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I f Grandmama said the word ‘lovely’ once again, Anthony would pack his things and return to Sandhurst to shoot with a rifle for another year.

“…a true English rose,” she said. “So well-educated. Among all the young ladies I’ve met and considered as the future Duchess of Gloucester, Helen is the best. Who would have imagined the daughter of an earl could be so perfect? I thought Margaret, the daughter of the Duke of Bradford, would have been my only choice, but goodness, she’s as interesting as a rock and just as bright. Helen is lovely.”

There again.

His brother, Patrick, hid a grin behind his cup. “Lovely.”

“Grandmama.” Anthony put down the ironed copy of The Times he’d been trying to read for the past half an hour. “I appreciate your efforts, but we agreed I would have the last word on the choice.”

“Of course. I simply spared you the long and tedious affair of searching for a suitable match.” She sipped her tea, gazing at him over the rim of her cup. “I interviewed over fifteen young ladies. Not a simple task, I must say. But it was worth it. I won’t allow an unprepared girl to tarnish the impeccable?—”

“Name of our noble and ancient family,” Anthony and Patrick said together.

Grandmama huffed. “You two have no manners.”

The Indestructible Duchess, they called Grandmama because she’d survived two cholera pandemics, a mine explosion, and a shipwreck. To him, she was a second mother. Oppressive at times but always caring.

“Why are you complaining, brother?” Patrick said from the other side of the table. “You have to do nothing but marry a beautiful lady. I wish Grandmama did the same work for me.”

“All in good time.” She turned serious. “Anthony comes first, and you already have too many ladies chasing you, and vice versa.” She shot a glance at the ceiling. “In my time, ladies never, ever showed any interest in a gentleman. We scorned every word the gentlemen said, and if one of them persisted, then we considered him as a possible suitor.”

“Charming,” Anthony muttered, pushing aside the newspaper.

He’d inherited the title for almost a year, but he was already tired of the ridiculous amount of responsibilities dropped on him. Least of all the pressure of marrying and producing an heir.

“You might show some enthusiasm.” She gave him a disapproving look.

“I’m busy, Grandmama. Between the meetings in Parliament and reading the reports from my stewards, I don’t have time for social calls. I’d rather be in my garrison than in the House of Lords.”

“Anthony.” Grandmama put her hand on his. “I understand your plans have abruptly changed, but you’re the duke now, and you can’t escape your responsibilities.”

As if he didn’t know that.

He slid his hand out of hers. Guilt soured his mouth.

Three years ago, Father had died of grief after Mother’s death and never had the chance to be the duke. Grandfather had grieved too deeply to prepare Anthony for his ducal role.

Then, less than a year ago, Grandfather had died as well, and Anthony had suddenly become the most unprepared duke of the House of Beaufort with enough duties to choke him.

Silence dropped for a few moments. If only they would leave him alone to work.

“Well, you’ll meet Helen soon,” Grandmama said. “Helen’s sister is a shockingly uninspiring woman. If you marry Helen, we’ll have to deal with Isabella as well. But anyway, I invited them to Dockerly Castle.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He controlled his tone of voice.

She stiffened. “I’m telling you now.”

He was the duke, and he wanted to be the one making the decisions.

They stared at each other until Patrick cleared his throat.

“Please don’t kill each other here. The blood would ruin the carpet.”

He and Grandmama turned towards him with matching frowns.

Patrick held up a hand. “It was a joke. A silly joke, but still a joke.”

Anthony sipped his tea. At least he would have the last word on the choice of his bride. He wanted a woman who was ready to share the burden of his work and who wanted to support him. A pretty wife who thought only about attending dinner parties wouldn’t be happy next to him.

“Naturally,” she said, “if that stubborn Austrian von Gruner hadn’t proved to be nothing but a fool, we would celebrate in our manor on Maiden Hill instead.”

“Naturally,” he said, “if you hadn’t called him an imbecile buffoon, he might have been more inclined to negotiate with us.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Von Gruner insulted your father.”

“And you replied in kind. I received a letter from von Gruner last week,” Anthony said. “Needless to say, he has no intention of meeting me. He hasn’t replied to any of my letters since then.”

“It’s a miracle he sent you a letter at all.” Patrick chuckled nervously. “I would call it progress. We didn’t manage to extract a single word from him in months of negotiations.”

“Von Gruner enjoys playing with us,” Anthony said. The lack of progress with the Austrian was another failure in his ducal career.

Grandmama twitched her mouth. “He didn’t even send us his condolences.”

“I would love to try to negotiate with him,” Patrick said. “And I fancy a trip to the Continent.”

Anthony shook his head. “No, you’ll stay here, behave, and avoid causing trouble.”

“It sounds dreadfully boring.”

“Why are you complaining, brother?” He rose, but Grandmama stopped him.

“So do you approve of celebrating in Dockerly Castle with Helen and her family?”

“You’ve already decided.”

Ignoring her scowl, Anthony headed for his study.

Another uncomfortable night of troubled sleep had left his neck muscles sore. At his desk, before opening the correspondence, he checked his personal diary. His physician had told him to write down everything that made him happy or smile each day. An exercise to remind him that there were many good things in his life worth celebrating—or so the physician had said.

The previous entries for the past weeks didn’t have a long list of words. Some records were empty. The last annotations reported only the word ‘family.’ Or what was left of it.

After having returned home from the war and his parents’ deaths, he found it hard to make sense of his life. He had a title he wasn’t ready to hold, politics he didn’t understand, an Austrian count who refused to negotiate the return of his parent’s beloved estate, and nothing to look forward to.

Now he even had to get married as soon as possible. But after Father and Grandfather’s premature deaths, the family was short of heirs, and producing one was his duty, as Grandmama reminded him every day.

Duty. All his life had been nothing but duties, and they were cold, empty companions that sucked all his energy and gave nothing back.

And he was supposed to share his shadow with a young woman and ruin her life, too.

* * *

Unfair. Unjust. Unreasonable. Unwarranted.

Isabella searched for all the un-words describing her undeserved situation.

Mother had dragged her on the trip to Dockerly Castle right when her precious orchid seedlings were about to arrive. She’d protested, pointing out she would be only a dead weight no one was interested in talking with, but Mother hadn’t listened.

We’re a family, and we’re going together , Mother had said.

The fact the Dowager had expressly asked for the whole family to come had decided Isabella’s fate.

So here she was, in the middle of nowhere in the English countryside, being rocked to and fro in a crowded travelling coach.

“Stop sulking.” Helen patted her shoulder as they drove on among bumps and jolts. “We’re visiting a new place. I mean, it’s in the country, which is too wild, muddy, and generally unkempt. But unlike me, you adore the wilderness. You should be happy.”

“Absolutely excited,” Isabella muttered, her chin on her closed fist.

Father was sound asleep, snoring softly with his head resting on the wall.

“Sit properly.” Mother swatted her shoulder. “You’re all bent forwards, and close your legs. You aren’t riding a horse. Benjamin, wake up for heaven’s sake.” She shook Papa.

“I agree, I agree,” he said, blinking.

Isabella laughed but stopped when Mother scowled.

“To what are you agreeing?” Mother asked.

Father ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “To whatever you said, darling.” He winked at Isabella.

She grinned and composed herself although the drive made her muscles sore and her mood gloomy.

Helen, instead, was radiant, seemingly already enamoured with His Grace Anthony Beaufort, the eighteenth Duke of Gloucester. The greater the number, the more prestigious the family…the more intimidating the person, in Isabella’s opinion.

She tried to find the view of the endless barley fields engaging, but they paled in comparison with the colourful flowers in her conservatory.

“Just a few days,” Father whispered. “Then we’ll be back to our lives.”

“I’m worried about the orchid seedlings. They’re from Guatemala.” Isabella huffed. “The seedlings might rot if they aren’t planted properly.”

“Stop this fuss. Our gardener is excellent.” Mother waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll do a good job. As for you, I believe this experience will help you widen your horizons and meet new friends. Exclusive friends. And after this visit, Helen will be more famous than Lady Mary.” She harrumphed. “I got heartburn from how many times I heard Lady Mary being referred to as the Swan of London.”

“I haven’t seen her in a while,” Isabella said.

Mother smirked. “The swan must have migrated somewhere else. I don’t care where she is as long as she isn’t Helen’s rival in marrying the duke.”

“It’s not a competition?—”

“The castle!” Helen gestured out of the window. “Look!”

“Crikey!” Isabella gazed up at the ridiculously tall turrets and the imposing fortress looming from the top of a hill.

Dockerly Castle cast a long shadow on the green fields, with its battlements, a curtain wall, and a portcullis. With its stonewalls and sharp gables, it looked like a set of fangs coming out of the ground as if a giant dragon were about to burst out. The rest of the country seemed tiny compared to it.

Admittedly, the trip had just turned exciting.

“Stop staring at everything as if you were stunned,” Mother said. “At least for the next few days.”

Father exhaled. “Leave her be.”

“Stop defending her. It’s because of your lack of discipline she’s become such an unrefined lady.”

“She’s spirited, that’s all, and she has her own interests.”

Mother pressed her lips together. Father yawned, ending the conversation. Isabella smiled fondly at him, and he squeezed her hand in reply.

“We’ve arrived.” Helen pointed at a tall stone arch marking the entrance of the Beauforts’ estate.

“Finally.” She admired the neat row of cypress trees lining the road and the trimmed hedges.

The groundskeeper had to work hard.

Ten minutes later, the coach was still driving along the longest driveway in history. Acres upon acres of green hills and mowed grass surrounded the castle.

“The duke must own half of England.” Isabella stuck her head out of the window.

“Thirty estates,” Helen said like a well-prepared student. “The Beaufort family is one of the most ancient in the kingdom.”

Mother exhaled. “Don’t remind me of that. Just the thought makes me worry.” She gripped Helen’s hands. “Darling, we’re so lucky, so blessed, and you’re going to be a well-respected duchess.”

“Hopefully, happy as well.” Father took Helen’s hands, too. “I know marrying so high has always been your ambition, and I know you studied hard, but if you have the tiniest doubt about marrying the duke, if you think you’ll be miserable next to him, don’t marry him.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Mother removed Father’s hands from Helen’s. “We’re talking about the eighteenth Duke of Gloucester. Whatever doubt you have about him will be gone the moment you take tea with Her Majesty.”

Helen beamed so widely Isabella could see the back of her mouth. “Yes, I mean, Mother has always said that a duke would be perfect for me…and I believe her.” Her eyebrow twitched. “It would be wonderful.”

Mother and Helen hugged each other among giggles and sobs. If Isabella had to meet the queen for tea, she would have a fit of anxiety.

She was the first to jump out of the carriage, thrilled to see the castle. An army of servants gathered around her. There were gardeners, maids, footmen, and stable hands—more workers than she’d ever seen.

Footmen and maids rushed to take their luggage and welcome them.

“That’s what I mean when I say the Beauforts are powerful,” Mother said in awe, hooking her arm through Helen’s. “The next duchess will have all the grounds at her disposal, meet the queen and foreign monarchs on a regular basis, wear the most expensive jewels and gowns.”

Father frowned. “A duchess’s life isn’t just tea parties and holidays. Helen would have duties, too, some of them difficult. She would represent Her Majesty outside of the kingdom. She would need to show her support to the army, and during Trooping the Colour?—”

“Helen would be prepared for all that,” Mother said.

“Yes, but you make it sound like being a duchess is something easy and enjoyable when it’s not.” Father lowered his voice. “Not to mention she might dislike the duke completely.”

“Shush.” Mother glanced around, worried.

Isabella avoided commenting. Besides Helen’s tense expression proved Papa’s words weren’t a waste of breath. While Helen was certainly prepared to be a duchess from an educational point of view, she knew little of a duchess’s political role and even less of the duke. Isabella didn’t envy her.

“Oh, impressive.” Helen put a fluttering hand on her chest when they entered the cavernous hall.

Real suits of armour lined one side of the entrance, alongside tapestries and portraits of the previous dukes and duchesses.

“One of the duke’s ancestors fought in the Battle of Stamford Bridge next to King Harold,” Helen said with awe.

Isabella was impressed. Even she knew the Battle of Stamford Bridge had happened centuries ago when the Britons had fought against the Vikings.

“Don’t wander around.” Mother took her hand, preventing her from inspecting a suit of armour closely. “It’s not polite to go around like a nosy person.”

“Lady Montrose, Lord Montrose, Lady Helen, Lady Isabella, welcome.” The butler bowed, somehow without creasing his shiny suit. “I’m Rogers. Her Grace is waiting for you.”

He barely finished saying that before the dowager duchess walked down the sweeping stairs, wearing a high-necked, long-skirted gown that gave Isabella a choking sensation.

“Welcome.” The Dowager fit perfectly in the entry hall. With her tall stature and regal posture, she was as intimidating and imposing as the castle. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.” She glanced over at Isabella without lingering but smiled at Helen.

“The journey was lovely, Your Grace.” Mother bowed her head.

“Lovely? It was completely—ouch!” Isabella winced as Helen poked an elbow into her side.

“We’re fine, Your Grace,” Helen said. “Happy to be here.”

Isabella frowned. She’d promised not to cause trouble, but now she couldn’t even make a general comment on the journey? She wasn’t going to say anything embarrassing, for Pete’s sake. A bit of trust in her would be nice.

Father bowed. “Thank you for your invitation, Your Grace.”

The Dowager smiled at Father but kept her gaze on Helen. “Mrs. Stamell will show you to your rooms, and I’ll see you later after you’ve freshened up. My grandson is busy at the moment, but he’s eager to meet you all.” She headed for the other side of the entry hall, giving orders to the butler.

Isabella gazed around as she went up the stairs. What did this famous duke look like? Did he resemble one of the serious men in the portraits? Or was he like his grandmother—auburn hair and green eyes? Some of the people in the portraits had frightening expressions. Others wielded swords or rifles. Some showed smirks that made them look like murderers.

The corridor was wide, cold, and so long that it had to reach Scotland. She squinted but couldn’t see its end.

“Isabella!” Mother and Helen chorused.

“Stop staring like that,” Helen whispered.

“Sorry.” Just a few minutes in the castle, and Mother and Helen had become two executioners.

They talked in hushed tones, but she overheard the words perfection and demure a few times. Frightening. Speaking of which, she hoped the castle was haunted. A ghost would cheer up the chilly atmosphere.

“Your room, Lady Montrose.” Mrs. Stamell opened the door to a wide room. “The earl’s room is on the left while your daughters have the rooms next to yours.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stamell.” Mother gave them a pointed look. “Refresh yourselves and have some rest, girls. I’ll see you later.”

Father bussed Helen and Isabella on their cheeks before going to his room.

Isabella’s room was so big and wide that her voice echoed off the walls. She jumped on the four-poster bed, and Helen followed her, instead of going to her bedroom. They tumbled backwards in a heap of clothes and pillows, laughing.

“I understand your excitement. This room is amazing,” Isabella said, lying next to Helen.

“I knew you would love this place.” Helen spread her arms and touched the brocade curtains. “It’s like a fairy tale. A duke, a castle, and more luxuries than I’ve ever imagined.”

Isabella propped herself up on an elbow. “Do you want to marry a man you’ve never met?”

“I met him briefly years ago when I went to the opera with Mother. Anthony and his brother, Patrick, were there. Their parents were still alive. The duke is…serious.”

“Is that all? One brief encounter, and you’re happy to marry him?”

Helen tugged at the golden tassel of the rope holding the curtain. “He’s a duke, you ninny, and not just a duke, but a duke of an ancient family. Of course, I’m happy to marry him.”

“What does he look like? Is he handsome?”

“I remember his dark Sandhurst uniform and intense green eyes. He was so grave and scary I barely spoke to him. Alas, he isn’t handsome. Quite rough to be honest. Patrick, instead, is a fine and handsome gentleman, and he didn’t stop chatting. He’s very charming.”

“Serious and scary. Not the adjectives I would want for my husband.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m so happy.” Helen sighed, staring at the blue canopy and not sounding happy at all. “I’ve studied so hard to become a proper lady. Years of dance lessons, languages, and music. Now I could be a duchess!” Her black eyes gleamed. “Be part of this prestigious family. I can’t believe I’m going to be the eighteenth Duchess of Gloucester. And I’m absolutely ready.” She gripped Isabella’s hand. “This is what I want, what I’ve always wanted.”

“What mother has always wanted.”

“No. I mean, yes, but…I want it, too. Yes, I do. You talk so much about changing society and giving women more power, but there’s nothing more powerful than a duchess. Well, aside from the queen. I’ll be the most powerful woman in the kingdom after Her Majesty. What can be better?”

“A husband you love?”

Helen shrugged. “As long as he isn’t despicable, I’m happy.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

Helen hesitated before speaking. “Let’s say that once I’m married, Mother will stop forcing me to play the piano and study languages. That would make me happy.”

Isabella slid off the bed. “Well, Your Grace, I wish you all the happiness you deserve.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “As for me, I want to take a walk and explore the grounds. Do you want to come with me?”

Helen scrunched up her face. “I’d rather listen to Father and his friends talk about cricket. I have no intention of soiling my boots with mud or getting too much sun. I don’t want to sweat, and there are too many insects out there. And Lawson should be here soon to help me get dressed.”

“Well, I’m going. I need to stretch out my legs.”

“Don’t get lost and don’t be late for dinner. You need to get ready, too.”

“I won’t be late. I’ll take just a quick walk.”

“Don’t do anything odd.”

“Fine!” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Helen?” She paused at the door.

“Yes?”

“If you marry the duke, I won’t need to meet the queen, will I?”

Helen laughed.