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Confessions of a Duchess
Nicola Cornick
When a feudal law is invoked requiring all unmarried ladies to wed or surrender half their wealth, the quiet village of Fortune’s Folly becomes England’s greatest Marriage Market.Young, handsome and scandalously tempting, Dexter suspects duchess Laura has a hidden motive for resisting his charms…and he intends to discover it, by any means necessary.
A Brief Guide to Fortune’s Folly
The History and Antiquities of North Yorkshire by Lady Melicent Beaumont
Fortune’s Folly, population eight hundred and fifty-six, is a large village in north Yorkshire some twelve miles from the market town of Skipton. The village was originally called Fort-tun from the Old English, meaning a fort built on the site of an earlier farm. It is referred to as Fortune in a document from 1232 and has been known by that name ever since. The word Folly, from the Old French fol, meaning a fool, was added in 1455 when George Fortune, the lord of the manor, tried to repel a Lancastrian attack during the Wars of the Roses and accidentally blew up his own garrison instead.
The current lord of the manor is Sir Montague Fortune, baronet, who resides at Fortune Hall with his brother Thomas and half-sister Lady Elizabeth Scarlet. Sir Montague is considered by all the populace to be very much in the mould of his ancestor George Fortune.
Other major houses in the village are The Old Palace, once the property of the prior of Fortune and currently the residence of Laura, Dowager Duchess of Cole, and the attractive modern villa Spring House, which was recently purchased by the heiress Miss Alice Lister of Harrogate.
There is a lively social season in Fortune’s Folly that centres on the spa baths, the assembly rooms and the circulating library. There are two inns – The Granby Hotel, which is for the discerning visitor, and The Morris Clown for those slightly less plump of pocket and not too discriminating about the quality of their fellow guests. Whichever category you fall into, we hope you enjoy your visit!
Nicola Cornick’s novels
have received acclaim the world over
“A rising star of the Regency arena.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Nicola Cornick creates a glittering, sensual world of
historical romance that I never want to leave.”
—Anna Campbell, author of Untouched
“Ms Cornick has a brilliant talent for bringing her characters to life, and embracing the reader into her stories.”
—RomanceJunkies
Praise for Nicola’s previous books:
“A powerful story, rich, witty and sensual – a
divinely delicious treat.”
—Marilyn Rondeau, Reviewers International
Organization, on Deceived
“If you’ve liked Nicola Cornick’s other books, you
are sure to like this one as well. If you’ve never
read one – what are you waiting for?”
—Rakehell on Lord of Scandal
“RITA® Award-nominated Cornick deftly steeps her
latest intriguingly complex Regency historical in a
beguiling blend of danger and desire.”
—Booklist on Unmasked
Confessions of a Duchess
Nicola Cornick
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
To all the wonderful writers I have met through
the UK Romantic Novelists Association and the
Romance Writers of America
Upcoming titles inthe Brides of Fortune series
SCANDALS OF AN INNOCENT
UNDOING OF A LADY
Browse www.nicolacornick.co.uk for Nicola’s full backlist
Prologue
Go, take thine angle, and with practiced line
Light as the gossamer, the current sweep;
And if thou failest in the calm, still deep,
In the rough eddy may a prize be thine.
—Thomas Doubleday
Brooks’s Club, London, July 1809
“SHE REFUSED ME!”
Sir Montague Fortune swept through the library of Brooks’s Club, scattered the gambling counters on the faro table with the edge of his sleeve and gave no apology, and deposited himself in an indignant flurry in a chair beside the Earl of Waterhouse. He smoothed one shaking hand over his hair and beckoned impatiently to a club servant to fetch him brandy.
“Ungrateful minx,” he muttered. “That I, one of the Fortunes of Fortune’s Folly should seek to ally myself with the servant classes and be rejected!” He swallowed half the glass of brandy in one gulp and gave the assembled group a furious glare. “Do you know what she called me? A bibulous country squire with watery eyes!” He reached for the brandy bottle that the servant had thoughtfullyleft on a low table beside him, refilled his glass and frowned slightly. “What does bibulous mean?”
“Damned if I know,” Nathaniel Waterhouse said comfortably. “Dex was the one who shone at Oxford whilst the rest of us were running wild. Dex?”
Dexter Anstruther, thus applied to, raised his shrewd blue gaze from The Times and looked from the squire of Fortune’s Folly to the brandy bottle and back again.
“It means that you drink too much, Monty,” he drawled. He looked across at Miles, Lord Vickery, the fourth member of the group, who was smiling quizzically at Montague Fortune’s indignation.
“Am I missing something here?” Miles inquired. “Who is the discerning lady who has rejected Monty’s suit?”
“You’ve been in the Peninsular so long you’ve missed the on dit, old fellow,” Waterhouse said. “Monty here has been paying ardent court to Miss Alice Lister, a former housemaid, if gossip is to be believed, who is now the richest heiress in Fortune’s Folly. He offered her his hand and his heart in return for her money but the sensible female has evidently rejected him.” He turned to Monty Fortune. “Surely you have not traveled all the way up to London just to bring us the bad news, Monty?”
“No,” Montague Fortune huffed. “I have come up to consult my lawyer and study the Fortune’s Folly estate papers.”
“Very laudable,” Dexter murmured. “Exactly what one would hope for in a responsible landowner.”
Monty Fortune glared at him. “It is not for the benefit of my tenants,” he protested. “It is so that I can get my hands on the money!”
“Whose money?” Dexter asked.
“Everyone’s money!” Sir Montague barked. “It is not appropriate that half the population of Fortune’s Folly should be richer than the squire!”
The others exchanged looks of covert amusement. The Fortunes were an old gentry family, perfectly respectable but with an inflated view of their own importance, and Sir Montague’s single-minded pursuit of money was considered by some to be very bad Ton.
“What does Tom think of your plans, Monty?” Dexter asked, referring to Sir Montague’s younger brother.
Sir Montague looked annoyed. “Said I was a grasping leech on other people’s lives and went off to spend my substance at the gambling tables,” he said.
The others laughed.
“And Lady Elizabeth?” Nat asked lazily. Lady Elizabeth Scarlet was Sir Montague’s debutante half sister and a veritable thorn in his side.
“I cannot repeat Lizzie’s language to you,” Sir Montague said primly. “It is far too shocking!”
The laughter of the others increased.
Miles leaned forward. “So what are you planning, Monty?”
“I intend to assert my rights as lord of the manor,” Sir Montague said, self-importantly. “There is a medieval law called the Dames’ Tax that has never been repealed. It permits the lord of the manor to levy a tithe on every unmarried woman in the village.”
Miles’s lips formed a soundless whistle. “How much is the tithe?”
“I can take half their fortune!” Sir Montague announced triumphantly.
There was a shocked silence around the group. “Monty,” Dexter said slowly, “did I understand you correctly? It is in your power to levy a tax of half their wealth on all unmarried women in Fortune’s Folly?”
Sir Montague nodded, eyes bright.
“How?” Dexter demanded. “Why?”
“I told you.” Sir Montague’s greedy gaze swept the group. “Medieval laws. Because Fortune’s Folly belonged to the church it was exempt when the secular laws were repealed in the seventeenth century. I discovered quite by accident that all the tithes and taxes are still applicable. In recent centuries they have not been collected only through the goodwill of the squire.”
“And you do not have any goodwill,” Nat said dryly.
“Not now that Miss Lister has refused me,” Sir Montague said, the virtuous expression on his face sitting oddly with the avarice in his eyes. “Had she accepted me I am sure that I would have been the most generous of village squires.”
“And one of the richest,” Dexter murmured.
“Every single woman…Half their fortunes…” Nat Waterhouse was spluttering into his brandy. “That’s…” His mathematical ability, never strong, failed him. “That’s potentially a huge amount of money, Monty!” he protested.
“I know.” With a self-satisfied smile, Sir Montague settled back in his chair. “I have not quite worked it out yet but Miss Lister’s fortune is rumored to be in the region of eighty thousand pounds and Mrs. Everton pocketed a cool fifty thousand under the terms of her husband’s will—”
Miles shot him a sharp glance. “It applies to widows as well as spinsters?”
“All unmarried women,” Sir Montague confirmed.
“But I have a cousin living in Fortune’s Folly,” Miles protested. “You can’t fleece her, Monty! It’s not socially acceptable, old fellow—not acceptable at all!”
Dexter raked a hand through his disordered tawny hair in a characteristic gesture. “Presumably if the ladies of Fortune’s Folly choose to marry they are exempt from the tax?”
Sir Montague nodded. “That’s it, Dexter. Got it in one. I can see why the government employs you.”
Dexter’s lips twitched. “Thank you, Monty. I am glad that my powers of deduction are still as acute as I thought. So.” He paused. “You announce the introduction of the Dames’ Tax and the ladies of Fortune’s Folly have to decide whether they wish to give away half of their money to you in tax or all of it to their husbands in marriage.”
Nat winced. “They will be as mad as wet hens to be forced into this situation, Monty. I hope you are prepared.”
Sir Montague shrugged expansively. “They can’t do anything about it. The law is on my side. I tell you, the plan is perfect.”
The others exchanged looks. “Monty, old chap,” Miles said softly, “much as I disapprove of your avarice, I do believe that you have just made Fortune’s Folly a veritable marriage mart, a positive haven for those of us who are—”
“Impecunious,” Dexter said. “Improvident, penurious—”
“Flat broke,” Nat said, “and looking for a rich wife.”
“You’re right,” Sir Montague said, beaming. “I have made Fortune’s Folly the marriage mart of England!”
Chapter One
Fortune’s Folly, Yorkshire, September 1809
DOWAGER. It was such a lonely word.
Most people thought of dowagers as faintly comic figures, diamonds displayed on their shelflike bosom, possessing a long, patrician nose to look down.
Laura Cole thought of dowagers as the loneliest people in the world.
It was Laura’s loneliness that had prompted her to go down to the river that day, dressed in a pale blue muslin gown with a warm navy-blue spencer over the top, a wide-brimmed straw bonnet on her head and a novel in her hand. She had read somewhere that the beauties of nature were supposed to soothe a troubled spirit and so she had decided to take the rowing boat out and float in bucolic peace under the willow branches that fringed the water’s edge.
However, the nature cure was proving to be a disappointing failure. For a start the boat was full of fallen yellow leaves, and once Laura had brushed them off the seat her gloves were already dirty. She sat down and opened her book, but found herself unable to concentrate on the trials and tribulations of her heroine because her mind was full of her own difficulties instead. Every so often, golden-brown leaves would float down and adorn the page. The wind was surprisingly chilly. Laura frowned at her lack of attentiveness and tried all the harder to enjoy herself.
Laura loved the countryside. She had grown up in this wild Yorkshire landscape and had lived in the county for much of her life, though she had spent the previous two years in London. She had hoped that returning to her childhood home would lessen the feeling of emptiness that dogged her steps these days, but it had not, and she could not understand it. It was not as though she was alone in the world. She adored her three-year-old daughter, Harriet, and spent an unfashionable amount of time with her. Fortune’s Folly was a busy little village and she had made many new friends there. And she also had a huge extended family with a tribe of cousins in every rank of the Ton. It was not even the case that she missed her late husband, Charles, for they had lived apart for the majority of their marriage. She had been shocked when Charles had died, of course. All of Society had been shocked that a man could be so profligate that he overturned his curricle and killed three of his mistresses as well as himself. But Laura had not missed the errant duke. She had felt enormous relief when she had heard that he had died.
