For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2)

For Love of the Duke

By Christi Caldwell

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 by Christi Caldwell

Cover Art by Kim Killion Designs

Copy Edits by Lynn Crandall

Proofreading by Judicious Revisions

Formatting by Aileen Fish

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

For more information about the author:

[email protected]

www.christicaldwellauthor.com

Dedication

Tremendous thanks to my husband who allowed me to disappear for nearly three straight weeks all to tell this story.

To Jill. Thank you for catching everything that needed catching in this story! You have a brilliant set of eyes!

And to my readers. Thank you, even as thank you seems so very inadequate.

Acknowledgements

To Ms. Julia Quinn.

Thank you for an advance copy all those years ago that got me through at least one long day of bedrest. And thank you for the support you’ve shown to me as a writer.

Part I

Winter 1814

“Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark.

And has the nature of infinity.”

― William Wordsworth

~1~

Lady Katherine Adamson discovered very early on that all bad ideas began with her twin sister.

Far too many erroneously assumed because Katherine was a whole six minutes and seventeen seconds younger than her sister, that she must aspire to the model of ladylike decorum and beauty as evinced by her twin.

Only Katherine, however, seemed to realize Anne had proven a rather poor influence over the years.

She sighed. And yet, for all the years of bad decisions, she continued to follow along with her sister’s madcap schemes. After all, that is what you did when you were a sister, a twin sister, no less.

“It is not here, Anne,” Katherine said gently. Her breath stirred a puff of white, cold winter air.

Her sister, spun around so fast the bonnet atop her golden crop of curls tipped over her brow. She shoved it back and glared at Katherine. “Of course it is here. I have it on good authority the gypsy woman passed along the pendant to a vendor who would be at the fair upon the Thames River.” She looked pointedly at Katherine. “Surely she spoke of the Frost Fair. Now, we merely need to find the vendor, and…” She prattled on, and continued tugging Katherine along.

Katherine fell into step beside her sister. For the better part of a fortnight, she’d tried to convince Anne of the foolishness in hunting around for the small heart pendant their sister Aldora had once worn around her neck. The pendant had been fashioned as a kind of talisman by Aldora and her four friends. They’d sworn the trinket would lead them to the heart of a duke. In the end, all the ladies had found love. Only one had landed a duke. Which in itself should disprove the validity of the claim, and yet…

“Ah, it is there, I know it,” Anne exclaimed, drawing to an abrupt stop. She stared victoriously out at the bustling Frost Fair upon the frozen Thames River.

Katherine stumbled against her side. “Of course it is,” she said dryly.

Her sister either failed to hear or failed to care about the sarcastic twist to those four words. She spun to face Katherine, her hands clasped close to her emerald green cloak. “I feel it is here. And as soon as we find the merchant, who will sell us the pendant, then I…er, we can claim the heart of a duke.”

Katherine’s lips twitched with wry mirth. “Does the pendant stipulate as to the qualities of the duke? Must he be handsome? Or can he be a doddering, old letch?”

Anne wrinkled her nose. “Whyever would any young lady desire a doddering, old letch?”

“Why, indeed? So then, it is the heart that is more important? Or the ducal title?”

Anne angled her head, and again the bonnet pitched lower over her eyes. She nibbled at her lower lip, and then said, “Why, I rather think they are of equal importance.”

Katherine took a deep breath and forced herself to count to ten before speaking. “Anne, there is not an overabundance of eligible young dukes in the market for a wife.”

Her sister held up a finger encased in the white kidskin glove. “Ahh, but we do not need an overabundance of dukes, Katherine. We merely require two.”

“But—”

Anne planted her arms akimbo. “If it is all the same to you, then you can marry the old, doddering letch. I, well, I shall have the heart of a handsome, young, affable duke. Now, come.” She reached for Katherine’s hand.

But Katherine withdrew, and took a hasty step backwards. She eyed the frozen expanse of the Thames, filled with tents and carts and skaters, it seemed entirely safe. And yet…

“Never tell me you are still afraid of the water,” Anne said with a touch of impatience in her voice. She stomped her boot in apparent frustration.

Katherine swallowed, not caring to admit to the shameful weakness. And yet, for all the great logic and reason she prided herself upon, she’d never been able to overcome the gripping terror of the day she’d fallen into the river of her father’s Hertfordshire cottage. She’d been nearly seven years old, and the horror of that moment, the water filling her throat, burning her lungs, stinging her eyes, still gripped her.

It had been the last time she’d entered the water.

“Katherine?” Her sister prodded.

Katherine drew in a steadying breath. “Go ahead without me. I’ll wait here.”

The loud squealing laughter of ladies, blended with the rumbling chuckles of their gentlemen; the sounds of merriment upon the ice filtered around them.

Her sister frowned. “You know I cannot attend the Frost Fair without you.” She glanced around. “We are unchaperoned.”

Yes, that had been the second foolish part to her sister’s madcap scheme to hunt down a gypsy’s bauble. Anne had a remarkable ability to lose her, and subsequently
their
, chaperone.

Katherine could not, however, bring herself to take the necessary steps to move onto the frozen patch of ice. She wet her lips. “I can’t do it,” she whispered.

Anne passed a searching gaze over Katherine’s face. The annoyance seemed to seep from her sister’s pretty blue eyes to be replaced by a momentary contriteness. “They passed an elephant across just yesterday,” she said on a rush.

Katherine shook her head. Even the custom of leading an elephant from one end of the river to the Blackfriar’s Bridge did little to alleviate her fears. What if the enormous creature merely was fortunate enough to miss the single thin patch? What if…?

“Please,” Anne said, her eyes imploring.

Ever the romantic, bold-spirited of the sisters, Anne had always managed to drag Katherine along on whatever flights of fancy she was set on. Because if Katherine was being truthful with even just herself, she yearned to be so lighthearted and adventurous.

And because it was nearly Christmastide, and the cool, crisp winter air infused her with holiday excitement; Katherine took a tentative step onto the ice. Her breath caught and held in her chest…

And nothing happened.

She released the pent up breath, and took another step. Then another. Each step more freeing than the next.

Anne laughed. She took Katherine’s hand and raised it to her chest. “See, Kat, why there is nothing to be afraid of!” She paused, forcing Katherine to a halt and perused the barbers’, butchers’, and bakers’ tents along the frozen waterway.

There had to be very nearly thirty tents, perhaps more. Ever the optimist, however, Anne looked over at Katherine with a wide grin. “Come along then. We’ll never find the pendant standing here.”

They weaved their way in between the couples skating upon the ice, onward toward the boisterous vendors loudly peddling their wares.

“Would ye ladies care for an ale?” a young merchant called out to them. He held out two tankards of ale, a wide-gap toothed grin on his pockmarked face.

“No, thank you,” Katherine murmured automatically.

Her sister shot her a reproachful look. “You are so very rude, Katherine.”

Katherine blinked. “I am not rude.”

“Well pompous, then.” Anne gestured to the young man in his frayed trousers, who stood at the entrance of his vibrant crimson tent. “That young man is merely trying to earn his livelihood, and you’d condescend him.”

“I am not condescending him.” A defensive note threaded Katherine’s words.

“Just because he isn’t as neatly put together, as the other vendors.”

The young man seemed to hear Anne’s not so discreetly spoken words, for he cocked his head, and his smile dipped into a frown.

Katherine reached into her reticule and withdrew several coins. “Here, sir. Two ales, please,” she said, with a glare for Anne. She most certainly had not been condescending the young man, and she most certainly was not rude or pompous. She merely recognized the folly of two, unchaperoned young ladies purchasing spirits of any sort, in the very public event.

The peddler’s smile reappeared and he proceeded to hand them each a tankard.

“ ’Ere ye are, m’ladies.”

Katherine handed the coins off to the man, and accepted her ale. As she cautiously picked her way over the ice, trailing after her excited sister’s much more hurried movements, she sipped her ale. She grimaced at the bitter taste of the brew upon her tongue, but then tried another. And another. And by the fourth, it really wasn’t all that bitter, but rather a tad sweet, and a good-deal too delicious.

Anne paused alongside a purple tent lined with black stripes. “I will speak to this vendor.” She hesitated, chewing at her lower lip.

Oh, dear. Katherine recognized her sister’s distracted movement.

“We shall never manage to speak to all the merchants before dark falls.”

The first bells of warning rang in Katherine’s head.

“It would be much wiser if…”

The ringing grew louder.

“We speak to different peddlers.”

Katherine took another sip, and frowned as she realized her tankard was empty.

“Katherine?”

Her head shot up, as she pondered her sister. What had Anne said? Katherine knew there had been a bad idea there, but the warmth that filled her from the ale had also warmed her resolve and stolen her ability to think with the clarity she usually prided herself upon. “Er, yes, fabulous idea,” she said, instead.

Anne’s eyes widened, and then her smile grew. “Lovely!” She stuck her finger toward a nearby sapphire blue tent. “Off you go, then.”

Without waiting to see if Katherine followed her succinct instructions, Anne turned around and slipped inside the purple tent lined with black stripes.

Katherine alternated her stare between the tent her sister had disappeared into and the sapphire blue tent. She sighed. Yes, all bad ideas began with her sister. Dear, fanciful Anne, she’d somehow retained all traces of innocence. At nineteen, Anne still possessed girlish hopes and silly dreams. She’d somehow remained untouched by their father’s sins…sins that had left their family destitute, and forced their eldest sister, Aldora to sacrifice herself at the marital altar to save their family. Granted, Aldora had ultimately found love. But that was neither here, nor there…men were fickle, unreliable, inconstant creatures not to be trusted. Unfortunately, her romantic of a sister was only drawn by the drivel written about on the pages of her gothic novels.