Page 5 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

“Felicitations on your birthday, Your Grace.”

Philip Markham, the seventh Duke of Halmesbury, grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. “Thank you, Jones. I am afraid, however, that with the advent of my thirtieth birthday, it is time to attend to my duty. I shall have to brave the vapidness of the coming Season in search of a new wife.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. It will be a pleasant change to have a lady in residence.” Jones kept a straight face as Philip snorted.

“Only if the young lady cares to allow me to warm her heart,” muttered Philip under his breath.

“Your Grace?”

“Nothing, Jones. Nothing worth repeating.”

Shortly after Jones had left the room, Philip turned back to his reflection in the looking glass, its carved gilded frame a testament to generations of Markhams who had stood where he now stood. All this history, the family legacy he was duty-bound to protect for the next generation, weighed like a heavy mantle across his shoulders. It had not always felt like such a burden, but the events of the past few years had taken their toll. Now, at thirty years of age, he had been married and widowed, yet was childless. Somehow, this birthday did not feel like one to celebrate.

He squared his shoulders. Never mind that—it had been three long years since his wife’s passing. It was time to move on. He could see faint lines forming at the corners of his eyes, mild furrows between his brows. He wished for smile lines to match, but there had been little in his life to smile about for some time.

His loneliness was a palpable pall that permeated the depths of his soul. Palpable pall that permeated? He groaned. It was regrettable to find himself waxing poetic, a sure sign it was high time to relinquish his hermitage. His lack of stimulating company was slowly driving him mad.

It had long been his dream to fill Halmesbury Manor with the sounds of children’s laughter, to share love and warmth with his family by the time he reached this milestone birthday. His own parents had provided a happy, vibrant home when he was a boy. Yet time had crept forward, and here he was, alone—no wife, no children to carry on his name. Life had upended his plans in ways he could not have foreseen. His marriage to Jane Marley had been his first mistake. Bumbling their wedding night had set the tone for their strained relationship. His overzealous attentiveness had stifled her, and he had driven her to⁠—

Philip forced himself to stop. No sense in dwelling on the past. That chapter was closed. He would learn from his mistakes and strive for better. His next bride would be bold, a woman of spirit who could share companionship and joy, not one who was timid or unwilling to communicate. Together, they could build a home filled with love and the children he had dreamed of for so long.

His parents’ untimely deaths had left him yearning for the kind of family they had shared, one of connection and mutual affection. But his cousin Richard—he grimaced at the thought—had been a constant thorn in his side, a treacherous presence he was grateful to be rid of.

No matter. Richard no longer mattered. What mattered now was finding the right duchess. His own passions had cooled with time, and he no longer yearned for a romantic whirlwind. Instead, he sought a partnership of mutual respect and shared purpose. He would be pragmatic, not foolish. A pleasant, steady marriage with a strong, intelligent woman was not too much to hope for after years of reflection.

Philip inspected his reflection. His figure was still robust, his posture straight from years of riding and occasional brawls at his London club. His tailored navy coat, linen shirt, and buckskins fit impeccably. He reached to adjust a brass button on his waistcoat. Yes, he still cut a fine figure.

His future bride must be unconventional—a young woman unbroken by society’s narrow expectations, someone with intelligence and vitality. He wanted a wife who could meet his gaze, speak her mind, and share a genuine connection.

He would not settle for timidity. He desired what his parents had—a marriage of equals filled with mutual understanding. With renewed resolve, he turned from the mirror.

For my birthday, I give myself permission to seek a bride and plan for the next generation of Markhams.

* * *

Annabel’s back and thighs were aching by the time she rode up to a copse of trees bordering the front drive of Avonmead. She had ridden through the night, and she estimated it was now about ten o’clock in the morning.

As she gazed up at the impressive Palladian edifice rising two towering stories, she felt her pulse quicken with trepidation. Should she walk up one of the front stone staircases to the portico and simply knock on the hardwood doors? Surely the servants would not grant her entry based on her unconventional attire. If they turned her away, the enormous risk she took in traveling here would be for naught. Why had she not brought a change of clothes? She’d been so focused on the journey, she had not thought ahead to the arrival. She could have cleaned up at the lake she had seen in the distance and donned a walking dress and pelisse to present herself at the front door as a lady. As she was now, she would appear to be a lout, if she even fooled the attending servant into thinking she was a lad in such proximity.

She sighed in resignation. It was too late to regret her lack of preparation now. Her nerves were starting to fail her. Hopefully, he was not one of those peers who slept half the day away. She was counting on him being an industrious man, as the magazine suggested, who rose early. If not, it would force her to hide out somewhere until he made an appearance.

Tick-tock, Annabel, tick-tock.

With the reminder of her impending wedding day racing toward her, she steeled her nerves and dismounted, tying Starling to one of the sturdy lower branches.

She rolled her shoulders to stretch out. The bulky overcoat had grown uncomfortable within the last couple of hours of riding. She was grateful that her expedition was occurring mid-autumn, as the overcoat was a necessary part of her disguise. A month or two earlier, it would have been far too warm to have kept the coat on for the duration. As it was, she warmed to an uncomfortable degree after dawn had broken across the eastern sky to herald the start of the day. Right about the time she entered Wiltshire County, when the air had sounded with birdcalls as if to welcome her arrival.

Her ride had been uneventful, having started out from Baydon Hall at midnight with the full moon lighting a brilliant path on the roadways to be navigated. She concealed herself only twice in the woods and hedges to the side of the roads when oncoming mail coaches neared her position.

Swiping her brow and neck with a handkerchief, she considered her quest. The Duke of Halmesbury was her last chance to change her fate. If the quest failed, she would have to do something truly desperate to outwit her father’s plans, not to mention Richard’s despicable ideals of perfect marriage.

She may not be a beautiful English rose, but she must value herself, just as Mama had always instructed. Annabel’s only hope was to receive a warm reception rather than find herself in worsening circumstances. She prayed this was not a matter of leaping from the frying pan into the fire. The duke’s reputation was excellent, but she did not know what sort of man he really was. A kind one, she hoped with fervor.

Now that a plan was in motion, instead of lamenting her circumstances between arguments with her father, Annabel felt the fire of determination fueling her forward. Her body might tremble with exhaustion, but that fire would continue to energize her through this struggle. She must see this through, and she must succeed. Considering the walk up the driveway, she noted the leafy bushes would shield her from the manor windows.

She rubbed the gelding’s ears.

“Good boy, Starling. Thank you for getting me here safely,” she whispered in a warm voice, feeding him a carrot from her coat pocket. With a pat, she turned and quickly started across the drive toward the bushes, stooping to remain hidden as long as possible as she tried to think how to proceed. Once she reached the majestic stone structure, she would find a way to talk to the duke. He would be in residence, and he would agree to help her.