The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV)

  The Duke’s Divorce

  Anne Gallagher

  Published by Shore Road Publishing – Smashwords Edition

  Shore Road Publishing

  PO Box 804

  King, NC 27021 USA

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2012 Shore Road Publishing at Smashwords

  All rights reserved

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  Cover by Straw Hill Designs © 2012

  Katarine Ivanovic 1817 – 1882 Self-Portrait

  Chapter One

  March 1811

  Castle Cornnan

  Peebleshire, Scotland

  Robert did not wake, rather, he became aware he no longer slept, and he was not alone. His foot touched the softness of a woman’s leg. The first light of dawn peeked through the open-curtained windows as he tried to remember how he had come to have a woman in his bed. His mind, traitor that it was under the after effects of alcohol, deserted him.

  He moved and found that a great mistake. His head split into two pieces and his stomach roiled through waves of nausea. He slid off the edge of the bed and managed to gather the chamber pot in front of him, although nothing happened. Unfortunately, the noise woke his companion.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Her Scottish burr sounded familiar. Robert glanced up over the bed. Laughing eyes stared back at him. Fiona? Good God, what was she doing here?

  “I’m fine.” Robert leaned back on his haunches. Too late, he realized his only covering were his drawers. He reached for the bed, the sudden movement bringing bile back up into his throat. He gingerly crawled onto the feather mattress, laid his head against the pillow, and threw his arm over his eyes. Damn his nakedness. He didn’t care. He was sure the girl had seen the unvarnished side of men before.

  “May I secure you something from the kitchen?” Fiona asked. The bed shifted and he heard her move through the room.

  Robert repositioned his arm and opened one eye. She stood before him and he noticed her woolsy gown wrinkled beyond repair. Questions flitted through his mind at breakneck speed. Why was she here, in his house, in his bedchamber? Why was he naked and she was not? What in God’s name had happened? He was too weak to ask and too sick to care about the answers.

  “No. Thank you,” he murmured. “Forgive me for not being a better host. Pull the bell. I shall obtain you a ride home.” Robert wanted to die. Not only did his head ache, but also his other betrayed his maleness. He could not dismiss her attractiveness in the pale morning light. Blue-black hair hung down her back in a free falling cape. Luminescent skin, eyes the color of celadon, and a mischievous smile, had him wondering uncomfortably what exactly had happened between them. She was certainly not the same staid woman who had waited on him through negotiations with her father.

  “I do not need to be taken home,” she said. “My cart is in the barn.”

  Robert barely heard her. The arms of sleep had already wrapped around him. His last thought before he succumbed to blissful pain free slumber – how long would it take him to recover.

  Sometime in the late morning, Robert rose feeling much better. His headache had lessoned considerably, although he was famished. After his bath, he looked forward to a decent breakfast and the journey back to London. He hummed a tune as he tied a simple knot in his cravat, and then made his way downstairs to the study.

  He pulled the bell and ordered food from a footman. He would eat at his desk, while working on the remaining paperwork. Robert’s visit to Castle Cornnan in Peebleshire was finally at an end and he couldn’t wait to get back to London. He enjoyed Scotland, but in March, the land was still half-frozen, muddy, and grey. When next he came, he would make sure it was summer, when the gorse and heather were in full bloom.

  His father’s untimely demise had left Robert with his head spinning and his heart in his throat. The solicitors assured him they had everything under control, but Robert’s father, the Duke of Cantin had instilled in him a need to be a hands-on lord. Gaining the title and all the responsibility to his family, left Robert second-guessing his role as the new patriarch. He missed his father sorely along with his unsparing, generous advice.

  So many estates, so many entailments, so many mouths to feed had brought Robert to a decision. Now that Prinny had finally been seated as Regent and Robert was no longer needed at Carlton House, he would spend as much time at the various properties to oversee the efficiency of the parameters his father had put into place. When he achieved that, he would settle in London and continue to monitor them through well-placed stewards.

  Signing off on the last farm records, a shouting erupted from the hallway. The few Scots in his employ were a quiet group, and he wondered what would cause such a ruckus. Before he could rise from his chair, the door burst open and the Laird Stewart with whom he had supped the night before strode into the room, his eyes wild, bright red hair sticking straight out from his head, and a musket held in the crook of his arm.

  “Who do you think ye’ are? Do ye’ think we’re all country bumpkins? I shall see you hanged for this, you filthy bastard.”

  Robert rose, hands held out in supplication, unsure what the old man was spewing.

  “I took it upon good faith you were a gentleman of breeding,” the old man continued. “Ye’ father assured me you were upstanding. Now, after dealing with you, I can see his was a blind eye. Is this how you manage your duchy now that your father is dead? You make deals for land, and not finding them to your liking, you take the virtue of my daughter as replacement?” He pointed the gun at Robert’s desk.

  What? Robert’s mind whirled from the allegation. “Stewart, forgive me. I know not of what you speak. Perhaps if you enlighten me in a calm manner, we might come to an understanding.” Suddenly, Fiona’s laughing green eyes appeared in his mind. Oh God, what had he done? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall.

  They both turned as the woman in question yelled from the doorway.

  “I told you nothing happened. I do not understand why you blather so. Ask him then. Ask him what happened and he will tell you, nothing.” The dancing lights had fled her eyes and were now the color of a stormy sea.

  Both father and daughter looked at him. Flummoxed, Robert remembered nothing from last night. Damn Stewart and his infernal home-brewed libations. Damn his own weakness when it came to liquor as well. He could not even recollect how he had made it back to the castle from Stewart’s. Haltingly, the scene from the early morning came in flashes. Fiona in his bedchamber in a wrinkled gown. Him, near naked on the floor, fighting off nausea and a splitting headache. Crawli
ng back into bed. Then nothing. Had he taken her?

  “Please, sit down, and we shall discuss this in a rational manner,” Robert said again. He looked at the gun, and his headache returned, slamming at his temples.

  “I’ll no’ sit down until I have ye’ ballocks in a vise,” the Laird Stewart shouted.

  “Father, sit down,” Fiona said sternly.

  “Please, let us try and get this sorted before I leave for London,” Robert said and moved to the two chairs by the fireplace.

  “London? Ach, ye’ll not be goin’ anywhere until you marry my daughter.” The Laird Stewart glared at Robert, daring him to refuse. The gun now pointed at Robert’s chest.

  Robert sucked in a breath and tried to remain calm while his mind raced to get out of this insane situation. Marriage? To Fiona? Had the man imbibed too much of his own spirits?

  “Stewart, let us be reasonable. Surely, you cannot expect me to marry….” he paused and looked at the young woman. “Fiona, on such a flimsy excuse.” Nothing had happened between them. His nakedness had nothing to do with anything. He was sure of it.

  “Flimsy excuse!” Stewart shouted. “You flirt with my daughter. Somehow, ye’ cajole her into driving you back to your filthy castle, ye’ defile her, and now you say ‘tis a flimsy excuse!”

  Robert watched with trepidation as Stewart’s face flushed to an alarming shade of aubergine and a vein pulsated on the side of his neck. Fiona, who had been standing still in the doorway, rushed to her father and placed her hands on the gun, lowering it to the floor.

  “Father, please. I told you, nothing happened. I drove him home, aye, at your insistence. He was so sodding tossed I walked him upstairs to his bedchamber. Only the Good Lord knows where his servants were. He hurled the contents of his stomach all over himself and passed out on the bed. I could not leave him unattended. What if he choked on his vomit? What disaster would that bring, to have the Duke of Cantin dead on our doorstep? The Regent would blame you. Then where would that leave us? ‘Tis your fault Stewart, not mine, and I shall not be party to your disaster.” She lowered her voice. “Leave it be, Father. He will be leaving for London and we shall never see him again.”

  “No,” Stewart said. “He shall marry ye’, or I shall meet him in the fields.” He gave Robert a wild-eyed look and raised the gun again.

  The girl stamped her foot. “I shall not marry him. He is nothing but a bloody cold-hearted capitalist!”

  “You shall marry him, I say. This afternoon before he leaves.”

  Robert watched the two glower at each other. Marrying her was out of the question. He was a duke, capitalist notwithstanding. His title brought forth all manner of prerequisites in a future bride, and this girl seemed to have none of which he required. Meeting with the Laird during the last few weeks to discuss the details of their related sheep and farming interests, Fiona had always been present, but Robert could not say he had ever given her more than a cursory glance. Her father treated her like a servant, and for the most part, so had he. She blended into the woodwork in her plain woolsy gowns, and if he hadn’t heard her speak on occasion, he would have sworn she was mute. Dear Lord, his poor mother would have an apoplectic fit if he brought this girl home. No, he had to get out of this.

  “Stewart,” Robert said. “You must believe your daughter. Nothing happened. I apologize profusely for lack of holding my liquor. However, I did not lay a finger on her. I appreciate her care of me in my damaged state,” he nodded to the girl. “But to marry her over such a blatant misunderstanding is hardly worth credit. Surely, we may come to some sort of agreement.”

  “Oh aye, there will be an agreement all right. She will become your duchess or you shall die.”

  The threat held cold gravity that Robert could not shake. Staring at the gun, he knew Stewart would use it. He’d heard tales of some Highlanders’ ideas of justice and they weren’t pretty; stoning, horse dragging, even some tall stories of lynching.

  “Stewart, you must be reasonable. I cannot marry her. What will it take? Five thousand pounds? Ten? Twenty? Give me a figure and I shall have my solicitor in Edinburgh arrange for the funds.” Robert threw the last straw onto the pile, but didn’t realize it would be the one that separated the chaff from the grain. Fiona walked over to him and slapped him, hard, across the face.

  “You filthy pig! How dare you!” Her eyes blazed. “You think you can buy your way out of this, is that it? With all your grand refinements, and pretty manners, you are nothing more than a common trader.” Fiona stood in front of Robert, staring daggers, her breath coming in heaving gasps.

  Robert noticed her trembling. She was angry, yes, but he saw fear underneath the rage. Fear that she would have to marry Robert and didn’t want to, or was it the fear of what would happen to her if she did not.

  “Forgive me,” Robert said softly. “That was uncalled for. I did not mean to cast aspersions on your person. That was not my intention. Obviously, we are at an impasse.”

  “There is no impasse, Cantin,” Stewart said. “Ye’ will marry Fiona this afternoon before you leave for London. Either that, or ye’ die.” He raised the gun and brought the hammer back.

  A cold sweat broke across Robert’s forehead. He looked from the old man to the girl. There was no way out of this he could see. He had to marry her. He was honor bound, duty bound, and title bound. If he did not, the rumors would follow him forever. He was thankful his father wasn’t alive. This would kill him.

  “Very well, Stewart. Find your priest and have your daughter packed and ready to leave for London within the hour.”

  Fiona gasped. “I will not marry you. Are you daft?” She looked to her father. “Take the money, old man. Twenty thousand pounds is not too high a price to pay for my virtue.”

  Stewart laughed and Robert realized the old man knew just how much his daughter’s virtue was worth.

  Robert gazed down at her frightened face. “I am sorry. We do not have a choice.”

  The fury faded from her eyes and her shoulders slumped. Robert thought he saw tears. She glanced back at her father who stood with a self-satisfied grin. In an instant, however, she stood upright as if ready to seal her fate. Not a fate, Robert thought, she had ever wanted for herself.

  The sky threatened an hour after they left Peebleshire, and Robert took this as an ominous sign for the future of his matrimonial life. Married at gunpoint. He imagined his friends would take great joy in repeating this story. Robert sighed and prayed they would never find out how his marriage had really happened. He stared morosely out the window watching the side of the road. His mother would cry. She had written him news of the latest batch of debutantes this Season and had her eye on a particular duke’s granddaughter. His heart ached for her disappointment.

  He glanced at his new bride. Fiona was indeed a pretty sort of girl, if he could get past her drabness, but was that enough. Did she have manners and deportment? Could she pass muster as the Duke of Cantin’s wife? He had no idea. He didn’t know her well enough. Truth be told, he didn’t know her at all. Moreover, he didn’t want to.

  The question remained – how was he to dissolve their marriage? He couldn’t kill her, although he would like to get his hands around her father’s throat. He couldn’t pack her off to the Continent. That would lead to too many questions he did not want to answer. His mind lit upon another idea. Surely, an annulment wouldn’t be out of the question. He did not intend to bed her. He barely intended to acknowledge her. He would speak to his solicitors as soon as they returned to London, and well be rid of this nightmare. He smiled to himself. He’d settle a generous sum on her for her pains. Yes, that is what he would do, and if that didn’t work, well, he would divorce her. Highly unusual and absolutely scandalous, divorce would be painful for his family to endure, but less so if he remained married to a woman he did not want.

  Robert settled deeper into the coach seat and closed his eyes, satisfied with the solution to his problem. He would sleep until they reached the inn for
the night. It had been a hell of a day.

  Chapter Two

  A few miles from the inn, the sky opened up, and rain beat hard on the roof of the carriage. Twilight had fallen and by the time they reached the courtyard, lightning crackled across a blackened sky. Fiona jumped when thunder boomed overhead. Several coaches had also stopped and the ostler and his men were scrambling to accommodate the travelers.

  “Stay here, while I see to the lodging,” Robert said and glanced at Fiona. Long fingers clutched her reticule tightly, her knuckles white. Her body seemed so taut the tiniest movement would snap her in half. Another crack of lightning flashed across the sky and Fiona closed her eyes and ducked her head.

  “Are you all right?” Robert asked.

  She looked at him then and he saw the panic in her eyes.

  “’Tis only a storm, nothing to be frightened by,” he said with minimal comfort.

  “Aye.” She nodded, her lips pressed tight together.

  He felt a moment’s pity. “Come with me then. I shall not have you out in the weather if it scares you so.”

  She jumped across the seat and followed on his heels as they crossed the courtyard into the inn. The taproom was filled, the innkeeper and his wife trying to keep up with orders for food, drink, and lodging. Robert led Fiona to a small table by the fire and placed her in a chair.

  “Wait here while I see to our rooms.” He took in her pale face. The temper she had shown that afternoon while she said her marriage vows was gone, replaced by fear of the unknown. All alone with a strange man miles from home, going to a marriage bed she probably wasn’t even prepared for, Robert could only imagine the thoughts that raced through her head. He would reveal his plan to her while they supped. It was only fair, he supposed. Why let the poor girl think she would have to endure the humiliation of a marriage she did not want any more than he did.