Page 3 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

June 21, 1815

No. 12

Montagu Square

Mayfair, London

The Honorable Imogen Mattingly wasn’t best pleased.

Last week she’d come up to London for her yearly visit with her parents for a few days before it was back to Derbyshire, but today, she’d been summoned into her father’s study from the morning room where she used as a painting studio because it had the best early light. Now, she sat perched on the edge of a leather chair that faced her father’s massive cherrywood desk as he stared her down in a battle of wills.

“What do you mean I’m to marry in three days?” Truth to tell, she had been engaged to the now Duke of Averly since she was two years old, but she honestly didn’t think it would ever come to fruition.

Her father—a rather stout man with the figure of an apple on stilts—leaned back in his chair at such an alarming weight that the springs creaked in protest. As he steepled his fingers across the globe of his stomach, he stared at her without blinking. “It would seem the Duke of Averly is finally claiming you for his bride.”

“In three days?” That meant her wedding night would be on midsummer night. Not even poetic. “Why now? The man has had years to make good on the nuptials.”

“Who can say? He’s a damned duke, has been one since his father died abruptly six years ago.” Her father shrugged. “I received word from Lady Juris, who is his aunt, saying the ceremony would take place in three days at the duke’s home.”

Knots of worry pulled in Imogen’s belly. Deep inside, she felt what her mother always called her Irish temper welling up. Of course, her mother would know, since her parents had been wealthy Irish gentry, but all her relatives from there were outspoken and possessed varying degrees of tempers.

And that usually landed them into trouble, her included.

“What if I don’t wish for this to happen?”

“It doesn’t matter. Those contracts were signed ages ago; the dowry and lands were sent to Averly’s father shortly after your second birthday.” He shrugged. “You will marry him, and I won’t hear any objections.”

“I don’t know anything about him other than what the gossipmongers have bandied about.” To say nothing of the fact that she had been banished to her father’s country estate for a large portion of her life for a dark secret from her past.

As punishment.

“He is a duke. Why do you need to know anything else?”

“Some of us never aspired to landing a man with a title.”

From all accounts, the Duke of Averly, the man who would become her husband in three days was as morally bankrupt as her father, perhaps even more so. For the whole of her life, her father had schemed and conned his way through the ton , separating his friends and acquaintances from their coin in whatever way he could. And he had done it in such a way that her mother had been completely charmed by his alleged intelligence.

Of course, she was either too dim or too self-centered to bother herself with her two children. She did take more notice of her brother, for he would someday take her father’s viscounty, and she would expect him to not only marry well but also take care of her as the dowager.

While apparently leaving her—Imogen—to the wolves of society.

Her father planted his feet on the floor and rested his hands on the top of his desk. “You have been somewhat less than ideal the whole of your life, girl. And lest you forget, when you were seventeen, you nearly buried this family with gossip and rumor. You owe us all this marriage, for once you are a duchess, you can bring the rest of us up the social ladder with you.”

As her temper continued to grow in a heated cloud, she frowned. “You don’t deserve it.” Slowly, she stood and shook her head. “How the devil did you manage to coax the older duke into aligning our families to begin with? You were hardly contemporaries.”

“How would you know?” His words were a tad on the loud side, signaling he was ready to erupt into argument. “You weren’t with us for much of your life.”

“No, you weren’t with the family for a large part of that, then you banished me to your country estate because you couldn’t fathom a world in which I told the truth about that terrible incident in the past. It was always Mama’s word against mine; Uncle’s denials against my truths.” She waved a hand. “Because that would also mean you would have to realize that such horrors were taking place beneath your nose, and you were too busy scheming to notice.”

It had been years since she’d brought out that old scandal, but it had festered in her soul, laid dormant for eleven years, and now the dam holding it steady was suffering cracks, rendering it imminently weak. She couldn’t help but remember that horrible time in her life, and the fear she’d experienced then came rushing back to leave her breathless and gasping.

I had truly hoped it was over. But then, she’d never been given leave to talk about what had happened to her nor had she been told it wasn’t her fault.

Her father’s face began to purple with rage. “You should be thankful that the duke still wishes to marry you after what you did!” When he surged to his feet, Imogen retreated a few steps even though the desk remained between them. “You disrupted our entire family with that juvenile display! We had to play nice when the constable came calling to check on the corpse. Thank God there was no inquest since your mother managed to handle that splendidly, but after that, you were not to be trusted. Sending you away was our only choice.”

She snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t send me to a convent.”

“We are not Catholic; otherwise, your arse would have been locked away there.” As he came around his desk, the knots in Imogen’s belly pulled again. “If you manage to muck this union up before you fulfil your part of the bargain, something more drastic will befall you other than banishment to Marchfield Hall.”

Cold fear twisted down her spine. Surely, he wasn’t threatening to kill her? His own flesh and blood? But then, when had she ever been treated with respect from her parents? “I could go back to Ireland.” Though she’d been born at Marchfield Hall in Derbyshire, she’d written regularly to her grandparents when they’d been alive. “I have more than enough cousins who would take me in.”

“Ha!” He tucked his hands behind his back. “You are better than that, my girl. Clearly, your fiancé’s father saw something in you from the moment he peered at you in your cradle, and that means you won’t lower yourself to go to your mother’s people. A duchess can’t be Irish.”

Then how did he explain her being half Irish? Of course, her father wasn’t an intelligent man despite his spineless ways of making coin. “What did you promise him or his son if we wed?” It was inconceivable that such an alliance had even been formed. A duke and a viscount rarely moved in the same circles, especially a viscount so questionable as her father.

“First off, the old duke gave me a tasty little hunting box in the Lake District, and I am not giving that up. Your brother is currently enjoying it while he is on leave from his post in the military. Needs some time away, you see.”

“So my freedom was given over for a piece of land populated with deer and salmon?”

“Not fully. Averly’s father also promised a payment of five thousand pounds if you prove a decent match for his son and provide him an heir within the first two years of the union.” He shrugged and didn’t appear overly bothered by the deal. “And I don’t need to tell you how much that sum will help fill our coffers, and I will finally be able to renovate the country property and bring it modern. The war has made everything more difficult.”

“You still intend to offer me up on the altar of coin?” Perhaps this was the world into which she’d been born, but at the back of her mind, she knew her brother wasn’t living under the same constraints.

“That is what daughters of the beau monde are for, my dear.”

She shook her head as tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. “What about the dreams I’ve had all these years?” While in the country, she’d deepened her skill at watercolor painting, and the way she managed to capture scenery and landscapes was unique and wildly different in perspective than some of the most popular artists. “I would like to sell my paintings or perhaps paint murals in people’s country homes, share my art with the world.”

“Nonsense. You have been meant to be a duchess for years. Your mother went to great lengths to raise you to be a proper lady with all the requisite skills and talents.”

How well she remembered those hated lessons taken in the Derbyshire property, but not from her mother. Oh, no. Her parents had hired various tutors for that sort of finishing instruction. Painting had been her way of escaping such a life. “No.” Hot panic rose in her chest. “Averly clearly doesn’t want this union either. Why else has he delayed in marrying me?”

Truly, she’d hoped he would have forgotten about the arrangement made in their childhoods by their fathers, but the meeting with her father had now dashed those hopes. Averly never made his vices and questionable desires a secret, and that was merely one of the reasons she didn’t wish to wed him. She’d lived through her father’s tyranny and her mother’s indifference; why the deuce would she wish to continue that in her life? It would prove even worse in a husband.

“None of that Irish temper now, gel.” Her father tsked his tongue. “Doesn’t matter. The wedding will move forward finally. You are going to comply. Paint after you fulfill your duty.”

As if I’m little better than a brood mare.

“And do what? Run his household? Hang onto his arm in society as if he is the most fascinating man?” She frowned for she knew nothing about him, not even his Christian name. Never in the years their engagement had been active did he come to visit or indicate an interest to escort her about Town or even call at her father’s country estate to stroll the property or talk. Instead, they remained strangers, leading two wildly different lives. Over the years, he had never sent her gifts or wrote her a letter acknowledging her as a person or their engagement, especially after his father died. In short, the man was a stranger. If she passed him on the street, she would never know it.

“However you need to square with the truths of this engagement, I don’t care. That is not my concern.”

Of course it wasn’t. There was no way out, short of running away, but if she did that, how would she survive? Outside of the pin money her father grudgingly gave her each month, it wasn’t enough to pay for a coaching inn let alone rent a cottage somewhere. And with the war dragging on, the possibility of traveling anywhere was exponentially more complicated. To say nothing of supplies for everything being limited.

“Where is Mama? I should probably have a gown repurposed or buy a new one. It is short notice, but there is nothing to be done.” At least as a duchess, she would have access to more funding than she was given here. Perhaps then she could disappear and live her life on her own terms.

Regardless of whether she bore a male child or not.

“I believe she is calling on one of the neighbors. She will be home soon.” A slow grin slid across his face. “I am glad to see you’ve come around to my viewpoint.”

She remained silent. It was easier this way. No, she was still vehemently opposed to marrying such a wickedly sinful duke—she’d never wanted to marry a man with a title—and even though her future had been decided for her before she was ever cognizant of what she’d wanted from her life, she intended to become as difficult as possible. And if the duke meant to ruin her life with this union, then so be it.

I’ll ruin his right alongside mine, and if my reputation goes down, I’ll make certain his does as well.

Also, if her father thought he’d come through this farce unscathed, he was sadly mistaken. “I’ll wait for her to return, but then there is much shopping we’ll need to indulge in. I’ll need a trousseau, after all, for wouldn’t a duke expect his potential wife to look the part?” Before her father could form a reply, she swept from the study with her head held high.

A pox on all men!

An hour later saw Imogen studiously writing a letter to her first cousin, who was the son of her father’s brother who lived in a quiet hamlet deep in the Surrey countryside with his aging parents as well as his two sisters. He had been the only person in her family she could trust, the only one to believe her after those two years when she’d been a young girl, so therefore, he was the one person she’d told everything to including hopes, dreams, and fears, even when he’d been away fighting in the war until he’d been sent home, suffering from a gunshot wound that had torn up the muscles in his left shoulder that had never healed correctly, rendering him useless to the military.

In short, he was her best friend, closer to her than her own brother.

Dearest Philip,

After her greetings and inquiries about his health and the general state of the weather, she reached the meat of the matter.

The time has finally come when life as I personally know it is coming to an end. We have long discussed this possibility, and Papa just informed me today that the moment I have dreaded is upon me. I am to marry the Duke of Averly in three days’ time, and as much as I don’t want to do such a thing, he is adamant. And what is more, he doesn’t care what I had planned for my own existence.

Did she have the courage to ask her cousin for help? Especially when, on paper, it might seem wildly inappropriate? He was the only one to whom she could turn to for help, and since he’d been in the military, his knowledge would help.

I hesitate to ask this of you, for it is a favor I shall never be able to repay, but do you think it would be possible for you to help in this matter? I need you to dispose of the duke to prevent me from becoming an item to be collected and brought out to show off to his friends. I know it sounds rash, and you are probably shocked to read those words, but I cannot allow myself to be further destroyed by that man, after I have worked so hard to rise above the gossip about me.

I am more than a brood mare, Philip, and why should I give him children when there is no love between us? Perhaps I could survive a loveless union, but to bring children into that? To bear babies knowing that their father wouldn’t pay them the slightest mind, for if the rumors are true, he keeps a mistress, and his vices are all he cares about.

She paused to wipe at the tears on her cheeks. Despite knowing she’d been engaged since she was a young girl, Imogen had always assumed there would be love at some point, but the reality of that happening was slim.

If this letter doesn’t reach you in time—and I can’t believe I’m writing these words—please make me a widow, for at least then I shall command part of his fortune and still have my freedom. Perhaps you and I can travel at that point, since you have been so lovely to me over the years.

For a few moments, Imogen thought about her next words. The feeling of being trapped consumed her, and it hurtled her back to the time when she was a young girl. She and her brother had gone swimming in a pond on her father’s estate. Philip had been with them. Something had happened with her cousin, and his foot had become trapped on something beneath the water line. When he couldn’t free himself, he floundered. That was when she’d gone under the surface, for she was a strong swimmer, and she’d freed him from the snag of a dead tree. By the time they’d reached the edge of the pond again, he was breathing as normal again.

Since I saved your life in our youth, dearest cousin, I know you will do your best and try to save mine—metaphorically speaking. I rather doubt the duke is violent, just depraved. In any event, it is doubtful he and I will ever suit, and since I don’t know anything about him, I would rather not find myself settled into a life with him.

Please write to me at this address. I fear if you were to write at the duke’s address that I might not receive the letter, or that he might decide to read my mail before I get it. Not that I know that for a fact, but one can’t be too careful.

I look forward to hearing from you.

With love,

Imogen

Finished with the letter, she tidied her secretary desk, capped the inkwell, and once the ink had dried on the stationery, she quickly folded it and then slipped the missive into a matching envelope. Once she dashed his address on the front, she sought out the butler and asked that the letter go out with the post today because it was time sensitive.

Then her mother came into the townhouse, and Imogen immediately asked if she wanted to go to the shops with her, explaining the need for a trousseau and a gown to be married in. With a delighted agreement from her often-fickle mother, she nodded even though the urge to retch grew strong.

This is truly the beginning of the end, I think. And not for the first time did she despise that she’d been put into this position to begin with.