The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV)

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Cover by Straw Hill Designs © 2012

Katarine Ivanovic 1817 – 1882
Self-Portrait

March 1811

Castle Cornnan

Peebleshire, Scotland

Robert did not wake, rather, he became aware
he no longer slept, and he was not alone. His foot touched the
softness of a woman’s leg. The first light of dawn peeked through
the open-curtained windows as he tried to remember how he had come
to have a woman in his bed. His mind, traitor that it was under the
after effects of alcohol, deserted him.

He moved and found that a great mistake. His
head split into two pieces and his stomach roiled through waves of
nausea. He slid off the edge of the bed and managed to gather the
chamber pot in front of him, although nothing happened.
Unfortunately, the noise woke his companion.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Her Scottish burr sounded familiar. Robert
glanced up over the bed. Laughing eyes stared back at him. Fiona?
Good God, what was she doing here?

“I’m fine.” Robert leaned back on his
haunches. Too late, he realized his only covering were his drawers.
He reached for the bed, the sudden movement bringing bile back up
into his throat. He gingerly crawled onto the feather mattress,
laid his head against the pillow, and threw his arm over his eyes.
Damn his nakedness. He didn’t care. He was sure the girl had seen
the unvarnished side of men before.

“May I secure you something from the
kitchen?” Fiona asked. The bed shifted and he heard her move
through the room.

Robert repositioned his arm and opened one
eye. She stood before him and he noticed her woolsy gown wrinkled
beyond repair. Questions flitted through his mind at breakneck
speed. Why was she here, in his house, in his bedchamber? Why was
he naked and she was not? What in God’s name had happened? He was
too weak to ask and too sick to care about the answers.

“No. Thank you,” he murmured. “Forgive me for
not being a better host. Pull the bell. I shall obtain you a ride
home.” Robert wanted to die. Not only did his head ache, but also
his other betrayed his maleness. He could not dismiss her
attractiveness in the pale morning light. Blue-black hair hung down
her back in a free falling cape. Luminescent skin, eyes the color
of celadon, and a mischievous smile, had him wondering
uncomfortably what exactly had happened between them. She was
certainly not the same staid woman who had waited on him through
negotiations with her father.

“I do not need to be taken home,” she said.
“My cart is in the barn.”

Robert barely heard her. The arms of sleep
had already wrapped around him. His last thought before he
succumbed to blissful pain free slumber – how long would it take
him to recover.

Sometime in the late morning, Robert rose
feeling much better. His headache had lessoned considerably,
although he was famished. After his bath, he looked forward to a
decent breakfast and the journey back to London. He hummed a tune
as he tied a simple knot in his cravat, and then made his way
downstairs to the study.

He pulled the bell and ordered food from a
footman. He would eat at his desk, while working on the remaining
paperwork. Robert’s visit to Castle Cornnan in Peebleshire was
finally at an end and he couldn’t wait to get back to London. He
enjoyed Scotland, but in March, the land was still half-frozen,
muddy, and grey. When next he came, he would make sure it was
summer, when the gorse and heather were in full bloom.

His father’s untimely demise had left Robert
with his head spinning and his heart in his throat. The solicitors
assured him they had everything under control, but Robert’s father,
the Duke of Cantin had instilled in him a need to be a hands-on
lord. Gaining the title and all the responsibility to his family,
left Robert second-guessing his role as the new patriarch. He
missed his father sorely along with his unsparing, generous
advice.

So many estates, so many entailments, so many
mouths to feed had brought Robert to a decision. Now that Prinny
had finally been seated as Regent and Robert was no longer needed
at Carlton House, he would spend as much time at the various
properties to oversee the efficiency of the parameters his father
had put into place. When he achieved that, he would settle in
London and continue to monitor them through well-placed
stewards.

Signing off on the last farm records, a
shouting erupted from the hallway. The few Scots in his employ were
a quiet group, and he wondered what would cause such a ruckus.
Before he could rise from his chair, the door burst open and the
Laird Stewart with whom he had supped the night before strode into
the room, his eyes wild, bright red hair sticking straight out from
his head, and a musket held in the crook of his arm.

“Who do you think ye’ are? Do ye’ think we’re
all country bumpkins? I shall see you hanged for this, you filthy
bastard.”

Robert rose, hands held out in supplication,
unsure what the old man was spewing.

“I took it upon good faith you were a
gentleman of breeding,” the old man continued. “Ye’ father assured
me you were upstanding. Now, after dealing with you, I can see his
was a blind eye. Is this how you manage your duchy now that your
father is dead? You make deals for land, and not finding them to
your liking, you take the virtue of my daughter as replacement?” He
pointed the gun at Robert’s desk.

What
? Robert’s mind whirled from the
allegation. “Stewart, forgive me. I know not of what you speak.
Perhaps if you enlighten me in a calm manner, we might come to an
understanding.” Suddenly, Fiona’s laughing green eyes appeared in
his mind. Oh God, what had he done? For the life of him, he
couldn’t recall.

They both turned as the woman in question
yelled from the doorway.

“I told you nothing happened. I do not
understand why you blather so. Ask him then. Ask him what happened
and he will tell you, nothing.” The dancing lights had fled her
eyes and were now the color of a stormy sea.

Both father and daughter looked at him.
Flummoxed, Robert remembered nothing from last night. Damn Stewart
and his infernal home-brewed libations. Damn his own weakness when
it came to liquor as well. He could not even recollect how he had
made it back to the castle from Stewart’s. Haltingly, the scene
from the early morning came in flashes. Fiona in his bedchamber in
a wrinkled gown. Him, near naked on the floor, fighting off nausea
and a splitting headache. Crawling back into bed. Then nothing.
Had
he taken her?

“Please, sit down, and we shall discuss this
in a rational manner,” Robert said again. He looked at the gun, and
his headache returned, slamming at his temples.

“I’ll no’ sit down until I have ye’ ballocks
in a vise,” the Laird Stewart shouted.

“Father, sit down,” Fiona said sternly.

“Please, let us try and get this sorted
before I leave for London,” Robert said and moved to the two chairs
by the fireplace.

“London? Ach, ye’ll not be goin’ anywhere
until you marry my daughter.” The Laird Stewart glared at Robert,
daring him to refuse. The gun now pointed at Robert’s chest.

Robert sucked in a breath and tried to remain
calm while his mind raced to get out of this insane situation.
Marriage
? To Fiona? Had the man imbibed too much of his own
spirits?

“Stewart, let us be reasonable. Surely, you
cannot expect me to marry….” he paused and looked at the young
woman. “Fiona, on such a flimsy excuse.” Nothing had happened
between them. His nakedness had nothing to do with anything. He was
sure of it.

“Flimsy excuse!” Stewart shouted. “You flirt
with my daughter. Somehow, ye’ cajole her into driving you back to
your filthy castle, ye’ defile her, and now you say ‘tis a flimsy
excuse!”

Robert watched with trepidation as Stewart’s
face flushed to an alarming shade of aubergine and a vein pulsated
on the side of his neck. Fiona, who had been standing still in the
doorway, rushed to her father and placed her hands on the gun,
lowering it to the floor.

“Father, please. I told you, nothing
happened. I drove him home, aye, at
your
insistence. He was
so sodding tossed I walked him upstairs to his bedchamber. Only the
Good Lord knows where his servants were. He hurled the contents of
his stomach all over himself and passed out on the bed. I could not
leave him unattended. What if he choked on his vomit? What disaster
would that bring, to have the Duke of Cantin dead on our doorstep?
The Regent would blame you. Then where would that leave us? ‘Tis
your fault Stewart, not mine, and I shall not be party to
your
disaster.” She lowered her voice. “Leave it be, Father.
He will be leaving for London and we shall never see him
again.”

“No,” Stewart said. “He shall marry ye’, or I
shall meet him in the fields.” He gave Robert a wild-eyed look and
raised the gun again.

The girl stamped her foot. “I shall not marry
him. He is nothing but a bloody cold-hearted capitalist!”

“You shall marry him, I say. This afternoon
before he leaves.”

Robert watched the two glower at each other.
Marrying her was out of the question. He was a duke, capitalist
notwithstanding. His title brought forth all manner of
prerequisites in a future bride, and this girl seemed to have
none
of which he required. Meeting with the Laird during the
last few weeks to discuss the details of their related sheep and
farming interests, Fiona had always been present, but Robert could
not say he had ever given her more than a cursory glance. Her
father treated her like a servant, and for the most part, so had
he. She blended into the woodwork in her plain woolsy gowns, and if
he hadn’t heard her speak on occasion, he would have sworn she was
mute. Dear Lord, his poor mother would have an apoplectic fit if he
brought this girl home. No, he had to get out of this.

“Stewart,” Robert said. “You must believe
your daughter. Nothing happened. I apologize profusely for lack of
holding my liquor. However, I did not lay a finger on her. I
appreciate her care of me in my damaged state,” he nodded to the
girl. “But to marry her over such a blatant misunderstanding is
hardly worth credit. Surely, we may come to some sort of
agreement.”