Page 1 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)

July, London

The note had been uncharacteristically enigmatic.

Your Grace,

I have crucial information concerning Our Business. While not as satisfactory as we might have hoped, it certainly represents progress. Allow me to wait upon you at your home in London on the third of this month – which I believe is the day before you depart for Bath – at ten o’ clock.

Your Obedient Servant,

Mr. Seeker

***

William Willenshire, Duke of Dunleigh, glanced at the clock in the corner of the room.

Five past the hour. The wretched man was late. How typical. He fidgeted with his pocket watch, with his cuffs, with his cravat – too tightly tied and digging into his neck – and, of course, with the locket.

It was odd to think that he’d been in possession of the silver necklace for several months now. In that time, all three of his siblings had been married off, one by one, all blissfully happy with their partners, all enjoying their newfound wealth. For such were the stipulations of their late father's will — none of his offspring could lay claim to their inheritance until they were duly wed, and they were afforded but one year to procure a suitable spouse, commencing from the date upon which the will was read.

Frankly, William had not thought they would manage it.

Perhaps I don’t know my siblings as well as I thought, he considered grimly. Now that his youngest sibling, Alexander, was recently married, their mother had taken herself off to live with him, her favourite child, and his wife, the quiet and intelligent Abigail. William was all alone in the vast Dunleigh London house, battling unpleasant memories in every room.

It wasn’t loneliness, though. Dukes were not allowed to be lonely. William had work to do, not least of all securing himself a wife, to fund the estate and title he had inherited as his birthright, regardless of anything else.

He flinched when the door opened, admitting the butler and the stooped figure of Mr. Seeker, the man William had hired to find the owner of the silver locket.

“Mr. Seeker,” he said flatly, rising to his feet.

“Apologies for my lateness, your Grace,” Mr. Seeker said smoothly. “But I believe my news will console you.”

“I suppose I shall find out. Tea, if you please,” he added, glancing at the butler. The man bowed and withdrew, leaving William and Mr. Seeker alone. He gestured for the other man to sit and settled himself behind his desk.

“Well, Mr. Seeker? What news do you have?”

Mr. Seeker clasped his fingers together, and William bit back a sigh. He was apparently not going to get a quick answer.

“This case is certainly a strange one and has not produced the quick answer I expected. Let me commend you, your Grace, for being so determined to return this necklace to its owner. It was remarkably chivalrous of you.”

William was glad his skin was olive-hued, hiding any blushes. He could remember every instant of the conversation he’d exchanged with the beautiful lady in a dark blue dress, months ago at one of the first balls of the Season. She had been intriguing, bold, and faintly amused at just about everything. She had worn the silver locket around her neck but departed without introducing herself. When William found the locket later, its clasp broken, he had decided to keep it and find the lady himself, rather than simply handing it over to the hostess.

It had been a harder task than he expected. The woman seemed to have… to have melted into thin air. The locket provided a few clues – the initials LB scratched on the back, and a miniature of a child inside. Aside from that, William might have believed that he had imagined her.

“You’ll recall my suspicions, your Grace, that the lady in question was one Lavinia Brookford?” Mr. Seeker continued, cutting into William’s thoughts.

“I recall, yes.”

“Well, I can confirm it. Miss Brookford is the daughter of Lord Brennon, a rather unimportant member of Society. He is a baron, true, but a poor one, and one inclined to bad decisions. He has an interest in breeding horses, it seems, but no knack for selling them on. Miss Brookford is his oldest daughter, and by all accounts has a love for horses herself. I believe the family has recently endured some tragedy or another. To confirm our suspicions, I have it on good authority that Miss Brookford lost a necklace on the date of the party at which you met her. She returned to speak to her hostess and was keen to have the necklace returned to her, although it was not found. Unfortunately, I was unable to procure an address. The family, while in London, have proved remarkably difficult to find. I have heard a rumour that they have returned to their country estate, and I’m sure that with a little time, I will find the address to that place.”

“Well done, Mr. Seeker,” William managed at last. “You’ve almost gotten to the bottom of this mystery.”

Almost being the operative word. A name really did not mean much. William could attach the name to the sharp, clear face in his mind, but he was no closer than before.

He didn’t mention the obvious – that if he had given the necklace to their hostess that night, explaining that he had found it, then Miss Brookford would have been reunited with her locket the very next day, instead of it lying folded in a square of muslin in a drawer.

Mr. Seeker allowed himself a small smile. “Indeed. My advice, your Grace, would be to return the locket by letter, enclosing a brief explanation. Once we have secured the address, of course, which will doubtless happen in a month or two. I am certain the family shall be deeply moved by the lengths to which you have gone.”

A month or two. The Season might be all but over then. I’ll either be married and rich, or single and thoroughly poor.

Was there a hint of amusement in Mr. Seeker’s voice? It certainly was not normal for a man – any man, let alone a duke – to take such pains over returning a necklace to a stranger. Perhaps he ought to feel embarrassment. The feeling made William want to take out the locket again and pass the pad of his thumb over its smooth face. He wasn’t entirely sure why the motion was soothing. Should he be ashamed?

William, though, had been trained well enough by his father not to show emotions. Dukes were not permitted to feel anything, and the only emotions suitable for a man, apparently, were anger and triumph.

“Perhaps I will, Mr. Seeker, perhaps I will,” he responded smoothly, not even blinking. “Perhaps you would prefer to take your tea in the parlour, while I continue my work.”

It wasn’t really a suggestion, of course. Mr. Seeker did not flinch, to his credit.

“Surely, your Grace,” he said, rising to his feet. “I shall keep you updated on my further efforts.”

William bit his lip, saying nothing while Mr. Seeker moved towards the door.

“Mr. Seeker?”

The man paused, glancing over his shoulder. William smiled wryly.

“You have done remarkably good work. I am quite in your debt.”

Mr. Seeker chuckled. “You have been generous indeed, your Grace. There is no debt to think of. Good day.”

He slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him, and William was left alone.

He sat still for a moment, tapping his fingers on the wood, then abruptly took out the locket. He set it on the desk and withdrew a sheet of good paper. Already formulating the letter in his head, he picked up a pen, nib hovering above the paper.

Dear Miss Brookford, he would write. We have not been officially introduced, but I believe I have an item belonging to you…

He bit his lip. And that would be that. Nothing more to think about. Perhaps they would meet again, perhaps they would not. The Season had reached its pinnacle, and while there were several balls left to attend, it would not be long before members of the ton began to leave town, and the Season would dwindle away to nothing over the winter months.

Steady on, man, he scolded himself. You don’t even have her address yet. Perhaps Mr. Seeker won’t find it, after all.

William abruptly replaced his pen, pushing away the blank paper. Instead, he picked up a neat envelope that had been delivered that morning. He recognized the handwriting, and knew it came from his mother. He cracked open the seal and began to read.

***

Dear William,

I hope your business is proceeding along nicely. Alex, Abigail, and I are having a famous time. She is such a wonderful young woman – I could not wish for a finer daughter-in-law. We are going to Bath at the end of the week, and I believe we shall meet you there, along with Henry and Katherine. London is so tiresome at this point of the Season.

However, I am writing to you on a matter of great importance. It worries me that you are not yet pursuing a courtship. Several suitable young ladies have expressed interest in you, such as Lady Hayward, and even that odd little thing, Miss Bainbridge. Of course, Lady Hayward is far more fashionable, but not quite as rich as Miss Bainbridge. I believe that your father would have been pleased to see you make a match with Miss Bainbridge. He talked often of her family in years gone by, and I think that if he had been alive, he would have arranged it himself.

Still, you have always made it abundantly clear that you will make your own decisions, and so I shall not influence you in any way, other than to remind you that you must marry. You know this already, of course. You may be a jewel in the crown of the ton this year, but nobody considers a poor duke to be a suitable match.

I have the utmost faith in your capabilities, and of course you may rely upon me and your siblings to help you in any way we can.

After all, if Henry, of all people, can secure a bride after being so convinced he would rather give up his inheritance than be forced to marry, I am sure you can manage rather well. I shall be arranging a ball once you return, in honour of Alex and Abigail, and it will be held at our home in Bath, at Rosewood House.

With your permission, of course. You should attend and make every effort to secure a suitable bride there.

That is all I can presently conceive.

Fond Regards,

Your Mother, the Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh.

**

William wondered how many mothers signed their letters fond regards when writing to their eldest son.

Quite a few, most likely.

The matter of a bride, however, had bothered William a great deal. He’d rather die than marry Lady Hayward, but Miss Bainbridge seemed to be a decent match. She was composed and insightful, exhibiting a candour that bordered upon the unladylike. She would make a good duchess and was quite clearly angling to become his wife. The Bainbridges were shockingly wealthy and powerful, and well known everywhere, but they did not have any titles yet.

They wanted a title, quite badly.

Miss Bainbridge had been very clear. She did not expect to be wooed or even loved. She had hinted at a nice, simple business arrangement, to be settled at the altar. William found her frankness refreshing. After all, he didn’t need love. His mother had loved his father – the sentiments not really returned – and look at where that got her. Miserable, weak, and broken, distanced from all of her children except one, a shell of a woman.

No, William did not need love, and he was not searching for it. He needed a wife, for many reasons, and it was becoming clear that he was not going to find one here in London.

With a sudden determination, he sprang to his feet and strode towards the bell-pull in the corner. He hauled on it, and the butler appeared a few moments later.

“Your Grace?”

“I am departing for Bath today,” William declared resolutely. “Not on the morrow. Are my belongings properly packed?”

The butler blinked. William did not have a reputation as being impulsive. He never did anything unexpected, not without a very good reason.

“Almost, I believe, your Grace.”

“Excellent. I would like to leave within the hour. Send word to Rosewood House to let them know to expect me, and have my carriage prepared.”

The butler recovered. “At once, your Grace.”

He bowed and left the room, leaving William standing by the window, restless for some reason he could not put his finger on. He reached out and took the muslin-wrapped locket and slid it into his pocket.