Raven McAllan - The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M

A figure in the door of the school caught her eye and she beckoned to the dozen or so schoolchildren still running around in the late summer sunshine. ‘Miss Grey is about to ring the bell. Time to go in.’

‘And cakes,’ the irrepressible Cissy sang as she rushed to the door, slowed down and straightened herself to walk decorously inside.

Mary chuckled.

Peggy Grey shook her head in mock disapproval. ‘That young lady will end up being the power behind the throne or being transported… and then she’d only end up running the colonies!’

Mary had to agree. ‘She’s lively and enthusiastic. She’ll make a good teacher.’

‘So would you.’

Mary laughed and shook her head. ‘Not me, I’m happy with my few hours. It… it grounds me, I think. And on that note, I better carry on before they get their cakes. I need to be away before then, I have several things to do when I leave.’ She didn’t, unless you counted weeding her lettuces yet again and deciding on which novel to read next.

Good grief, has my life come to this? Where’s the excitement, the gaiety? The most excitement she had was her weekly visit to the ladies who taught her to tat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to a man other than the baker, the vicar or her servants, let alone a man of her own class. It was her own choice, she accepted that. Nevertheless, she was uneasily aware that her year of grace given to her by her brother before he insisted she rejoined her rightful place in the ton was half over and she still hadn’t decided how to go about that. It was a simple choice, she thought. Return to the ton as the widow of Lord Horace McCoy and all the inherent problems that brought – rakes who saw her as easy prey, impoverished peers with an eye on her fortune – or return to the ton under the aegis of her brother and his wife. Who would still expect her to use her title and marry, but hopefully scare the worst of the suitors away.

Nether options appealed.

Mary wasn’t sure she wanted to marry again. She’d loved her husband and married him in the face of family objections almost as soon as she was out, and never lived to regret it. Their marriage had been unusual, she accepted that. Most marriages in the ton were not love matches but made for what each could person bring to the union. Generally a dowry and heirs.

It had not been like that for her. But Horry – Horace – had died after only five years of marriage, and here she was, only just two and twenty years of age, and a wealthy widow. It was not, she decided, an enviable situation.

‘Miss Mary?’ It was Cissy who tugged on her sleeve. ‘Are you ready? Cos it’ll be cake time soon and we wants to show you how much we’ve got better at our letters.’

Mary mentally shook herself. She loved the way the children had called her, ‘Miss’, and this had filtered into the community. Miss Mary, widow, she was known as, and as that she was happy to stay, even if it was a muddled title. ‘Of course, let’s get on.’

Once she was seated on a ladder back chair with two dozen children in front of her – she’d listened to the others before their break – Mary forgot all about her life, the mystery man and the un-weeded lettuces. These hours were precious. She became engrossed, and when Miss Grey entered the room and cleared her throat it took several seconds for the person next to her to register. Mary looked up at the clock on the wall at the back of the room and groaned. She’d been so involved with the children she hadn’t kept track of the time and it was over thirty minutes past the hour she usually left.

Cake time, in fact. A situation brought home to her when the gentleman – and oh he was a gentleman, be him in country clothes or not – held a basket aloft and the children cheered.

Mary stood up and curtseyed without making eye contact. ‘I’ll be off. I’ll see you next week, children.’

The chorus of “yes miss, thank you miss, see you then miss,” reassured her. No one here linked her to her family, which was how she wanted it.

‘You’re not about to leave on my account, I hope,’ said the tall, dark and really impossibly handsome man who crowded her, even though he stood several yards away. He spoke suavely, and still had that intense look in his eyes. That insulting look which stripped her naked and showed Mary he thought of her as someone with whom he could play fast and loose.

She shook her head, and ached to add, “you don’t figure large enough in my life.” Of course she didn’t, and responded lamely with… ‘Not at all, sir, I should be long gone.’

‘This is the Duke of Welland,’ Peggy Grey said quietly. A gasp ran through the assembled children, which echoed in Mary’s mind.

That was all she needed. Mary had heard all about him and his ways. No wonder he had looked at her in such a way. She made the mistake of glancing at his face. The admiration and challenge in his eyes hit her with the force of a runaway carriage. He didn’t intend to let her run and hide easily. She curtseyed and did her best to ignore the humour in his eyes. Obviously he knew he’d unsettled her, and did not care one jot. She gave a curtsey to the perfect degree of deference. ‘Please excuse me, Your Grace. Please excuse me.’ She didn’t exactly run from the classroom, not quite, but his soft laughter made her want to.

Mary was halfway home before she realised she’d left her basket and her hat behind. They’d have to stay in the teacher’s room until the following week. She had no intention of returning for them that day, or any day soon.

Brody, the new Duke of Welland. She’d heard of him of course, who hadn’t. Even before she came out, her fellow pupils – at the exclusive school in Bath her papa had sent her to – spoke of his exploits in hushed whispers and giggles. One girl swore he winked at her and she swooned, another girl said he had propositioned her sister who had to be sent to Leamington Spa to recover. As his antics grew more outrageous so did the alleged meetings between schoolgirls and the rake. Not that most people believed them, although Mary thought most secretly wished it had been them on the receiving end of his attention. Strangely, by the time she’d left school and begun her brief time enjoying the delights of her first season, he wasn’t around and no one seemed to have any idea where he was.

As far as she knew, whilst she and Horry were in the north of England this Duke’s father has been alive; he’d died not long before her beloved husband. But the duke hadn’t appeared back in Britain until recently, and to Mary’s knowledge this was the first time he’d been to the school.

Suddenly, fiercely, she missed Horry and his common sense.

If anyone had questioned her why she fell in love with a man forty years her senior, at the first ball she attended, she couldn’t answer. She just did, and in a bold manner so unlike her usual self had let him know it, in no uncertain fashion. It was her husband who held back and said it wouldn’t be fair on her to be tied to someone so much older, and Mary who pushed. People might comment that things like that didn’t happen, and before she met Horry, she would have agreed.

Now she knew they did, but was under no illusions that it was the norm, and was sceptical she’d ever fall in love again. Horry was a hard act to follow and to be honest she didn’t feel so inclined. He had fulfilled her every need. Now, her life might be mundane but it suited her better than to be pestered and courted for her money, not her mind or personality. All she had to do was persuade her brother of that fact.

Luckily, the Grange was hers, but Desmond, her brother, was her guardian until she was twenty-five. Another three years to go. Why Horry had insisted on that, she had no idea, but it was a fact she had to cope with.