The Duke I Love

By Rebecca Jones

Fleur Harrington cannot remember her past. Where she came from, where she was going and how she ended up rescued by the scandalous Robert Erskine, the Duke of Daventry.

With no prospects or family, the Duke is her only refuge and she becomes a maid in his house.
Can she do what no other woman has yet achieved – steal the Duke’s heart?

This Regency romance is a sweet, clean, and wholesome read with a guaranteed happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Jones
• Release date: Oct 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005238667

Rebecca Jones

Rebecca Jones has a lifelong love of history, especially English and American. Her romances range in setting from Medieval times to the Twentieth Century. She writes entertaining books for her readers to enjoy.She loves walks in the countryside and having afternoon tea with family and friends.When not writing, you can find her trying to keep up with her husband and three kids and exploring the different parts of the world.

Book preview

THE DUKE I LOVE

Copyright © 2020 Rebecca Jones All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Chapter One

France, 1817

The last vestiges of the setting sun disappeared over the horizon, the copper hues giving way to a dusty purple scattered with the occasional glitter of a faraway star. The distant skyline stood silhouetted against a velvety sky, the golden dusk enveloped by the twilight sky.

The stone path was punctuated with weeds after every stone. The disheveled, un-manicured lawn was more moss than grass and was over shadowed by huge weeping willow flowing down onto the dank and squishy ground.

Clusters of defiant daffodils reared their golden heads amidst the gloom and there were smatters of fuchsia alongside the scarlet and saffron hued primroses.

The garden reminded Fleur of the Garden of Eden. How could it not? The Garden of Eden was after all, the perfect prison. It had been designed by God to fulfil Adam and Eve’s every desire. He’d given them the illusion of freewill, whilst all the while keeping walls around them.

Fleur walked up the impressive stone steps that led to the house. The house itself was a red brick wonder that looked ready to stand any test that time might throw at it. Deep green ivy had started to grow up its walls. It too seemed sure that it would be a safe place to spend the rest of eternity.

Whatever are you talking about, Papa? Fleur Harrington asked, crossly.

Her father, Lord Harrington scowled. You are to be wed, Fleur. It is all arranged.

Fleur stared at her father, wondering what on earth had possessed him to arrange such a thing without so much as consulting her. She frowned in consternation.

Dearest Papa, I have no wish to marry.

And yet you will, Lord Harrington replied, cheerfully. After all, you cannot simply stay here!

Why not? Fleur asked, as horror slowly began to fill her chest. I like it here, with you.

The lie fell smoothly from her lips, but her father was not easily fooled. After all, he was the one to whom she had spent years complaining over how little there was to do where they lived. She had told him on more than one occasion that she was quite bored, and now, it seemed, those words were coming back to haunt her.

Her father guffawed, letting her know at once that he didn’t believe her.

It’s true! she exclaimed, in a desperate attempt to convince him of his error. Furthermore, I cannot bear to be parted from you, Papa.

Lord Harrington’s face softened then, and he gestured her to a chair. Sit down, my dear, and let me explain exactly what is happening.

Fleur did as he asked, as a sense of foreboding enveloped her. It did not look as though she were about to escape whatever it was her father had planned. Her father was using the tone of voice he only reserved for the utmost serious conversations.

A very dear friend of mine has a nephew who is in need of a wife, her father explained, sitting down opposite her. I owe this gentleman a great debt of honour. My very life actually.

Your life? Fleur repeated, her eyes widening.

Indeed, her father replied. When I first came to France, he travelled on the same ship as me. The sea was rough, and, without warning, a wave crashed onto the boat and dragged me over the side. Lord Edmund Langley was the one who dived in