Duchess by Mistake
eBooks available from award-winning author Cheryl Bolen
Regency Historical Romance:
House of Haverstock Series
Lady by Chance*
Duchess by Mistake*
The Brides of Bath Series
The Bride Wore Blue*
With His Ring*
The Bride’s Secret (
previously titled
A Fallen Woman*
To Take This Lord (
previously titled
An Improper Proposal)*
Love In The Library*
A Christmas in Bath*
The Regent Mysteries Series
With His Lady's Assistance*
A Most Discreet Inquiry*
The Theft Before Christmas*
The Earl's Bargain
My Lord Wicked
His Lordship's Vow
Lady Sophia's Rescue
Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas)*
Marriage of Inconvenience*
A Duke Deceived*
One Golden Ring*
Romantic Suspense:
Texas Heroines in Peril Series
Protecting Britannia*
Murder at Veranda House*
A Cry In The Night
Capitol Offense
Falling For Frederick*
World War II Romance:
It Had to Be You
(Previously titled
Nisei
)*
American Historical Romance:
A Summer To Remember (3 American Romances)
*Also published in paperback
Duchess by Mistake
(House of Haverstock, Book 2)
Cheryl Bolen
Copyright © 2015 by Cheryl Bolen
Duchess by Mistake
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
DEDICATION
For my sister Suzi, a life-long lover of books, for all the help she's given me over the years
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 26
Charles Upton, the Marquess of Haverstock, gazed across the breakfast table at Anna. Finally, the colour had returned to her cheeks after months of grieving for the babe they'd lost before it ever drew breath. Even though they had been married for nearly two years, he could never grow tired of gazing upon Anna's beauty.
He'd been told she was the image of her mother, a spectacularly beautiful French noblewoman who'd captured men's hearts as easily as snapping twigs beneath her feet. How fortunate Haverstock was that he'd married his youthful Anna before she'd had the opportunity to ensnare men with a single glance. And how profoundly grateful he was that he was the first and only man to whom she'd ever given her love.
One of the footmen silently appeared at his side and handed him a single letter. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar. By Jove, it looked very much like that of Aldridge! How could this be? The letter appeared to have been brought by a page and bore no marks of having come through the post. Had he returned from Italy, where he'd been for nearly five years?
Brows lowered, Haverstock flipped it over. And he saw the seal had been stamped with a sword, the Duke of Aldridge's symbol. Haverstock smiled and tore open the letter which bore the duke's crest.
My Dear Haverstock,
I'm posting this from Dover and I expect it will reach London before I do. I look forward to seeing this noted beauty you've wed, and I confess to having the devil of a time picturing sensible Lydia uniting herself with Morgie. These eyes of mine yearn to behold my dearest friend after so long an absence.
Aldridge
"You won't believe who's back in town," Haverstock said to his wife.
"Allow me to try." She put down her newspaper and eyed him with shimmering brown eyes. "A friend of yours?"
He nodded.
"One whom I have never met?"
"Correct again."
"Can it be the Duke of Aldridge has returned from Italy?"
"You know me too well, my love." He took her hand and brushed a kiss on the back of it.
"I wonder if he brings the Contessa with him?"
"I seem to recall hearing that she's gone back to her husband."
Anna's long lashes lowered. "Your ducal friend is very naughty indeed."
"But I daresay you'll warm to him. Women always do. He's very charming--even if he is a profligate." His and Anna's marriage was built on impermeable bedrock. He never need fear she would look at another man.
Not even Aldridge, whom women found irresistible.
"I certainly hope he doesn't try to corrupt my upstanding husband."
"We're very different. Especially now." Haverstock wanted but two things now: to be a family man and to do whatever he could to defeat the French.
The footman returned to the chamber at the same time as Haverstock's last maiden sister took her place at their table. "Another letter for you, my lord."
He and Anna greeted Cynthia, who had lately taken to using her given name of Elizabeth in honor of the recently deceased aunt for whom she'd been named. He cast a glance at the letter the footman placed in his hand and easily recognized Morgie's neat script. Until recently Morgie would have just stepped next door when he needed to communicate with Haverstock, but since Lydia's lying in, Morgie rather hovered at her side like a damned lap dog. Haverstock could have searched the three kingdoms and never have found a finer husband for his favorite sister than Morgie was to Lydia.
Tearing open the letter, he read.
It' all over town. Aldridge is back!!
A mischievous look on his face, he met his wife's gaze. "You'd already heard about Aldridge, hadn't you?"
She giggled as she nodded.
"Knew what?" Elizabeth inquired, her teapot frozen in mid-pour.
He looked at his sister. "The Duke of Aldridge has finally returned to England."
How in the deuce had so many learned he was back in England, Philip Ponsby, the 5th Duke of Aldridge, wondered as he began to scan the pile of fresh correspondence upon his desk. He had told but one person, and he knew without a doubt Haverstock wasn't one to gossip.
The servants!
He'd sent ahead to have them ready the house. The chain of servants' communication was far superior to that of their masters, though their methods eluded him.
Thankfully, Aldridge House did not smell musty even though he had been away for five years. That was one of the dubious advantages of being the eldest of eight. His siblings often used the London house, trotting up to go to the theatre or to meet eligible suitors at Almack's. It was the latter--and its endless procession of eligible misses wishing to unite themselves with the Duke of Aldridge--that had sent him packing for his long sojourn on the Continent.
Yet he had to admit it felt devilishly good to be back in the country of his birth. Until he'd seen the white cliffs at Dover and the spire of Westminster Abbey, he had not realized how thoroughly he had missed England, dreary skies and all.
Once that vile Napoleon had stuck his own usurping family on the throne of Naples, Aldridge had realized how grave was the threat to his own country from the Corsican monster. If Napoleon could plunder his conquering way across Europe, what was to stop him from overrunning the British Isles?
Aldridge, for one. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep that from happening. Before the week was out, he would present himself at the Foreign Office and offer his services to the Crown.
In the stack of letters, an utterly feminine script caught his eye. He'd been away from England for so long now he could not remember any lady's handwriting. Curious, he opened the missive. It was just one page. One sentence, actually. From Belle. Annabelle Evans. Five years ago, she'd been the most beautiful courtesan in all of London. The last he'd heard, she was under the protection of the Duke of Benson.
Aldridge,
I shall call on you this afternoon on a matter of importance
.
His glance flicked to the case clock upon his chimneypiece. Two o'clock. He really wasn't up to seeing anyone after the long, uncomfortable journey, but he could not refuse to see Belle. She had long ago done him a good turn. No doubt, she wished now to be repaid. Had she lost her fine good looks? Was she destitute? Would she ask him for money? He shrugged. He was a very wealthy man. If the woman was in need, it would give him pleasure to assist her.
He rang for a servant, and when a youthful footman who was long of leg and broad of shoulders appeared, the duke requested a bath to be prepared in his bedchamber. Damn but he was tired. And he felt as if he were coated in dust and dirt from Dover road.
While water was being heated and carried to his tub, he would scan the remainder of the letters. After finishing with them--and delaying composing any responses--he trudged up the broad marble staircase to his private chambers, pleased to find his bath ready. With assistance from Lawford, he stripped off his clothing, then eased himself into the warm bath in front of the fireplace.
"By the way, Lawford, instruct Barrow that if a lady calls, he should bring her here."
"Very well, my lord." Having been with Aldridge since he'd left Oxford, Lawford was used to ladies of the demimonde showing up in his master's private chambers.
* * *
Lady Elizabeth Upton would say it was surely Divine intervention which had sent her to the modest lodgings on Miser Street early that day. But in reality it was the kindness of her brother James. An officer in the Peninsula and the brother closest to her in age and affection, James had written her a letter to ask that she see to the wellbeing of the young widow and child of a slain soldier who'd served under his command.
James had written, "
It was my understanding that the marriage between Harry Hudson—one of the best soldiers in His Majesty's Army—and his wife was exceedingly strong. He always stressed that if anything should happen to him, he wished for me to see that she and their little girl were looked after. Obviously, I cannot do that from Spain, but I know I can count on my favorite sister to undertake this commission in my stead. Obviously, if there is great need, I shall want to do whatever I can for the widow.
"
There was nothing Elizabeth wouldn't do for her brother. Armed with the widow's address, Elizabeth availed herself of her eldest brother's coach to call upon Mrs. Hudson. When the crested Haverstock coach turned onto Miser Street near Covent Garden, Elizabeth's gaze was riveted to a most forlorn looking woman. She judged the woman to be near her own age of one and twenty. One hand clasped that of her little girl, whom Elizabeth judged to be three; the other clasped a bulging case, much like Elizabeth's valise, but much shabbier.
Without even hunting for Number 12, Elizabeth felt certain she had found James' widow. She indicated for the coachman to stop and opened her coach window. "Mrs. Hudson?" she inquired.
The woman halted and turned to eye Elizabeth, a brow raised in query. "Yes?"
"Would you permit me to carry you to your destination? It seems my brother, Captain James Upton, served with your husband and had a very high opinion of him."
Tears sprang to the fair woman's green eyes. "My Harry was a very fine man." As she swiped away a tear, Elizabeth noticed the young widow still wore a simple gold wedding band. She noticed, too, the woman's clean muslin dress was patched. Elizabeth's heart went out to the stricken woman. "Harry wrote to me of how much he admired Captain Upton." The woman was possessed of a genteel voice.
