Historical Romance: The New Marquess A Duke's Game Regency Romance: Wardington Park, #17

prologue

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September 1835

Williamsburg, Virginia

Lord Morgan Platt remained silent as the wagon traveled down the dirt road. He tried to ignore the ungodly smell of his transport and the fact he was sitting on a bed a hay and who knew what else, losing himself in the beauty of the foreign land as they left the city and started toward a more rural area of Virginia.

Despite the travails of the first settlers, who had died of sickness and warred with the natives, Morgan could see why people had chosen to stay.

He admired the trees and the abundance of color that overtook his senses. Reds, golds, and greens mixed with forest and sun-kissed open fields, drawing him in as little did most days. Even the air seemed different, untouched. But after being on a ship for over a month without any of the fineries he was used to, he’d truly just been glad to see land again, yet while he’d found nothing appealing about the cities compared to London, he did admire the country space. 

And in less than a year, he’d have country space of his own back in England. His eldest brother had gone missing nearly seven years ago and Morgan, who’d always enjoyed being a second son, was now to be the Marquess of Durham. With the title would come all the land his father had planned to pass on to his brother and if that were the only thing Morgan was set to inherit, he’d have not minded at all, but with his brother’s title also came the oaths made upon the next Marquess of Durham. Morgan was set to marry a woman he’d never met, a woman of his mother’s choosing, and Morgan didn’t even know her name.

For a long time, he’d thought about escaping, just as his brother had, and choosing his own destiny, but other obligations kept him in London for the time being, which meant he’d not escape the upcoming courtship and marriage.

His thoughts on his pending future with his mysterious bride were put aside as the young women across from him giggled. Caroline Goodman was fifteen while the other, Charlotte Goodman. was seventeen. They stared at him with small smiles touching the corners of their mouths.

They wore matching blue dresses made of cotton, a material that was quite cheap and something a local delivery man like Mr. Goodman could afford.

What’s London like? Caroline asked in her distinctive American accent. She’d asked a version of this question before during their long journey, but Morgan suspected she and her sister simply enjoyed hearing him speak.

London is like any other city, I suppose, he said. There are theatres, parties, gardens, and other amusements.

Caroline laughed and said, Oh, parties. She emphasized the word ‘party’ to sound closer to his own pronunciation. She sighed. I would love to go to a party. Everything about England sounds so wonderful.

Charlotte batted her eyes and whispered, Yes, I wish to go London as well.

Girls, don’t harass our guest, Mrs. Goodman said.

The girls laughed.

He returned their smiles, but put none of his charm behind it, before looking toward the front of the wagon to find the girls’ mother staring at him with a considering expression he recognized. It seemed not even in America could he avoid matchmaking mothers. Mr. Goodman had welcomed Morgan into the wagon once he glimpsed his coin. Morgan had been instructed to dress like a servant for his journey in an effort to hide his identity, and while Morgan had played the part of peasant on more than one occasion, worry had him distracted.

Morgan was a member of the British spy organization called the Order of the Second Sons, or O.S.S., and though he’d been assigned to more than one dangerous mission, this mission had Morgan’s heart racing. The closer he drew to his target, the more his worries grew.

It won’t be long now. I hope your man of business is home. If not, you’re more than welcome to join me and my family for the night.

There were muffled giggles from the girls, and Morgan didn’t have to look over to know that Mrs. Goodman was staring at him again.

Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Goodman. If I find myself stranded, I will gladly depend on your kindness. Though ‘gladly’ was nowhere near the truth. He could think of nothing worse than having to attend dinner with the Goodman girls. He didn’t wish to lead the women on to think he’d be taking either of them home with him. Both were far too young for his taste Besides, he would be taking a wife and while he didn’t know her, he planned to be faithful to her for as long as that arrangement suited them both.

That’s it, Mr. Goodman said.

The wagon made another turn, and Morgan looked through the trees until a house came into view. The small one-story wooden home sat in the middle of a grass field in the distance. A thin dirt road made of wagon tracks led to its door. The sun had begun to make its descent a few hours ago, and with its position behind the house, it was hard to make out what sort of condition the house was in.

Goodman stopped the wagon at the end of the dirt path. I would travel with you, Mr. Tift, but I’ve a crate to deliver before dark.

This is fine. Morgan made his way off the wagon and grabbed his bag. He’d not brought much since he’d known he’d be unable to take servants with him. Where he was going, no one could ever know he’d gone. The Goodman family didn’t even know his real name.

When he was on the ground once more, he turned to Mr. Goodman and smiled. Thank you.

Remember the offer I made you. With a nod of his head, Mr. Goodman started the wagon again. In the back, the man’s daughters waved their goodbyes and Morgan lifted a hand before starting down the dirt road.

With every step, he could feel his blood rushing, propelling him forward just as much as it tried to keep him back. This mission had not been given to him by the government. This was to pay a debt to one of London’s most powerful men: The Duke of Wardington.

He remembered the day he’d all but sold his soul to that devil. It had only been months ago that Morgan and sworn to do anything the duke asked for in exchange for what eventually helped the O.S.S. unfold an evil plot. One would assume that a duke of the realm would freely give aid to men who were fighting to save the Crown but then that person obviously didn’t know Wardington. Nothing was free. Everything came at a price, and Morgan was about to meet his.

He’d given his will to his friend Simon St. Clair, who was the leader of the O.S.S. and would make sure his earnings found their way to the charities Morgan most supported. Morgan also owned half of Atlantic Imports, a shipping company that had made him and Sir Lucas Seton very wealthy men. The only country the company didn’t do much business with was America because of their insistence on keeping slaves. Morgan had plans for his money to help many of the improvised families in London and if he died, he knew Lucas and Simon would see to it.

As he neared the house, he heard the distinctive sound of an ax breaking wood and followed the noise around the front and toward the back of the house. Once he cleared the building, he stopped.

The man holding the ax had always been a large man, both intimidating and imposing, while his heart was full of kindness. Hiram’s hair had grown. The dark locks were tied at the base of his neck. He looked nothing like the young lord he’d once been. A beard covered the lower part of his face, but Morgan would recognize his own brother anywhere. How Wardington had managed to find him while the Marchioness of Durham and her army of servants and hired men hadn’t, Morgan would never know. Morgan probably could have found Hiram himself, since he was well trained in finding people and knew his brother well. However, Morgan had understood the reasons Hiram had left and let his brother go, wishing him luck and happiness.

Hiram Platt looked up and blinked. Morgan? He looked older, his plain cotton shirt and trousers stained and tattered from being well worn. If their mother saw him now, she would cry. Faint even.

Morgan walked over to Hiram and found himself looking up as he went. It wasn’t that Morgan was a short man. He was much taller than most, but Morgan had yet to meet a man who was taller than his brother. Hiram.

Hiram smiled before wrapping heavy arms around Morgan. He smelled foul, but Morgan didn’t hesitate to hug his older brother back, clinging to him. It had been seven years, seven long years.

When they pulled away, there were tears in Hiram’s eyes. I thought I’d never see you again. He kept a hand on Morgan’s shoulder as though to ensure he wasn’t a vision. Slowly, Hiram’s smile fell. How did you find me? Did you come alone? Did Mother send you? He looked worried.

Morgan shook his head. No. No one knows I’m here, Hiram. I didn’t even know it was you I was coming to see.

Hiram frowned. If not Mother, then who sent you?

The Duke of Wardington.

Hiram’s expression didn’t clear. Wardington sent you? Why? I knew him. We spoke occasionally, but we were never close. Hiram paused to think. What does he want from me? Surely, Mother has not enlisted his help in getting me to return to London. Hiram’s English accent was all but gone, but the dread that filled his face touched Morgan’s gut.

Morgan couldn’t offer his brother any assurances. Since Wardington had not told him who he was seeing, Morgan hadn’t been prepared to see his brother. Had he known he was visiting Hiram, he would have brought things for him and perhaps letters from his friends... and maybe that was the reason Wardington had not told him. Perhaps Wardington had no plans to expose Hiram. It made sense, but it was also possible that Wardington had only kept his brother a secret in order to drive Morgan mad. That idea seemed even more plausible.

How are you? Morgan decided to say. How’s Lila?

At the mention of his wife, Hiram smiled again, and Morgan could feel the warmth that touched his eyes. The look his brother was giving him was one that Morgan would have to resign himself to never having. He could never see himself loving any woman of his mother’s choosing.

Lila is Lily here, Hiram told him. And I’m Henry Pike.

Morgan nodded in understanding.

We’re not rich, as you can see. Some days are harder than others. Hiram laughed softly. Lily is better at everything than I am, since she came from the country. If not for her, we’d have starved last winter.

Hearing that nearly broke Morgan’s heart and though he thought it insensitive, he had to ask, Has it all been worth it?

A peaceful expression softened Hiram’s brown eyes. Yes. I’d choose Lily over life. I’d choose her over anything. It was exactly what he had done. He’d chosen his wife over a title and a loveless marriage to a woman of his mother’s choosing. That had been the arrangement when their parents married. The Marquess of Durham had been impoverished when he’d begun courting Julie Grace. The Grace family had been wealthy and in order to get their money, Julie had required a few things from her husband and one of those things had been choosing the wife of the next heir. Duty to that oath had held Hiram in a bind, but Hiram had chosen love over title and left Morgan with the burden after their father died a few years ago.

And before Morgan’s father left this world, he’d made Morgan swear to honor his oath. Morgan had no other choice but to do as his father had asked.

Hiram squeezed Morgan’s shoulder, bringing him back to the present. You have a nephew. He’s six and very tall.

Morgan smiled at the good news and laughed. I’m not surprised to hear this, considering who his father is.

Lily is pregnant again. Hiram put on a smile, but the worry was there. They were struggling. Another child would not be good.

I can’t let you live like this, Morgan said. I’ve money. I’ll send you some.

Hiram dropped his hand and shook his head. If you keep sending us money, eventually Mother will find me, and I’ll be forced back to London. And once he touched England, his title would be restored.

But you’re married. Mother has no control over you, Morgan said.

The expression in Hiram’s eyes put fear in Morgan’s blood. Morgan, you have no idea who that woman truly is and what she’s capable of. He looked away.

Morgan frowned. What are you talking about?

Oh, I suppose they never told you. Hiram shook his head. I’m sorry you’re going through this. It’s my fault.

That couldn’t be denied.

Hiram said, I’ll tell you what you need to know, but I warn you that you’ll never see that woman the same again. You do plan to stay the night, don’t you?

Of course, and while I’m here, I plan to pay my own way.

Morgan. Hiram frowned.

Morgan held up a hand. I was instructed by Wardington to bring coins. American money. No banknotes. Nothing that our mother can use to find you. You’ve nothing to fear. Then he remembered the other half of his mission and dug into his breast pocket. He pulled out two notes, looked them over, and handed the correct one to his brother. Wardington told me that if you replied to the question ‘Was it all worth it?’ with a yes. I was to give you this note.

Hiram took the wax-sealed note and, without hesitation, broke it open. As he read, Morgan watched his eyes widen and his brother’s large body sway before he finally took a seat on the stump behind him.

What is it?

Hiram continued to read as though his brother hadn’t spoken. He looked up at Morgan. I own half of a paper mill.

Morgan frowned. What?

Henry Pike is the heir to a paper mill in northern Virginia. Hiram looked down at the paper and shook his head, reading again. Apparently, a man named Adam Pike died last year, and they’ve been looking for his heir ever since.

But you’re not Adam Pike’s heir. How is it possible that this Henry Pike is you?

Hiram shrugged and looked away. I didn’t come up with Henry Pike by myself. It was suggested to me by a man on the ship. Hiram grunted. He said it would bring me good fortune.

Morgan glared. How likely is it that this man was sent by Wardington?

I don’t know. Hiram stood. Lily will be so happy when she hears this. If this is real..."

Wardington wouldn’t lie about this, Morgan said, beginning to smile. If he’s given you a paper mill, then you own a paper mill.

Hiram started for the house. This makes no sense, but I’ll not turn my back on this. With the new baby on the way... We’ll start our journey there first thing in the morning. He looked at Morgan. You’ll come as well, won’t you?

Morgan grinned. Of course. Wardington had told him to stay during the winter and return to London in the spring, just in time to court his future wife. He again put thoughts of her away and focused on his brother’s happiness, not even trying to understand Wardington’s motives. The old duke had been called Cupid more than once, but this kindness was unexpected.

Hiram stopped and looked down at the note in Morgan’s other hand. This letter congratulates me on choosing love over wealth with some advice on the milling business. What do you think that one would have said?

Morgan put it in his pocket and shrugged. I suppose we’ll never know. I’m to return it unopened to Wardington. Though now that he knew the message had been for his brother, it burned a hole in his chest.

Hiram said, Come inside and see my family. They’ll be glad you’ve arrived.

Morgan followed his brother in with a feeling of peace. This time with his brother would probably be the last good days of his life, and he intended to enjoy every minute of them before he returned to London.

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chapter 1

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Lady Philomena ‘Mena’ Housley slowly edged her parasol to the left. With each inch, the delicious warmth of the day touched her skin like a warm caress, starting from her exposed wrist and spreading up her arm until it reached the corner of her face. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the sun’s rays, shivering as the heat spread through her body. In a flash, the light saturated her, and whether it was an illusion or not, she thought the air that filled her lungs warmer as well, the pungent smell of the park’s grass with hints of earth and bark made the wind’s aromatic scent divine.

Heaven.

A tap on her parasol made her straighten the device, and she didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know who stood behind her, watching her every move. Her chaperone, Mrs. Gale, walked around the blanket that Mena and her friends were sitting on and took to standing by a tree just a few feet away. The position offered her shade but also a fine place to watch Mena’s every move.

As though she would do something like stand, shed herself of her petticoats, and jump in the Serpentine... And turn into a fish. A small blue fish to match her eyes and perhaps golden stripes to go along with her hair. A beautiful fish with the entire ocean before her and the freedom to expose its depths.

But there were dangers in the ocean. What if her path crossed with that of a shark? Surely, the beast of the sea would try and eat her, wouldn’t it? She’d have to run, no swim, and hide. Perhaps she’d find some rocks to slip behind, a place too small for the shark to get her. That’s a good idea.

Do you truly think it a good idea, Mena? Lady Flora Brooks blinked dark blue eyes at her, her own parasol properly placed over her head. Only the very ends of her lilac hems were granted light. As the daughter of the Marquess of Edgenburg, one of the more powerful houses in London, she was everything Mrs. Gale wished Mena to be, poised and reticent, and though Mena tried, she failed again and again. Although only eighteen, Flora was already engaged, and Mena knew she’d make the perfect wife. The bonnet that covered her blond locks had the perfect bow beneath it. Mena’s, no matter what she did, always eventually became skewed.

I think it’s a lovely idea, their other friend Mrs. Grace Dunnington said with a smile. She was nineteen, which made her younger than Mena’s twenty and one by two years. She was the wife of a railroad company owner. Mrs. Gale called her a powerful friend, but Mena only saw a friend. Grace’s eyes were brown with a knowing gleam, and her hair was chestnut. I’m happy you agree with us, Mena. We all thought surely you’d fight the notion.

Mena bit her lip and tried to find a way to gather the information she needed out of them without revealing that she’d lost track of the conversation just as she often did.

But where would we host the party? their final companion asked. At sixteen, Miss Lydia St. Cloud was the youngest of their quartet, but everyone liked her. As the daughter of a banker, she had a sharp mind and even sharper features. Like her father, she had dark hair and dark alluring eyes that were set in a beautiful face that one would take notice of. Surely, you wouldn’t want to have your engagement party at your hotel.

No!

Philomena, Ms. Gale hissed with a look that begged Mena to remember herself or at least simply disappear altogether.

No engagement party, Mena said. No parties ever again or at least until the gossip dies.

The gossip will not die until you make the world forget. Grace straightened her skirts over her knees. Only another party will do such a thing.

Please. Mena didn’t want to think about what a disaster her one and only party in London had been.

Last year, after spending nearly four years at an all-girls school in Hanover, Mena had finally had her long overdue debut that had taken place at her family’s hotel, which had formerly been the Housley Mansion until her father had decided to open its doors to the world. The Housley Hotel had been one of the finest inns in the city until her debut.

She still recalled the dreaded noises, the tiny squeaks that had filled the halls before a horde of rats had been let loose in the building. They’d come from nowhere and everywhere, like an army from the underworld sent to announce to the world what Mena had already known.

She was cursed.

There was no other way to explain what had occurred or all the many other things that had taken place in her life. Her mother had died when she was young and her father, who’d loved her with great abundance, had died a few years ago, leaving her to the care of an uncle she’d never met until recently. And though her uncle was a kind man, he’d sent her away for school. But he’d made it clear to her that she was always in his thoughts. He sent her letters and updates on the hotel and London. Uncle Creed, as he’d asked her to call him, had not inherited her