How Not To Propose To a Duke
He’s the penniless product of centuries of aristocratic pride, she’s the wealthy daughter of an ironmonger.
It’s an impossible match. Of course it is…
Alexander Demeral, seventh Duke of Malvern has everything a duke should possess – except money. He’s the latest in the long line of Pinchpenny Dukes with a title and not much else to their name except the responsibility of his estates and numerous people depending on him.
Miss Jessica Danby has a large dowry – and not a drop of blue blood in her veins. Her wealthy iron master father wants above everything for her to make a great match. After months of being snubbed by Society, or suffering proposals from fortune hunters she despises, Jessica is all too well aware that finding a husband she can tolerate, and at the same time pleasing her father, is well-nigh impossible.
Unless she takes matters into her own hands, identifies a man she finds she can like and does the most outrageous thing – proposes herself.
Alex turns her down – how can his pride allow him to sell his title, and himself, for money? But circumstances change, the marriage takes place – but can it succeed in the face of wounded pride, hidden emotions, secrets and desire?
Excerpt
10th February 1816. London.
Just knock. And remember to breathe.
Miss Jessica Danby nodded, a sharp, decisive jerk of her head and Alfred, her footman trod up the remaining steps and gave a brisk tattoo with the heavy brass knocker.
Beside her Trotter, her maid, made a sound like a faint whimper. Jessica ignored it. Ignored too the ferocious Medusa head glaring at them as if in resentment at Alfred’s finger marks. She would not allow anything to shake her resolve. Through the fine mesh of her veil she saw the door open to reveal the black-clad form of a butler.
‘Miss Danby to call upon His Grace,’ Alfred said and produced her calling card.
The butler blinked, just once. His eyes flickered from Alfred in immaculate livery to Jessica’s veiled figure in its highly fashionable walking dress, then to Trotter beside her. Jessica defied even the most rigid dowager not to find Trotter a model of decorum and respectability.
‘If you would care to step inside, madam. I will ascertain whether His Grace is receiving.’
He spoke with admirable calm, Jessica thought. The most experienced butler would be forgiven for being disconcerted by the unannounced arrival of a respectable unmarried lady on a bachelor duke’s doorstep at eleven in the morning.
She inclined her head in thanks and mounted the steps. Remember to breathe. What can possibly go wrong?
Everything.
