How to be a Duchess

By Lydia Dray

When the death of her husband—the sadistic Duke of Blyford—leaves Lilly a young widow, she decides to adopt the role of the aloof Duchess of Blyford, and keep her real self hidden far away.

 

But her plan is complicated by the unexpected appearance of Henry Thomas, the man she had planned to marry before the duke made his sudden proposal. And Henry is furious with Lilly for leaving him without any explanation to make her advantageous marriage.

 

Both characters flee London—and each other—to an estate in the country, only to find their paths crossing again. And to find they are still magnetically drawn to each other. But can Henry forgive Lilly for leaving him years earlier? And can Lilly, damaged by the duke's cruelties, risk opening her heart to Henry?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lydia Dray
• Release date: Jul 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393736103

Lydia Dray

Lydia Dray lives in Chicago, Illinois with her partner. She writes plays and short fiction. How to be a Duchess is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

London, 1846

Come now, Lilly, be a little more generous! Claudia cried.

I’m scarcely out of mourning, Claudia, Lilly said. It’s not appropriate for me to host a ball.

"But just as you said, you are out of mourning! Her sister insisted. These three months! And I had my coming out over a year ago and I’ve only been to two dances since, Lilly. Two!"

You’ve been with mother and father in Willingham until this past week. It’s hardly my fault that you haven’t attended more balls.

That’s not precisely true, Claudia sniffed. You never invited us to London the entire time you were married to the duke. And here you were, in this exquisite place.

Lilly shuddered inwardly. She had lived in Wynden House since her marriage to the Duke of Blyford six years earlier. It was a stately house, and yet throughout her marriage it had been her private prison, with the duke as her warden. Although the estate was built on extensive grounds and was located in elegant Hampstead, she had rarely been permitted to leave the house—never mind attend balls or entertain guests.

The duke preferred not to have any visitors, Lilly said simply.

"He preferred not to? Claudia cried. Isn't it a wife's duty to make her husband's preferences conform to her own?"

The duke was not like other husbands, she said carefully. And at any rate, Wynden House is hardly equipped for a ball.

Oh, but it could be! This grand old house needn’t be so dark and gloomy! It ought to have some life in it.

Lilly glanced around the morning room. In spite of the high ceilings and fine marble, the room—like every other room in the house—was not welcoming. The walls were covered in morose family portraits and tapestries that hadn’t been cleaned in years. The furniture was all dark and heavy wood, and because the house was perpetually understaffed, the fireplace was untended and the room slightly cold.

She had immediately felt uncomfortable in this house when she'd first arrived; why hadn’t she done anything to change it after the duke died? Why hadn’t she done anything about the servants? Lilly suddenly realized that during her period of mourning, she had been in a kind of paralysis, unable to believe he was really gone for good. 

It would be nice to open Wynden House to the outside world, Lilly admitted.

"We would invite only the most exclusive members of the ton, Claudia said excitedly. Just imagine the sophisticated conversations! Imagine the gowns!"

Lilly frowned. Claudia, I don’t know the first thing about how to behave with those types of people. I have scarcely spoken to anyone outside of this home in the past six years. I don't have any of the qualities of a duchess.

You know, that isn't entirely true, Claudia said. I grant you, you are not a flirt or a wit—but I think I can manage those traits. Her sister allowed herself a small grin, then continued in a more thoughtful tone, but something about you has changed since you left Willingham. You have an aloofness about you, a kind of reserve.

Lilly stilled. She knew that she had learned to hide her emotions in order to survive. But she hadn't expected Claudia to notice.

And yet her sister was smiling as she went on. You can use that. Your reserve is proof of the fact that you are a woman of extraordinary character and even more extraordinary wealth. You maintain faultless manners. You never betray anger or disappointment or even joy. Don't you see, Lilly, it's just like playing a part in a play! If you perform the role of duchess without wavering, no one will have any reason to suspect you don't feel every inch of the title.

The suggestion was surprisingly appealing. Lilly had always been self-restrained, so concealing her emotions under the guise of propriety would come easily. And more importantly, if she wore the mask of the Duchess of Blyford, she could keep her real self hidden far from the world.

The ball would be beneficial for Claudia, too, Lilly thought. Her sister would meet a variety of young gentlemen, and would therefore not be as vulnerable to the flatteries of an influential older man as Lilly and their parents had been.

That still doesn't change the fact that I don’t know the first thing about hosting an event like that, Lilly said.

If that’s it! All society ladies hire someone to plan their balls, if their housekeeper doesn’t know how to organize one. You won’t have to arrange a single flower!

Well, Hampstead is lovely in May, she admitted.

Oh Lilly! Claudia cried happily, knowing she'd won.

WELL, HENRY? HAVE YOU come to a decision?

Henry Thomas looked at his uncle, who was seated behind his large oak desk, running a hand through his thinning hair. Henry sighed. He was going to disappoint the man. But there was no avoiding it—he had made his decision.

My investments stay where they are. In the railroads, Henry said.

His uncle exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

You're the one who first told me that the rails are the smartest place to invest, Henry added.

Yes, yes, and I don't deny the fact that I made my fortune from them, and so have you, Mr. Thomas replied.

I've made a good start, Henry corrected. I haven't yet acquired all that I aim to.

Henry! Mr. Thomas exclaimed. "You came to London without a cent to your name. And look at you now—you have a house in Highgate, and a membership to that exclusive club. Not to mention, you dress as well as any member of the ton, and you speak better than half of them. Isn't that enough, my boy?"

Do you remember what I told you when I arrived in London four years ago? Henry asked.

His uncle allowed a small smile. You told me you wanted to be as rich as me. Is that still your goal?

Yes, Henry said shortly.

You're only twenty-five. You made some risky but very shrewd investments and now you're quite well off. By thirty you could be rich. What's the hurry?

"Because you have to speak better than all of the ton when your background is as obscure as mine. And you have to out-earn and out-spend them just to keep them from laughing at you."

You think I don't know that? his uncle said, frowning.

Henry sighed. Of course, you know that better than most. Those high-class people take nothing but pleasure in seeing a self-made man fail.

That only supports my point. The rails are in danger of failing, and of taking you down with them.

I will not be brought down, Henry said.

"You got those newspaper articles I sent, didn't you? All those new companies are investing solely in railroads. And I keep hearing stories about men buying shares even though they can only afford the deposit. And everyone who talks about the rails uses the phrase foolproof."

Henry sighed. His uncle was an intelligent man, but he was unfailingly cautious. Henry sometimes wondered how someone so adverse to risk had managed to become as rich as he had. But Mr. Thomas had made his fortune in a different time. Practically every MP has invested in the rails, Henry said.

And so every last railway bill is passed in Parliament, no matter how shoddy, Mr. Thomas replied.

That’s not true, Henry argued. Parliament voted down a scheme for a so-called direct railway just last week.

And it was news because it was an exception, Mr. Thomas said. This country is caught in a reckless folly that the railways won’t fail, simply because they can’t stand the idea of their failure. It's too dangerous, Henry.

So where do you intend to invest your funds instead?

Property, Mr. Thomas said proudly.

Property, Henry repeated dully. It was an old man’s game, with the chance to double a man's investment in fifty years, if he got lucky.

I am going to divest from the rails tomorrow, Mr. Thomas continued. I thought we could visit the solicitor's office together.

I am grateful for all your advice over the years, Uncle, truly, Henry said. But I will not be joining you.

To his surprise, a high color appeared in the older man's pale cheeks. And wh-what about your father? Mr. Thomas sputtered.

My father? Henry repeated, hearing an edge in his voice.

He has finally forgiven you for leaving Willingham and the family behind. But that's only because you swore to him he would never have to work another day in his life. If you aren't afraid on your own account, think of-

Do you remember the other thing I told you when I arrived in London? Henry interrupted.

You-

I said I would never go back to being a woodworker in Willingham. Do not lecture me about my father. I think of him every day of my life, and I know well how much I disappointed him. I have no intention of breaking the promise I made.

But if the rails should fail! Mr. Thomas cried. Henry, you must protect the family!

I intend to, Henry snapped. One of us has to.

He regretted it the second he said it. His uncle’s face instantly mottled to a deep purple.

I'm sorry, Henry began. I shouldn't have-

Get out, Mr. Thomas stammered.

I didn't-

Out! Mr. Thomas cried.

Henry sighed. Fine, he said, grabbing his coat. Tell my aunt I won't be coming to dinner tomorrow. I wouldn't want to disturb you with my presence. He stood to leave, but as he reached the door, his uncle's voice stopped him.

Henry, my boy.

He turned. To his surprise, his uncle was attempting a smile.

You think I would turn my own nephew out of my house? Come to dinner.

Henry sighed. You sure about that? he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mr. Thomas smiled, and though Henry could tell he was still wounded, Mr. Thomas said, It’s just business, Henry.

Just business. Of course. See you tomorrow, he said.

As Henry walked down the hall from his uncle’s office, he heard the sound of voices coming from the breakfast room, and stopped outside it. His aunt and his cousin Eliza were seated in chairs by the window, while his other cousin, Delia, was lying on the carpet at their feet.

Why can’t I just ask Papa if he has it? Delia was saying.

Because your father can’t have you bothering him while he’s working, Love, Mrs. Thomas said mildly.

I wouldn’t bother him, I’d only ask if he had the—Henry! Delia cried, suddenly spotting him.

Henry! What are you doing standing out there? Eliza cried. Don’t you want to come kiss your cousins?

Henry smiled and entered the room. Before he had finished greeting them, Delia said, "Do you have today’s newspaper, Henry?"

As a matter of fact, I do, Henry said and pulled out the folded newspaper. But he couldn’t help but tease his thirteen-year-old cousin, and instead of handing it over, he took a seat in one of the chairs, and slowly unfolded the paper.

Can I see it, please? Delia asked. Just the society pages?

The society pages? Henry repeated. I'm afraid I was just about to peruse those.

"You were not, Delia said. You only read the business pages, just like Papa!"

That’s not true. I have recently taken an avid interest in the goings-on of London's elite.

Eliza looked up from her novel and grinned at Henry. He winked at her.

I saw that! Delia cried. Henry! Eliza! Stop kidding!

Here you go, Henry said, holding out the society pages.

Thank you, Delia sniffed, and grabbed the papers from his hand.

Henry leaned back in his chair as he watched his cousin unfold the newspaper on the carpet. He should not have suggested that Mr. Thomas hadn't done enough to protect his family, even if—especially if—there was a degree of truth in it.

I knew there would be a mention of it! Delia exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts.

What’s that, dear? Mrs. Thomas asked.

The ball of the season!

Which one?

The Duchess of Blyford’s ball, of course!

Henry froze.

Oh, I wish we’d been invited! Delia continued. The Ogden sisters are going.

Very carefully, Henry unfolded the remaining pages of his newspaper. He wondered if Eliza remembered the conversation they’d had four years ago, when he first came to London, but he refused to look up to see if she was watching him.

How do you know that, Delia? Mrs. Thomas said, with a slight edge to her voice.

Maria Ogden told me, only yesterday.

Well, in my day girls did not brag about social invitations they received, especially when their friends were not extended the same courtesy, Mrs. Thomas said huffily.

Why weren’t we invited, Mama? Delia asked.

Why are you fixating on it, little one? Eliza teased. As you are not yet out, you would not be attending anyway. And wouldn’t it be an even worse torment if you had to see me go without you?

No, because I would make you tell me every last detail, especially about the duchess! Oh, I wonder what she’s like.

Henry tried hard to focus on an article about new duties on imported spirits.

Hardly anyone knows, Mrs. Thomas said. The duchess is a total recluse, and the duke was not much better. It’s said she hasn’t been seen in society since her wedding, and they never once invited guests to Wynden House. If you ask me, she has hardly done her duty as Duchess.

What is her duty, Mama? Delia asked.

Her duty, Eliza said, with a smile in her voice, is to host the fanciest balls of the season, serve the finest food, hire the best musicians, and generally parade herself in front of all society and welcome their judgments. For some reason, she has shunned that.

Hopefully, this ball signals an end to that, Mrs. Thomas said, missing the irony in Eliza’s comment. Then she added, in a lower voice, perhaps it’s true what people say and it was the duke who was behind their isolation.

I would have thought a man of fifty would have married a girl of seventeen to show her off to the world, Eliza said.

Mrs. Thomas' voice dropped even lower as she said, perhaps he preferred to keep her at home.

Mother! Eliza cried.

Henry abandoned the article on spirits, and tried to read a story about the cultivation of waste lands in Ireland.

Why should he want to keep her at home? Delia asked innocently.

Never mind, my dear, Mrs. Thomas said.

But Delia persisted. Was he ashamed of her? Is she supposed to be ugly?

A duchess can never be ugly, Eliza said laughingly.

Really? Delia replied.

Even if she has the face of a pig, a woman with a title and a fortune is never ugly, Eliza said. Especially if she is unmarried.

The face of a pig! How can you say so! Delia cried.

Come, Eliza, you know that the duchess is rumored to be quite beautiful, Mrs. Thomas said.

Is she, Mama? said Delia.

Well, why don’t we all stop speculating and just ask Henry? Eliza said.

Without looking up, Henry felt all eyes turn to him. Of course. That damn Eliza remembered everything.

Why should Henry have anything to say about it? asked Mrs. Thomas.

Because they grew up together in Willingham, of course, Eliza answered.

Henry finally dropped the newspaper. Three female faces were turned to him: Delia, staring open-mouthed; Mrs. Thomas, raising her eyebrows; and Eliza, smiling in satisfaction.

Did you really grow up with the duchess, Henry? Delia gasped.

Of course, he said, and forced a laugh. I spent my childhood playing with duchesses.

Henry, don’t tease! Delia cried.

Really though, Henry, have you met the Duchess of Blyford? his aunt asked.

Henry rubbed at the tension in his jaw, considering how to simultaneously answer the question and end the conversation. I did not know the Duchess of Blyford, he said slowly. I knew Miss Lilly Barnes, the daughter of the Earl of Willingham’s groundskeeper. I never knew any duchess.

But surely you’ve seen her since you left Cambridgeshire? Here, in London? his aunt pressed him.

No, Henry said.

Ah, well, Mrs. Thomas said, sighing. Henry knew his aunt had little interest in the village of Willingham, or in duchesses when they were groundskeeper’s daughters. That information would not help them secure invitations to fancy dress balls. But his cousin persisted.

Was she pretty, Henry? Delia asked.

I do wonder if the tales of her uncommon beauty do her justice, his aunt murmured idly.

They don't, Henry said flatly. He felt Eliza’s eyes