Page 1 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

“ I trust,” a gravelly voice said beside her, “you remember what your mother told you?”

Anna did not look at her cousin. Isaac Hessey’s voice had a way of drawing attention, not through charm, but rather through its endless capacity for complaint.

The Yeats Estate appeared like a slumbering beast, old and proud, its grey stone walls wrapped in ivy, windows shadowed like watchful eyes. It was not warm or welcoming. It was... brooding.

Much like its master, if the whispers were true. The windows, tall and narrow like sentries, reflecting the pale sun. Towers rose on either wing, solid and brooding beneath the muted grey sky, and chimneys crowned the roofline.

As the carriage rolled up the gravel drive, Anna Hessey leaned forward slightly in her seat and adjusted her gloves, pressing them against her reticule. She told herself the chill pricking her spine was merely the weather.

She refused, absolutely refused, to be intimidated by a house. Or a Duke. Even if both loomed with equal menace.

Isaac sniffed and tugged at his cravat as though it strangled him. “Smile. Be agreeable. And for God’s sake, do try to not speak too much. Especially not on your…wild ideas again.”

“You mean thoughts?” she asked sweetly. “Independent ones?”

Isaac turned to her with a scowl. “Exactly. No man wants a wife with opinions. Particularly not a duke. You’re not here to impress anyone with cleverness, Anna. You are here to be… pleasant. Quiet.”

Anna’s lips curled into a smile that was all teeth. “Shall I sit in the drawing room and practice embroidery with a bonnet over my head? Or shall I recite the Psalms in a whisper and keep my eyes politely downcast?”

“Do not test me,” he groaned. “I went to great lengths to secure this invitation—and that’s why we’re arriving ahead of the others. The Duke of Yeats is not easily drawn into company. But he has influence. Resources. Connections. You would do well to remember your family’s position.”

“My position?” she said, gaze snapping to him now, brown eyes sharp. “Forgive me, I forget how low one must sink to ensure their cousin marries well.”

Isaac ignored her. “The Duke of Yeats is not a man to be trifled with. Unpleasant fellow, by all accounts—surly, misanthropic, barely tolerates the next man. But,” he added, smoothing a wrinkle from his sleeve, “he is in possession of one of the largest estates in the county, and the kind of fortune that makes banknotes blush.”

He cast her a sidelong glance. “If he takes even a mild interest in you, I expect you not to ruin it with one of your impulsive outbursts.”

Anna turned back to the window with a slow blink. “Your confidence in me is overwhelming, cousin.”

“I have confidence,” Isaac said primly, “in your ability to look…pretty and not say something damning for at least an hour. Anything beyond that would be a blessed miracle.”

Anna scoffed softly and began picking at an invisible loose thread on her glove.

“You’ve had far too much freedom since your father died,” he said, waving a hand like the point bored him. “Your mother indulged your fancies, but the world does not. You think managing the estate for a couple years makes you a heroine.”

At that, Anna glanced sharply his way but he was only getting started.

“Yes, yes—you found tenants for the southern fields. You sold off the extra livestock. You even went digging through your father’s old account books like some merchant’s daughter. I’ll grant you, it kept us afloat.”

His voice turned smug. “But that’s why I’m here now to relieve you of the burden.”

“Relieve me,” Anna echoed dryly.

“You were playing steward. You’ve done your duty. Now be grateful and let someone competent take over the real work.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Hard.

“There are better ways to serve the family,” Isaac added. “A good match—for you—would secure Heather’s future and your mother’s comfort. That’s what this is about.”

Anna didn’t respond.

Not because he was right—but because if she opened her mouth, she wasn’t entirely sure what would come out.

Isaac, ever the opportunist, kept going. “If this goes well,” he said, tapping his fingers against the window ledge, “we could both walk away from this house party with quite the bounty.”

Anna’s mouth twisted. “And by we, you mean you?”

“Well, naturally. Though I imagine you’d enjoy a good marriage as well, wouldn’t you? No more worrying over coins or creditors or, heaven help us, your mother’s nerves. You know what must happen before Heather comes of age.”

A familiar ache crept under her ribs. Her jaw tightened.

She was here because her family expected her to marry well. Her father was dead. Her mother fragile. Her sister’s debut loomed closer with every season. She’d managed the household before—why not manage her own future now?

But the thought of selling herself to the highest bidder made her stomach churn.

“And if the Duke of Yeats doesn’t take notice,” Isaac added, “then there’s always Lord Vaun.”

That drew her head around.

“He’s always been fond of you,” Isaac said, misreading her stare. “And I’d take that match in a heartbeat. The man’s ambitious, and he actually listens when I speak.”

Anna gave a brittle laugh. “Fond of me? He tried to proposition me behind the hedgerow at Lady Kenmere’s wedding.”

Isaac waved a hand. “So he’s direct. You could do worse.”

Anna inhaled sharply through her nose, her eyes narrowing just slightly. She didn’t speak. Instead, her fingers tightened around her reticule, knuckles pale against the embroidered fabric.

Isaac sighed heavily, adjusting his cravat again as though the entire carriage ride had been one long inconvenience. He stared out the window, fingers drumming against his knee.

“This isn’t about just one man, Anna—it’s about positioning.”

She tilted her head. “Positioning. How strategic.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “If not the Duke or Vaun then someone else. Someone useful. Use your wiles to find something that suits the family. A title, an estate, trade ties—whatever secures our footing.”

Her mouth twitched. “Charming.”

“I’m being practical,” he said, as though that excused everything. “Secure something worth the trouble, and I’ll handle the rest.”

The carriage slowed before the front steps. Anna turned back to the window.

She returned her gaze to the house just as the carriage began to slow before the front steps.

The great wooden doors stood dark and unyielding, flanked by limestone columns carved with creeping vines.

The family crest, a lion beside a tower, loomed above the lintel, weathered but still proud, though some of the carving had begun to crumble at the edges.

The estate’s grandeur remained unmistakable, but there was a quiet sense of neglect along its edges, as if time and solitude had begun to wear away at its finery.

The carriage jolted as it turned onto the long gravel drive, and Anna shifted on the velvet seat, tugging her pelisse tighter. She could feel Isaac’s gaze flick toward her for the fifth time since the last milestone.

“Try not to look so sullen,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “You’re not entering a prison.”

“A house party filled with strangers in borrowed finery?” She gave a tight smile. “Forgive me if I fail to radiate joy.”

Her gown was serviceable—deep green muslin trimmed in black lace, one of the few she’d had let out and re-hemmed after her father’s death.

It complemented her skin, she supposed, though there was little to be done about the rest. Brown hair that curled when it rained.

Brown eyes, neither striking nor soft. A face that only grew pretty when she was laughing—and she hadn’t laughed much lately.

Ridley, perched nervously beside her, piped up. “If I may, miss…it suits you. the color becomes you. Brings out the warmth in your eyes. Like polished chestnut.”

Anna blinked. “That’s generous of you, Ridley.”

“Not generous,” the girl said, then ducked her head. “Just true.”

Isaac gave the maid a sharp look. “She doesn’t need compliments from the help.”

Anna’s spine straightened. “What she offered was honesty. You might try it sometime.”

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the door swung open.

Two footmen in navy livery waited below the portico, and a butler emerged from the shadowed entrance.

Behind him stood a tall older woman in dove-grey satin and a young lady at her side, lighter and fairer with warm chestnut curls, though both bore the same elegant beauty in their features.

Anna stepped down with care, smoothing her gloves as she took in the house’s grandeur. Beside her, Isaac adjusted his cravat with habitual precision.

The older woman stepped forward, posture regal, expression composed.

“The Dowager Duchess,” Isaac murmured under his breath.

Then, with a gracious tilt of her head and the faintest smile, the woman spoke.

“Lady Anna Hessey,” the Dowager Duchess said in a pleasant, measured tone. “And Lord Stenton. We’re pleased to receive you.”

Anna curtsied with practiced ease. “Your Grace,” she said, then turned and offered a more subtle nod to Sophia. “Lady Sophia Granhampton. It is a pleasure.”

Behind her, Eliza, her appointed maid stepped down from the coach as well, hands clasped before her as she made her way to the servants' quarters.

Isaac offered his greetings, his head snapping forward as a man walked into view.

Her breath caught.

He was tall, imposingly so, with light brown hair that was neatly combed but already tousled by the wind, as though the man didn’t care to fight it.

It curled slightly above his collar. His nose was straight and patrician, cheekbones high and his mouth—well, his mouth was the sort most women dreamed of.

His jaw was clean-shaven, his mouth unsmiling.

His tailored coat strained just enough at the shoulders to suggest strength, and his gaze, icy green and unreadable ,rested squarely on Anna.

Not her cousin. Not the carriage. Her.

The Duke of Yeats.