at the back of the house, desperately hoping for a little reprieve. To his horror, a young woman was reclined on the chaise longue in the corner of the room, skimming through the book open in her lap. At the sight of him, her eyes lit up. “Good day, Your Grace!” She leaped to her feet, tossing the book aside. “What a lovely surprise to see you in here.”
Frederick almost laughed. He knew there was no part of him that could be described aslovely. At least beyond his title, that was. He had no illusions that all these so-called admirers were after anything other than the chance to become a Duchess. There was no part about his surly, sour self that would make even a fraction of a good husband.
And that is the way I like it.
Without even bothering to acknowledge the young lady, Frederick hurried out of the library and charged up the staircase to the sanctuary of his bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind him.
ChapterTwo
Lady Veronica Caster pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her yawn. She was not sure why she was bothering to hide her tiredness; it was not as though her father or grandmother were taking the slightest bit of notice of her.
“We are hideously late onceagain,” hissed Veronica’s grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Hilt. She jabbed a bony finger in the direction of her son-in-law, the Earl of Volk. “Do you think just once, we might manage to turn up to something on time? Tardiness is ahideouslyrude habit.”
Veronica’s father grunted in response, slumping back against the seat of the carriage. “I can hardly be blamed for this. How can we be expected to turn up on time when we’ve been summoned out to Cambridge all places?”
The Dowager Marchioness snorted. “You are lucky you wrangled an invitation to this fine gathering at all, Mark Caster. We would all be better for it if you had just stayed home.” She scratched the ears of her terrier, Patch, who was curled up on her lap.
Veronica winced at her grandmother’s sharpness, but she could not deny the Dowager Marchioness had a point. Despite her father’s protests, their lateness was entirely their own fault. As he had on so many occasions throughout Veronica’s twenty years of life, he had failed to appear at the breakfast table that morning. When his valet had finally hauled him out of bed and tried to ready him for the long carriage journey up to Cambridge, he had still been giddy with last night’s drink.
The Dowager Marchioness had insisted they leave without him, but Veronica had begged her to let her father come. She hated the thought of leaving him at home alone with his brandy bottle and his thoughts. Especially given they would be away at the Brownwoods’ country house for several days and nights. But now, she had to admit, she was beginning to wonder if she ought to have let her grandmother have her way. They were going to make enough of a scene as it was, arriving at the Dowager Duchess of Brownwood's garden party so hideously late. At this rate, they would be lucky if they made it in time for dinner. And if they did, she was fairly certain her father would get up to his usual antics and cause a drunken scene at the dinner table that she and her family would never live down.
Yes, thought Veronica,I ought definitely have agreed to leave Father at home.
Patch perked up suddenly and scampered across the Dowager Marchioness’s lap to look out the window. He let out a loud, high-pitched bark.
The Earl rubbed his eyes. “Did you really have to bring that runt of a thing along?”
The Dowager Marchioness glared at him as though he had suggested she leave her first-born babe in a basket in the woods. “OfcourseI did! Dear little Patch is family. And unlikeothermembers of this family, he had the decency to be ready for this journey on time!”
The Earl rolled his eyes.
The Dowager Marchioness scooped Patch back onto her lap, somehow still managing to keep her finger pointed in the Earl’s direction. “Now you listen to me,” she was saying, “you had better be on your best behavior once we arrive. If I even see you even thinking about joining in a card game, I will tear you to pieces.” She narrowed her eyes. “Need I remind you that it is high time Veronica found a husband? I do not want you putting her chances in jeopardy like you did with poor Gemma.”
Veronica smiled wryly to herself. She was not sure she would describe her older sister aspoor Gemma. Yes, it was true that their father’s drinking and gambling had caused difficulties for her sister during her Seasons, and even during the early days of her marriage. But these days, Gemma was blissfully happy with her husband, the Duke of Larsen.
When the Dowager Marchioness spoke of finding her second granddaughter a husband—as had become her favorite topic of conversation of late—Veronica found herself hoping she might one day find the kind of love that Gemma and her husband had. Hoping she might find a man who would appreciate her for who she was, and would not care a scrap about her father’s reputation. She knew it a near unreachable dream. So few people in thetonwere ever lucky enough to find love. Indeed, she knew marrying for love was little more than an illusion; something not meant for ladies and gentlemen of their class.
Still, Veronica could not stop herself from wishing.
“I’ll have you know,” the Earl began brassily, “that I’ve not set foot in a gambling hall in two years.”
The Dowager Marchioness snorted. “Only because you have been banned from entering every gentlemen’s club in London.” The pointing finger made a triumphant return. “And don’t you pretend anything different.”
Veronica sighed, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Please Grandmother, Father. Perhaps you might stop arguing? I find it most upsetting. I do wish you would try and get along.”
The Dowager Marchioness gave her apologetic eyes. “I am sorry, my dear. I know I get carried away sometimes. It is just that I want the very best for you.” She speared the Earl with fierce eyes. “And it seems that is at the bottom of your father’s list of priorities.”
