A Duke to Win the Dowager’s Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

1818, Ashbourne village , English Countryside

“Look, Momma,” James exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically with the fishing reel in his hand at the low branch the bird sat on. His other hand remained trapped in his mother’s as they walked toward the riverside. “A bluebird!”

The bluebird’s feathers shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, a vibrant dark blue with white speckling. A worm visibly held within its beak as it looked at it, its head cocked sideways, following them as they walked closer to the great oak tree. After a moment, it spread its wings and flapped them twice before diving off the limb and catching a wave of air on the breeze. Flying low over their heads, as if showing off to the child still watching with bewildered eyes. Twisting and twirling through the air as it crossed the meadow toward the tree line. The clear blue skies allowed Deirdre and James to watch it flutter into the distance uninhibited until it joined with another bluebird, its mate perhaps, before disappearing from sight.

James pulled away from her and chased after the bird with a playful giggle. Winding through the tall grass along the path below the bird’s flight path. The gleeful sound of his laughter reverberated through the air.

If only I could freeze this moment. Someday, he won’t be so excited by the small things, Lady Deirdre Everton thought, smiling affectionately at her six-year-old son as he played.

The picnic in the meadow was a rare opportunity for her to take a moment to just enjoy, despite the bustling activity around them. It seemed the entirety of the London social scene had retreated to the country for spring. Sure, in a few minutes, she would have to put on her best fake smile and make a round through the park. Acknowledging the numerous other members of society in attendance today, but for this one second, she was free to simply enjoy being a mother. To enjoy the purity of his innocence.

Her husband, Nicholas, had died in France several years prior, fighting the king’s war. Leaving Deirdre and James behind. Now, at twenty-five, she was a viscountess, a widow, and a mother. And James was the sole heir to his father’s title and their families fortune. In the time since her husband had passed, she had learned to savor the small things. Someday, James would grow up, wed, and live a life all his own. And she would be left alone with nothing but these memories. Much as she was left with just memories of his father.

Their marriage had started as many others do, a profitable match between families. Several years older than her, Nicholas had been handsome, charming, and kind. They had quickly discovered they had common interests in literature and the sciences. Love had blossomed for Deirdre and Nicholas in short order. They had been one of the lucky couples of the ton, many ladies had expressed their envy along with their condolences upon hearing of Nicholas’ death. James had gotten his dark hair and matching eyes, a miniature version of his father; he was a constant reminder of her loss and their love. He had been just a toddler when his father passed and barely had the opportunity to know him.

Nicholas had become Deirdre’s everything in the years since leaving her childhood home. They had loved each other, laughter and joy had filled their home, and James had been born into a home full of life and light. That had since been dimmed; Nicholas’ absence had been felt by everyone in the house. The servants had pulled together around her, the servants made every effort to help her through the sorrow, helping in their ways to maintain the house in his absence. Caring for her and James in the way a family would. Rebuilding a home broken by grief.

Walter, their faithful footman, had taken it upon himself to watch out for James and had become her son’s constant shadow. He never tried to replace Nicholas as a father figure, but he ensured she did not need to worry about the boy’s well-being. The gruff-faced older man had been with her family since her own childhood and she was thankful for his continued service. Even now, he was tromping through the tall grass on James’s heels as he swerved off to another trail. Losing track of the bluebird and refocusing his attention on the river shoreline below the meadow

Quite the sight, Walter still had James’s fishing pole and a basket of treats to use as bait in hand as he scurried after the child. James had been full of excitement when he had discovered the picnic was near the river. He had begged her to let him try to fish; she had finally given in and acquired the basic fishing items for him. She knew nothing about fishing; however, the task of teaching James had fallen on Walter. Who had accepted the task with grace, despite his admittance that he was not much of a fisherman himself.

The movement of her lady’s maid, Emily, brought her out of her thoughts as the young woman passed by her. Carrying several baskets in each hand. The snap back to reality was just in time to prevent Deirdre from tripping over a particularly large rounded river stone along the path.

Full skirts are an unnatural tripping hazard, she thought to herself as she stepped around the stone.

“I think right here is perfect, Emily.” They had reached a small flat area that would suit their needs.

Emily nodded, setting the baskets down. This spot would do nicely. She could keep an eye on James by the riverside while watching the comings and goings of the other groups around them. Two other servants followed close behind them carrying a large carpet to lay down and set the picnic up on. Deirdre motioned to them to set up here with a wave of her hand.

With a deep sigh, she shoved the thoughts of Nicholas deep back into the box she cast her sorrow away into. The past three years had been perhaps the hardest of her life. Finding a new sense of normal had been nothing short of a small miracle. Being widowed at twenty-two with a three-year-old child would be a lot for anyone. Finding yourself in that situation as the sole guardian to the viscount’s household and the family fortune was even more taxing.

Perhaps a bit naive in her youth, Deirdre had not realized how coveted her husband’s title was until after his death. She had never considered that they both came from well-off families, and when combined, her dowry and her husband’s fortune made them substantially wealthy. After his death, their son James stood as the sole heir to it all. Those things had since made them a target for every eligible man in English society and beyond. Even those a little too close to home.

There was an ever growing pressure surrounding her to remarry. Was it so hard to believe that she had truly loved her husband? That she truly felt a hole in her heart where he had once lived. She cared not for wealth and status and she would die herself before she let another man use her for that which had been Nicholas’ legacy and was now James. She had gracefully declined the suitors who had come to call after her official grieving period had passed. She’d deflected the rumors and judgments from the ladies of the ton as best she could. Still, the fact that she continued to show no interest in remarrying spurred constant talk in the inner circles.

“James, come set your things down before you go near the water,” she called out. Her words drew the child to their spot with Walter still in tow.

She watched in silence as the maids rolled out the picnic carpet, and set down the items they had carried from the carriage. Deirdre set down the basket she had been carrying; counting them, she realized one basket was missing; the small red one that contained James’s post-meal sweets was absent. They must have left it in the carriage.

“Oh, dash it all,” she exclaimed, turning to the footman who was catching his breath. “Walter, I seem to have forgotten the small red basket of James’s treats in the carriage. Would you please fetch it for us before you take him to the riverside?”

“Of course, my lady.” The man nodded respectfully. Turning to the boy beside him. “Young sir, please wait for me to return before you go down to the beach.” Taking a deep breath he stood up straight, then briskly climbed back up the hill, retracing the path to the carriage where it waited on the ridgeline.

Another pair of bluebirds flew low overhead, perhaps she thought it was the same pair they had seen before. Closing her eyes and listening to the birds chirp, the wind blowing through the grass around her, she felt a sense of peace. The sun is warm and pleasant. It truly was a beautiful day for a picnic.

“I wonder what the world looks like from the sky.” James slipped his hand into hers as he spoke. “Do you think they can see all the way to London, Momma?”

Once again, his innocence left her savoring the moment, and she wondered what Nicholas would have made of him. Their son was inquisitive, smart, and constantly in motion. Much like his father had been.

“No, darling. I doubt they can see quite that far. As to what the world looks like from the sky, well.” She thought for a long moment, attempting to imagine what the world would look like from a bird’s vantage point. “I’d imagine it’s very colorful from up there. Much like a painting.”

“Hmmm.” He seemed to accept her answer, for a moment at least. “What if it’s not? What if it’s grey and dull and boring?”

“Perhaps it is.” She sighed. There was no point in arguing. Perhaps he was right; she didn’t know if birds saw in color or not. “Look, Walter is back with your basket.”

The footman set it down beside the rest. James broke away from her handhold once again, bouncing to see what Cook had packed in his sweets basket.

“That’s for after lunch, James. Get out of it.” She chastised him with an affectionate scowl. “Go on down to the water.”

James broke into a run as he darted away from their picnic spot and raced toward the riverbank. Squealing excitedly as he did so, fishing reel in hand once again.

“Don’t go too close to the edge!” Deirdre ordered, shaking her head slightly at her son’s antics. He had been looking forward to fishing for several days. “And wait for Walter to cast your line for you!”

She watched him for a long moment to ensure the child would heed her warning. Enjoying the last few moments of solitude before she had to make her social rounds. It was the middle of spring and a generous portion of London’s high society had made their way to their country estates to enjoy the weather. In the years previous to Nicholas’ passing, they had moved with the ton back and forth between London and the countryside, their title and status demanding their attendance at a majority of the Season’s major functions. She had slowly embedded herself back into society in the last two Seasons, but as of yet, she had not returned to London.

With a resounding sigh, she straightened her back, held her head high, swiped her hands down her skirts a few times to right them, and headed into the fray. Society was a chess game, and she was just another playing piece. Calm, confident, and guarded, she walked along the river path past several groups of ladies gathered there. Acknowledging those she knew and those she didn’t like. Most showed her the respect due her station, others cast sideways looks as they whispered to one another. She tried her best not to let the gossip bother her. In time, they would find someone else to whisper and speculate about; she just needed to have patience.

When would she remarry? Why hadn’t she remarried yet? Who would she marry? How could a woman run a household and raise a son without a husband? The whispers and gossip were relentless.

Head held high, she refused to let it show that it bothered her. There were plenty of potential suitors eager to pursue her hand. They would smile and ask to call on her, she would kindly reciprocate their smile while politely fending off their attempts to court her. She didn’t need a husband, she wasn’t even sure she would want to marry again, focusing instead on raising James and maintaining their household until he was of age.

After fifteen minutes, she felt her dues had been paid, a brief polite introduction here, a relative inquiry here. She rounded full circle and returned to the spot where Emily had laid out their picnic. Settling on the ground, fluffing her billowing skirts around her, and ensuring her legs were covered appropriately. She wiggled her toes and used her opposing foot to slide her ankle-high boots off beneath her skirt. No one could see her feet; no one would be any the wiser to her small social indecency.

Peacefully, she watched James play by the river, Walter had the small fishing pole in hand and was recasting. It didn’t look as though they had caught anything during her brief absence. With her back to the majority of the meadow goers, she was at a disadvantage, she realized. Not being able to see anyone approaching.

“Emily,” Deirdre spoke softly to the lady’s maid, “if you see any of those poachers, I mean suitors, approaching, scratch your nose or pull your ear. Something to warn me, please. God willing we can enjoy the rest of the afternoon in relative peace.”

With a smile Emily giggled at the silliness of the request with a nod. Knowing that Deirdre was deadly serious.

“Of course, my lady.” Emily scanned the group gathered around them for potential intrusions. “Though I would not mind if that gentleman there came calling.”

Deirdre glanced over her shoulder, following the direction of the other maid’s gaze. Two men were walking hastily down a trail from a carriage on the ridge perhaps fifty feet from where she sat. The taller of the two men drew her attention, she rightfully assumed this was the man Emily had been referring to, walking along the crest of the meadow trail toward the river. He was well-dressed and ruggedly handsome, but she didn’t recognize him. They exchanged a few strained words before parting ways.

“Incoming, my lady.” Emily’s low-spoken warning drew her attention away from the newcomer.

“Lady Everton, darling! How wonderful to see you!”

Chapter Two

“Matthew…Where are you going?” Adam, the Marquess of Winslow, protested, his voice hissing as he followed his friend down the meadow trail. “Come on now, don’t make a scene. This is slightly ridiculous, don’t you think?!”

Matthew Harrington, the Duke of Montford, Adam’s best friend, continued his descent down the trail without pause. Gulping in large amounts of the fresh air in an attempt to calm his nerves. He had been able to avoid the social gatherings of the ton for weeks. Why did I let Adam convince me to come today? I could be back at Harrington Manor right now in peaceful solitude. Minding my own business.

Truthfully, he was avoiding social gatherings in a desperate attempt to avoid one person in particular. Lady Victoria Lowell, she had broken his heart, and he had taken the first opportunity to escape London, and her, to the countryside to lick his wounds.

They were what you could consider fashionably late to the meadow today. Their late arrival meant there were plenty of heads turned in their direction as those gathered took in the scene surrounding their arrival. Matthew’s anxiety had gotten the better of him; the uncertainty of not knowing if she was still in London or had followed the ton to the countryside had him in knots. The last he had heard, she had remained in the city, but that could have changed without him being aware of it. Her movements were truly none of his business any longer, but the sting of betrayal ran deep, and avoidance was his only recourse at the moment.

While Adam was never one to arrive on time, liking the attention it usually brought him, he was not boasting his usual enjoyment today. He hadn’t anticipated that upon arriving, Matthew would bolt from the carriage in some sort of episode. His cheeks, bright red with embarrassment, reflected that exact disdain.

“Matthew, come on.” Adam grabbed at the cuff of his friend’s jacket, stopping his progression. The look of annoyance on his face transcended to his body posture as he stopped to face him. “We are supposed to be making a quiet and calm entrance. Not drawing the attention of every person in attendance. Which I might add you have successfully done.”

With a deep sigh, he attempted to calm himself. Casting his gaze around the meadow to take in the faces present. Thankfully, Victoria’s was not among them. At least, not that he could see.

“That person’s not looking,” Matthew chided back, pointing at an older woman down the bank, who just happened to turn as he said it as if feeling their gaze on her. “Wait, she looked. I’ll take that back.”

“This isn’t funny,” Adam chastised. “She isn’t here. Calm yourself. Don’t you think it’s a bit ridiculous for a man of your age and stature to act thusly?”

“She better not be here. The very reason I’m here is because she isn’t,” he protested with a growl. “I told you, I don’t feel like being social. This is ridiculous. Yes, if I wanted to be social, I would have stayed in London.”

Exasperated, Adam dropped his hand from Matthew’s sleeve, frowning.

“It’s just a brief social outing, Matthew. Come now. Be a grown man about this, would you?” Adam retorted. “You can’t hide in Harrington Manor for the rest of your life.”

“I can and I will if I so choose to.” He protested further, nodding in the direction of the meadow’s other occupants, “Go ahead, go socialize. Join the ton, let the rumors fly. Perhaps they will be scoffed out by the time I feel ready to join you.”

Adam didn’t immediately move off. He proceeded to analyze Matthew, almost in challenge of his obstinance. After a few long moments, Matthew’s face fell in defeat and he woefully conceded.

“I just need a few moments of solace before the gossip of the ton rots my ears.” He made a gallant attempt at sarcasm, falling just short. “Go ahead, I’ll be there shortly.”

“Your solace, my friend, is what continues to keep you trapped and alone,” Adam said somberly. Nonetheless, he nodded in understanding.

“Perhaps I like it that way,” Matthew replied in a hushed voice, only half serious. The sting of betrayal was still strong in his heart, like a deep knife wound scabbed over but present.

“All right, take your time. I’ll navigate the sea of gossip.” Adam clasped him on the shoulder.

“Thank you.”

By now they had drawn the attention of several guests. Matthew cleared his throat. Put on an apologetic smile and stepped off in the opposite direction of his counterpart. Adam nodded at the ladies of the ton as they passed him, whispering all the while. With a relieved sigh, he beelined for a group of gentlemen; he knew there was safety in numbers.

Matthew resumed his trek toward the shoreline, deep in thought. He had escaped London just a few days prior, deciding he was much overdue for a stint at his countryside home in Ashbourne. Desiring the calm and quiet of the country. Unfortunately, it seemed most of London society had made a similar decision and followed him. Sure, he knew he wasn’t the center of the world. But it was a well-known fact that the ton thrived on the controversy, and he was just paranoid enough to believe that at least some of them had followed to see what his next move would be.

“Oh, no!” A small voice cut through his thoughts. He noticed a small child with a mop of sandy brown hair and freckle-dusted cheeks in a shallow cove area just ahead.

The little boy was pulling a fishing line in one hand, just to find it wrapped tighter around his other hand, the fishing rod leaning uselessly from the line. “It’s all tangled now.”

Heart softening, the woes of the ton and the opposite gender temporarily forgotten, Matthew adjusted his path heading to help the distraught child. He had a soft spot for children, if he was being honest he adored them. Though at thirty and unwed, he was yet to have any of his own.

“Would you like to see a trick?” he asked as he approached.

The child stopped fighting with the line and stared up at him with awe-struck brown eyes. Seeing him for the first time, he nodded silently and extended his hands in Matthew’s direction. He bent down beside the boy, noticing a manservant standing nearby. The man didn’t say anything; he simply stood there and watched quietly. With a genuine smile at the child, Matthew began to unwind the line from his hands. He watched as he worked the line back onto the reel little by little. His eyes glistened with innocence and mischief all at once.

“I hate when it tangles.” He pouted. “It always tangles.”

“Once we get it back in line, I’ll show you how to stop it from tangling like that. Didn’t your father show you how to wind a line?” The thought made Matthew pause a moment, he didn’t want to infringe on a man’s time with his own child, looking around for anyone besides the manservant nearby. “Is he here? I do not want to upset him if he is still teaching you.”

He took a moment to examine the well-dressed presentation of the man accompanying the child, it was obvious the man was a servant. But his dress suggested he belonged to a high ranking household. It would be just his luck to stumble into some nephew of the royal house or some visiting monarch and get himself into further discussions of the ton.

“No, sir. He…he isn’t here. “ The child replied quietly, pausing with a distant look. “He died. It’s just Mother and I now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” His thoughts wandered far away, to memories of his own father.

“Did your father teach you?”

The child’s voice broke through his convoluted thoughts, bringing them both back to the present. He continued to fidget with the tangled line while the child looked on. Clearing his throat, it felt suddenly dry and thick.

“Yes, he did.” Matthew revealed,  “I learned this when I was just a boy myself. My father showed me so that it doesn’t tangle like this. Probably right around your age,” he replied. “It’s a Father’s duty and honor to teach his son these things.”

Matthew didn’t miss how the child fell quiet for a long moment, or how the servant averted his eyes and shifted his feet. He had struck a nerve, though he didn’t yet know which one.

Chapter Three

“Simon has been absolutely unbearable as of late, if business does not pick up soon and distract him I may throttle the man myself,” Teresa protested sarcastically.

Deirdre sighed inwardly. Mrs. Teresa Oliver was one of the few among the ton that she considered a dear friend. Their husbands had been close business partners while Nicholas had been alive. Simon Oliver, Teresa’s husband, had been one of his business partners who had not turned up their nose at working with a woman when Deirdre had become manager of the business affairs when James had inherited them from his father. Too young to oversee them himself, she was the successor trustee until he was of age. Meaning that those gentlemen had to conduct affairs with her until then. Meanwhile, many men felt it was unsavory for a woman to run such affairs even as the successor trustee and would have her appoint her brother-in-law to oversee it all. Something she would never do, for her own reasons.

“Dearest, when are you going to marry again? You are young and vital still. There’s no reason to seclude yourself as a spinster just yet.” Mrs. Oliver patted her arm, enthusiastically continuing. “There are plenty of potential suitors who will consider a widow with a child. Wouldn’t it be nice for James to have a man around again? Don’t misunderstand me. You are doing a wonderful job with the boy and everything else. I just hate to see you alone.”

She didn’t take offense at the older woman’s question or her input. Unlike many, it came from the heart and genuine concern for James and her.

“I appreciate your concern, but really I’m fine. I’m not alone, I have James and the household to keep me busy. We are happy, truly I have no wish to remarry.” She tried to keep her tone light as she responded. Despite her frustration at once again having to express her wish to stay as she was.

“Are you happy, or are you content, my dear? There is a difference, you know.” Teresa pushed. “The boy deserves a father figure, and you deserve to be genuinely happy again.”

“We both know I got lucky with Nicholas, most arranged marriages aren’t as wonderful as ours were.” She conceded with a sigh, before protesting further. “Look at Lady Isabella, Countess of Beverley, and Thomas Fellowes. They absolutely detest one another now that they are wed. You can’t even begin to attempt to say he did not marry her for her title! Yet they were madly in love when he was courting her.”

“Well yes, but…” Teresa began, but Deirdre did not yield. She was simply tired of being prompted over and over again to marry.

“These vultures are simply seeking wealth and power, Teresa. With that in the forefront of their intentions, who is to say that any of them would be good father figures when every single one of them is simply putting on a facade to tie me down?” she protested.

“Tsk, you are so negative, Deirdre. That doesn’t make them wrong or unsuitable suitors. The majority of people in society are out to increase their own standing. Even you elevated your status when you married Nicholas,” Teresa chastised, sounding very much like her own mother.

A deep rich laughter stole their attention. Seeking the source of the magnetic sound, they turned back to the shoreline where James was fishing, and the women both paused at what they saw there.

“Who is that?” Deirdre asked petulantly, not necessarily expecting a response. She moved to lift her skirt as if to rush down to pull her son from the stranger, but Teresa placed a hand on her arm, stopping her before she could take a step.

“That is Matthew Harington, the Duke of Montford. He must be making a rare visit to his country estate here in Ashbourne,” she announced with a bit of surprise. “He is a powerful man but a kind one. James is safe enough with him.”

Deirdre considered her words for a long moment. But any man getting close to her son made her uneasy, seemingly kind or not.

“James!” Deirdre called out to her son, waving a hand at him to beckon him to them. Teresa may know this Duke of Montford but she did not, and her mother’s nature would not allow her to simply trust a stranger with her child.

Walter, the duke, and James all popped their heads up in her direction upon hearing her call out. After a moment of consideration, the duke stood, tussling James’s hair affectionately before motioning toward where the women waited. Exchanging a smile and a slightly mischievous look, they said a few words she could not make out, reeled in the line, and headed up the hill in her direction. Leaving Walter to collect the remainder of James’s effects.

Teresa leaned closer to her, speaking low so that only they could hear her words. “We rarely see him, and he tends to leave the estate management of Harrington Manor to his stewards. His primary residence is in London, that is, when he isn’t traveling abroad on business for the crown.”

“Oh?” Deirdre’s interest peaked; she couldn’t say why exactly. She felt slightly lightheaded and oddly excited as she listened intently.

“He is a business acquaintance of Simon’s, and he always provides delightful dinner company, that I will say. Always has some tale of a far-off place he has visited,” Teresa continued beside her. Pausing briefly before saying. “He is not married and wealthy of his own accord. Beyond that, I must confess I don’t know much else about him.”

“Hmmm,” Deirdre responded, taking in the duke as he escorted her son back to her.

He was tall with broad shoulders, and despite being dressed appropriately for the social setting, he had a ruggedness to him, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the slightly ruffled appearance of his dark brown hair in the afternoon breeze or the small mar of dirt on his trousers from where he had knelt beside James in the sand.

He was older than her, but she would guess not by much, a few years perhaps. Her gaze met his, and she was suddenly dizzy, momentarily losing herself in his piercing blue eyes.