Page 1 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Chapter One

London—May, 1806

Catherine Crawford satwith her back to the mirror as her maid fussed over her hair, hoping Tilly’s efforts would be worth all the time spent sitting still in the chair. Her younger sister, Leah, watched, an enraptured look on her face.

“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go to balls. I love to dance.” Leah began twirling around the room, her arms spread wide as she swung them through the air.

“Watch yourself, my lady,” Tilly warned. “Wouldn’t want another broken arm to deal with, would we?”

Leah stopped at once, her face turning red to her blond roots. “That won’t happen again, Tilly,” she said quickly, plopping on the bed.

“True. If you stay out of trees, that is,” the maid admonished, tugging on one of Catherine’s curls a bit too hard.

“Easy, Tilly,” Catherine warned.

“On your hair or Lady Leah?” Tilly asked saucily.

She knew she should chastise the maid but Tilly had been in the Crawford household ever since Catherine could remember and sometimes, though the older woman seemed too familiar with the daughters of the house, Catherine knew the servant had a good heart and would fiercely protect both girls if push came to shove.

“Hurry and finish, Tilly,” chided Leah. “Or else Catherine will be late to the ball.”

The maid fussed a moment longer. “There. I’m done. Close your eyes, my lady.”

Catherine did as instructed and Tilly rotated the stool to where it faced the mirror propped on the vanity, eager to see how her auburn locks had been styled tonight.

“You may open your eyes, my lady.”

She did as requested and studied her image in the mirror. A slow smile spread across her face.

“You are incredibly talented, Tilly,” she praised. “I will be the envy of every girl at the Wethersby ball tonight.”

The maid sniffed. “You’re already the envy of many, Lady Catherine. I know. I see all the bouquets that arrive. I’m the one who dresses you to meet all those gentlemen who call in the afternoons for tea. I’m the one who accompanies you on your walks with them in Hyde Park. And I see the envious looks cast your way by those young ladies of thetonlooking for a husband. Mark my words, you’ll snap up the best lord when the Marriage Mart is done. Three offers already and the Season’s only a month old.”

Tilly smoothed Catherine’s hair a final time and added, “I’m off to retrieve your mama. She said she wanted to speak to you once I had you ready.” The maid looked at Leah. “And it’s about time you were in bed.”

“Do I have to go, Tilly?” Leah pleaded. “I’m eleven now. I should be allowed to stay up later.”

“It’s almost nine as it is and it’s bad for you. Come on, now. I’ll help you undress once I fetch your mama to Lady Catherine.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and left the room, Leah still protesting as the door closed.

Catherine sighed. She didn’t want to snag a husband.

Not until she fell in love.

She knew it wasn’t the done thing. The purpose of the Season was to move up the social ladder. To find a well-bred, wealthy, pleasant fellow that would offer her the protection of his name and rank. She would then wed him sometime after the Season ended and then go about providing him with an heir and, hopefully, a spare. Once she did so, her life would be her own. She could search for a lover, as long as she was discreet about it. That was when love, if it was to be found, might come her way.

In the meantime, her husband would do the same, although men often sought out a mistress soon after they married. At least that’s what Catherine had picked up from the gossiping females of theton. Supposedly, a man was free to come and go as he pleased, as long as he did not publicly embarrass his wife. The said wife was to turn a blind eye to all comings and goings and be grateful for having wed a titled gentleman who provided her with financial security, children, and—if she was lucky—affection.

Not at all what Catherine had in mind when she thought of marriage.

Her parents had ruined her expectations. The Earl and Countess of Statham were that rare couple who’d met the first week of her mother’s Season and fallen deeply in love. The match had proven suitable to both of their families and they’d spent the last twenty-eight years devoted to one another and their two daughters. She couldn’t imagine her father desiring to couple with another woman. He treated his wife as if she were the most precious thing on earth. And to think of her mother in the arms of another man? Laughable.

Because of the beautiful example she’d grown up with, Catherine assumed all married couples loved one another and that when her time came, she would recognize her soul mate in her heart. Instead, she’d been exposed to the ways of society as she’d embarked upon her first Season and didn’t like them. At all.

She’d already received three offers of marriage, which was ridiculous. She’d danced with one of the gentlemen once and the other two thrice before they made their offers. Of course, besides dancing with her, they had called on Catherine and she’d poured tea, conversing with them as she tried to get to know them. All three were amiable, handsome men, with beautiful manners and varying amounts of wealth. The problem was, she’d felt nothing for any of them. Though she knew it to be foolish, she wanted her heart to race and a giddiness to overtake her. She thought if she wanted to kiss even one of them, it would be a good sign. So far, none of that had happened. She’d proven popular at events and made it clear that she would entertain no more offers from any gentleman until the Season ended. That would be in less than three months, which caused panic to ripple through her.

What if she didn’t find someone to love?

She would be expected to wed. Every woman did. Preparing for the Season had been terribly expensive. Dozens of ball gowns had been made up, with more gowns for parties, the theatre, and the opera. Mama had told Catherine not to worry about the expense but she couldn’t help doing so. Mama had said Catherine must look her best in order to attract the right man.

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