Lily and the Duke (Sex and the Season Book 1) Read online

  Lily and the Duke

  Sex and the Season: One

  Helen Hardt

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Title Page

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  6. Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  13. Chapter 13

  14. Chapter 14

  15. Chapter 15

  16. Chapter 16

  17. Chapter 17

  18. Chapter 18

  19. Chapter 19

  20. Chapter 20

  The End

  21. Author’s Note

  22. Message from Helen

  Also by Helen Hardt

  23. Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is an original publication of Helen Hardt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2015 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Photographs: Dreamstime

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9905056-7-9

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  For Dean, Eric, and Grant

  Title Page

  Lily and the Duke

  Sex and the Season Book One

  Chapter 1

  Laurel Ridge, the Lybrook Estate, Wiltshire, England, 1845

  Lady Lily Jameson set down her portable easel and palette of watercolors to smooth her mussed sable curls. The September day was sweltering, and beads of sweat trickled down her face. She gazed around the small alcove that appeared to be the remains of an old stone chapel. The long grass tickled her ankles under her skirt. White and yellow daisies poked cheerful heads through the lush green foliage, and yellow and magenta blooms dotted the abundant vegetation like confetti. A tiny brook babbled nearby.

  Lily sighed, hoping she could capture the beauty of the alcove in watercolor before her mother and father noticed she was missing from the afternoon lawn party.

  She tied on her painting smock, set a piece of thick cotton paper on the easel, and coated it with water. She started with the bright cerulean of the sky, and then the brook and the rich greenery behind it.

  “That’s quite good.”

  Lily jumped up, knocking over the small tin of water sitting in her lap. She turned and stared up into a golden face and striking green eyes. Her breath caught.

  “I’m sorry,” the young man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Lily, trembling, wiped her stained fingers on her apron.

  His hair was the color of ripe wheat, and it fell to his shoulders in gleaming layers that brushed the collar of his brown jacket. He was tall—taller than her father or her brother—and his broad shoulders led down to slim hips and legs clad in tight tan trousers and brown riding boots. He wore no cravat, and a few tawny hairs peeked out of his crisp linen shirt. His face was handsome, with a strong jaw, full lips, and a Grecian nose. Long mahogany lashes adorned his arresting eyes.

  Lily swallowed. Something new and uncomfortable churned in her stomach. Like butterflies. Or rolling water.

  “How did you come to be here?” the man asked.

  “I-I wanted to paint.”

  He smiled, revealing straight white teeth. “My mother likes to paint. I find her here often.”

  Lily clenched her clammy fists in her stained smock. “Your mother?”

  “Yes. My mother. Your hostess. The duchess.”

  “Oh.” Lily widened her eyes and willed herself not to stammer. “You’re the marquess, then?”

  “No. The marquess is my older brother, Morgan. I’m Lord Daniel Farnsworth.” He smiled again. “And who might you be?”

  “Lily, my lord.” She offered a quick curtsy.

  “Lily who?”

  “Lady Lily Jameson.”

  “You’re Ashford’s daughter?”

  “Yes, one of them.”

  “Is the other as pretty as you are?” he asked, winking.

  Warmth crept into Lily’s cheeks, and she hoped the young lord didn’t notice. Imagining her blond-haired, blue-eyed sister, she said, “More so, I think.”

  “That, I doubt.” He cleared his throat. “You have quite an eye for painting. I shall leave you to your work. I’d love to see it when you’re finished.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He turned to leave, but looked over his shoulder. “How old are you, Lily?”

  “Thirteen, my lord.”

  “Be sure to come back in five or six years,” he said, and walked lazily out of the alcove.

  * * *

  Eight years later

  “Now we’ll never catch up with Mummy and Papa.” Lady Rose Jameson tucked herself into her carriage seat. “Why you had to go searching for some old painting is beyond me.”

  “Because I want to take it back to the little alcove at Laurel Ridge and paint the scene again.” Lily smoothed her sage green skirt. She remembered fondly the beauty of the Lybrook estate and planned to paint to her heart’s content during the upcoming two week house party. “Besides, we’ll catch up. Won’t we, Thomas?”

  Her older brother, Viscount Jameson, nodded. “My team can outrun those antiques of Papa’s any day. We may even get there first.”

  “Thank goodness,” Rose said, smiling. “I’m filled with excitement about spending the next few weeks at Laurel Ridge.”

  “I’m looking forward to it myself,” Lily said.

  Rose’s sapphire eyes widened. “You want to meet the duke?”

  “You know me better than that.” Lily laughed. “I couldn’t give two figs about His Grace. It’s his art collection that intrigues me. It’s rumored that he has a Vermeer!”

  “Good God, Lily,” her brother said, winking. “The most eligible men in England will be at Laurel Ridge, and you want to see a painting?”

  “Thomas, darling, we all know that you have about as much appreciation for art as a tree toad.” Lily smirked. “No doubt there will be plenty of beautiful women at Laurel Ridge who couldn’t care less about Vermeer, and I’m sure His Grace will send hoards of castoffs your way. I, on the other hand, have better things to do than pant after the Duke of Lybrook like a bitch in heat.”

  Thomas laughed. “God help the duke if he crosses your path.”

  “Lily,” Rose said, admonishing, “it’s a good thing Mummy isn’t around to hear you talk like that.”

  “Have you forgotten that he’s only the Duke by virtue of the untimely deaths of his father and brother? He’s still a renowned rake. No self-respecting father would have dared allow his daughter to so much as blink in his presence.” Lily rolled her eyes. “But now he’s a duke, and all is forgotten and forgiven? The hypocrisy makes me want to cast my crumpets.”

  “Of course you’re right, but—”r />
  “He spent his entire mourning period touring the continent, no doubt visiting every whorehouse he came upon.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use such language.”

  “Brothel, then. House of ill repute. Is that better?”

  “Lily…”

  “He left his poor mother here alone to deal with her grief. He’s nothing but a scoundrel.”

  “The duchess was in good hands, Lily,” Thomas said.

  “I suppose so. She was no doubt better off with her spinster sister than with that son of hers.” Lily inhaled and fidgeted with her dress. “The duke does have a beautiful estate, though. I intend to spend a great deal of time admiring the artwork, strolling in the vineyards, and painting and writing.”

  “Don’t you want to take part in any of the festivities?” Rose asked.

  “Maybe some. But don’t worry. Sophie and Alexandra will be there for you. We’ll all spend time together. I’m sure Mummy won’t hear of me going off alone as much as I wish to.”

  “I’m quite thankful for that.”

  “I’m not. What I wouldn’t give for two weeks of freedom before I’m thrust into that barbaric meat market of a ritual that London calls a season.”

  “Lily,” Rose said. “I’m not sure why Mummy and Papa made you wait until this year for your season. You could have started last year, and you would be happily married by now.”

  “Me, happily married?” Lily scoffed. “Of course I had to wait for you. Mummy and Papa know that you’ll attract the right type of suitor, and they’re hoping I can follow along on your tail.”

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it.”

  “Ridiculous, maybe, since I have no desire to bind myself to some stuffy aristocrat for eternity, but true nonetheless.”

  “But you’re just as beautiful as I. Perhaps more so.”

  “You know beauty has nothing to do with it.” Lily turned to her brother, who was watching her intently. “I see you have that overprotective look in your eye, Thomas.”

  Lily adored her brother, but lately he had become a hindrance to her preferred way of life. Pretty soon he was likely to insist she have a chaperone to use the convenience!

  He needed a hobby. Better yet, he needed a woman. If she could interest him in someone at Laurel Ridge… Yes, and then he would be occupied. She might as well find a man for Rose, as well. The Duke of Lybrook was out of the question, of course, but there would be no shortage of decent men at the estate. With both her brother and her sister out of the way, she would be free to paint and write to her heart’s content.

  A match for Thomas and a match for Rose. It would be startlingly easy. There wasn’t a more beautiful woman alive than Rose, with her honey blond locks and vivid blue eyes, and she came with a generous dowry and the Ashford name. And Thomas was a wonderful catch, with handsome chiseled features and sleek sable hair, not to mention he was a viscount and heir to one of the most respected earldoms in England.

  Lily smiled.

  “What on earth have you got up your sleeve?” Rose asked.

  “What makes you think I’ve anything up my sleeve?”

  “I know that look, Lily. You’re up to no good. I can tell.”

  “You’re up to something, for sure,” Thomas said. “Sometimes you forget you’re a lady.”

  “I’m no more a lady than you are.”

  Thomas smiled lazily. “Most of my friends would beg to differ. Wentworth asks about you frequently.”

  “That balding fool? You only keep company with him because you have your eye on his sister. You can do much better, you know.”

  “I could do a lot worse than Lady Regina Wentworth. I find her quite engaging.”

  “Thomas, she has all the intelligence of a blood pudding. Whatever do you find to talk about?”

  “I suppose she’s not much of a conversationalist. But she has her charms.”

  “Dear God, if you’re not exactly like every other man in England. Taken in by a pretty face and a pair of big… I suppose I expected more of you, Thomas. I’ve idolized you since I was a babe. How you can stand that phony is beyond me. If you’re so taken with her, why didn’t you offer for her last season?”

  “I’m still young, Lily. No need to rush things.”

  “You’re twenty-eight! I’m barely twenty-one, and Papa can’t wait to marry me off.”

  “It’s just the way it is. Do yourself a favor and accept it.”

  “Never! I want more than that, Thomas. I will not shackle myself to some peer and become his breeder.”

  “I won’t let anyone make you his breeder. Papa and I will see that both you and Rose are treated kindly by any interested gentlemen.”

  “But I don’t want to be courted. There are too many other things I want to do first.” She sighed. “I absolutely must see that Vermeer.”

  “Sorry, Lily,” Thomas said. “The Lybrook collection can only be viewed by private invitation.”

  “Perhaps the duke will invite me to see it. Surely he would appreciate my interest.”

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate many things about you,” her brother said, “the least of which is your commitment to the arts.”

  Lily rolled her eyes at her brother and then closed them, remembering her previous visit to Laurel Ridge. When she had uncovered her painting, she had been surprised at how ghastly her technique had been a mere eight years earlier. But it had a cheerful innocence to it. She had never shown it to Lord Daniel, nor had she seen him again during her brief stay at the estate.

  She would likely not see him this time either, as he would no doubt be busy with his many mistresses. Handsome Lord Daniel Farnsworth was now the Duke of Lybrook.

  * * *

  Daniel stepped out of his bath and into the towel held by his valet. He dried himself and held out his arms for the silk dressing gown. “Thank you, Putney,” he said, taking a seat in his leather armchair for a shave.

  The valet soaked a towel in a basin of steaming water, wrung it out, and wrapped it around Daniel’s face. He tried to relax. He enjoyed a good shave, but right now all he could think about was the guests gathering below and how he had to begin his life as the Duke of Lybrook this evening.

  Hosting a two week house party at what was now his estate was a daunting concept. Thank goodness for his mother and Aunt Lucy. They were renowned hostesses and would see that everything went according to plan.

  He felt a smile coming, but kept it at bay so as not to disturb Putney’s shaving. Lady Amelia Gregory would be there. The attractive widow would no doubt be thrilled to warm his bed tonight. She could do marvelous things with her mouth. He stiffened.

  Putney rubbed the last traces of shaving soap from Daniel’s face and went to the wardrobe to prepare his garments.

  “I think you’ll find this acceptable.” Putney held out a suit jacket of dark burgundy velvet and black trousers.

  Daniel dressed and poured himself a small snifter of brandy.

  “Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

  “No, Putney. You may go.”

  Putney bowed and left. Daniel drained the brandy in two gulps, left his chamber, and headed down the wide staircase to join the gentlemen who had congregated on the back terrace. Here goes nothing.

  His father and brother had been good at this sort of small talk. Daniel had usually been debauching some willing widow or housemaid in a dark corner. His lips curved slightly upward at the thought. Those days were over, now that he was obliged to be the host of these blasted events. He pasted a smile on his face and joined the first group of gentlemen.

  * * *

  Fatigued from their journey, Lily and Rose fell into a slumber after a maid had shown them to their guest chamber. After what seemed like only seconds, Lily awoke to a knock on the chamber door. Quickly she flew off the bed, searching for her gown on the floor. “Who is it?”

  “It’s us! Let us in!”

  Lily ran to door and threw it open. “Ally, Sophie!” She grabbed her cousins
in a hug.

  “Lily, dear, you’re in your undergarments,” Sophie admonished.

  “Rose and I were napping. We were tired and our bags hadn’t been brought up yet.”

  “They’re right outside the door,” Alexandra said. “Sophie and I can get them for you.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, I’ll get them.”

  “Lily, do not step one foot outside that door in your undergarments.” Rose sat up in bed. “Sophie and Ally can get our bags.”

  “My God, what is in this one?” Alexandra asked, lugging in a huge leather case.

  “Those are my art supplies.” Lily grabbed the bag. “Do be careful.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to paint during your stay here,” Alexandra said. “There are going to be lawn parties, and rides, and fancy dinners, and balls.”

  “You tell her, Ally,” Rose said. “She’s absolutely determined not to have any fun at all.”

  “You have your fun, and I’ll have mine. This estate is breathtaking. I intend to brush every bit of it onto paint board and describe every last foot of it in my journal.”

  “I think that sounds lovely, Lily,” Sophie said.

  Lily looked at her small cousin with affection. Sophie had thick golden hair and large hazel eyes that could mesmerize a person. Her younger sister, Alexandra, had chestnut hair, golden eyes, and a flamboyant personality. Gentlemen would no doubt be queuing up for Ally’s favors this very evening.

  Their mother was Lady Ashford’s older sister, Iris, the Countess of Longarry. Their father, an abusive Scottish earl, had died two years earlier, his lifetime of reckless spending leaving them penniless. The Ashfords had supported them since then and planned to bring the girls out for their first season with Lily and Rose.

  “We have the chamber right next to yours,” Alexandra said. “And mother is way down the hall. Where are Uncle Crispin and Auntie Flora?”