The Duchess Hunt (Love's a Game Book 1), page 1
THE DUCHESS HUNT
LOVE’S A GAME
BOOK ONE
VALERIE BOWMAN
JUNE THIRD ENTERPRISES, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Duchess Hunt, copyright © 2024 by June Third Enterprises, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Print edition ISBN: 978-1-960015-26-6
Digital edition ISBN: 978-1-960015-25-9
Book Cover Design © Lyndsey Llewellen at Llewellen Designs.
For my niece, Clara Pikor.
Love, Aunt Vivi
She wants to find his match…
Meredith Drake has sworn off marriage after her disastrous union with a much older man. But when her best friend returns from war, the young widow pledges to help him find his bride.
He wants to win her heart…
Griffin Brooks grew up as the ‘spare’ son, who no one noticed. He went to war to forget that Meredith was out of his reach. But now he’s back, and no longer the ‘spare.’ With a dukedom at stake, he must take a bride. And for him, there is only one choice.
The hunt is on. Will true love be the prize?
When Meredith unexpectedly meets Griffin at a pleasure club and begins to see him in a whole new light, can he convince her to give passion…and love a chance?
CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Also by Valerie Bowman
Let’s Keep in Touch
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Surrey, July 1803, The Marquess of Trentham’s Estate
“Who do you think you shall marry, Griff?” asked Lady Meredith Drake as she tossed her fishing line back into the pond. The fourteen-year-old had just finished placing a fresh worm on her hook.
“Marry?” Griffin Brooks wrinkled his nose. “Why would I want to think about that? I’m only sixteen.” Griffin shook his head, pulled his knees to his chest, and rested his arms atop them. He still clutched his fishing pole in his hand.
He adored his friend Meredith. She was one of the boys, as far as Griffin was concerned. But she’d begun asking him questions like this more often lately. Far too many probing questions about the future and things like marriage and Seasons and debut balls and the like. Subjects he had little interest in.
Griffin scrubbed a hand through his hair as he watched his line bob in the water. He and Mere were sitting on the grassy bank in front of the pond on Meredith’s father’s property. Meredith and her older brother, Ashford, were the only children of the Marquess of Trentham.
Griffin’s own father, the Duke of Southbury, lived an hour’s ride away. And while Griffin had an older brother who was eighteen and a younger sister who was only five, he rarely spent time at home. He much preferred to go riding by himself. One day, he’d made it all the way to the Drakes’ estate, and when he returned home, no one had even noticed he’d been gone. After that he began making regular visits, and he was here so often these days he’d become part of the family.
At first, Griffin had befriended Ash, but it soon became obvious that precocious little Meredith refused to allow the boys to have all the fun. She accompanied them on all of their excursions and adventures. She was good at all the things they did, after all. It had seemed only natural. Now, Meredith could shoot as well as the two sixteen-year-old boys. She could fish. She could fence. And she could handle a horse better than most adult men. The three friends were inseparable and had been for as long as Griffin could remember. And all these years, Griffin thought of Meredith as nothing more than one of his two closest friends. What did it matter that she was a girl?
Only lately, he’d begun to notice that Meredith was a girl. In fact, she was quickly becoming a young woman. A beautiful young woman with her smokey-gray eyes and long dark-brown hair. And Griffin was increasingly uncomfortable with the thought that he’d begun to feel quite differently about Meredith. Quite differently indeed.
The truth was he hadn’t answered her question because he already knew precisely who he would marry one day. It was simple. Like breathing. Meredith. He would marry Mere. It was the most effortless, obvious decision in the world.
But they were still quite young. He needed to finish school, and Meredith needed to grow up and make her debut. It was all a long way off. And if a “spare” son knew anything—spending his life waiting around to be noticed—it was patience. Griffin was exceedingly patient. He had no intention of declaring himself until the time was precisely right.
“I’m never going to marry,” came Ash’s voice from a little way down the bank. They’d been here all morning. Despite the fact that none of them had caught a thing, Ash was convinced that the fishing was better where he’d cast his line.
Meredith rolled her eyes at her brother’s remark. “Of course you shall marry, Ash,” she called back. “You’ll be a marquess one day. You must produce an heir.”
“You sound far too much like Father right now,” Ash replied, scowling.
“But you do intend to marry one day, don’t you, Griffin?” Meredith asked, blinking at him innocently.
“I do,” Griffin replied, clearing his throat and steadfastly refusing to look at Meredith.
“Father says I’m to marry a duke,” Meredith announced, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin.
“A duke?” Griffin frowned. This was the first time he’d heard her say any such thing. Why was her father discussing such topics with her already? And why would he be so specific as to stipulate a duke? Surely, Lord Trentham didn’t mean that literally. After all, Griffin was no duke.
“Father says a lot of things,” Ash called with a frustrated sigh.
“He says I’m to marry a duke because that’s what Mama would have wanted.” Meredith’s voice had taken on an edge of pride and wistfulness.
Griffin sat up straighter. He made a show of pulling his line from the water and adding fresh bait to his hook, but his mind raced. What the devil was Meredith talking about? Had her father really told her such a thing? Meredith revered the memory of her late mother. The Marchioness of Trentham had died in childbirth with Meredith, and the girl had spent her entire life trying to make her mother proud. Sadly, she tried to make her father proud too, while Ash had long ago stopped trying.
Lord Trentham was a complete horse’s arse. Everyone knew that. Everyone except Meredith. After his wife’s untimely death, Trentham had handed both children over to their nanny and left for London, where he spent all his time gambling and seeking his own pleasures. The nanny had later been replaced by a governess and a tutor, but Trentham had arranged it all from London. The man rarely came home. And when he did, it was heartbreaking to watch Meredith try so desperately to win the slightest hint of his approval and love.
Ash, for his part, mostly ignored his father. And now that the two boys were in school at Eton, Ash rarely had to deal with the man, which was precisely how Ash preferred it. The less contact, the better. Griffin and Ash were only here now on a break from school. An event Meredith always greatly looked forward to because, otherwise, she was here alone with only her governess and tutors as company.
“I don’t think Mother said any such thing.” Ash’s voice sounded deep and angry. It always was when discussing anything related to his father.
“That’s what Father said,” Meredith shot back, lifting her chin again.
“Is your father home then?” Griffin asked, hoping to stave off an argument between the siblings while still trying to make sense of Meredith’s surprising announcement.
“His lordship arrived last night,” Ash drawled, looking none too pleased about his father’s visit.
“That’s why we’re here,” Meredith added. “We wanted to catch him some fish for supper.”
“You want to catch him fish for supper. I simply enjoy fishing. Besides, it’s not as if he’ll notice where his supper came from.” Disgust sounded in Ash’s voice.
“I intend to tell him,” Meredith said in a bright tone. “If we catch a fish, that is. Some dinner we’ll have if we don’t.”
Griffin couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to discuss fish at a time like this. He had to know more. “Which duke will you marry?” he asked Meredith, his brow still furrowed. “There aren’t an infinite number of them, you know?”
Meredith shrugged. “I suppose I’ll just have to see which dukes are eligible when I make my debut. I already know precisely how I want it to be.” A happy smile popped to her lips. “I shall have a successful debut and be popular, but not too popular as I shouldn’t want to be overwhelmed with offers.”
Ash laughed and Meredith gave her brother a quelling look.
“I shall enjoy my Season immensely. And when I meet the man I’m going to marry, he will be tall and handsome. He’ll come up to me at a ball and ask me to dance. He’ll bow over my hand and call me ‘My Lady.’ He’ll bring me flowers and take me for rides in the park.”
Ash rolled his eyes, but Meredith was undeterred. “Then, just as I’m wondering whether he truly intends to offer, he shall invite me to the Cartwrights’ Midsummer Night’s ball, escort me out onto the balcony, fall to his knee, and tell me he loves me and ask me to marry him.”
“That is ridiculous if you ask me,” Ash grumbled, scratching his jaw and staring into the pond.
If Ash had been scoffing, Griffin had been listening with rapt attention. “But which duke would—?” Griffin began.
“I only know I shall not marry your brother,” Meredith said, wrinkling up her nose. “He’s hideous.” She shuddered slightly and frowned.
Griffin only nodded. Both Meredith and Ash knew Richard was hideous because Griffin had told them. Snobbish and full of himself, Richard had been taught by Griffin’s father to act the part of a haughty duke from a young age. Griffin had often thought it sad that Richard was encouraged to be so lofty and condescending. He was never kind to Griffin. He called him “Spare” as a jest sometimes, but Richard mostly ignored Griffin the same way their father did. Griffin had long ago learned to pay no mind to his brother’s jibes. Richard’s teasing only grew worse if Griffin responded, and Richard never faced any consequences for his actions.
Griffin, however, was taken to task by his father for the slightest infraction. It was one of the many reasons he spent as little time as possible at home. He’d stopped longing for his brother’s friendship and his father’s attention.
Griffin had come to believe that being the spare was a relief, really. Anticipating a future as a duke came with a lot of nonsensical responsibility, if you asked him. Only now, with Meredith declaring that she would marry a duke one day, it was the first time in Griffin’s life that he was even slightly envious of his older brother.
Griffin took a deep breath and flung his line back into the water. For the moment, there was no sense in worrying about Meredith’s announcement. Like so many things, this situation also called for patience. There were many years before her debut. Plenty of time for things to change. Meredith just couldn’t marry a duke. She had to marry him.
Because he loved her more than anything.
CHAPTER ONE
London, April 1816, The Duchess of Maxwell’s Drawing Room
“It’s time you take a wife, Griff,” Meredith said as she poured herself a cup of tea.
Sitting across from her on the sofa, Griffin nearly spit the mouthful of tea he’d just ingested. “Pardon?” he managed to say as he coughed and spluttered. Thirteen years had passed. Were they truly still discussing his marriage prospects?
Meredith watched him from the corner of her eye. “I believe you heard me,” she said with a sly smile as she dropped first one and then another lump of sugar in her cup.
Meredith had always adored sugar. After so many years in the army, Griffin had learned to live without it.
Griffin set down his cup and tugged at his neckcloth. The thing was choking him all of a sudden. He’d heard her all right. He merely couldn’t believe what she’d said. “What’s brought on this sudden desire to… to…?”
“See you married?” she supplied helpfully as she stirred her tea with a small silver spoon.
“Indeed.”
“It’s time, and you know it. Now that you’re the duke, you have a responsibility to produce an heir. Not to mention that you promised your mother you’d take a wife the year you turn thirty.” Meredith finished her explanation with a solid nod.
Griffin knew that nod. It was the nod that indicated she was right, and he could not argue with her. Well, he could argue with her, but he wouldn’t win.
And she was right. Now that he was the blasted Duke of Southbury, he did need to produce an heir. Because Richard, his arse of an older brother—may he rest in peace—had failed to produce one before he’d gone and broken his idiotic neck during an inebriated horse race. Richard was inebriated. The horse was entirely clearheaded as far as Griffin knew.
“Am I thirty already?” he drawled, arching a brow at Meredith and allowing the hint of a smile to touch his lips. Anything to keep the subject off marriage. And hadn’t he perfected making light of everything in front of Mere? Nothing was ever serious between them. Always light. Always a jest. Much easier that way.
He glanced over at Meredith. In the year since he’d been back from the war, Griffin, Meredith, and Ash had fallen easily back into their old friendship. It was almost as if Griffin hadn’t been gone for over eight years. It was nearly as if Meredith hadn’t married the old Duke of Maxwell at eighteen and become a widow last year at the age of six and twenty. It was practically as if Griffin hadn’t completely ignored his brother’s funeral and his father’s demands that he return to London to stay safe since he’d become the heir to the dukedom. And it was not quite as if Griffin hadn’t ignored his father’s funeral two years ago and returned to London only after the war had ended and there was no one left to fight. In fact, despite his father’s repeated insistence that Griffin return the moment he realized his “spare” was needed, Griffin had stayed through Waterloo. He earned the respect of the men who fought under him, his peers, his commanding officers, Parliament, and the King himself. But he still hadn’t made Father proud. Of course not.
When Griffin came home, he’d half-hoped his feelings for Meredith would no longer be there. That the two of them could simply be friends, the way they had been when they’d first met. It would make everything much simpler.
Only he’d quickly realized that the years hadn’t diminished his feelings for her at all. And even though they’d written to each other while he was gone, seeing her again had been like a punch to the gut, visceral and painful, nearly making him double over. Because while Meredith had been a lovely eighteen-year-old, the years had only enhanced her beauty. She’d grown into a more radiant woman than Griffin had ever imagined. And to this minute, his heart ached for her every time he saw her. Because if there was one thing Meredith had been clear on, not just in her letters but in everything she did and said since Griffin’s return, it was her adamance that she would never marry again.
Meredith hadn’t shared details of her marriage. Their letters had been filled with other things—gossip, frivolity, and commentary about Ash’s latest foibles. But never anything too revealing. Never anything too unhappy. It was as if both Griffin and Meredith had an unspoken pact to only share the good parts of their lives, because the realities at the time had been too awful to impart.
And while Griffin knew very little about her marriage, he knew three things. Maxwell had spent most of his time in London, while Meredith remained in the country. They had never had a child. And as a result of whatever had happened between Meredith and her late husband, she abhorred the institution of marriage.
“You know you turn thirty this autumn,” Meredith continued, pulling Griffin from his memories. “Your mother is at her wits’ end. She’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”
Griffin expelled a long breath. Blast it. He had promised his mother he’d take a wife, but that promise had been made years ago, back when he’d been a soldier. Back when he’d assumed—no, hoped—he wouldn’t even live through the war. He’d made the promise to his mother via letter. Of course, Mama, who adored Meredith, had immediately told her the news. And Meredith had the memory of an elephant. She forgot nothing. Neither did Mama. Which meant…he should have known this day was coming.
“Fine. What are you proposing?” Griffin said with another sigh, already aware he would regret asking.
