Page 9 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

Her gaze shifted to him, a man renowned for his honor and integrity. He was, she admitted to herself, pleasing to look at. A faithful marriage to a handsome duke, founded on honesty and shared goals, was far better than the disastrous future she had been fighting to avoid. Still, doubts tugged at the edges of her thoughts. She had never envisioned herself as a duchess. Was she prepared for such a role?

Her situation had felt like a tightening noose, the future already planned for her. Yet here, almost at the very hour of her metaphorical execution, was an unexpected reprieve. The Duke of Halmesbury offered not just escape, but the chance for a promising future. Decisiveness was key now—she had to act swiftly. Surely, she would be a fool to reject the opportunity before her? Women of the ton vied for such matches; how many noblemen of his rank, charm, and appearance would offer marriage on sight? If any.

Her mother’s voice seemed to echo in her mind, full of approval. This was an improved outcome, the sort of chance Mama would have urged her to seize.

Besides, what if she hesitated, and he changed his mind? The duke might realize she had little to offer him and withdraw the proposal. Better to secure the promise now, before he reconsidered.

As her thoughts raced, she became aware of his steady, patient gaze. The duke’s composure put her at ease, even as her pulse quickened. She liked this man. He seemed approachable, kind, and grounded—qualities she admired. And he was one of the most attractive man she had ever encountered. Could she marry him?

It struck her then: they did not truly know each other. But had she not known Richard for nearly a decade? Yet she had not known him at all. The Stable Incident had proven that time spent in someone’s company was no guarantee of understanding their character. This decision, Annabel realized, would rest not on time, but on instinct.

But look where your instincts have gotten you before, a voice inside her warned.

That was true—but it was also not the whole truth. She was no longer the woman she had been a month ago. Discovering Richard’s betrayal had been a pivotal moment, reshaping her perspective. She had spent the past weeks reflecting deeply on life, character, and integrity. The poetry and philosophy she had read over the years had taken on new meaning, teaching her the true nature of love, trust, and betrayal.

She might not be a great beauty or a celebrated social success, but she believed in her own worth. She had the right to pursue happiness, just like anyone else.

What truly mattered now was whether she trusted her ability to appraise the man before her. Did her instincts tell her he was someone she could trust? And if they did, was she brave enough to take the leap of faith?

Meeting his gaze, she found herself smiling. “Perhaps you could show me your home and tell me about what marriage with you would be like?” she ventured.

The duke’s grin in response was both warm and genuine, lighting his features in a way that made her pulse flutter. “What a splendid idea,” he said.

Annabel blinked, momentarily caught off guard by how his full, sculpted lips revealed perfect white teeth against sun-bronzed skin. He was, undeniably, exceptional to behold—even more so when he smiled.

Chapter Three

“I am content to reason with you.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

“Before we proceed, have you eaten anything today?” Halmesbury asked.

Annabel couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, but she quickly tempered it. His solicitousness was appealing, but she reminded herself not to judge too hastily. Richard had often appeared solicitous, only to use it as a tool for manipulation. Kindness could not be taken at face value; it needed time and consistency to prove its authenticity. If she accepted this man’s offer of marriage, she would be entrusting him with her future—there would be no undoing such a decision.

“I have not,” she admitted. “I am, in truth, famished.”

“Very well. I will have a light meal prepared,” the duke replied. He paused, then added, “Mrs. Thorne—I mean, Clinton—will see to it.”

“Mrs. Thorne?”

“Mrs. Thorne was my housekeeper until recently. She approached me with concerns about the poor conditions at the Halmesbury Home for Children. Together, we worked to improve the facility, which has since been renamed the Halmesbury Home for Beloved Children. Mrs. Thorne is now its matron. She is an extraordinary woman—competent and compassionate. The children are fortunate to have her care and attention.” His tone softened with genuine respect. “As for us, we are managing without her, though not without difficulty. Clinton has taken on additional responsibilities with the assistance of a senior maid. My wife”—he coughed lightly—“if I had one, would be involved in sorting it out.”

Annabel grinned. “That is shameless.”

The duke arched a golden eyebrow. “I do not know to what you are referring.”

“You are using your admirable philanthropic efforts as a bribe to sway me, along with the promise of managing this elegant home.”

Halmesbury shrugged, his expression entirely unrepentant, as he rang for Clinton and returned to his seat on the red-and-ivory striped Chippendale sofa. Annabel could not help but notice the way his broad shoulders filled his navy coat. His posture was relaxed, his manner at ease, suggesting he did not stand on formality within his private domain.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Halmesbury called.

An elderly butler stepped inside. Tall and slim, with a distinguished air and graying hair, he glanced briefly at Annabel before addressing the duke.