The Duchess' Desperate Deal, page 1
The Duchess' Desperate Deal
Forged Alliances, Volume 2
Lavinia Glen
Published by Lavinia Glen, 2024.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE DUCHESS' DESPERATE DEAL
First edition. July 31, 2024.
Copyright © 2024 Lavinia Glen.
ISBN: 979-8227571618
Written by Lavinia Glen.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
Prologue
DERBYSHIRE, ENGLAND
1842
The Earl was home.
Gabriel Sinclair couldn’t bring himself to call the Earl “Father.” He couldn’t even think of him as a father figure. The Earl’s presence meant one thing: Gabriel should stay out of the way. If he failed at that, if he called attention to himself, the consequences would be swift and painful.
Donning his riding jacket, Gabriel slipped into the servants’ corridors. He dared not use the house hallways and risk running into the Earl.
Gabriel could not remember when he first realized the Earl hated him, but it was one of his earliest memories. Surely a four-year-old shouldn’t know about hate. And yet it was impossible to look into the Earl’s dark, soulless eyes and not instinctively recognize the emotion.
The beatings, cruel words, and contemptuous looks over the next eight years had only cemented the belief in his mind. His father, the man who was supposed to love him, despised him.
As a young child, he couldn’t understand why. His mother was no help. She just cried and told him to stay out of the Earl’s sight. Now that he was older, he was just glad the Earl didn’t come home often.
Gabriel flitted through dimly lit servants’ corridors, narrowly avoiding a maid, her arms full of linens, and then swerving around a footman carrying a tray. They didn’t bat an eye at finding the son of the master of the house in the service corridors. That in itself was telling of how often he had used them.
As he descended the old, worn stairs, he wondered how long the Earl planned to stay this time. For how long would Gabriel have to scurry about? Maybe he could go stay at the vicar’s house? His friend Jamie, the vicar’s son, had told him he could stay over whenever he needed.
But the vicarage wasn’t a large house. With Jamie’s three brothers and four sisters, the house was bursting at the seams. He didn’t mind much. He would sleep on a pallet on the floor if it meant being out of the Earl’s reach, but he knew the vicar and his family would never consent to having the lord’s son sleep on the floor. They would give him a bed, even if it meant displacing one of their sons. Gabriel didn’t want to impose.
Finally, at ground level, he slipped out of the house through a side door. His steps quickened as he approached the stables, anticipation for the ride lending them a spring, making him careless. He marched through the gardens, turned around a tall hedge, and almost collided with an ominous, large figure.
So much for avoiding the Earl.
The Earl’s irate gaze swept over him before his hand shot out and grabbed him by his scruff.
“You disgraceful whelp, watch where you are going.”
Gabriel didn’t reply. He had learned his response wasn’t necessary and would only increase the Earl’s anger and prolong the unpleasantness.
“Where were you going, skulking around like a thief? Answer me, boy.” The violent shake that accompanied his last words rattled Gabriel’s teeth.
“I was going for a ride, sir.”
“For a ride, uh? Were you the one who tampered with my riding crops?”
He was. Not that he would ever admit to it, but his confession wasn’t necessary. The Earl didn’t limit his cruelty to his son. He also liked to punish his mounts. His riding crops had little pieces of metal on their ends. And he used pointed spurs mercilessly. The harm inflicted on the horses pained Gabriel as much as the abuse The Earl rained upon him.
“I know it was you. You are weak. Soft. Think you can interfere with how I handle my horseflesh, do you? Well, I’ll show you a lesson you won’t forget. I got a new riding crop,” the Earl said, shoving said riding crop under Gabriel’s chin, lifting his face. “Want to try it first? Maybe that will teach you not to get between me and my horses.”
He grabbed Gabriel by the arm, turned, and dragged him along. Gabriel tried to resist the Earl. He fought him. But the Earl was a big, muscular brute. Gabriel’s own gangly arms hardly posed a challenge. He didn’t scream. What good would it do? No one on the estate would dare interfere, and it would just magnify this indignity.
He was powerless as the Earl dragged him into an empty stall and tied him to one of the posts with a rope. When the man dragged a menacing dagger from a sheath in his boot, Gabriel closed his eyes with a helpless gulp. Maybe he should scream, after all. He could take a beating, but preserving what was left of his dignity was not worth his life. Maybe if there were witnesses, the Earl would not kill...
He yelled for all he was worth. “Help! Somebody, help! Please! Over here, the last stall.”
A hard blow to the side of his head made his vision swim, interrupting his screams.
“Shut up, you hellish son of a whore. You are nothing but a coward.”
“D-don’t kill me. I will leave your house, and you’ll never see me again. I promise.”
“I’m not going to kill you, you dumb prick. I’m just going to teach you a lesson.”
The glint of a knife flashed at the edge of his vision, followed by the rending of material when the Earl used it to cut his shirt and waistcoat open, exposing his back. The cool morning air caressed his flesh a moment before fire descended on his skin as the Earl used his riding crop on his bare back.
Gabriel had endured many beatings, but this certainly felt like the worst. His flesh was on fire. Endless tears slid from his eyes at the pain and his helplessness. He was at the mercy of a deranged brute, and there was no one who could help him.
Drawing air became increasingly difficult as the pain intensified to excruciating levels. He was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, if not from the pain. Any minute now. He would welcome oblivion. And then, when he couldn’t stand a second more of torture, it stopped.
“Listen to me, boy. Pack up your things.” The Earl was breathing hard. His crazed anger abated a little, but his poisonous hatred was just as strong as always. “You are what, twelve now? Aye, old enough. I’m sending you to Eton on the morrow. And you better pray that you never cross my path again.”
Gabriel stared. Dazed, broken, and confused. Just like that, he was cast out of the only home he’d ever known. Returning was not an option as long as the Earl lived. Gabriel would soon have no home, family, or anyone to turn to. He would be alone in the world.
Gabriel sighed with a combination of crushing defeat and hopeful freedom. Better alone than in the company of a madman.
CHAPTER 1
HERTFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND
November 1863
Her husband was dying. There was no denying it this time. The duke had been delicate for years now, and still, he lingered on. But this time, it was obvious he had little time left.
Hannah knew it would come to this. Being much younger than him meant it was likely she would one day become a widow. She sat by his bed, holding one of his hands as if she could keep him anchored to this earth by sheer force of will. The hour was late, well past midnight. All the servants had long since gone to bed, and she had sent her husband’s old valet to get some much-needed sleep, too. She wanted to be alone with him. She needed to think about her future.
What would she do with her life once her husband died? She would have freedom and a good portion to live on. Her husband had well provided for her in their marriage settlements. But she wasn’t looking forward to that. The prospect of being a wealthy widow wasn’t enough to give her life purpose.
Theirs might not be a passionate sort of love, but there was a deep, abiding affection between them. For the whole of her adult life, Harold had been her rock, her home, her safe place, and she didn’t want to contemplate life without him. She knew many doubted
Some of her friends pitied her for being forced to marry a man so much older. Others, the most ambitious, had envied her, for she was about to become a duchess. She had felt nothing other than a sense of relief that her parents had settled on someone who was not intolerable. Whom to marry had never been her choice to make. It was her duty to marry whomever they chose. And they’d chosen the Duke of Stanhope. Even if she’d had misgivings, it would have never occurred to her to defy or question her parents’ choice.
They had told her they had secured an excellent match for her and that she was a lucky girl. She had met the duke the following day, and while he was not the stuff of girlish fantasies, he had kind eyes and made her feel valued and safe. She would have gone with him just for that.
But he had given her so much more. In the fifteen years of their marriage, he had been the best of husbands. He had taught her so much, allowed her to grow and develop. She had built her life around him, like a climbing vine around a mighty oak. But what would happen to the vine when the oak died?
Her husband’s voice interrupted her melancholic reverie.
“Hannah, I’m glad you are here.”
“Of course, dear. Where else would I be? I’ll be right here until you get better.”
“No, Hannah. Not this time. You know as well as I do, I won’t be getting better.”
“Don’t say that! Of course you will. You always do.”
He waved a dismissive hand, as if whether he lived or not was unimportant.
“We need to talk. Time is running out, and there are matters I need to settle.”
“You don’t need to worry about the estate. I have it well in hand. I met with Mr. Gibbons just this morning.”
“None of that will matter unless we secure the family lineage. We need to see about begetting an heir.”
She looked at him in shock. He had not visited her bed in a decade. Surely, he could not mean...he couldn’t. She must have misunderstood.
“No, it’s not what you are thinking.” He gave a strangled bark of bitter laughter that dissolved into a fit of coughing. She handed him a glass of water and helped him drink. After a few sips, he leaned back, his breaths labored.
“God knows I wouldn’t be capable of even attempting it. I have a different idea, and a huge favor to ask. It might seem shocking at first, but I beg you to contemplate it.”
“Anything, my dear,” she said, steeling herself.
If he had procreation in mind, he might need more than a little help from her. The pleading note in such a proud man’s voice touched her heart.
“Don’t agree yet. You may not want to do what I’m going to ask of you.”
Apprehension filled her. She expected the matter to be difficult and awkward. But was it possible it would be even more embarrassing than what she could endure?
“What is it?”
“I need you to beget an heir with my son.”
“I beg your pardon?”
For the second time in minutes, he had shocked her to her core. Of all the things she had expected him to ask of her, this was not even a remote possibility. He had looked so lucid until now. But his mind must be going. He didn’t seem to remember that his son was dead. Had been for the last sixteen years. Recovering from her shock, she tried to speak as gently as possible.
“My dear, you are not thinking clearly. No doubt the effects of the pain medicine. I’ll have to speak with Dr. Hobson.”
“No, no. Listen. I have not explained myself well. I have an illegitimate son. Born before I married my first wife. He is someone you know. I was hoping... that is... I know it sounds insane, but I am out of time and desperate. And the idea has so many advantages for everyone involved.”
“Are you seriously suggesting I conceive a child with another man?”
“Not any man. My son. It is the perfect solution, don’t you see? He carries my blood. He is my firstborn but could never inherit because, in the eyes of the law, he is not my child. But if you have a son by him, I will claim it as mine and a child of my blood will inherit the dukedom.”
“You must be delirious. I will send for the doctor.” Standing up in a panic, she tried to leave his bedside, but he held on to her hand with a surprisingly powerful grip.
“Hannah. I’m not delirious. Never been more lucid in my life. Impending death has a way of making everything so clear. It is the perfect solution for everyone. But I need your help to carry it out.”
“You keep saying it’s the best solution for everyone, but I fail to see the advantage for me. You expect me to whore myself out to another man, to commit adultery, to lie, and cheat? All for the remote chance I’ll be able to conceive and that the child will be a male?”
“Don’t see it like that. You will not be committing adultery, for I am asking you to do it. And I know we can’t control the gender of the child, but my ancestors and I have mostly produced male progeny. There’s a very good chance you will conceive, and the child will be male.”
“I am not a broodmare whom you can mate with the stud of your choice. I am a person. And so is this man, your son. Who is he, anyway?”
“The Earl of Brentworth.”
She sucked in a breath. Of all men, it had to be him. The idea was unnerving for reasons she didn’t care to examine. An appalling thought occurred to her.
“Have you discussed this with him? Have the two of you been plotting behind my back how to go about impregnating the duchess?”
“Of course not!” the duke replied. “He doesn’t even know he is my son yet. I wanted to broach the subject with you first. If you are agreeable, then I will speak to him. If you are not, then there’s no point in telling him anything. But I am hoping you will say yes.”
“How can I agree to such a scheme?” she said almost desperately.
“Why not? From what I’ve seen, you like him. He is a handsome chap and has quite the reputation with the ladies. Takes after me when I was that age,” the duke said with a proud chuckle. “It wouldn’t be a hardship for you. In fact, I dare say you might enjoy it.”
She stiffened with outrage. “Sir! How can you speak to me thus? I am a decent woman. I have never even contemplated being unfaithful to you!”
The duke sighed. “I know, my dear. You have been an exemplary wife. Much better than I deserve, that’s for sure. But in this case, it would have been better if you weren’t quite so virtuous. We might not be in this predicament right now.” He muttered this last statement almost under his breath.
She hissed, finally yanking her hand free from his as she stood up. “You criticize me for being faithful to you? How dare you! I thought all men wanted their wives to be virtuous.”
“Please, don’t be offended. That’s not what I meant.”
“How can I not when you insult me with such an indecent proposition, criticize me for being faithful, and encourage me to ‘enjoy’ myself with another man as if I were a... a woman of loose virtue?”
“This is not going the way I envisioned it,” the duke wheezed, slumping back in the bed. “Please settle down. I don’t have the energy to argue. Barely have enough energy to speak. You know I intend no insult or disrespect. I’m just a dying old man with too many regrets and precious little time to make amends. Please, hear me out with an open mind. Please.”
The note of desperation in his voice, which she had never heard before, did something to her. He might be out of his mind, but he had always been unfailingly kind and generous to her. She owed it to him to hear his proposition enough to at least come up with a logical denial.
She sat back down in the chair by his bed as he went on. “I have not been a good husband to you.”
“Don’t say that!” she interrupted. “You have always been very good to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.”
He chuckled without humor at that, the sound dry and gravelly. “Yes, you could have. If you had a better husband, you would know about passion, intimacy, and love.” The duke held up a hand when she was about to interrupt again. “You are a lovely woman, Hannah. Beautiful inside and out. You deserve to be loved. You deserve a man who would worship you.
