The Perfect Duke

DAWN IRELAND

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

Copyright©2013

This book is dedicated to my Aunt May. (May Ireland)

Thank you for reminding me words

and their usage are important.

I’d like to thank my third grade “special reading” instructor in Creston, Iowa. I wish I could remember your name, but I think I remembered the most important thing you taught me—it’s fun to read! You changed my life that year and made what could have been a terrible experience into something incredible.

And, of course, thank you Debby Gilbert for inspiring me and leading me down this wondrous path.

The young girl entered the desolate forest, her red cloak shining like a splash of blood. A shaggy wolf met her, his wicked teeth gleaming in the moonlight, but she was not afraid.

Little Red Riding Hood

London, England 1787

His life would have been so much simpler if Caroline Pemberton had remained dead. Garret Weston, the Duke of Kendal, grimaced at the thought, then leaned back against the carved wood and closed his eyes. His hand strayed toward the pocket containing the ribbon—Caroline’s ribbon. Even without removing the frayed blue satin, he could imagine the smooth texture marred only by the deep wrinkles crisscrossing the inch-wide material. He lowered his hand and gripped the arm of his chair.

Caroline’s resurrection couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Someone entered the study, then shut the door. His brother’s impatient voice filled the room. “This had better be important.”

Garret opened his eyes and met Evan’s inquiring gaze.

His brother came forward and shrugged out of his coat, then draped it across the back of a chair. “Penelope and Rachel are already in the carriage, and you know how they abhor waiting.”

“Lady Caroline Pemberton is alive.”

Evan paused in peeling off his kidskin gloves. “Good God!” His normally jovial countenance registered shock. He removed the gloves and ran his fingers through his unruly light-brown hair, causing it to appear more unkempt than usual. “Are you sure?” He settled into the chair in front of the desk and stared at him as if he’d suddenly become someone else.

“According to a cooper, who now works for me, she was kidnapped by his brother-in-law.” Garret tried to rein in his anger, remembering the agony on the old Earl of Pemberton’s face when he learned his daughter was missing and appeared to have drowned. It had all been a ruse. If the brother-in-law weren’t already dead . . . He relaxed his grip on the chair. “My new employee was aware of details known only to those involved. It seems Lady Caroline was given over to be raised by a vicar and his wife. I have sent a missive to Lord Bradford, asking him to verify the information. But, yes, I suspect it is true.”

“Do the Pembertons know?”

“I doubt it. The cooper tells me I am the only person he has confided in. Besides, if they knew, they would have attempted to nullify my betrothal to her.”

Evan chuckled. “Does this mean you’re going to be the current earl’s brother-in-law? God, I wish I could be there when he finds out.”

“Nothing has been decided. Lady Caroline’s father let the contract stand all these years, refusing to accept his daughter’s death. I let him believe what he wished, and after he died, well, I had more pressing matters.”

“Hard to believe the old Earl and his wife even belonged to that family. If he were alive . . .” Evan raised his brows. “So, you’re still betrothed.”

“Quite.”

“I take it Lady Caroline has no idea of her true identity?”

“Not to my knowledge. She is now known as Cara McClure.”

“What are you going to do?”

Garret glanced at the portrait of his grandfather, the previous duke, which hung above the fireplace. Damn, it was like looking into a mirror—the same straight nose and green eyes. He nodded toward the painting. “What do you think he would have done?”

“What Grandfather would have chosen to do is irrelevant. He’s dead, thank heavens.” Evan rubbed the back of his neck. “We both know the old man would never have married a vicar’s daughter. Hell, he probably would have had the cooper killed.” Evan gave him a stern look. “That’s
not
an option.”

Garret raised an eyebrow. “I did not think it was.” He got up and crossed to the rosewood table that held several crystal decanters. “I have sent the cooper to Kent. I thought it best if he left London.” He removed a stopper, then set it on the silver tray nearby. “Brandy?”

“No. Thank you.”

Garret splashed some of the liquid into a snifter, inhaled the slightly nutty fragrance, then took a sip. The liquor warmed his throat and stiffened his resolve. “In spite of his tactics”—he gave a mock salute to the portrait—“our grandfather knew what was required of a duchess.”

“Really? If you remember, Grandmother rarely spoke or left the estate. Is that what you want in a wife?” Evan stretched his booted feet out in front of him. “Personally, I think she was terrified of the man. Thank God he died and gave her a few years of peace.”

“Regardless, I will not besmirch the Kendal name by marrying someone who is lacking in all the social graces. The cooper tells me Lady Caroline, Cara, has been educated, but can you imagine a vicar’s daughter knowing where guests should be seated at dinner or having the knowledge of how to run a household?”

Evan tapped his gloves on his thigh. “Rumor has it, you were going to ask for Lord Stanton’s daughter, Lady Regina. Is that true?”

“Yes. She has good bloodlines, her taste and manners are impeccable, and she would never create a stir in society.”

“No. And she’d certainly never stir the blood.”

“Meaning?”

Evan sat up, exasperation tingeing his voice. “For once, do something that you want to do. You and Father went against grandfather’s wishes with your betrothal to Lady Caroline. What happened to that sixteen-year-old boy who used to defy the world?”

Garret finished off his drink in one gulp. “Edward died.” Loss stabbed at him. He could still see his older brother’s face as he slipped beneath the water. His fingers tightened around the glass.

He’d never be able to make it right.

“Yes.” Evan’s gaze held sadness and determination. “He died. And you became duke, but that doesn’t mean you have to behave like Grandfather.”

“No. But I damn well am going to make sure the Kendal name does not suffer because the wrong person is now duke.”

“That remains to be seen.” Evan stood. “What do you intend to do about Lady Caroline?”

Garret relaxed his grip on the fragile snifter and set it on the table. “Actually, little brother, that depends on you.” He inclined his head. “As you believe I should follow through with my previous obligation, I need your help.”

Evan appeared wary. “In what way?”

“I want you to leave Rachel with me when you go to the continent with Penelope.”

“Why?”

“I intend to hire Lady Caroline as governess to my ten-year-old niece.”

“You can’t!”

“Oh, but I can. It is the only way for me to judge her appropriateness. Or did you think I would court her at the vicar’s cottage?”

“No, but damn it, Garret, Penelope will have hysterics. She’d never want to leave our daughter with you. You’ve not been overly kind to Rachel in the past.”

“You spoil her.” He held up a hand to stop the tirade Evan seemed ready to unleash. “I will be everything an uncle should be. Besides, it will give me time to get to know my niece.”

“If I discover you’ve made her unhappy in any way, I’ll never let—”

“I give you my word she will have no complaint.”

Evan opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “Fine, I shall endeavor to convince Penelope.”

“I’m sure you will manage.”

Evan’s disgruntled expression abruptly vanished and he grinned, a devilish light in his eyes. “Having a child around might be good for you.”

“If you say so.” It didn’t matter how much amusement he provided his little brother, as long as Rachel remained.

“When do you plan on telling Lady Caroline about her family?”

Garret crossed to the fireplace, drawn against his will to the portrait of his grandfather. “If her manners and conduct are that of a vicar’s daughter, then I will inform her immediately and gladly send her off to the Pembertons.”

“What if, by some miracle, she meets your standards?”

He turned to face his brother. “Then, regrettable as it may be, I will not enlighten her about her parentage until
after
the wedding. I am sure Lady Caroline’s brother, the new earl, would never allow her to honor the betrothal agreement. Hell, I doubt Pemberton would leave me in the same room with his sister.”

“Lord, Garret, they’ll be furious.”

“True, but think of it. I might gain a bride who would be a credit to the Kendal name, thwart the Pembertons, and give grandfather a reason to turn over in his grave.”

Evan shook his head. “I wish I was going to be around to watch this. There’s only one thing I ask.”

Garret didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother appear more serious.

“If at all possible, stay away from the Pembertons. I’d make a terrible duke.”

Cara McClure felt as if she were being swallowed by the seat. Well, perhaps not
swallowed
, but she’d never been in a carriage where the cushions enveloped her. She hardly felt the ruts in the road. Even after two hours, she still had the urge to look everywhere at once, awed by the interior’s splendor.

Stroking the tufted velvet seat as she would a cat, Cara relished its softness as the nap sprang up to tickle her palm. Ensconced in the blue and gold opulence, she felt like a princess. Not that she looked like one. Her golden-brown hair and eyes, along with her diminutive height, were definitely not princess-like. But she could pretend. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and tried to imagine she was on her way for a late afternoon tryst with the prince, instead of going to face a questionable future.

She bit her bottom lip as fear gnawed at the edges of her excitement. How was a vicar’s daughter to find her way in the world of the peerage? Would Madame Hasting’s training suffice?

Cara clutched her reticule tighter. She’d always longed to observe the exclusive world of the
Ton
, but to live in a duke’s household was beyond any of her expectations.

With Papa’s health failing, she should be happy to find a position as a governess. Still, most women who pursued that occupation never married.

And she wanted a husband and children. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t found the man in her dream. It was silly, really, to wait for a man who might not exist. But she couldn’t bring herself to marry any of the suitors at home. At least the temporary employment offered by the duke would alleviate some of their more pressing monetary problems.

If only she’d been able to convince Papa to save his meager funds and not try to provide for every needy soul in his parish—but then he wouldn’t be Papa. With a small smile, she acknowledged practicality didn’t run in the family.

A high-pitched screeching sent shivers up her spine moments before the entire vehicle lurched to the left and threw her against the padded interior. The carriage thudded to a halt. Terrified snorts came from the horses as they attempted to move forward. Over it all, the driver’s shouts did little to ease the situation.

Heart pounding, Cara tried to right herself but only managed to slide into the corner between the sloping seat and carriage wall. She moved tentatively, gratified that she had not sustained serious injury. However, there could be no doubt her side and arm would be a very unladylike shade of purple on the morrow.

The poor horses were still trying to drag the carriage forward, but from the angle of the coach, Cara guessed one of the rear wheels was missing. Each lunge gained them only a few inches. Thank God they hadn’t tipped over, shattering the glass, but if the animals didn’t quiet soon, they still might.

She reached across and attempted to grasp the seat opposite her. On her second try she caught hold of one of the tufting buttons and secured her grip, then slid forward far enough to shove at the door, which refused to open.

The pain in her side intensified with movement. It would certainly have been easier if she weren’t wearing her only panniers. The left one had jabbed into her side and was doubtless ruined. She sighed. It would be impossible to purchase a new set. Perhaps it could be repaired; she had no wish to appear before the duke without decent attire.

The horses quieted. A moment later the driver yanked the door open. Splattered with mud, his powdered wig askew, he sounded contrite as he leaned in to help her from the carriage. “Are you hurt, Miss? I’m right sorry about this. I’d asked the smithy to take note of that axle. Lord knows what His Grace will say.”

Cara tried not to wince as she descended onto the slippery road. The man obviously felt remorse about the accident. No sense in making him feel worse. “I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.”

The driver broke into a grin. “Plucky you are, Miss. I was afeared you’d be in hysterics.” He searched her face, his faded blue eyes taking on warmth. “Beggin’ your pardon, but you’re not like His Grace’s other guests.”

Cara wondered what he saw. Her feeling of inadequacy surfaced but she tamped it down, refusing to give in to her fears. “Am I not? Perhaps, that’s because I’m not a guest. I’m Cara McClure, the new governess.”

“Governess?” The man’s bushy eyebrows drew together, nearly touching.

“Yes. I’m to have charge of His Grace’s niece, Rachel.”

“Oh, aye, the timid child. I’d forgotten about her.” The driver brushed at the dirt on his livery, straightened his wig, and studied their surroundings. “There’s nothin’ for it, but you stay here while I go for help.” He pointed to a large rock. “I could settle you on that boulder over there under the tree, just in case it starts to rain again. This road only goes to the mansion an’ no tellin’ how long it will be before someone passes.”

Cara surveyed the lonely countryside, dotted with trees. It was already late in the day. What if he didn’t make it back before sundown? She’d be alone in the dark. “No. I’m coming with you.”

“But, Miss, His Grace will—”

“I’ll assure His Grace I insisted on accompanying you.” Cara smiled at the older man, pleased that she sounded more confident than she felt. “Besides, we can look at this as an adventure.” She gathered up the left side of her skirt so it wouldn’t drag and squared her shoulders. “Well, Mr. . . .?”

He grinned and gave her a slight bow. “Sanding. Tom Sanding at your service.”

Cara let out the breath she’d been holding. He wouldn’t leave her here. “Happy to meet you, Mr. Sanding. Please, lead on.”