Page 1 of Married to a Wicked Duke
ChapterOne
“Good afternoon, Your Grace! Do come and join me!”
Frederick Barnes, the Duke of Brownwood, could not even bring himself to look in the direction of the latest chirruping request. He could hardly believe he had let himself be persuaded into attending yet another of these mind-numbing events. It felt as though his grandmother was throwing these inane gatherings every second day. Soirees and garden parties and endless dinners—all for the thinly veiled purpose of finding her grandson a wife.
A pink-feathered figure fluttered in front of Frederick as he made his way toward the drinks table at the back of the marquee. She was tall and slender, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes that made him think of an arctic sea. Long fingers danced boldly up his arm. “I have saved you a seat beside me, Your Grace. I would very much like to continue our conversation about my father’s country house.”
Conversation about her father’s country house? Have I even met this lady before?All these mindless debutantes were running into one another.
“Another time, perhaps.” Frederick extricated himself from the long-fingered lady and hurried toward the drinks table. He snatched up a glass of champagne and downed it a little quicker than was wise. He took a deep breath of the clean country air to steady himself.
Usually, his family’s country house in Cambridge was one of his favorite places to escape to. But today, it provided no escape. His grandmother had invited what seemed to be the entiretonup to the house for a few days of festivities. And Frederick knew all too well what that meant: that when they finally returned to London, he was expected to do so with a wife-to-be in tow.
“Ah there you are, Your Grace!” Frederick gripped the stem of his champagne glass a little tighter and drew in another long breath, trying to find the will to turn around and face his latest admirer.
“Your Grace, I—”
“Do excuse me, ladies.” The booming voice belonged to the Dowager Duchess of Brownwood. Frederick turned to see his grandmother barreling past the young ladies with a look of determination in her gray eyes. “I apologize for interrupting, but I would like to spend a little time with my grandson.” And before Frederick knew what was happening, the Dowager Duchess had looped her arm through his and was hauling him out of the marquee, as though he were little more than a child.
Once outside the marquee, Frederick took a deep breath, as though he had broken through the surface of a raging ocean. “Thank you, Grandmother,” he said. “I am not sure I could have taken much more of that.”
“So I saw.” The Dowager Duchess clucked her tongue. “I thought I had best come and rescue you before you did something you would come to regret.”
Frederick smiled wryly. “Probably a wise decision.”
His grandmother sighed. “I do wish you would try a little harder, my dear. Must you truly be so grumpy all the time? These young ladies and their families have come all the way up from London to spend time with you.”
Frederick snorted. “How can I be anything but grumpy when I am surrounded by idiots?”
His grandmother shook her head in frustration. “Give them a chance, Frederick. You may be surprised. I have heard Lady Juliet Carfield has a lovely singing voice. Perhaps she will also have an interest in art, along with music. Why not try talking to her a little? Just—”
“Grandmother.” Frederick gritted his teeth. I am not interested. In any of this. Not in marrying, or in entertaining any of these foolish debutantes. I just want to be left alone.”
Instead of the anger he was expecting, a look of pity flitted across his grandmother’s eyes. She took Frederick’s arm again. “Why not come with me to welcome the new guests? I—”
“Not today, Grandmother.” Frederick strode off toward the house before the Dowager Duchess could speak again. Some part of him vaguely regretted speaking to his grandmother in such a harsh manner, but he could not really find the energy to care. All he wanted was for these people to disappear, and to be able to lock himself away in his studio and paint.
When he was feeling slightly less bitter, Frederick would use these dreadful social events to further his plans for the gallery. London was full of talented painters—some that were still hidden in the woodwork. Finding them was like discovering a rare gem buried deep within the ground.
The art gallery had been his mother’s idea. She had been a gifted painter—Frederick knew that was where his own talent came from. He had vivid memories of sitting in her studio as a young boy, cross-legged on the floor, watching her paintbrush flit across the canvas. Watching recognizable images emerge from the swirls of paint. Sometimes, his mother had painted simple still lifes, as was expected of her as a female painter. Flowers and candle sticks, and endless depictions of the family cat. But she was also a gifted landscape artist, often filling her canvases with flower-covered meadows and wild seas. It was his mother’s landscapes that Frederick liked best; as a child, he would watch them come to life on the canvas and imagine himself being taken to faraway places.
Places he would very much like to escape to now.
His mother had talked about opening a gallery for as long as Frederick could remember. But her husband, Frederick’s father, had not been supportive of her plans. Had claimed such pursuits were not suitable for a lady, particularly a duchess. She had continued to make her plans behind her husband’s back but had died without seeing her dream come to fruition.
Frederick was determined to see her vision of the gallery come to life. Honor her memory through the thing she had loved the most. And so, yes, these dreadful parties his grandmother insisted on throwing could have some benefit, if they allowed him to find the right artists, the right contacts.
But not today. Today, all he wanted was to lose himself in his own painting and escape the real world for a time.
But before he had even made it to the front door of the house, two young ladies had caught up with him. Was the one on his left the feathered young thing who had wanted to talk about her father’s country house? Hell, he did not even know anymore.
“Where are you going, Your Grace?” she said. “The party is just beginning.”
“I’m afraid I am not quite in the mood for a party,” Frederick said tautly, hoping his brusque tone would give enough of a hint for the ladies to leave.
It did not.
“That’s a terrible shame,” said the other. “But fear not, we shall keep you company, shan’t we, Lady Juliet? And of course, you must feel as though you can tell us what is bothering you.” She looked up at him with wide blue eyes. “Truly, Your Grace. You can tell meanything.”
