The Matchmaker and the Duke Read online

  Is it ever too late

  …to marry a duke?

  Sought-after matchmaker Amelia Durant wants the best for her three young ladies as they make their debut. So when the highly elusive but very eligible Duke of Stone shows an interest, she is shocked. Could the handsome devil who dashed her young hopes all those years ago be a changed man? And is he really interested in a debutante as a wife...or is it Amelia herself who has sent His Grace’s pulse skyrocketing?

  She wound her arms around his neck and swept her tongue inside his mouth, tasting tooth powder and inhaling his spicy cologne that reminded her of dark forests and misty mornings.

  A groan rumbled up from his chest, striking an unexpected answering chord of pleasure deep within her body. She stroked her hands down his back while tasting and tangling her tongue with his. Delicious.

  He lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Without question you entice me, Mrs. Durant. Do you mean to do so, I wonder?”

  His directness made her smile. There was an honesty about him that was refreshing. He deserved an honest answer. After all, what was the point of beating around the bush at her time of life? “I most certainly do. Please call me Amelia.”

  He sucked in a breath, as if her words affected him physically. It seemed the attraction did indeed go both ways.

  “Your reputation—”

  “Is mine to care for, Your Grace.”

  He stroked a stray hair back from her face with a touch so light she scarcely felt it. “Jasper.”

  She smiled. “Jasper it is. In private, of course.”

  The heat in his gaze seemed to sear her face. “Well, Amelia, just how private are we?”

  Author Note

  It is always a surprise when I realize I have come to the end of the journey with my hero and heroine, and so it is with Jasper and Amelia. I very much enjoyed writing their story and I hope you enjoy reading it. I did quite a bit of digging around about the history of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. What a fascinating subject. I love that I can delve into a bit of history during the course of writing my story and I hope you enjoy it, too. I love to hear from readers; you can always reach me through my website at annlethbridge.com.

  ANN LETHBRIDGE

  The Matchmaker

  and the Duke

  In her youth, award-winning author Ann Lethbridge reimagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

  Books by Ann Lethbridge

  Harlequin Historical

  It Happened One Christmas

  “Wallflower, Widow...Wife!”

  Secrets of the Marriage Bed

  Rescued by the Earl’s Vows

  The Matchmaker and the Duke

  The Widows of Westram

  A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

  An Earl for the Shy Widow

  A Family for the Widowed Governess

  The Society of Wicked Gentlemen

  An Innocent Maid for the Duke

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  This book is dedicated to Joanne Grant, my very first editor at Harlequin. I would not be where I am today with my writing without her patience, perseverance and excellent advice.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Compromised into Marriage by Liz Tyner

  Chapter One

  1817

  ‘Jasper, it is high time you married.’

  Jasper Simon Warren, Duke of Stone, Marquess of Felmont and Earl Blackmore, despised conversation at breakfast. He did not raise his gaze from his newspaper. ‘I see.’

  ‘Jasper, did you hear what I said? You have a duty to the dukedom.’

  The sharp edge in her voice indicated Aunt Mary was not going to take the hint.

  He lowered his newspaper a fraction. ‘Are you accusing me of neglecting my duties, Aunt?’ He let the ice in his tone sink into her awareness.

  The spring sun, streaming through the windows of the ducal town house, gave no quarter to the elderly lady. Dressed in a forest-green gown and lace cap of the latest fashion, the wrinkles in her cheeks and around her mouth, the thinness of her carefully primped hair, proclaimed a woman well past her sixtieth year. ‘Certainly not, Jasper. I simply want you to be happy.’

  He stared at her in astonishment. ‘I assure you, I am perfectly content.’

  The creases in her forehead deepened. ‘Contentment is not the same as happiness.’

  ‘Who defines happiness? And since when has society latched upon the idea that happiness is vital to a person’s existence?’

  After years of observing the marriages of his peers from the sidelines, he had few illusions.

  And yet... ‘My parents were happy, were they not?’

  ‘I never heard anything to the contrary.’

  Hardly a ringing endorsement. Had he perhaps imagined them as happy? Created a fantasy to ease the loss? Was he wrong to aspire to the sort of joy he recalled in their presence? And could he have been mistaken about the truth of it?

  Aunt Mary made a sound of impatience. ‘Besides, no matter what, the dukedom needs an heir.’

  The real reason for her fussing. ‘All in good time.’ He raised his paper, focusing on the article on the latest arguments for Parliamentary reform.

  ‘You are not getting any younger,’ she muttered.

  Really! He folded his newspaper and put it down beside his plate where a few crumbs of toast and a smear of marmalade were all that remained of what had been a very fine breakfast. ‘I am thirty-five. Not exactly in my dotage.’

  ‘You will be thirty-six next month. I want to see things settled before I go to my final rest.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘Are you ill? Shall I send for a physician?’

  She coloured high on her cheekbones. ‘Certainly not. But, Jasper, time is running out. The Season is well underway and those looking for wives will snap up the most eligible girls in a trice.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you suggesting that should I indicate an interest in a female, she will turn me down for someone she met earlier in the Season?’

  ‘Of course not. No woman in their right mind would turn down an offer from the Duke of Stone.’

  Even if they wanted to, as he had learned in his youth. He pushed the unpleasant memory aside. Dwelling on the past helped no one. ‘Well, my dear Aunt Mary, since I have no intention of offering for a woman who is not in her right mind, I can see no reason for haste.’ He eyed his newspaper. He would take it to his study. No one would dare interrupt him there.

  ‘They would refuse you if they had already accepted another offer. How do you know there is not a lady among this latest group to come out whom you would not prefer above all others?’

  ‘I am sure all of them are respectable
young women whose parents would leap at a crown of strawberry leaves. I do not expect to encounter any difficulties.’

  ‘How can you know, Stone, if you do not look?’ Her voice was full of exasperation. She shook her head. ‘There is no point in talking to you about this, I can see. But take my advice, marry now while you are still in your prime. No one knows what the future holds.’

  He frowned. Aunt Mary was making more of a fuss about this than she had about anything since...since he could not remember when. And, yes, he knew he had to bestir himself at some point. Find the right sort of woman to be his Duchess. He simply had not thought of it as urgent. Nor was it. Yet his aunt seemed genuinely distressed. ‘Very well. To please you, I will take a look at this year’s crop.’

  A veritable study of nonchalance, she picked up a pile of invitations set by her plate and sorted through them. She didn’t fool him for a moment.

  ‘Was there something you wanted to add?’

  She put the cards down with a snap. ‘There are two girls whom you might wish to meet. The Mitchell sisters. Both outrageously lovely, reasonably well bred and exceedingly well dowered. I saw them at Lady Dobson’s musical evening last night.’

  ‘Lady Dobson?’ A chill invaded his veins. ‘Not exactly the cream of the ton, my dear. Not the sort of company I like to keep. And I assume by reasonably well bred you mean not of the peerage?’

  His aunt grimaced. ‘Sally Jersey suggested I attend to take a look at them. She’d heard much about their beauty and accomplishments and requested my opinion. Both presented exceedingly well. Another pair like the Gunning girls, I would say.’

  The Gunning sisters were still talked about in the drawing rooms of the ton. They had taken London by storm and married well above their station. ‘Not the sort of wife I seek.’

  ‘Then you are looking.’ She sounded so relieved, he did not have the heart to disabuse her of the notion. Aunt Mary was one of the few people whose feelings he cared about. Not that she usually got up in the boughs about anything. She certainly must be feeling her age if she was panicking about marrying him off. And she wasn’t entirely wrong to be concerned. It was time.

  He sighed. ‘Do not expect me to attend events hosted by the likes of Lady Dobson.’ Her husband, a banker, had been knighted by the King for services rendered. Likely a personal loan or an inside tip on a profitable investment. Not a member of the nobility.

  ‘Certainly not. You know better than to ask. Mrs Durant has them in hand. After my endorsement you will meet them at all the best parties.’

  ‘Durant?’

  ‘Three years ago, her husband broke his neck in a steeplechase.’

  Ah, yes. ‘I remember him. A reckless idiot. I do not recall a wife.’

  ‘She was a Linden. Her cousin holds the viscountcy now. She has become well known for her matchmaking skills.’

  ‘You seriously think I should consider one of these girls?’ It sounded so unlike his aunt, he could not keep the curiosity out of his voice.

  ‘I have been throwing eminently eligible daughters of the ton in your path for the past ten years and not once have you shown any interest. I thought perhaps your taste was so jaded, I should try something different.’

  Jaded? He wasn’t jaded. Cynical. There was a description he could own, too. He’d had enough toadies and sycophants trying to get his attention since he inherited the title at the age of fifteen that he could spot one a mile off. But he wasn’t jaded. He was comfortable. He had a small group of friends, mostly male, whose wealth meant they did not seek to use him for their own ends and therefore whom he trusted.

  He also had a mistress, Jane Garnet, whose favours he had enjoyed to the full for many years. A woman with whom he had agreed upon an exclusive arrangement, who was quite content to entertain him whenever he felt the need.

  ‘I suppose next you will be telling me I should pay off Mrs Garnet.’

  His aunt rifled through the invitations and did not meet his gaze. ‘It might be as well.’

  Damn it all.

  It seemed his life of comfort was slipping away.

  ‘I thought the older girl might be ideal for you. And the younger for Albert.’

  She spoke this last in such a low tone, he almost missed it. Aunt Mary continually thought to push Albert Carling, the only surviving relative on her mother’s side, up society’s ladder. Marriage to an heiress would certainly gild his path.

  At one time, Jasper had been close with Albert. Unfortunately, Albert had not proved true and now they remained cordial but distant.

  * * *

  Three ladies tried to ignore Mr Mitchell pacing the drawing room of the town house he had rented close to Bedford Square. Two were his daughters, Charity and Patience, both blonde, pretty and making their come out in the London Season. The other, Mrs Amelia Durant, a lady with dark hair and eyes, was approaching her thirtieth year. While she was sure that she herself had never been deemed a great beauty, she had been born into the highest of society’s circles and she wearied of Mr Mitchell and his tirades.

  ‘Mrs Durant, I was told you know all the best people and can find the right husbands for my daughters.’ He paused and stared over his pince-nez at Amelia on the morning after his daughters’ first foray into the ton. ‘Now you tell me there wasn’t a single earl or duke at that party.’

  ‘Oh, Papa,’ Charity Mitchell said, raising her blue eyes from her needlework to meet his stern gaze. She gave him a sweet smile. ‘Lord Philpot was there and Sir Robert...something. I forget.’ She glanced over at Amelia.

  ‘Lord Robert Partere,’ she supplied. ‘A very old family with excellent connections.’

  Amelia had explained her plan to Mr Mitchell more than once, but he didn’t seem to grasp the need for a light touch. Marrying girls off to suitable gentlemen, especially those of the nobility, was a very delicate matter. The girls might be utterly lovely, but their background was strictly middle class.

  She repressed a sigh of exasperation. ‘Last night was not about seeking suitors—’

  ‘Then what was it about?’ he grumbled.

  ‘It was about assuring the ton that your lovely daughters can safely be invited to the most exclusive of parties and behave like proper young ladies.’ She beamed at the girls. ‘And they both passed muster, I can assure you. Lady Mary Warren was most complimentary about their looks and demeanour.’

  It had taken Amelia nigh on three months to ensure that the girls knew exactly how to behave in polite company and to eliminate any trace of the broad Yorkshire vowels that coloured their papa’s conversation.

  The ton would not care about the merchant father, as long as he settled a suitable amount on his beautiful daughters and stayed clear of their new families. On the other hand, the daughters must be untainted by their humble origins if they were to attract an offer from the most eligible of bachelors.

  Amelia knew exactly how to ensure such young ladies met suitable and honourable gentlemen. Honourable being the key word. She had been doing it for years. The ton trusted her to endorse only the sweetest and most rigorously trained young women to the scions of the nobility. The parents of those hopeful young people quickly learned to follow her directions to the letter if they wanted to utilise her services, for which she was paid handsomely. Her fees were based on the settlements negotiated between the parties once the marriages were arranged.

  The Mitchell sisters were proving to be more of a challenge than any before them. True, their undeniable beauty made them viable prospects and their amiable natures had made her like them from their first meeting. So much so, she had willingly taken them under her wing.

  Unfortunately, their widowed papa, a man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, as he was proud to tell all and sundry, was irascible and inclined to want to rush things. He did not value her counsel as he ought and the lack of a wife to make him see reason was a drawback. Mi
nd you, it would have to be a pretty strong woman to stand up to Papa Mitchell. His daughters certainly were not up to the task. Amelia was beginning to think she had not made a wise decision in offering to assist them in their search for husbands among the nobility.

  ‘Who is Lady Mary Warren, when she is at home?’ Mr Mitchell asked, folding his arms across his chest. He was a portly man with a round florid face and his once blond hair was now mostly grey and thinning on top. ‘I have never heard of her.’

  ‘Papa,’ Patience Mitchell said, pressing her hands together. ‘You really should have paid more attention to Mrs Durant’s lessons from Debrett’s Peerage. She is the aunt of the wealthiest Duke in all of Britain.’

  ‘And he is the youngest,’ Charity said. She frowned. ‘Though he is thirty-five.’

  ‘A man in his prime, then,’ their father said.

  Both girls looked uncertain. ‘Thirty-five seems awfully old,’ Charity said. She looked at Amelia for confirmation.

  ‘Thirty-five is not terribly old,’ Amelia said. If it was then she would be terribly old in five years’ time. ‘But the Duke of Stone has been on the town for years and has shown no interest in settling down. Honestly, he is not a man I would recommend setting your cap at. The Duke is very high in the instep. He is unlikely to make an offer for anyone below the daughter of an earl.’

  ‘You sound as if you do not like him,’ Patience said.

  Patience was both the younger of the sisters and, in Amelia’s estimation, the brighter. Their papa seemed to favour his older daughter Charity. But there really wasn’t much to choose between them. Like most young ladies in their first Season their heads were stuffed full of romantic notions. Amelia’s had certainly been, which was why it had been so easy for Lieutenant Durant to sweep her off her feet. He’d been every young lady’s vision of a knight in shining armour. Amelia no longer believed such men existed. Or if they did, then they certainly did not make very good husbands.

  ‘I was introduced to him,’ she said, recalling that day as if it was yesterday, ‘I truly cannot say I know him, except by reputation.’ And by observation over the years. The man was insufferably proud, though always exceedingly polite. He struck her as a man without any great feelings or emotions.