The Duke Who Came To Town:
She doesn’t want to be a kept woman…
Josephine Potter knows she must retain her employment to provide for her younger sisters and to maintain the house. While a young woman working as an accountant – at a hotel no less – could be frowned upon by some, it’s still a respectable way to earn a living. No matter what a certain duke might think. Besides, Josephine has a few rules she lives by: Don’t rely on others, don’t accept money from someone you don’t know, and never allow a man to control your life. But when she is fired from her job, Josephine may have to bend a few rules…
Devon, the Duke of Snowdon, has never met a more bull-headed woman than Josephine Potter! The Potter sisters are granddaughters of a Viscount and should not have to work for a living. So despite Josephine’s arguments, Devon insists she end her employee status immediately and accept a stipend for her and her sisters. When she is then fired, she accuses him of meddling in her life…and things are about to heat up despite the cold winter weather. As they work together to figure out why Devon’s hotel is losing money, a mutual attraction that won’t be denied, grows between them.
But when rumors of impropriety abound, can Josephine’s reputation be saved…or will her life be destroyed by scandal?
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Chapter
One
Josephine
waited until the coach carrying her youngest sister, Eve, out to the Great West
Road had turned a corner, disappearing from sight. She then wrapped her shawl
tighter around her shoulders and started making her way back toward the
townhouse they’d shared with their other sister, Louise, until yesterday. The
place would be empty now with both sisters away. Eve had been invited to visit
with a friend for the holidays, while Louise had gone to Whitehaven in the
northern part of the country to become a governess to three young children.
Some
extra income would certainly be welcome. Josephine wasn’t sure how much longer
she would be able to cover their expenses on her own. The townhouse, alone,
took most of her wages, while food and clothing swallowed the rest. It was a
struggle, but to accept defeat and relocate to humbler lodgings was out of the
question. Already, they’d had to give up the status their Mayfair home and
country estate had once afforded them. As the great-granddaughters of an earl,
they’d enjoyed a comfortable position in society—until their father had
squandered it all in a downward spiral of drink and depression.
Pushing
the unpleasant memories as far back as they would go, Josephine determined to
focus on the future. The townhouse wasn’t the only thing at stake. There were
also Eve’s prospects and their reputations. While Josephine and Louise had
resigned themselves to working for a living, they both hoped Eve might still be
able to enjoy the Season they’d been denied, that she might marry well, and
that her life might be a little easier and happier than what they faced. There
would be no large dowry, only the meager sum Josephine had managed to put aside
during the last year since their father’s death: a few wages here, a bit of
pawned jewelry there.
Turning
onto Vine Street, Josephine bowed her head against the gust of wind sweeping
toward her. She’d used the last firewood that morning and would have to see
about buying more –yet another cost eating away at her income. But this was
England, and they were only in December. It would be several months before
she’d be able to forego heating. Unless she wished to get sick and not only
risk losing her job but also having to pay the exorbitant fee of seeing a
doctor. To do so was not an option, so when she spotted a woman with firewood
strapped to her back, Josephine crossed the street and made her approach. “How
much for three pieces?” It was all she could carry.
“Thirty
pence, love.”
Swallowing
the bitterness of surrendering the sum, Josephine exchanged the coins for the
wood and resumed walking, pushing through the wind as it whipped her skirts
around her legs.
She
was almost at her door before she noticed the carriage parked at the side of
the road. The two black horses hitched to the front of it silently watched her
progress. Giving them a wary glance, Josephine balanced the firewood in one arm
so she could retrieve her key from her pelisse pocket.
Her
face burned with cold and she took a step forward, prepared to seek refuge
indoors, when the carriage door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered figure
stepped down onto the pavement. His hair was black beneath his beaver hat, his
features matching the harsh winter climate. Eyes as dark as night caught hers,
and his jaw immediately set with distinct determination.
“Miss
Potter?” He shoved the carriage door shut and strode toward her. The wind
caught the hem of his somber greatcoat, forcing it out behind him in jerky
movements.
Josephine
raised her chin. “Who wants to know?”
Halting
his approach, he told her frankly, “The Duke of Snowdon.” He dipped his head
and touched the brim of his hat. “At your service.”
#
The
woman standing before Devon stared at him with incomprehension. Her lilac eyes,
set against an oval face, had widened to the size of saucers, her rosy lips
parted with undeniable shock. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected the Potter
sisters’ appearances to be, but this one was certainly prettier than he had
imagined. Cautious, too, judging from her response to his presence.
“Your
guardian,” he said, deciding to put her mind at ease, “has asked me to look in
on you and your sisters.”
Knitting
her brow, she pressed her lips together and moved a bit closer to the door. “The
Earl of Priorsbridge?”
“Precisely.”
Her
expression turned increasingly wary. “Forgive me for saying this, but I don’t
believe you.”
Devon
tried not to be affronted by the insult, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Are
you calling me a liar?”
She
seemed to consider the question but chose not to answer it in the end, saying
instead, “He has never showed any interest in us before.” Her gaze slid toward
the door and the welcome warmth no doubt waiting for her beyond.
“Perhaps
you’re thinking of his father.”
“His
father?” Confusion seemed to bring interest with it.
Which
surprised Devon. “Have you not heard of his recent passing?”
She
shook her head. “No. I do not read the papers very often.”
“Then
allow me to inform you that he died last month. It is his son who has asked me
to make sure you’re well and in no dire straits.” Retrieving his calling card
from his pocket, Devon handed it to her so she could confirm his identity. Her
fingers trembled, the firewood pressed against her chest like a barrier of
sorts. Devon drew a breath and expelled it in a ghostly mist. “Might I suggest
we continue this conversation indoors?”
Her
hesitance could not have been more obvious if she had actually told him she did
not want him in her house. But the chill air must have banished the thought,
for she quickly nodded and handed him the firewood. “If you will please hold
this.”
She
unlocked the door and led the way through to a tiny foyer with barely enough space
for the two of them to stand. Devon shut the door behind him to block the cold.
“In
here.” Miss Potter spoke briskly as she opened the door to a modest parlor and
led the way through.
He
followed her inside, noting it was only marginally warmer in there than it had
been in the foyer or even outdoors, with the fire in the grate reduced to
embers. Crossing the floor, he considered the orange sparks glowing amidst the
ashes. He hadn’t lit a fire in years, not since his father had taught him how
when he’d been a lad. A lesson in practicality, his father had called it. As
heir to a dukedom, Devon would probably never need the skill, but his father
had insisted upon him knowing it all the same. It was being put to good use
now, he decided, as he crouched down and set the logs on the floor. He reached
for the fireplace spade and broom.
“What
are you doing?” Miss Potter asked from somewhere behind him. She sounded
slightly appalled.
Devon
started to clean out the ash. “What does it look like?” She probably wasn’t
accustomed to dukes stopping by and ensuring comfort.
There
was a pause–a very distinct one–and then, “But you cannot possibly…I mean, I
can easily do this, Your…er…ah…Grace.”
It
was curious really, but there was something charming about her perplexity.
Something amusing too. Devon glanced at her over his shoulder and instantly sucked
in his breath. While he’d been busying himself with the fireplace, she’d
removed the bonnet she’d been wearing to reveal the fairest hair he’d ever
seen. Wisps of it curled against her cheeks with untidy abandon, tempting him
to stand and approach her so he could examine it in greater detail.
Instead,
he returned his attention to his task, blocking her from his view. “It’s no
trouble.” His voice was slightly gruffer than before. “I am more than happy to
help.”
Especially
since he’d promised Priorsbridge – Edward – he would ensure the Misses Potter
were well taken care of until he was able to do so himself. Some might call it
a tall order, given its inconvenience, but Devon owed Edward, and the time had
come for him to pay his debt.
“I
see.”
She
said nothing further while he continued to clean out the ash and proceeded to build
the fire. He lit it using the tinderbox sitting on the mantle and stoked it
with the bellows. “That ought to do it,” he eventually said, unable to hide the
pleasure he found in the task. “Come warm your hands, Miss Potter.”
Carefully,
as if she feared he might bite, she moved toward the welcoming heat with a
gentle tread. Devon stepped to one side, allowing more space to fall between
them, but not enough to prevent him from seeing the shades of blue unfurling
around her irises. Her eyes were stunning, remarkable in their transformation
of color. And her hair… It wasn’t white, and it wasn’t blonde. Rather, it was
something in between, something he could not adequately describe, though it
held him riveted with its uniqueness.
Stretching
out her fingers, now free from the gloves she’d been wearing, she allowed a
sigh of distinct pleasure. Devon followed her example, but it wasn’t the fire
that held his interest. It was her – the rosy glow brightening her cheeks, the dark lashes feathering across her skin,
the soft curve of her nose, and the plush fullness of her lower lip. He
considered each feature discreetly, all the while pretending he needed warmth too,
when the truth was, he hadn’t felt cold since catching his first glimpse of her
without her bonnet.
He
shrugged aside the distraction and glanced around the room. For a house
inhabited by three women, it was unusually silent. “Where are your sisters,
Miss Potter? Priorsbridge wrote there ought to be three of you living here.”
“And
so there were until recently.” After flexing her fingers as if hoping the
action would force the heat to penetrate further, she lowered her hands and
turned slightly toward him. Her eyes were now entirely blue, a deeper shade
quite similar to the one found at sea on a hot afternoon. “Louise left for
Whitehaven the day before yesterday in order to accept a position as governess
to the Earl and Countess of Channing’s children.”
Devon
felt his jaw tighten with displeasure. “But she is gentry, the Earl of
Priorsbridge’s cousin and ward. Allowing her to work for a living is highly
irregular—unacceptable in so many ways—and likely to suggest Priorsbridge has
failed to do his duty by you.”
Her
eyebrows rose. “You speak as though you imagine we had a choice, as though we
could afford to continue living in this house without seeking employment.”
Briefly,
Devon considered their humble surroundings, the worn-out
velvet upholstery covering the nearby sofa and chairs, the lack of rugs and
display pieces. The tables and sideboard were bare. Not a single vase or
ornamental figurine could be seen. And then the manner in which she’d spoken
hit him. His eyes found hers, lost for a moment in the clarity of her gaze. “We?”
A
shrug shifted her shoulders. “I work as
an accountant, Your Grace.”
“I
beg your pardon?” He’d never heard of a female accountant before, and was so
surprised to be faced with one now, he tactlessly followed his question with,
“But you’re a woman!”
“Yes.”
The
clip of her tone suggested she wasn’t the least bit pleased with what he said.
Still… “That is even worse than being a governess, Miss Potter. The scandal you
might cause. Why, it is—”
“I
don’t see how my position would cause an ounce of scandal for anyone.”
Blinking,
he stared down at her upturned face. “You are doing a man’s job, which might
not have been too bad if you had been born into the working class. But you were
not. Your status, most particularly as it relates to Priorsbridge, demands a
certain…” He waved his hand, unsure of how to finish his sentence, especially
since she was glaring at him now with distinct hostility. “The point is, your
actions reflect upon him.”
“What
would you have had me do instead, Your Grace? Starve? Lose my home? Allow my
sisters to do so?” She jabbed a finger at his chest, the blunt point of contact
scolding him as effectively as her words. “I did what was necessary in order to
survive after Priorsbridge proved to have no intention of helping us in any
way.”
“I
will agree the former earl was lax in his duties toward you, but his son means
to right that wrong. He intends to do what his father did not. It is why he
asked me to come here personally and check on you.”
She
gave a snort. “It must be nice to have a duke at your beck and call.”
Gritting
his teeth, Devon leaned toward her. “He helped me when my father passed and I
was out of the country. He saw to the funeral arrangements and ensured my
mother and sister were well taken care of. Since he is otherwise occupied at the moment
with the details surrounding his new inheritance, he asked if I could return
the favor and handle this particular matter on his behalf.” Drawing a breath,
he forced calmness into his voice before saying, “So you will hand in your
notice at wherever it is you work, and then you will write to your sister and
ask her to do the same. Immediately.”
#
For
a long moment, Josephine could do nothing but stare at the duke. The aloof
manner in which he’d just spoken made it abundantly clear he was accustomed to
getting his way. And in case his voice did not accomplish this goal, he wore a
stern expression indicative of his strength and power, an expression intended
to intimidate and defeat a weaker individual. Josephine knew there were men and
women who would swiftly surrender to his demands when faced with the hint of
his impending wrath, but she wasn’t one of them. Not when she’d faced much
worse.
So
she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, addressing him with more
honesty than a man of his rank had likely ever been subjected to before and
said, “Your arrogance is astounding.” His jaw went slack, fuelling her resolve.
“The fact you would presume to have the right to tell me what to do is
preposterous. How dare you come into my home and play the entitled lord? How
dare you behave as though I am subservient to you, as though I must bow to your
will?”
She
fairly shook with anger, the cold she’d felt consuming her body a moment ago,
completely forgotten. “You…” She pointed a finger at him, and he actually took
a step back. “You pompous ass!”
Her
breaths were shallow, her chest heaving beneath the weight of each inhalation while
she struggled to calm herself to some degree. She’d never been the sort of
person to raise her voice to anyone or to throw insults around. That she did so
now with a duke was testament to how deeply his overbearing manner had offended
her.
“Are
you quite finished?” Irritation had banished all signs of the shock he’d
portrayed in response to her outburst. Instead, he now encompassed more
fierceness than ever. She chose to hold her tongue this time, allowing him to
have his say. “Considering I’ve been tasked with ensuring your welfare and
quarrelling is unlikely to be productive, I will pretend you did not insult me
in such direct terms.”
“Would
you rather I did it in indirect terms?” The words were out before she could
stop them. Inwardly, she cringed at her childish inability to resist the jab,
while managing to maintain an outward appearance of stubborn defiance. Thank
God.
His
teeth ground together, nostrils flaring while his hard stare drove boldly into
her. “If you think coming here is enjoyable to me, think again, Miss Potter,
for I can assure you I would rather be elsewhere. However, I have made a
promise to Priorsbridge, and being a man of my word, I intend to do precisely what
he has asked, however undeserving I think you are of anyone’s good graces at
the moment.”
He
drew a deep breath as if gathering his strength. Affording her with the most
patronizing stare she’d ever borne witness to in her life, he said, “So you and
your sisters will receive a monthly stipend of seventy-five pounds, and in
exchange, you will do everything in your power to ensure your actions do not
reflect negatively on Priorsbridge.”
“In
other words, you are bribing me.”
Muttering
something beneath his breath–a curse, no doubt–he closed his eyes for a second,
squeezing them tight before opening them again with frustration. “What woman in
her right mind would rather toil away her days than accept a relative’s
generosity?”
She
knew it seemed ridiculous, especially to a man like Snowdon who’d never been
shunned by his peers or faced the threat of destitution. But for her, the idea
of taking money from a man she’d never even met was no different than stealing.
“I do not wish to be a charity cause, nor do I want to take advantage. What I
desire is to prove myself capable of self-sufficiency.” She would prove to the
world and, more importantly, to herself she did not require anyone’s help. Two
men had failed her already—her father and her uncle—and she would be damned if
she was going to allow herself to rely on a third.
“Why?”
He studied her as though he considered her utterly hopeless. “Isn’t life
difficult enough? Why complicate it further by insisting on making it more so?”
“Because
nothing worth having is easily won,” she muttered, casting a glance toward the
crackling flames. A log snapped, sending up a flurry of sparks.
His
sigh, long and laborious, filled the air between them. “I suppose I can relate
to that.”
Snorting,
she crossed her arms. “Really?” She didn’t believe him for a second. He was a
duke after all, the sort of man for whom roads were paved with gold and doors
were flung wide open.
He
glanced toward the fire. “The day I turned eighteen, my father came to inform
me it was time for me to prove my worth. Turns out, he’d purchased a small
cottage in Cornwall where he expected me to live for the duration of a year
without relying upon the conveniences to which I’d been accustomed.”
It
was Josephine’s turn to be shocked. “You cannot be serious.”
“Indeed,
I am quite so. For you see, my father believed such an experience would allow
me to relate to my tenants and servants, while giving me a true appreciation
for what I have. He felt forcing me to lead a life of hardship for a year would
make me a better duke in the end, and I suspect he was right.”
“You
never accepted any help from him during this time?”
“No.
I made my way by selling fish and wood carvings at the market. The last thing I
wanted was to fail, to have to return home and admit defeat.”
Amazed
by his confession, she studied him for a long moment. “So you understand why I
cannot give up my position or accept a stipend from Priorsbridge.”
“I
do.” A hint of sympathy warmed his eyes, and for a second Josephine believed she’d
won. Until he said, “But your situation is different from what mine was. For
one thing, great care was taken to ensure my identity would not be discovered.
Can you honestly tell me nobody knows you’re related to Priorsbridge?”
She
thought of lying, then decided against it. “No.” The gossip columns had written
extensive articles on her father’s pitiable downfall and on his daughters’
struggle to survive in the wake of his death. Their family history had been
used as an example of how far one could fall when gripped by vice. And when
Josephine and her sisters had been forced to sell their Mayfair home, whispers
had followed in their wake, assuring them they would not easily be forgotten.
“Then
consider this, Miss Potter. It is no longer your reputation alone that’s at
risk, but his as well. If word gets out he failed to support you, that you were
forced to make your own way in the world, he will be painted a heartless man.”
Josephine
frowned. “Nothing of the sort has been said of his father. What makes you think
anyone will care about Priorsbridge’s actions now?”
“Because
having acquired the title no more than a month ago, he will be scrutinized in
every imaginable way. So please, show some consideration and help him avoid criticism.”
When
put like that, it was difficult for Josephine to maintain her determination.
Still, she could not allow two men–one whom she’d never met and the other to
whom she was not related –to guide her future. “While I sympathize, I cannot
accept Priorsbridge’s support. I am sorry.”
“You
are, without a doubt, the most stubborn woman I have ever met.” He said it as
though it were an affliction, his hand raking furiously through his hair,
ruffling it in a way Josephine found disturbingly charming under the
circumstances. “The stipend is not the only item on the table. I’ve also been
asked to help ease your way back into society. I have family and friends on
whom I can call, contacts who can help you regain your position. Surely this
must be desirable in some way or other, if not for you, then for your sisters.”
Her hesitance must have shown, for he pounced on it like a lion catching its
prey. “What of your youngest sister? You’ve made no mention of her seeking
employment, but if you’re what— ” He was suddenly giving her a critical
assessment. “Seven and twenty?”
“Six
and twenty,” she corrected, doing her best to ignore the blush threatening to
burn her cheeks.
“Then
your youngest sister must be of marriageable age. Correct?”
Josephine
nodded. “Eve set out for Amberly Hall near Bournemouth yesterday morning. Her
friend, Mrs. Havisham, has offered to introduce her to her social circle. If
doing so yields no result, there is still the coming Season. I have been saving
what I can with the intention of giving Eve the debut she deserves.”
He
went completely still, his eyes fixed on her face with pensiveness, twisting
her stomach and making her heart beat a little bit faster. It unnerved her, and
she had no choice but to remove her gaze from his. So she considered the
lackluster floorboards beneath her feet instead, until he said, “As confounding
as you are, I must confess my admiration for your stalwart perseverance.”
Instinctively,
her gaze latched onto his. A pause followed, one in which all of her problems,
her future, her sisters’ happiness, and Priorsbridge’s interference with all of
it remained suspended. The only two people in the world at the moment were her
and Snowdon, caught in a most peculiar web from which escape seemed
increasingly difficult.
It
didn’t help that he looked like sin and seduction or that she was old enough to
consider herself a spinster, a woman who might enjoy a man’s kiss without the
threat of marriage. Was it wrong for her to feel desire? To secretly long for
some shred of passion before she became too old to gain a man’s attention? She
had no prospects, had inherited nothing but shame, and yet here she was, attracted
to an aggravating aristocrat whom she didn’t much care for, if for no other
reason than principal.
It
was a wretched notion, and it brought her promptly out of her reverie. “Thank
you,” she managed to say with a steadier voice than she’d ever imagined
possible. A bit of awkward silence passed between them while she gathered her
composure. “If that is all, I believe I must ask you to leave. Your presence
here is far from appropriate, and your carriage the sort bound to gain
attention from those with nothing better to do than observe the lives of others.
Whatever my reputation may be, it will suffer even more the longer you stay. Especially
once my neighbors discover my sisters are no longer here, and I invited you
into my home without chaperone.”
A
frown pinched his brow. “Forgive me. I should have excused myself the moment I discovered
you were alone, though you ought to have conveyed such information sooner
rather than later.”
“Duly
noted.” He was right, but she’d been freezing with cold outside, and he’d
obviously had a great deal to say. You
didn’t mind having a handsome man’s attention to yourself for a while.
She
was ashamed to acknowledge the fact, but her life had lacked excitement for so
long. It had revolved around her mother’s death, her father’s decline, his
death, financial loss, and a dire future from which she’d struggled to protect
her sisters. With Louise, she’d failed, but there was still hope for Eve. More so if you simply surrender and take the
money Priorsbridge is offering.
Her
pride, however, would not allow it. Not when she stood to succeed on her own.
It would be harder, the sacrifices greater, but in the end, she wouldn’t owe
anyone a thing. Her life would be her own. It would not belong to another man.
She would have the freedom to make her own choices without interference or
criticism or any other kind of involvement from anyone.
Snowdon
strode toward the door and paused, his hand on the handle. “I expect you to
take my advice seriously, Miss Potter.” There it was again, the blasted
arrogance grating on her nerves. “Priorsbridge is my friend, so while I
sympathize with your situation and admire your effort to survive without
anyone’s assistance, I will not allow you to tarnish his name in any way. Is
that clear?”
“Perfectly,
Your Grace.”
His
eyes narrowed, no doubt in response to her tart tone. It couldn’t be helped.
Not when he meant to strip her of her freedom.
A
curt nod followed. “Good,” he said. “I shall expect a missive from you no later
than tomorrow afternoon, informing me your position has been terminated. Then we shall see about taking you out in
Society. I’ve a sister who likes the occasional project. She’ll no doubt be
thrilled to make your acquaintance.”
He
tipped his hat and made his exit, leaving Josephine to wonder if he knew how
offensive he was being, or if he simply didn’t care.
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