A Duke to Tame her: A Historical Regency Romance Novel, page 1
A DUKE TO TAME HER
OLIVIA T. BENNET
CONTENTS
A Thank You Gift
Before You Start Reading…
Love to Read?
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
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: The Wagering Duke
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Olivia T. Bennet
About the Author
A THANK YOU GIFT
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Daring Fantasies of a Noble Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Olivia T. Bennet
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ABOUT THE BOOK
“I will never be satisfied. I will always hunger for more of you.”
Tarnishing her own reputation is the only way for Lady Isabella to be deemed truly unmarriageable. Until her parents try to force a match on her and the only way she can get out of it is with the help of her complete and polar opposite.
Duke James may be the most desirable bachelor but his only priority is finding matches for his younger sisters. Yet ambitious mamas lurk everywhere and his salvation comes in a feisty lady that makes him lose control…
Their engagement shocks everyone and most of all Isabella who must seal this deal with a passionate kiss. Yet as James keeps protecting her from the vicious ton a past secret threatens to tear them apart once and for all…
CHAPTER 1
“Stop gawking about as if this were your first Season.”
Horatia Reeves, the Countess of Abberton, was absolutely horrified to find herself hissing yet another reprimand at her younger child and only daughter so early in the evening. There was a very, very good reason her hair had greyed so prematurely, and the name of that reason was Isabella Reeves.
“You are no ill-bred country ruffian, you are the first and only daughter of the Earl of Abberton, and you must find a suitable—Isabella, are you listening to me?”
The grey hair suited Horatia’s stern tone and the severe look in her eyes as she watched her daughter slouch. The matriarch of the family was not an unkind woman, but she was prone to worrying. Her worries sometimes reduced her to a fever, which required time away in the country to recover in the fresh air. Almost all of her worries were about her feisty daughter.
“No, Mother, I am usually not.” Isabella smiled placidly at her mother, though her brown eyes continued scanning the expansive ballroom, taking in the glittering chandeliers, tables of food and wine, and the veritable horde of potential suitors.
Graham Reeves, the Earl of Abberton, continued conversing drily about business with his son Luke, long used to his wife’s squabbles with their strong-willed daughter.
Unlike Isabella, her brother Luke, the Viscount of Humphries, had already managed to wed well, winning the hand of Abigail, now his Viscountess, as his lovely wife.
Ever the complimentary contrast to her husband, Abigail had been quite invested in the exchange between her dear friend and mother-in-law and was rightfully scandalized by it all.
“Isabella! We are in polite company!” Her words were softened by the ever-present kindness in her green eyes and the gentle squeeze she gave Isabella’s gloved hand.
Horatia straightened with an approving nod, glad to have an ally in her endless effort to make her daughter marriageable, or at the very least, presentable.
The women all wore the most stunning gowns, with impressive flowing skirts and intricate beadwork, that sparkled in the light as if each woman were a multifaceted jewel, while the men donned their finest suits, complete with top hats and tails. The scene was set perfectly for the debutantes to emerge into high Society for the first time.
The debutante ball was hosted at the grand estate of the Duke of Whittington, a sprawling estate nestled comfortably in the quaint suburbs of London. The estate’s grounds were meticulously manicured, with lush gardens and sparkling fountains that provided the perfect backdrop for the evening’s festivities.
From the entrance hall, guests were directed to the grand ballroom, a breathtaking space that spanned the length of the estate’s main wing. The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow, thanks to the dozens of chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, each one dripping with crystal and gold.
“Isabella, please, stop slouching. Your gown is such a wonderful shade of periwinkle, it is meant to draw attention to your brown eyes. It should make them seem warmer, less muddy. And you mustn’t slouch creases into your bodice. Imagine if the beading began to break away!”
Horatia continued spiraling into worse and worse scenarios, every disaster that could possibly result from Isabella’s slouching.
“I am ill at the thought of you being noticed, slumped over like a sack of potatoes! It is awful enough you choose to constantly cause such upset. I will never recover from the time you tried to spare the quail from our supper with Lord Fairwen by smuggling them through the drawing room. There are still feathers being found in the poor man’s draperies to this day!”
Isabella corrected her posture without thought as she stopped listening, long used to the nattering and nitpicking of her well-meaning mother.
“Why must you create such terrible diversions and still insist upon slouching? Imagine if someone with such an impeccable reputation as… as… the Duke of Blackmore! Imagine if His Grace were to find you creased and crumpled as you are!” Horatia heaved a desperate breath. “I pray you cease to slouch, and that you do manage to not knock over a third decanter of red wine in your campaign of chaos.”
She was well aware that as their family was announced upon entering the ballroom, they had drawn more eyes than most other guests had, and it was not to do with their name or station.
Isabella noted quite calmly that the eyes were not on her family as a whole, but solely on her. Women of all ages stared, debutantes and matrons alike, using delicate fans to whisper and gossip behind while their gazes never left her.
Even the men looked pointedly away when caught staring, especially the eligible men. It was the opening night of Isabella’s fourth season, and with a deep, grim satisfaction, she recognized her success—her absolutely unmarriageable reputation preceded her. She may yet be safe from the sacrificial altar of marriage.
Horatia gave Isabella a smart, discrete rap on the wrist with her closed fan to catch her attention.
“Mother!” Isabella began to protest, but the Countess was having none of it.
“Heed my words!” Rarely was Horatia quite so sharp, especially while whispering through a delicate and demure smile to keep up appearances. “I will not fail to find you a suitable match this season, in spite of your best efforts to remain as unladylike as possible. You will be wed.”
“I do not wish to find a suitable match! I do not wish to marry at all.” Isabella scowled, but her mother was already surveying the room, taking notice of which eligible bachelors were in attendance.
Abigail, however, took her sister-in-law’s hand again. “Perhaps the time for secrets has come to an end. It has been quite some time now. Surely if you were to tell her the true reason for your reluctance…” the redhead began quietly, not without sympathy.
“You know I cannot ever speak that truth to my mother. No one other than you can ever know. And you know why.” Isabella sighed, casting her gaze about the room.
“Have you seen Elizabeth? After three seasons, she’s now a baroness, which is not at all undignified, but her poor mother is so scandalized by her marrying below her station.”
Understanding the subject was closed, Abigail gave Isabella’s hand a final squeeze and shared a loving gaze before following her lead. The two were endlessly grateful to have found such deep friendship when Abigail had become betrothed to Luke.
“Elizabeth looks so happy on the Baron’s arm. There is talk of children in the near future for them. They will have the most beautiful children, especially if they inherit Elizabeth’s curls and the Baron’s strong jaw.” Abigail sighed with a wistful smile.
“I hope your brother is able to stay home this season. Work calling him away so often has delayed our plans for our own children.”
“Please, Abigail, I do not need the idea of my best friend and my only brother making children in my head.” Isabella wrinkled her nose in a most unladylike way, and Abigail was forced to stifle her chuckle before anyone could notice her lack of decorum.
As the debutantes finally made their entrance, the room erupted in cheers and applause. They walked gracefully down the aisle, their delicate gowns rustling softly against the polished wooden floors.
The young ladies wore their hair in elaborate updos, adorned with jewels and flowers, while the men’s eyes followed their every move with admiration and awe. Each girl shone, sparkling with jewels, beadwork, and a joyful innocence that would only be present in their first season.
They had been planning this moment for months, some of them for years, dreaming of the day that they would shimmer into their debut and catch the eye of a man who could not help but fall in love on the spot.
The first real dance began now that the debutantes had arrived and been announced, and the Diamonds among them noted, so the guests took their places on the dance floor. The opening waltz was a popular choice, and the pairs swirled gracefully around the ballroom. The dancers moved in perfect synchronization, their movements graceful and fluid. The music filled the air, and the young, naïve guests’ hearts beat in time with the rhythm.
“Ah, Lord Horace, charming as always.” Horatia’s exaggerated titter startled the young women into looking away from the dancers, and the poor Lord Horace looked quite alarmed as Isabella made eye contact.
“Have you had the pleasure of meeting my daughter-in-law, Abigail Reeves, the Viscountess of Humphries, and my daughter, Lady Isabella Reeves?”
“The pleasure?” Lord Horace blurted with unchecked skepticism, his eyes going wide with horror as he realized what he’d said, sweat beginning to appear on his brow.
“Surely, I would remember the pleasure of making your acquaintance.” He recovered well with a disappointingly shallow bow.
Abigail returned a lovely curtsey, while Isabella’s was decidedly less so.
“Of course, you would.” Isabella smiled, rolling her eyes to Abigail, who gave her a stern look in return.
It was one thing for Isabella to besmirch her own reputation, but to be so openly rude—at the first event of the Season, no less!—reflected poorly on her family. Isabella, seeing her dear friend’s reproach, checked herself slightly.
“So, this must truly be our first meeting, Lord Horace. I promise, you will not forget me.” Holding his hazel eyes with her deep brown much longer than was proper, Isabella smiled demurely, as if hiding secrets behind her red lips.
Lord Horace indeed looked utterly stricken. Somehow still apprehensive, though also intrigued.
Isabella had been a prize during her first season, and it could be easy enough to overlook all the rumors and hearsay in favor of marrying the beautiful daughter of an earl. She was a petite beauty, her blonde hair and porcelain skin contrasting her deep warm brown eyes.
But now, as the handsome Baron of Arnsend approached her, smiling with his hand tucked politely into Horatia’s elbow, Isabella felt wave after wave of annoyance and desperation wash over her. She knew that yet another tedious evening of socializing with eligible bachelors was being engineered on her behalf, and she was not in the mood for it.
As Lord Arnsend came to stand before her, he bowed deeply and introduced himself with a charming smile. Isabella forced a polite smile in return, but she could already feel her patience wearing thin. His bright smile, black hair, and sparkling eyes did nothing to sway her resolve. His voice was deep and pleasant, but he seemed determined to use it only on the most boring topics.
“Have you been enjoying the fair spring air? We are lucky to have such mild weather of late, it is ideal for horseback rides out into the countryside. Do you enjoy much riding, Lady Isabella? I cannot imagine you do, having to manage all those skirts. A delicate jewel such as yourself mustn’t risk the dust of the road and the sweat of such a beast.” He prattled on seemingly endlessly. “I imagine a prize such as yourself had better spend her time practicing the softer arts. Perhaps one day you may grace me with some fine needlepoint upon my handkerchief.”
Before he could find or manufacture an opportunity to ask her to dance, Isabella yawned widely without raising her hand or fan to her face, making it clear that she was not impressed by his presence, let alone his patronizing monologue masquerading as conversation.
She did not even need to struggle to exaggerate much, as his droning monotone coupled with her boredom was quickly lulling her to sleep. Lord Arnsend looked absolutely stricken, as if he had been under the impression the meeting was going well, his face falling for a moment before he quickly composed himself and made an excuse to move on to more suitable company.
Isabella watched him go with a sense of satisfaction and relief, knowing that she had avoided another tedious conversation about her future as a wife with a man she wanted no future with.
Abigail simply sighed beside her and remarked to her, “I wish my dear husband would finally stop talking business with his father and take me for a jaunt around the dance floor.”
As if sensing her eyes on him, Luke glanced over to his wife, smiling at her lovingly before he noticed his younger sister standing mulishly beside her.
There was a sweet respite from the advances of suitors as the orchestra played more spirited songs, drawing those in their first or second season together on the dance floor and all eyes to them, with the occasional elderly lord swooping in to try to steal a dance. Abigail and Isabella watched with wide eyes, tittering behind fans—politely, Horatia noted with frustrated pride—as they watched old men chase young, vibrant skirts.
“One of them may even be desperate enough to settle for your ample wit and charm,” Horatia quipped.
Abigail and Isabella froze for a moment before Horatia flicked her fan delicately open and let herself smile, laugh lines crinkling her eyes.
Horatia truly did love her daughter, but she also knew that, despite what Isabella wanted and whatever her reluctance to marry was born of, what she needed was a future, and that meant a titled, wealthy husband.
As the waltzes slowed once more, Isabella’s brief break came to an end. It felt like barely any time had passed before Horatia struck once more, nearly floating with joy at having found another bachelor to escort back to her daughter.
