Page 1 of Once Upon a Devilish Duke

Prologue

Ashtonvale House

Cheshire, 1810

Edward Ashton, fifth Duke of Warrington, stood at the window of his bedroom, Victoria’s screams still echoing in his head even hours after her death. His lifeless wife lay behind him in their ducal bed, her face covered in a sheet, leaving her newborn child crying, motherless, in the nursery.

Edward should be mad or sad, or both, but instead an overwhelming numbness took over him. He needed to leave, to run, but where? Leaving the estate took a full day by carriage, half a day by horse. He should know; he had done the trip many times.

He opened the window; the perfectly manicured lawn stretched out below him in a green mockery of the chaos in his mind. Not that far to jump… if he wanted two broken legs. Wiping his hand down his face, he dared to glance back at the bed. His duchess was still there. He was sure he would mourn her, eventually.

He had loved her, hadn’t he?

There were no doubts about her feelings for him. She had told him many times how much she hated him for taking her away from London and leaving her to rot in the country. He had tried to be a good husband. But negotiating with her when she was busy throwing things at him became harder and harder.

A knock at the door made him blink, and when he turned, his butler stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.

“Your Grace, the dowager duchess has asked you to meet her in the nursery.”

Edward closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was see the child or his mother. “Please tell the dowager that I will go to the nursery when I am ready.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The butler’s tone softened. “Can I get anything for you?”

“When will they come for her?” he asked, trying to keep his tone calm.

“Come for her?”

He waved towards the bed, still too much of a coward to face her completely. “To take her away.”

“Oh, I believe the undertaker will arrive tomorrow to organize the funeral.”

He looked over his shoulder at his butler. “Tomorrow? Where is he coming from? Land’s End?”

The butler ignored his outburst. “I believe the coffin is being delivered tomorrow as well. The family crypt has been opened and swept in preparation, Your Grace. All mirrors have been covered and a wreath placed on the door.”

Societal expectations were all satisfied. How ironic, considering how far from London they were. Who would see the wreath, anyway? Being interred in the family crypt would be a final insult to his precious wife. She would have preferred a service at St George’s Church in London so all her friends could cry over her. Instead, it would be family only. Her father and brother were no doubt on their way. He would have to prepare to bear the brunt of their accusations. Of course, it would be his fault she died in childbirth.

Another knock. Could they not all just leave him alone? “Go away,” he said, his tone not at all the calm he fought for.

“Edward. It is Marianne,” she said as she entered. “I’ve come to check on you. Mother is beside herself with worry.”

“I am fine,” he said, and he almost believed his own lie.

She touched his arm, and he had to count the panes of glass in the window to prevent the scream that was attempting to escape his throat.

“You do not have to be, you know. Victoria was…”

He peered down at his sister, who now stood beside him. “Tell me, sister, what was Victoria like?”

“Difficult,” she answered. “That was on her, not you. Unfortunately, she was more petulant and self-centered than we knew how to cope with. That was not your fault either.”

He shut the window, as the urge to jump was almost all-consuming. “Despite my best efforts, she has had the ultimate revenge upon me.”

“No, Edward, the ultimate revenge would have been if she had lived into old age. There would not be an item in this house not broken in the throwing of them by then.”

He would have laughed at that, for it was true, but not today.

“You should come and see your daughter; she is perfect. She needs her father.”