Duke 0f Chance (Regency Stories Book 2)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Newsletter

  Titles by Catherine

  CHAPTER ONE Chapter One

  CHAPTER TWO Chapter Two

  CHAPTER THREE Chapter Three

  CHAPTER FOUR Chapter Four

  CHAPTER FIVE Chapter Five

  CHAPTER SIX Chapter Six

  CHAPTER SEVEN Chapter Seven

  CHAPTER EIGHT Chapter Eight

  CHAPTER NINE Chapter Nine

  CHAPTER TEN Chapter Ten

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Chapter Eleven

  CHAPTER TWELVE Chapter Twelve

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Chapter Thirteen

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Chapter Fourteen

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Chapter Fifteen

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Chapter Sixteen

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Chapter Seventeen

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Chapter Eighteen

  CHAPTER NINETEEN Chapter Nineteen

  CHAPTER TWENTY Chapter Twenty

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Chapter Twenty-One

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Chapter Twenty-Two

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Chapter Twenty-Three

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Chapter Twenty-Four

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Epilogue

  Duke of Chance

  Catherine Mayfair

  Copyright © year 2019 Catherine Mayfair

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for reading Stranded with the Marquess. If you would like to sign up for my newsletter, you can do so by going to the link below:

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  Titles by Catherine Mayfair

  Stranded with the Marquess

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chapter One

  A sob echoed not only in the hallway, but also in the parlor, where Miss Hannah Newmont sat working on her embroidery. Looking down at the pillow in her lap, she tried to concentrate on the stitching of a leaf attached to a long stem holding a rose in full bloom; however, the voice of her father, though muffled, carried to her with a vengeance. Though she could not distinguish the words, she knew what he was saying: another servant was being dismissed, an act that had happened often as of late. Just last week, Mary, a scullery maid of the same age as Hannah and who had been employed with the Newmont family for the past five years, had been dismissed because the family could not afford to pay her wages.

  Another sob came again, and not being able to stand the sounds any longer, Hannah let out a sigh and set her embroidery beside her.

  “Hannah,” her mother said without looking up from her own needlework, “you are not yet finished. Continue your work.”

  Hannah looked over at her mother with disbelief. “How am I to enjoy the morning with the sound of our servants crying?”

  Her mother let out a sigh and set her own work next to that of Hannah. The woman was two and forty, and as Hannah had inherited her coal black hair, Hannah hoped she would look as young as the woman when she reached that age.

  “Your father must make decisions that will be best for all of us,” her mother said with a firmness that brooked no argument. “Sometimes…no, rather in each incident, he has taken careful consideration. Now, let us continue and not pay attention…”

  Her mother’s words were cut short when a voice trailed that Hannah knew all too well.

  “Jenny!” she gasped as she stood, her heart racing. “Mother, please tell me Jenny has not been dismissed!” The reluctant nod from her mother made Hannah's stomach churn with sadness. Jenny had been with the family since Hannah first learned to walk. The thought of the woman leaving, combined with the sniffles that echoed down the hallway, had Hannah hurrying out of the room.

  “Hannah! You must not…” her mother called out after her, but Hannah paid her no mind.

  Jenny stood by the front door, a carpet bag in her hand and tears in her eyes. Before her stood Hannah's father, his face red from anger—or perhaps it was embarrassment for Jenny's cries. Which it was, Hannah did not know, nor did she care. Her only concern was for the woman who had been in her life for so long.

  “Jenny! You cannot be leaving us,” Hannah said, hugging the robust woman, who set her bag on the floor. “Please, I beg of you, tell me that you are not.”

  The embrace broke, and Anne wiped the tears from her face. “I’m afraid tis true, Miss,” Jenny said. “But tis fine. Yer father has provided a kind reference for me and even set up a meeting for new employment.” The loud blowing of her nose contradicted the optimistic words.

  Hannah worried at her lip and then turned to her father. “Father, I have saved money over the last few months from my allowance. Might I help pay Jenny's wages so she is able to stay?” What she had expected was her father to thank her for such a brilliant idea, but instead, his voice boomed with rage.

  “Do not insult me!” he shouted. Then he turned to the servant woman. “Jenny, I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do.” He then turned and headed to his office, passing walls where once hung beautiful paintings and tapestries but now were as bare as the day they moved in. At least he had softened his tone when he spoke to the woman who had been a lady’s maid to both Hannah and her Mother.

  Turning back to Jenny, Hannah felt her heart shatter into pieces of the floor around her. “After all these years,” she said with a shake of her head. “Please, know I love you, for you are like family to me.”

  “I feel the same, Miss,” Jenny said in that same motherly tone Hannah would never forget. “Please, know you’ll always have a special place in my heart.” The woman reached down and grabbed her bag. “Do not be angry with yer father. He finds himself in a situation he cannot put right. The blame does not lie with him, for it is happening to so many families. At least I have a place to go.”

  Although what Jenny said made sense, Hannah could not understand how the woman could be so calm. Despite the tears, she stood with her back straight and her head held high as she opened the door to leave.

  Hannah followed the woman outside. “I wish there was something I could do for you,” she said.

  Jenny stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back to Hannah. “There’s one thing you can do for me that’ll ease the pain I feel, Miss,” she said with a smile.

  “Of course,” Hannah replied. “All you need to do is name it and it will be done.” And she meant those words as much as any she had spoken in her life, for if there was anything she could do for this woman, she would do it. It was the least she could do for someone who had done so much for her in her life.

  “Tomorrow night at that fancy party?” Jenny said.

  “Yes? What about it?” Hannah asked in surprise.” Should I bring back one of those scones you like?”

  Jenny chuckled. “No, Miss. I want you to enjoy the evening and find a gentleman friend, a proper suitor. Then, when you do that and find love, I will be happy.”

  Hannah felt her cheeks flush. “I will do that, then,” she replied, although with reluctance. She leaned over and gave the woman another hug. “Goodbye, Jenny. I will miss you.”

  “And I you. But you have will soon be marrying and moving on to a new life. You won’t be needing me anymore.”

  “I will always need you,” Hannah said as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her fondest memories of this woman came to mind. From a young age, Hannah would often find herself near the woman, watching her work and talking to her without ceasing, and Jenny never once shooed her away or asked her to be quiet. Instead, the woman would listen to Hannah tell her stories or read books aloud to her. Later, when she was old enough, she brought her friends to meet the woman who had been like a mother to her.<
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  When Jenny was no longer in sight, her mother spoke from behind her. “We must talk,” the woman said as she came to stand beside her. “It’s time for you to understand what is happening.”

  “Are more servants going to be dismissed?” she asked, her heart breaking all over again. It was not that she relied on them—although, in reality she did because they had always been a part of her life. However, her concern was for what those people would do for employment once they were dismissed from their position in her home. Whitehall Manor had always been a busy place, a place many people, servants included, considered home.

  “I’m afraid it is more than that,” her mother replied to her question with a sigh. “Come, there is much to discuss.”

  ***

  The parlor remained quiet as Hannah tried to comprehend what her mother had spent the last few minutes explaining to her. It was not that Hannah was naive or a fool, for she had seen the paintings go missing, not to mention missing silver and vases which once sat on tables, also now gone. In fact, more items around the house disappeared on a weekly basis. Then there was the dismissal of most of the servants. Yet, the idea of having to leave the home she had known all her life never occurred to her. At least not under these circumstances. Of course, she would leave when, and if, she married.

  “Surely there is a way to remain here?” Hannah said. “This is our home. We have land, and Father is a wise businessman. Has he not invested in many ventures?”

  “Your father is wise,” her mother said, looking out a window with her back to Hannah, “and we have land. Unfortunately, the land we have cannot provide adequate grazing for the animals the tenants help keep because of the drought. As for the businesses, they are losing money and we cannot afford to keep them running. And finally, many of those ventures, as you call them, bore no fruit.”

  Hannah stood up and came to kneel beside her mother. “How long do we have then?”

  Her mother turned and for the first time Hannah could see the worry around the eyes of the woman. She had hidden it well, or perhaps Hannah had been happy in her obliviousness, but knowing her mother hid the truth to protect her broke her heart.

  “We have six months at best,” her mother replied. “Your father is sick with worry and his sleep is restless. That is, when he finds it. You must understand that it hurts him doing what he did today with Jenny, for she has been with us for so long, she has become a part of our family.”

  “I feel terrible,” Hannah replied. “I will find a way…”

  Her mother held up a hand to stop her from proceeding. “You will continue being our most precious holding,” her mother said as she brushed a wisp of hair from Hannah’s brow. “Tomorrow night at the party, do not speak a word of our failing fortune to anyone nor give agreement if it is spoken of.”

  “I will not, Mother,” Hannah promised. That was the last she wanted, to have everyone learn of their downfall. Not only would it bode ill for her, but it would also be utter devastation to her parents, and she could not allow that to happen. The ton would learn of their financial standing soon enough as it was, and the fact that her family had fallen so hard would only fuel their whispers. The nobility might allow one of their own to struggle with little comment, but a family of the Gentry? That was when the whole lot banded together as one against said family.

  “You must also give serious thought to finding a proper suitor. You are nineteen years of age now, and though I wish you to never leave, it is time for you to do so.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Hannah whispered. “I understand.” Though she had yet to have a gentleman caller, let alone been courted before, Hannah knew the time had come to do such a thing and the event happening tomorrow would be the place where it would happen. The excitement of meeting a man and falling in love intrigued her, though she wished it was under better circumstances—natural circumstances like in the novels she enjoyed reading. Hopefully she would meet a gentleman with honor and kindness and one who was as eager to discover love as she was.

  “Come,” her mother said, walking over to the couch. “Let us finish our embroidery.”

  Resuming her work, Hannah thought more about her future and what it could hold. There was a gentleman she was destined to meet. The only question was, who?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chapter Two

  Joseph Larson, Sixth Duke of Charrington, found many reasons to smile, from the bright sun above him to the sheer size of his home, Richfield Estates. Yet, none of those things compared to the sheer enjoyment he received by watching the man in front of him with his hands held together as he begged for mercy.

  “Your Grace, please, extend me some mercy,” the man before him, one Mr. Harold Finnley, pleaded.

  Joseph let out a sigh. “I have. Twice, in fact. And you repay me how? By asking for more leniency. I believe my mercy has run its course. Do you not agree, Lord Whitely?” He turned and faced his friend since childhood, Lord Albert Whitely, Fifth Baron of Altmanton, who tended to enjoy these meetings as much as Joseph.

  Albert grinned, pushing back a mop of red hair. “Your Grace, your mercy has been extended generously. It is not your fault this man cannot pay his rent. There are others who will be thankful for a roof over their head tonight. Much more thankful than he.”

  Joseph looked at the small cottage that housed the man and his wife. His rent had not been paid in two months, and Joseph needed his money. “I will propose a wager with you,” Joseph said and the man looked up. “A game of chance. Would you like to play?”

  The man gaped at him. “A game of chance, Your Grace?” he asked in shock.

  “Very well, if you cannot understand a simple request, then perhaps that is where the problem lies. I suppose we should go, Lord Whitely,” Joseph said.

  “No, sir! Please!” the man said. “I am sorry, Your Grace. I will play your game.”

  “Excellent,” Joseph said and then motioned to the man’s horse, which stood inside a pen beside a rundown stall. “Your steed against mine in a race. If you win, we will forget the money you owe me, and you and your wife shall sleep in peace tonight.” He walked over to his own horse and grabbed the reins.

  “And if I lose?” Mr. Finnley asked warily.

  “Then you will be gone by morning to make room for someone who can pay rent. Now, hurry, I do not have the day to waste.”

  The man nodded and then hurried over and grabbed the reins of his chestnut horse. A few moments later, he rode up beside Joseph. “Your Grace, you must understand that this old mare has a bad leg. She is older than the…”

  “Do not make excuses,” Joseph said with a wave of his hand. “It’s not my fault my horse is from the finest stock.” He ran his hand over Shadow’s neck. “We shall ride to that tall tree over there,” he pointed across the open field by which they stood, “and back here to where Lord Whitely stands.”

  Mr. Finnley nodded and Joseph smiled. His horse was the finest to be found. He had paid a fortune for him, but that did not matter, for he only wanted the finest things in life. What he could not afford was to allow rents to go unpaid. And only a soft-heart would allow the woes of his tenants to convince him to remain when those rents were not paid. Joseph was no soft-heart.

  “Let us begin,” Joseph said and then, with a click of his heels and snap of the reins, his horse bolted forward. The breeze blew his hair about as the steed gained speed. Joseph leaned to the left and the horse moved expertly past a bush. He glanced over his shoulder and laughed; Mr. Finnley’s horse had yet to make it three-quarters of the way to the bush.

  When he got to the tree on the far side of the field, Mr.Finnley had fallen further behind, and Joseph could not help but laugh. He waved at the man as he rode past him on his return journey to the appointed spot. Galloping up to Albert, he stopped his horse and then dismounted, and a little time later Mr. Finnley returned, sulking in his saddle.

  “Lord Whitely, please declare the winner,” Joseph said with the flourish of a performer.

  �
��It was most certainly you,” Albert said, and Joseph laughed as Mr. Finnley dismounted his nag. “I have never seen such riding before.”

  “Well, it is from the finest schools and instructors that I have…” Joseph began but then stopped and turned to Mr. Finnley. “Forgive me for boasting. You must not want to hear such tales when you have to collect your belongings.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the man said, his head hanging low as he turned to leave.

  Joseph called the man back. “Perhaps there is one more game we can play, a chance unlike none other you will ever have.”

  “Your Grace,” the man said with great skepticism, “I have a bad leg myself; I cannot run.”

  “You fool,” Joseph said with a shake of his head, “I would not participate in such races with simple people like yourself. No, I am speaking of the fairest game of chance.” Joseph reached into his pocket and produced a gold coin. Holding it up, he said. “This coin is precious, one of a kind.”

  “Tis a nice coin,” Mr. Finnley said as he clasped his hat in his hands before him.

  “Indeed, it is,” Joseph replied. “On this side you can see the image of the sun.” He showed the man, who nodded. “But on this, is a skull.”

  “Two snakes around it,” the man said and then gulped. “A bit hideous.”

  Joseph sighed. “That’s the point. So, here is what will happen. Lord Whitely shall flip the coin in the air. If it lands on the sun, your days will be bright, for I will forgive the rent owed and give you one hundred pounds.”

  The man’s jaw dropped open and a moment of hope flashed in the man’s eyes.

  Joseph continued. “But if it lands on the skull, you must leave this very night. Do you accept these stakes?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the man said, the excitement in his eyes and voice unmistakable.

  Joseph turned and then smiled at his friend. “Lord Whitely, please make sure the coin goes high in the air for all of us to see. Let it land on the ground, as well, so there is no question of the results.”