January 1809
“What do you think of this one?”
Alexander Kenyon, the seventh Duke of Dunmere, braced himself as his uncle pushed a small portrait toward him from across the vast desk of his study.
The miniature portrayed a young woman from the waist up, sitting demurely in front of a woodland scene. The subject was pleasant enough, Alex thought. Ash brown hair framed delicate features, and brown eyes gazed placidly at him. If the artist was honest, she was a slip of a thing.
“Who is she?” Alex asked.
Uncle Herbert checked a small notebook he was holding. “Lady Violet Holloway. Good family, though not nearly so wealthy as in previous generations. Impeccable bloodline, though. By all accounts a perfect lady. Most importantly, the Holloway women are known to be fearsomely good breeders. Twins as often as not.” His uncle nodded significantly.
Alex sighed. Of course. The fact that he was now thirty-four with not a single heir was clearly weighing on his family’s minds. His heirless, childless state was not for lack of trying.
Now Alex needed to marry again. His uncle Herbert Kenyon took on the duty of sorting through potential brides to suggest. It was not an enviable task. There were few eligible ladies who actually possessed all the qualifications necessary to be considered as the next duchess of Dunmere. The obvious choices—the daughters or sisters of other dukes, and earls, and viscounts—were assessed and discarded one by one. Many were too old or too young. Even more were already promised to others. Several had scandals attached to their names. Of the small number of ladies who somehow managed to cross all those hurdles, none were willing to marry him specifically. They knew better.
Alex’s bad luck in brides was now infamous. He’d married no fewer than three times, and each time, his wife had died within the year. Rumors had fanned out among the ton, growing worse over time, hinting he was cursed. Despite his title, Alex was not sought after now. It made finding a willing bride rather challenging.
Other than the inconvenient curse, Alex should have had no trouble finding a wife. Dark haired, tall, well-shaped by constant exercise and work around the estate… He was as handsome as any woman could ask for.
Well, he used to be. Two years previously, he lost his right eye in an incident he would never discuss with any of his family. He wore a patch over the ruins of his eye socket, and tried not to care that his new appearance made his life even more difficult.
Learning how to see with only one eye hadn’t take too long, though he still sometimes doubted that he was truly seeing properly. Of course, a portrait wasn’t a person, but this little painting was quite pretty.
But the question was not whether he wanted this particular woman, but whether she was willing to marry him. He’d do what he must for his family and the future of his line. Now it was up to this unknown woman.
“She’ll be amenable to the match?” he asked skeptically.
“I have not spoken with the lady herself yet,” Herbert said, “since I wanted to get your approval first. Her guardians assure me that she trusts their judgment, and that she is perfectly accomplished in all the ways a lady must be. I imagine they are eager for her to wed, seeing as she’s twenty-five.”
Alex frowned at the picture. She looked younger than that. His uncle saw the look and interpreted it correctly. “The picture is a little old, but there was none other to be had. She’s been more or less out of society for the past few years, tending a close cousin in her last illness, then a period in mourning. She’s not had the opportunity to be in the social circle, that’s all. I am assured that she is not lacking in any way. If she’s too old…”
“No.” Alex put the portrait down. “The last thing I want is some nineteen-year-old, novel-obsessed girl.”
“So you do think she might suit? You’ll at least meet her and consider?” Herbert asked.
“How many other options are left?” Alex retorted.
Herbert closed the notebook. In the dull winter light of the day, his faded blue eyes and grey hair made him appear older than his fifty-five years. “At the moment, she is the only one. I’m willing to find more names if you prefer. Perhaps there’s something I’ve overlooked.”
“No, you haven’t,” Alex said. “You’re as methodical as I am. She’s the only one left for me to ask, isn’t she?” He took another look at the little portrait, at the calm, clear gaze of the lady. It was only paint, and it told him nothing. Only when he met her would he know what sort of person she truly was. Whether she’d flinch at his face, or be scared of the rumors…
“Very well. I’ll arrange to meet her.”
“Thank you.” Herbert gave a sigh of relief. “She’s been living near Colchester with family for some years. I’ll send a note to her guardians, advising them of developments.” He reached for the portrait, but Alex stopped him.
“I’ll keep it until a decision is made,” he said. But rather than looking at the portrait again, he placed it face down on the desk.
* * * *
Letters were sent back and forth over the next weeks, primarily between Herbert Kenyon and Judith Peake, who seemed to be the power behind the throne. A date in mid-February was agreed on for a meeting.
Alex directed his valet to pack his bags for a journey to Hawebeck Place, the estate of the Peake family, who took Violet in after her father’s death. He dreaded the idea of meeting this young lady so abruptly, but there was little point in doing anything else. She wasn’t in London for the Season. She scarcely seemed to leave her family’s estate. So a less orchestrated encounter was unlikely. And if he hated her on sight, or if she hated him, well, social visits were only about a quarter hour. A long way to go for a fifteen minute chat. But a marriage would last far longer.
He resigned himself to going. But on the morning before he was to leave, a message arrived at Dunmere Abbey. Alex ripped open the sealed envelope and read the contents.
“What’s that?” Herbert asked. He’d come into Alex’s study again to discuss the sort of last minute details that always came up when a master left his domain.
“Bad news,” Alex muttered, though he felt relief inside.
“Are the Peakes having any difficulty?” Herbert asked anxiously.
“This isn’t from them,” Alex explained. “I’m afraid I have to go to London immediately.”
“What? Do you mean immediately after you visit the Peakes?”
“No. I mean I must go into London this moment. Good thing I’m already packed.”
Herbert frowned. “But what of the meeting? We spent weeks arranging the time! Lady Violet will be waiting to see you, and she’ll be dis—”
“Disappointed? At not meeting me, a man she doesn’t even know?” Alex shook his head. “I doubt that.” He held up the letter. “This, however, is imperative.”
“You always say that when you dash off to the city. What can possibly be more important than the continuation of your family name? The lineage of Dunmere?”
The safety of the whole nation, Alex thought. He memorized the brief note, then threw it in the fire. “I have no choice in the matter. Why don’t you go to her on my behalf? They’re expecting a Kenyon of Dunmere Abbey. You are one. Meet the lady and decide if she’ll be suitable.”
“Be reasonable, Alex,” Herbert protested. “What good is it to her to meet an old man?”
“We’re not pretending this is a love match, are we?” Alex straightened his cuff irritably. “She’s buying a title, and I’m buying an heir. Or a path to one. I don’t want some absurd notion of romance to enter into it. The idea of some flighty, starry-eyed wife in love with love is not going to work. You can evaluate her just as well as I can. Probably better, considering my history,” he added, not able to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Alex.”
“Just…” Alex shrugged. “I have no time. Do this for me.”
“Very well. I will take care of everything,” the older man said, turning to go out.
“Uncle,” Alex called, stopping him at the doorway. “When you meet her, don’t sugarcoat this. Don’t hide anything.”
“I have no doubt the Peakes are acquainted with your past, just as I looked at her very carefully. The lady must be aware of the situation. Who in England is not? But I do not plan to mention any absurd rumors or insulting names!” Herbert looked annoyed by the whole idea.
Alex nodded once and turned away. Whoever this lady was, she must already know she was being asked to marry the Duke of Death.