The Duchess Contract, page 1
THE DUCHESS
CONTRACT
Samantha Hastings
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE DUCHESS CONTRACT
First edition. September 8, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 Samantha Hastings.
Written by Samantha Hastings.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Duchess Contract
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
The Stringham Family Story Continues in...
Author’s Note
About Samantha Hastings
Discussion Questions
Dedication
To Jill Larsen
Chapter One
London, England 1784
Selina took a spoon and gently stirred her newest scent. Leaning over the glass beaker, she inhaled: linden, conifer, and vetiver. It was the sort of perfume that a man or a woman could wear; being neither too sweet, nor too masculine. This was the perfect scent to start her own line of perfume. She stuck in a cork for the lid and picked up her bottle of perfumer’s alcohol, ethanol. She still needed to dilute the rest of the linden oil so that it would have a balanced fragrance. Rushing around her wooden work table, Selina tripped on her skirts and fell. The glass bottle shattered on the floor and the sharp, sterile smell of denatured ethanol soaked through her apron into her bodice and skirt.
Standing up carefully so as to not get cut on the glass, Selina looked down at her soggy apron and splattered new dress. One of her hands was bleeding slightly. She peeled off the apron and realized that the maroon frock was ruined. Her father would be furious. He’d given her the dress only yesterday and insisted she wear it today to meet a new business acquaintance of his. Dabbing her hand with a cloth, she tried to stop the bleeding. She couldn’t ruin a second gown with bloodstains.
Her father had never let her participate in any trade matters before and she would hate to lose her first opportunity. She was determined to start her own factory and distribute her perfumes throughout England, Europe, and then the world (in that order).
“Mr. Stubbs has requested your presence immediately,” her stepmother said loudly, entering Selina’s workshop. Her father’s second wife was the daughter of a vicar and usually a pattern-card of perfection. But her stepmother was clearly flustered, her long, narrow face a shiny red, and several black curls had escaped her white cap. She was only a decade older than her stepdaughter, but she insisted on being called Stepmother or Mrs. Stubbs.
Selina dropped the cloth she was holding. “I must change my dress first.”
Her stepmother grabbed Selina’s wrist and pulled her to the door. “I’m sorry, Selina, but your father is in a rare taking and he wants you to come immediately.”
“La! I’m a right mess.”
Mrs. Stubbs’ tutted her tongue and continued to drag her down the hall. “That you are, young lady, but there’s naught that we can do about that now.”
Her stepmother opened the door to her father’s office and pushed her inside.
Selina blinked.
Her father was not alone. Two other men stood on the other side of the room. One was older, a frail man with a large gray wig and a sickly yellow countenance inadequately concealed by his white powder. His butter-yellow suit was a work of art; each inch of it was embroidered in a rainbow of threads. And he wore more lace than a lady around his throat and cuffs. Bowing to her with a courtly sweep of the leg, he gave her a slight smile.
The man standing next to him could not have been more different. He was nearly a head taller and his whole person radiated strength and virility. His shoulders were broad and his hips were lean, leading to muscular thighs that his knee breeches showed to admiration. For a moment, she wondered if his stockings were stuffed with padding to make his legs look that way. But when they tensed, she was certain that it was only his flesh.
Selina’s gaze made its way back up to his head. The clothing he wore was a delicately embroidered pale blue which announced to the world his status as an aristocrat. He wore no lace, but only a simpleton would not recognize the expensive weave of his shirt and waistcoat. His blonde hair was not powdered, but pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head. Happily, he wore no wig, nor any hair pieces and adornments that were so popular with stylish gentlemen. Lastly, she looked at his face. He wore no cosmetics nor powders. His countenance might have been handsome if he smiled. It certainly was not when he frowned at her. His surprisingly dark eyelashes curved down in consternation over blue eyes and a nose that was slightly crooked. His lips were pale and slim, making a grim line. He gave her a curt bow.
That gentleman was obviously not pleased with her. Embarrassed, she looked down at her hands and saw that her left hand was covered in blood.
“You’re bleeding,” the older man said, handing her a handkerchief.
She pressed it to her wound and saw that the beautiful white linen was embroidered with a coat of arms. These gentlemen were not tradesmen. They were titled aristocrats and part of the beau monde. What were they doing in her father’s office? What business could they possibly have with him?
Her father leaned on his good leg and forced a smile. “My daughter, may I introduce you to the Duke of Hampford and his son, the Marquess of Cheswick?”
Trying not to anger her father further, Selina sunk into a deep curtsy. “It is a great honor, my lords.”
The elder Duke of Hampford gave her a warm smile. “Why don’t you take a seat by me, my dear?”
Selina would have preferred to stay on the other side of the room. The smell of the alcohol on her dress was already giving her a headache. Touching her neck, she nodded and crossed the room to share the sofa with a duke.
A real duke.
Arranging her hands in her wet lap, she realized that her hair had fallen from her coiffure. Brown curls fell in every direction on her bodice. Feeling blood rush to her face, Selina put pressure on the handkerchief in her hand. Her father had longed to improve his social status and be accepted by the aristocracy. He’d married her stepmother for that reason. Mrs. Stubbs was the granddaughter of an earl, but also the daughter of a younger son with more children than money. Despite her noble pedigree, her stepmother was not invited to beau monde parties. Papa must be arranging some sort of trade with these lords, which is why he had bought her this new aubergine-colored dress. And she had ruined it by her clumsiness and her business aspirations.
The marquess took a chair on the other side of the room. Selina didn’t know if he wanted to see her face or be away from her strong smell. She would have liked to sniff the duke, but her olfactory senses were already overwhelmed by the denatured ethanol on her dress.
“My daughter has a hobby of making perfumes,” her father began. Selina couldn’t help but stiffen. Elegant ladies had hobbies. She wanted a business. “It would appear that her experiment this morning went amiss.”
“How fascinating!” Lord Hampford said with true enthusiasm. “What an accomplished and talented lady you must be, Miss Stubbs.”
His son, the honorary marquess, only snorted.
Selina wasn’t particularly talented or accomplished. She was not musical. Her stitches were straight, but she had no skill at embroidery. Neither did she paint or draw. She spoke both French and Italian fluently; but she intended to use her language skills for business dealings, not ballrooms.
Selina attempted a smile. “Thank you, my lord. I would be happy to send you a bottle.”
“I would be honored to receive it.” Lord Hampford bowed his head slightly and then turned his head to look at her father. “Mr. Stubbs, I do believe that our business with you is complete.”
The grim look on her father’s face melted into a terrifying smile. He stood up and shook hands with the elderly duke. Selina noticed that the duke’s grin was scarcely smaller than her father’s. Whatever financial deal had just been concluded, both parties felt as if they were getting the greater advantage. Glancing across the room, she saw that the marquess’s cold blue eyes were on her. There was no happiness in his features and she blushed under his blatant scrutiny.
“Shall we say next month?” her father asked.
The duke allowed Papa to help him to his feet. “I do not see any need to wait. Let us say next week.”
“So soon?”
Lord Hampford waved his thin, lace-covered hand. “I am a particular friend of the Archbishop of Canterbury. I will procure the special license.”
A special license?
Was the duke going to be her partner in the perfumery business? Did she need a special business license because she was a woman? With the Duke of Hampford as her sponsor, she would be able to sell her products to shops that served the aristocracy as well as the gentry. It was a stroke of luck that she hadn’t even dared to dream for.
Selina was all smiles when Lord Hampford kissed her hand and then shook her father’s. His son, the marquess, left with only a curt
Once the gentlemen left, she sprung to her feet and rifled through the papers on her father’s desk. A business deal with a duke was no small victory. She picked up the contract. It held only three signatures: her father’s, Lord Hampford’s, and Lord Cheswick’s. She gasped and grabbed her throat as if she were choking. It wasn’t a business contract at all. Her father had bought a dukedom for her at the exorbitant price of two hundred thousand pounds. She sat down as the blood rushed to her head.
Breathing in and out slowly, Selina knew that she didn’t want to become an honorary marchioness and then a duchess. She would be sneered at and belittled for the rest of her life for her ‘common’ origins. The Marquess of Cheswick, who was to be her husband, clearly despised her and wouldn’t even look her in the eye. But the dye was cast. As a woman and daughter, she was all but her father’s legal property. It was her father’s lifelong dream to be a part of the highest society and a duke was only lesser than a prince. The contract had been signed and the marriage would be unavoidable. The only thing she could change now were the terms.
Her terms.
Selina had only moments to come up with her own bargain before she had no more chips left to gamble on the table. Taking another deep breath, she smelled the alcohol on her dress—her newest perfume. Her father had long considered her perfumery a hobby, but she knew it could be a profitable profession with the appropriate factory manufacturing and distribution.
She grabbed a quill and wrote as fast as she possibly could, drawing up a new contract between herself and her father. Selina promised filial obedience and marital happiness in exchange for the use of his bottling factory for one month to create one thousand bottles of her newest perfume and the use of his supply chain with business contacts to get it onto store shelves. Her final term was that an addendum be added to the marriage contract that gave her exclusive rights to the money from her perfume company (a married woman’s fortune became her husband’s). She signed her name with a flourish and left a line for her father to sign.
She dropped the quill when he opened the door. Standing up, she left his chair and handed him the paper she had so quickly written.
He raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”
“My contract.”
Papa limped to his chair behind the desk. Selina watched him read every word twice before gazing once again at her.
“And why should I agree to spend more of my time and money on you, when I have already given a fortune for this marriage?”
Sniffing, she gestured to the stain on her dress. “Yes, you clearly want the duke’s title for your grandchildren and no doubt the law will uphold your rights as a father to marry me off to whomever you deem worthy. But you cannot stop me from showing up with a stained dress, untidy hair, and making a scene. I will wail, scratch, weep, and scream down the aisle unless you meet my terms. I will show myself to be such a shrew that the marquess will flee the church followed by his father, the duke. And if he is foolish enough to go through with the marriage, I will ensure that myself and my children will never be received into proper society.”
Papa gave her a rare smile of approval. Affection from her father was never freely given—only bartered for. “Five hundred bottles of perfume.”
“One thousand bottles and my stepmother may select the wedding dress.”
“You’ll wear a wig to the ceremony.”
Selina scratched her hair at the very thought of an itchy wig. “That is my last concession. Sign the paper and have your lawyers add my addendum to the marriage contract.”
Her father picked up the quill, dipped into the ink, and wrote his name in large black letters: Elias Stubbs.
Chapter Two
“You’re out of your mind if you think I will marry Miss Stubbs,” Theophilus said. “She looks and smells like a barmaid.”
“But a very pretty barmaid,” his father said, accepting Theophilus’s assistance into the carriage. “I daresay she’s toilet trained, which is more than you can boast about your abandoned monkey.”
The scent of urine was strong inside the carriage. It didn’t take Theophilus long to find a wet spot on the expensive upholstered seat. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Barnabas Bonnet?”
The primate climbed onto Theophilus’s shoulder and made several noises; none of which sounded apologetic. The monkey was not the handsomest of creatures for he had been missing an eye when Theophilus found him, half-dead and starving in the street.
The old duke shook his head. “He’s unrepentant, like yourself.”
“Father, do be serious for once,” Theophilus begged. “I will not marry her.”
“Would you deny your father his dying wish?”
He swallowed heavily although nothing was in his throat. “You’re hardly on your deathbed.”
“Dr. Stewart doesn’t think that I’ll last the month,” his father said, and this time there was no mirth in his voice. “Why else do you think I refused to let Mr. Stubbs have a minister call the wedding banns? I could not be sure if I would live that long. But I can and will last one more week. I wish to see my only son wed before I die.”
Mr. Bonnet pulled on Theophilus’s hair, but he ignored the monkey. “Then I shall find a wife of my own choosing within the week.”
The old duke’s head sank forward as he shook it. “I am too deep in Stubbs’ pocket for that, Theophilus. I may have made a mess of our family’s finances, but I never sold off even an acre of Hampford land.”
“Zoots, Father! I don’t want the land or to be a duke. I wish to go to Africa and explore the deserts and grasslands. I need to study the exotic animals and become a leader in the field of natural sciences.”
“I am sorry, son,” his father said and truly looked it. “But when you’re a duke, you bear responsibility for more than just yourself and your own interests. You are the guardian of generations’ worth of land and people. Are humans less important than monkeys? Or any other species you wish to study?”
“Of course not.”
His father placed a frail hand onto Theophilus’s broader knee. “Marry Miss Stubbs. She comes from sturdy common stock that will no doubt help our failing family line.”
Theophilus thought of his elder brother and two younger sisters who had not survived their infancy and his delicately blue-blooded mother who had died of a chill. No one who had seen Selina Stubbs could doubt that she was a hale and hardy young woman. Despite her wet gown, she had an ample figure that curved every place a woman should. She was certainly a fine female specimen, but he wasn’t looking for a mate.
“You picked her for her father’s money, not her pedigree,” Theophilus said between clenched teeth.
Mr. Bonnet screeched to echo his agreement.
The duke pulled back his hand as if it had been cut like Miss Stubbs’. “I don’t mean to quarrel with you, Theophilus. I have precious little time left. If you don’t marry her, you will be declared bankrupt and all the estates that have been in our family for over four hundred years will be lost.”
The monkey decided to relieve himself on Theophilus’s shoulder at that very moment. The action matched Theophilus’s own feelings on the subject.
Chapter Three
The wig Selina wore was tremendous and deserved its own seat at the wedding. The dress her stepmother selected was wide enough for three ladies. It was cream and made from British silk with beautifully painted flowers and butterflies. Selina was weighed down with a diamond dog collar, earbobs so large that they brushed her shoulders, and a set of diamond bracelets. The wedding guests would have no doubt of her dowry or why the Marquess of Cheswick had agreed to marry her.
Tears fell from her stepmother’s eyes. “You look beautiful, Stepdaughter.”
Selina had never hated her stepmother, but she hadn’t loved her either. The woman before her could never have filled the void created by her mother’s death in the carriage accident that caused her father to limp. Like the step in their legal connection, there was a separation between them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stubbs.”
Her stepmother raised a perfectly-starched handkerchief to her eyes. “Try to be well behaved.”
