A Widow Rescued by the Duke’s Love (Preview)

Chapter One

Lady Eleanor Fairchild used to enjoy the bustling markets. 

She would have her dark curly hair styled simply, framing her dark eyes, and spend her time among the villagers. They liked her, and she liked them, and it made for an enjoyable time. That was no longer the case, however. 

She held her daughter’s hand more tightly than she did before, wanting to protect Isabella more than anything in the world. The equally dark-haired little girl was looking around excitedly, for she was not allowed to go very often. 

“Mama,” her daughter said excitedly, “What is that?” 

Eleanor looked over to see a game being played, one where the player had to shoot an apple with an arrow, and she shuddered. Without answering, she pulled Isabella away. 

She wished that she could feel the way that her daughter did—interested in all of the things that were happening around her—but she could not. And it was because there was a lack of safety in her loneliness, something she had not expected when she lost her husband. 

They visited only the few stalls where they would purchase what she needed, and hurried between them. Isabella, it seemed, was unfazed by her mother’s desire to leave. 

“Is that for my birthday?” she asked each time Eleanor purchased something. 

“It may be,” she would smile in response, even though all she was buying was bread. 

Isabella was to turn seven, and it would be her first birthday without her father. She no longer asked if he were coming home, but even so Eleanor was not quite convinced that she understood what had happened. She was a resilient little girl, but there was only so much that a child of her age could comprehend. 

“Am I to have a present?” she asked. 

“Of course. I would never let you go without one.”

“And for dinner, can we have a pie? Those are my favorite.” 

Eleanor could not help but smile as she held her hand tightly. She never wanted very much, which given their circumstances was just as well. She wished that she could give her daughter everything she desired, but that was no longer possible, and it was breaking her heart.

Suddenly, as they were walking, Eleanor paused. She could hear a raised voice nearby, and though it was not her prerogative to listen to such a thing, there was something drawing her there. Lifting Isabella into her arms, she followed the sound. 

Her skirts rustled as she quickly moved, and when she reached the two men, she almost dropped her daughter. In a small clearing, there was a man on his knees in mud, with another standing over him. The man kneeling was young and thin, almost sickly looking, while the other was tall and broad, with immaculately styled light brown hair. 

His clothes appeared expensive, and Eleanor made all of the connections that she needed to. It was a rich man belittling a poor man, and the sight alone was enough to leave her infuriated. She placed Isabella on her feet, eyeing them carefully. 

Nearby, there was a woman with a child of her own, and Eleanor took Isabella to her. 

“Would you mind watching my daughter for just a moment?” she asked.

“Of course,” she replied, “are you going to a stall?”

“No, I am going to stop that man.”

“Oh! I would not do that. It is unwise for us ladies to interrupt men.” 

It was, there was no doubt there, but Eleanor did not have a choice. She was well-to-do, like the man, and if anyone was going to stop them, it would be her. 

And as she looked around, biting her lip as she realized that nobody else was going to act, she knew that it had to be her. 

“I will be careful,” she assured the woman, and then handed Isabella to her.

She ran toward the men, the bottom of her dress getting dirty. 

“Such behavior is unacceptable,” he thundered. “I do not know why you ever thought that you would get away with it.”

“I apologize, Your Grace,” the smaller man pleaded. “I should have been better, I know. I was desperate, and I–”

“There are no excuses, only consequences. You knew what would happen, and it was not enough to stop you. What am I meant to do with you now?”

When she reached them she stood in the middle, facing the tall man with her eyes blazing. 

“Stop,” she commanded. 

The man seemed to smirk at her, looking past her and at the man on his knees. 

“Or what?” he asked. “Believe me, you do not want me to stop what I am doing.” 

“I most certainly do. Who do you think you are?”

“A duke, and one that is doing what is right at that. Stand aside and let me continue.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort. I do not care if you are a duke, that is no way to speak to someone! You are no better than him.”

“And do you know what he has done?” 

“I do not need to. There is no reason why he should be kneeling in the dirt while you loom over him like this! It is awful, and I do not see any reasonable explanation for it.” 

He met her gaze, and she was greeted with green eyes that flashed brightly at her. He half-grinned, as though he were laughing at her, and she hated it. She looked around at the others, none of whom could look at her in return. She was doing something very foolish to a man that, if he truly were a duke, was very powerful. 

She had been in no position to speak her mind, but she had not felt as though she had any other choice. She could not stand to see the inequality, nor did she like the way he was looking at her as if she were a fool. 

“And if there is one,” he chuckled, “will you apologize?”

“You do not have one. I can see it.” 

“But if I did?” 

“Then yes, I would, for I am a person with morals. I am willing to admit when I am wrong, which it would seem that you are not.” 

At last, the man kneeling behind her tentatively rose to his feet. Eleanor could feel him standing behind her, and she wanted to apologize to him on the other man’s behalf, but she did not. It had to be the man that had done wrong who apologized, and she was going to force him to if necessary. 

“Miss,” he said quietly, “I thank you for your assistance, but you have misunderstood.” 

Eleanor blinked, turning to him. 

“Even if you have done wrong,” she assured him, “there is no reason why he should speak to you that way. You are a person, Sir.” 

The other man laughed, and she turned sharply, glaring at him. 

“I would love to know what you are so entertained by.” 

“And I would like to know why, even though both of us have told you that you are wrong, you are convinced that you are not. Are you that opposed to seeing flaws within yourself?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I have told you,” he repeated, “that I am not doing anything wrong. This man has agreed with me. That should be enough for you to admit you are wrong, apologize, and return to where you came from.” 

“Then what, pray tell, are you doing?” 

“Why do you think you are entitled to an explanation?” 

She folded her arms, jutting out her chin. 

“Did you want an apology? If so, I shall require an explanation as to why you are owed one. If you do not, then I shall assume that is because I am right.”

He sighed, giving her a withering look. He looked at the other man and stepped past her. 

“My sincerest apologies, Jeffries. This lady requires me to announce a personal matter in order to prove that you and I were not arguing. Might that be alright with you?” 

“Of course, Your Grace. I deserve to be humiliated after what I did.”

“You do not,” Eleanor pressed, but the duke pressed a finger to his lips. 

“Very well, as you have insisted. This man here is a former stable hand of mine, and I had to let him go last year. He had developed an addiction to gambling and was becoming a problem to my household. In the year that followed, he has not had any work, and has been starving.” 

Eleanor gasped, realizing why the man seemed so thin. 

“I saw him here,” he continued, “and my heart softened. You may think I am cruel, but I do not think that can be said of a man that is willing to take a worker back after what he has done. Would you not agree?” 

“Is that… is that what you have done?” 

“It is,” the thin man replied. “I thank you for your aid, my lady, but I was not in any need of it. His Grace has offered to take me back, meaning that I will be able to support my family again. I know it seemed otherwise, but he has been good to me.”

“Then why were you on your knees?” 

“Because of my gratitude. I admit, it seems strange, but after the way I have struggled in the last year, this has meant everything to me.” 

He shook the duke’s hand fervently, smiling widely. 

“I shall never forget this,” he promised. “And I shall never let my vices ruin me again. You have my word.” 

“As long as you have learned from this. Come to the estate tomorrow morning. Bring your family too, if you wish.” 

The stable hand rushed away, mud flying from him as he went. Eleanor smiled as she watched him, pleased that his life would be improved and that his family would be taken care of. 

Then, she remembered who had done all of that for him. She could feel the duke’s eyes on her back, and she knew that once she turned to face him again, she would have to apologize for what she had said. She did not want to, however, for she had acted in good faith. 

But a promise was a promise, and she had said with absolute certainty that she would apologize if proven wrong, which she had of course done. 

“Would you like to say it now or later?” he asked. “Then again, should I give you such an opportunity, you may hide from me for the rest of your life.”

She turned on her heel, looking at him. 

“I would do no such thing. Besides, I will not see you again. I do not make a habit of spending time with people as insufferable as-”

“As far as apologies go, this is not the best. You do know what they are, yes?” 

“Of course I do, and if I thought that you deserved one then I would be more than happy to give you one.” 

“But I do, no? You claimed I was belittling Jeffries, and I was not. You have stood before all of these people and made an untrue accusation, and that is deserving of an apology.”

She hated that he was right. More than anything, though, she hated the way that he was looking at her. He seemed to be pleased with himself, but it was clear that he was enjoying the audience. Eleanor did not know quite what to make of him, for in spite of all of that, he had welcomed back a man in his time of need. He could not have been that bad of a man, and yet…

“Very well,” she said, flustered. “I apologize for seeing you towering over a man and using your authoritative position to make an example of him and assuming that you were not being particularly kind to him.”

With that, she marched over to her daughter, took her hand, and made her way home with her. 

“Who was that man?” Isabella asked. 

“He was nobody of any importance. Do not worry.” 

“He looked important, Mama. He was not very nice to you.” 

Eleanor had to smile. Even if everyone was unkind to her, she had her daughter to bring her joy. Isabella was of the impression that her mother was never wrong, and it did not matter who she was against. 

Even a duke, it appeared. 

They returned home with their belongings, and Isabella was taken away by her governess to practice her numbers. Eleanor, meanwhile, sat in her parlor room and tried not to think of the gentleman that she had met. 

He was infuriating, and it was made even worse by the fact that she could not seem to put him from her mind. It had been a long time since she had been that angry, for since the death of her husband she had not felt very much at all. In a way, she was almost grateful to him for bringing something out of her again, but that was negated by the fact that it was something she was ashamed of. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” her housekeeper asked, entering the room with her tea. “Miss Isabella said there was a man in the village today.” 

“Indeed. Mrs. Johnston, would you please be honest with me for a moment?” 

“Of course.”

“Would you say that I have a good judgment of character?” 

“I would say so. After all, you found that nasty ledger last month. Your husband had thought the best of him for years, and one look from you was all that was necessary to see through his act.” 

Eleanor nodded, but it left her in more confusion. She had been hoping that it was a mistake that she had made, but it had to be something more. 

“Then why did I think the worst of him? I thought that he was admonishing a man unprovoked, but he was doing something wonderful for him. How could my judgment have been so bad?” 

“Well, my lady, let us not pretend that you have had an easy time of late. You have been doing all of this alone, and it is likely you saw a man in power next to a man without any and pitied him. Regardless, you all left unscathed, and so I would not think on it too much.”

Eleanor thanked her housekeeper and took her tea. For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to read and forget about the gentleman, but she could not. Whether she liked it or not, he had left an impression on her, and it was not going away. 

Fortunately, she had a daughter to distract herself. It was how it had been since her husband’s passing, and though she knew it was not ideal, it was the best thing that she knew to do. 

She would do anything for her daughter.

Chapter Two

Charles returned home unable to forget the image of the young lady in his mind. 

There was no denying that she was beautiful, almost doe-like, but there was a burning rage beneath her exterior that he could not move beyond. She did not seem to be the sort of lady that would speak in such a way to a gentleman, especially not the Duke of Ashford himself, but her behavior simply did not match how she looked. 

As she was ranting at him, he had not been listening as closely as he preferred to, instead studying her. Though he had taken offense, he had to admit that she was most interesting to look at. Her gown had mud splattered up the skirt from her making her way to them, and she wore a wedding ring. 

He pitied her husband. 

“Are you alright, Your Grace?” his butler, Winston, asked upon his return. 

“Yes, quite,” he replied. “There was an incident in the village today, but nobody was hurt.” 

He continued on his way, only to pause halfway down the hallway. He knew that the conversation was coming, and that his staff would not be thrilled, but he did not care for their thoughts on the matter. He was in charge, and so the decision was his. 

He was also convinced that it had been the correct one, even if he might have been considered reckless for doing it. 

“By the way,” he added, “Jeffries will return tomorrow.” 

“Are you certain that is a good idea? He was not a good member of staff, and if he were to repeat what he did—”

“He has seen the error of his ways,” Charles interrupted. “He knows not to repeat such actions, lest he ruin his family. He was remorseful, Winston. That is all I can expect from him.” 

He did not wait for a rebuttal. He knew that his decision presented a risk, but he felt for the man and his young family. Not only that, but he had a way with the horses, and his absence was felt. They had not been too terribly affected by the man’s actions, but the man had, and he had learned from it. There was no need to punish him further. 

“Dr. Altham will arrive shortly with his wife,” he explained. “I shall be in the drawing room waiting for them.” 

He sighed as he entered his drawing room. He knew that everyone made mistakes, and everyone deserved mercy. He was no exception to that himself. 

As expected, his friend arrived an hour later. He was of medium height, with a lightly tanned skin and dark hair. His wife, on the other hand, was tall and pale, with blonde ringlets that were always perfectly styled. They seemed a rather strange pair, if one did not know them, but Charles knew them well. He saw that they had much more in common than most, and if he were to marry he would want what they had. 

They took tea, and he explained his ordeal that day. What struck him, as he spoke, was the lady’s protectiveness. She had seen a man in a difficult position and did not hesitate to come to his defense, even if it meant arguing with a powerful man. It had irritated him, but he also had to admire her for it. 

“This will not help your symptoms,” Dr. Altham chuckled. “Raised voices will not help the headaches, in any case.” 

“And what of the nightmares?” 

“They will continue to torture you. I do not know that having such heated debates are conducive to healing in any way.” 

“What my husband means is that you might have been wise to forgive her, rather than forcing her to apologize.” 

“Cynthia,” Altham said gently, but Charles laughed. 

“Perhaps that is true. I know that she meant no harm, but I could not look past her face. She was furious, and it had all been for nought as I was not doing what she accused me of.” 

“Then, if it were untrue, why did it affect you so?” 

Charles did not have an answer for that. He did not know how to explain that he had expected her to respect him, and to take him at his word rather than question him. She did not know him, and yet she had taken it upon herself to speak to him in the manner that she had. 

They continued with their discussion about Charles’ symptoms. He had been afflicted for weeks, plagued by nightmares and severe headaches that did not go away no matter the treatment. He was terrified that it was something dreadful, but his doctor was not so convinced. 

Charles had also wondered if it was madness, but he pushed it aside. That would have been enough to kill him, for of all the illnesses that he could have, that one frightened him the most. It would mean him being locked away in Bedlam, never to see the light of day again.

He did not think that he was that far gone, at least. 

When they had finished his checks, Dr. Altham and his wife gave one another a look, and she left the room. Charles said that she was welcome to go to the parlor room while she waited. When she was gone, he turned to his doctor in fear. 

“Is it awful?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Your wife had to leave the room. I can only imagine that is because you want privacy before you tell me what is wrong.” 

“Heavens, no! No, Your Grace, I simply wanted to see my friend for a while. My wife has been hoping to share some gossip, but I am not one to partake in all of that. And so, before she begins, I wanted to tell you that you will recover from this.” 

“Oh, how wonderful.” 

“However,” he continued, “in order to do so, you will have to limit anything that can cause you stress. I believe that is what is causing all of this.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you say that your symptoms are at their worst when you are looking at your ledgers, or when you have a particularly difficult discussion with a tenant. I would say that indicates that difficulties are causing you stress, in turn making you unwell.” 

“And how am I supposed to limit that? As the duke, it is my duty to do all of these things.” 

“An excellent point. I am not entirely certain what you can do, but perhaps it might be wise to find someone to assist you with it? There are plenty of people in need of work, and you can afford to have someone help you.” 

“But they would not do it correctly. It is better that I do it myself.” 

Charles knew that he had an issue with perfectionism, and he hated the idea of someone else caring for his duties, especially a stranger. If they made an error, it would reflect badly on him, and that was not something that he could risk. 

“Then I do not know what to suggest. You will find a way through, though, I am certain of it.” 

At that, his wife returned, and her demeanor had changed. At last, she would be able to gossip with them, and though it was not something that Charles preferred to engage with, she had a charming way of doing it. She was never unkind when she did it, acting more like a source of information, which ensured that Charles was aware of what was happening in society. 

“I do not have anything to say today,” she admitted, “but I was hoping to hear more of that lady you met. I think I might be able to identify her!” 

“I would not have thought so. She was just a lady, and there was not anything defining about her other than her attitude toward me.” 

“That is to say she dislikes powerful men,” she mumbled. “What did she look like?” 

“A doe,” he replied without thinking. “I mean, she had dark hair and wide eyes, and she was small. I can see some people fearing her, actually.” 

“And was she with anyone?” 

Charles thought back to the encounter. Had she been with anyone, it was likely that they would have been mortified at having seen the ordeal and left her there, but then he remembered the way she walked away from him. 

She had her head held high, striding purposefully to an older lady and taking a small child from her before leaving haughtily. Charles had remained standing there after she was gone, and with him not being fully present he had not noticed the little girl until he had thought back on it. 

“I know who it is!” Cynthia said triumphantly when he explained as much. “It had to have been Lady Fairchild!” 

“Cynthia–”

“No, Dear, you know that it is true. She is known for such outbursts as that.” 

Charles leaned forward, intrigued. If this were true, and he had the identity of the young lady, then he was not opposed to knowing more about her. Cynthia turned back to him with a bright smile, the sunset settling around her. 

“Lady Eleanor Fairchild was once a jewel. She was beloved, even by those matrons that never seem to have a kind word to say about anyone. She was intelligent and beautiful, and men were furious when she married Lord Fairchild.” 

“So she is married,” he nodded. “I thought I saw a wedding band.”

Cynthia grimaced slightly. 

“You do not know of her, then.”

“Of course not. I do not make a habit of knowing every person in society. I prefer, if anything, to be kept as far away from it as possible.” 

“Well, she was married. Her husband passed away last year, leaving her a widow. I feel for the girl, truly, for she has sole responsibility of their daughter.” 

His heart sank. Whether she had infuriated him or not, he hated the thought of an innocent child being left without a father. Too many had such a difficulty, and it saddened him to no end. 

“Perhaps her daughter had been difficult that day?” he suggested. 

“That does not sound like little Isabella. She is a very sweet girl, and she had never once been seen to disobey her mother. They are like friends, and with everything that has happened to them she does what she can to please her.”

“Then why? If she was the ton’s darling, why would she do what she did today?”

Cynthia sat back, tilting her head as though trying to think of the best way to explain what she wanted to say. Charles noticed then that he was engaging in gossip, something he claimed to despise, but he could not help himself. He had been fascinated by Lady Fairchild, and he wanted to know more about her. 

“You see, her uncle has reared his head. He has decided that he wants custody of the child, and control over her estates. She has been allowed to maintain responsibility of them for now, but you know how society works.”

“A man always has the power,” he agreed. “The poor girl.” 

“And what makes it worse is that her uncle is telling people of his niece’s instability. He claims that she had always secretly been that way, but with the death of her husband she has become completely unhinged.” 

Charles thought back to what had happened. There was a fire in her eyes, and a determination to prove a point to him, but he did not see a trace of insanity. He never would have accused her of such a thing; she was simply an opinionated lady that he had had a disagreement with. 

“Perhaps it is simply the turbulence of her husband’s death making her more sensitive than usual?” he suggested. 

“I do not know, but she would be wise to think carefully about her actions. If she is not careful, she will lose her daughter.” 

“I can only imagine what that would do to someone in her position. She is aware of her predicament, I presume?” 

“She ought to be, but then if she were I cannot imagine that she would behave so recklessly. She would insist on proving that she was well, not arguing with a duke.” 

“To her credit, she did not know who I was when she came to speak with us. She likely still does not know, only that I am a duke.”

“I do not think it makes a difference, Your Grace. She has said what she thinks of everyone, whether it comes at a cost or not. I do not know for certain that her uncle is lying about her, but if he is, she is not helping matters.” 

Charles thought about that long after his friends had left. He was most intrigued by Lady Fairchild, for she was the only lady he had ever met that was willing to speak her mind. Had he been a spectator, he might even have been entertained by her outburst. 

Knowing what he did, however, he felt a pain in his chest for her. She had to have been outraged, and with her not knowing the situation, it was no surprise that she had wanted to help. Charles understood. If she was to lose her title, and therefore her influence, then she was running out of time to help others, and he could tell that was her natural instinct. 

His headache worsened, pounding so hard that he wanted to remove his head entirely. 

“I am going to lie down,” he explained to Winston. “Please do not come to me unless I leave my room.” 

“Of course, Your Grace.”

The darkness was the only thing that helped at all, and even then it was not effective. However, it gave him an excuse to hide away. As he laid down, he realized how tired he was, and he closed his eyes hoping for an easier night than the ones he had had of late. 

But of course, he was not so fortunate. That night, yet another nightmare came to him. He was stumbling through the woods, tripping over branches, only to fall through a cabin door and lock himself inside. He sat in the corner, slumped down in a heap, when he heard crying in another room. 

It was a little girl. 

He jolted awake, panting and placing the back of his hand against his forehead. He had been sweating, and he was warm. He gulped, trying to steady his breathing, and then settled back down again. 

But sleep did not come to him a second time. All that he could think of was the tempestuous lady that had tormented him since he first laid eyes on her that day. He was supposed to be keeping his stress to a minimum, but he could not do that when she was there in his head. 

He had to do something about it.