I’m delighted to introduce the Sixth Duke of Wyndmere,
Jared Malcolm Lippincott.
Snippet from chapter one: Mending the Duke’s Pride
© Copyright 2021 by C.H. Admirand/Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Cover by Dar Albert
Wishing he were anywhere but seated behind the massive walnut desk used by the last five Dukes of Wyndmere, Jared waited for his brother to arrive. Thirty minutes past the appointed hour, his brother strolled in through the open door.
“Ah Jared, could you not have waited until a decent hour to bombard me with questions about my schedule for the day?”
The duke met his brother’s gaze and motioned for him to sit. When he complied, the duke steepled his fingers, tapping them together while he waited for his brother’s full attention. The youngest brother had always been a bit scatterbrained before breakfast. Mayhap he should have waited, but this discussion had to happen before he could move on to the next item on his schedule.
“As you are aware, we’ve cleared one hurdle only to be faced with another. The family’s name must be restored to its former state.”
“Dash it all, Jared! If that’s why you dragged me out of bed, then it’s been a waste of your time.” His brother shot to his feet and strode to the door.
Before he could leave, the duke had a hold of his arm. “Edward, wait. Please?”
He hated being in charge, disliked handing out orders. He much preferred living life on his own terms, responsible for his own deeds, his own actions. Being a duke was going to be bloody inconvenient.
His brother looked over his shoulder, meeting his gaze. “Well?”
“We have Phoebe’s reputation to think of,” the duke reminded him. “It’s not as detrimental to have a colored reputation if one is a gentleman…however in a lady, once tarnished, it cannot be repaired.”
The earl’s shoulders slumped at the mention of their younger sister’s name. He turned and walked back to his seat. “What would you have me do?”
The duke sat across from his brother and laid out his plans to start the battle to regain the family’s former reputation. “No more trips to the stews or gaming hells, Edward.”
His brother’s face turned beet red and his hands fisted. “Not your call, Brother.”
The duke disagreed. “I wish it weren’t, but it’s not me I’m thinking of,” he reminded his younger brother. “It’s Phoebe. If we cannot save the family name, she’ll never make the right connections and meet gentlemen worthy of her consequence and social standing.”
His brother opened his mouth and closed it without uttering a word.
“She’s been through enough,” the duke reminded him. “Having to live through the horror of these last months instead of enjoying her first Season.”
His brother met his gaze and held it. “Agreed,” Edward said.
“How she’s managed to keep her head up despite losing Oliver—and in such a scandalous manner—is a credit to her.”
“She’s as green as they come,” Edward added.
“Probably had no idea how dissolute our brother had become,” the duke murmured, falling silent as the horrific scene replayed in his mind—the midnight messenger…the blood, the gore—his brother’s sightless eyes…
“Phoebe has a heart of gold,” Edward said, drawing him back to the present.
The duke drew in one breath and then another. “Despite being reserved around people she does not know, I believe our sister will no doubt cause a bit of a sensation once she’s made her debut—albeit delayed.”
Edward agreed. “She’s grown into a stunning beauty with her chestnut hair and blue eyes.”
“Lippincott coloring,” the duke acknowledged, “but her temperament,” he sighed. “My courier reports she threw a tantrum when she read the missive I’d sent to her insisting she stay on at Wyndmere Hall while I settle matters here in London.”
Edward’s posture relaxed for the first time since he’d entered the duke’s study. “Our little sister has a temper around people she’s familiar with, but she’s always been a ray of sunshine in our lives.”
“There will be talk and innuendo among our peers, who will be only too happy to share the details of our brother’s demise. But I daresay there will be a few influential members of society who remember Father and his impeccable reputation and see most of those rumors squashed.”
“The endless round of balls and entertainments are a bore,” his brother grumbled.
Jared would have readily agreed, but the new Duke of Wyndmere had responsibilities to more than his brother and sister—to the title and all it entailed. “Essential for our sister, the Lady Phoebe, to be a success. We have to present a united front,” the duke continued, “our behavior above reproach for this first part of our campaign to be successful.”
“Dash it all, Jared! You make it sound as if we’re at war.”
The duke slowly rose from his seat. “We are.”
Finally realizing the depth and severity of their plight, Edward rose and offered his hand. “I give you my word not to frequent the stews or gaming hells until dear Phoebe has accepted an offer of marriage.”
“That I have approved,” the duke added.
“That we have approved.”
The duke searched his brother’s face for a clue as to whether or not his brother jested. When he realized his brother was as intent on seeing their sister settled as he was, he nodded. “Your connections in society will aid in our selection of potential suitors.”
His brother smiled. “Why don’t you draw up a list of candidates?”
The duke’s eyes narrowed while he considered the suggestion. “I shall give the matter my full consideration.”
“Good God, Jared,” his brother drawled, “you sound just like Father.”
The duke smiled. “Thank you.”
His brother waited a beat then asked, “Am I dismissed? I’m rather famished and desperately need a—”
“Bracing cup of tea.”
Edward grinned. “Quite so, Your Grace.”
“Edward?”
His brother paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “What now?”
“Thank you.” Relief filled the duke as his brother quit the room. Their discussion had gone far better than expected.
Now to the next task on his list. A bit more difficult than the face to face discussion he’d had with his brother would be writing to their sister explaining her arrival in London would be delayed a bit longer. He fully expected her to balk—as the correct period of mourning had passed, but the delay was twofold and necessary. He planned to screen potential suitors while continuing to rebuild the family’s reputation.
Dash it all, he would see his plans put into motion before she made her bow into society. His sister’s future depended upon it.
I’m delighted to introduce Lady Persephone Farnsworth.
Snippet from chapter one: Mending the Duke’s Pride
© Copyright 2021 by C.H. Admirand/Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Photo credit: Beautiful woman standing in the palace room by Kanareva/DepositPhotos_Purchased 12_09_2016
Persephone lowered her gaze to her toes, staring at the soft muted greens and roses of the carpet in her mother’s retiring room. Colors always soothed her—but had the opposite effect on her mother, who couldn’t see the varying shades clearly.
She should feel guilty. She’d used her mother’s affliction to her own ends. But she bloody well wasn’t going to marry any one of the numerous suitors lined up, determined to add Persephone’s fortune to their coffers.
“I’m waiting, Daughter.”
She knew it was time to acquiesce, but she was not ready to admit total defeat. “Mother, you promised.”
“I’ve made so many to you since your father died, I cannot keep track. Which promise exactly?”
A glimmer of hope filled Persephone’s breast. “The one where you would allow me to choose the color of my ballgowns as long I had Madame Beaudoine’s stamp of approval.”
“And I distinctly recall I had full say over the cut of your gowns.”
“Well yes, of course, Mamma.”
“I’ve sent word around to Madame Beaudoine, your future depends upon—”
“Please don’t blame Madame,” Persephone interrupted. “She only wishes to please the both of us…no small task as you know.”
Lady Farnsworth was listening—intently. “Of course. Now as to the color of your gown—”
Persephone’s shoulders slumped. She’d have to tell the whole of it. “It’s an odd shade of yellow…with a greenish tinge to it.”
Her mother’s mouth opened and closed twice. “What are you about, Daughter? You look positively dreadful in yellow.”
“Don’t forget it has a hint of green.”
“I would imagine everyone at the ball will give you a wide birth, fearing you are about to cast up your accounts on their shoes.”
Persephone’s eyes widened at her mother’s use of such an expression…well, truth be told, her father had said the same on more than one occasion, but never her mother. Stifling the laughter bubbling inside of her, she agreed, “Perhaps.”
Her mother raised her eyes heavenward and Persephone waited for her mother to finish counting.
“I realize you don’t want to marry, but it is your duty. One does not simply refuse every suitor because of the worry he is after your inheritance. Oft times, it is what seals the deal as your father was wont to say.”
“I know. But Mamma, you said you had an affection for Father before you wed.”
Her mother’s smile blossomed slowly before fading away. “I did.”
“And he was taken with you.”
“He was.”
Persephone cleared her throat. “All I’m asking is a chance to feel affection—not revulsion, for the bold or arrogant lords strutting in our parlor like a bunch of barnyard roosters.”
Her mother’s jaw dropped, and Persephone wondered if she’d truly landed in the suds this time for her colorful expressions. And then her mother started to laugh until tears trickled down her face and she reached out to envelope Persephone in the warmth of her embrace.
“You are your father’s daughter, my dear.”
“Does that mean you’ll send word around to Madame that you’ve seen my gown and are ecstatic over the cut and color?”
Her mother sighed and smoothed a lock of hair off Persephone’s forehead. “Do not think to slip another bilious color past my guard,” she warned.
“Thank you, Mamma!” Persephone watched her mother gracefully glide down the hall toward the staircase. Would that she’d taken a bit more after her mother and had inherited just a smidge of her grace and beauty…
“I’d be well and truly wed these two years past,” she grimaced. “To a buffoon of a lord with bandy legs and an arrogant swagger.”
Hurrying toward her room, she wondered where she’d left the latest pair of spectacles she’d borrowed. She would need them tonight for the Hollisters’ ball. Her mother didn’t know about this latest addition to the guise she wore whenever out in society…and on the far side of the ballroom from her mother.
She hoped to be firmly ensconced in the country at the family estate before Lady Farnsworth got wind of her latest attempt to detract suitors.
Later that evening, having bathed in her favorite lilac-scented water and assisted into her new ballgown, Persephone was quite pleased with the modest but fashionable cut. The only detracting element was the startling fact her new favorite shade of yellowish-green washed out her pale cream-colored skin, turning it quite ghastly.
Lifting the hem of her gown, she stared at the lovely satin slippers she wore. “I certainly hope no one will cast up their accounts on my new slippers.”
Reaching for her reticule, she pulled out the spectacles and tried them on. “Perfect,” she beamed. “No one will think to look twice at a sickly-looking lady in an unfortunate gown, wearing bottle-like lenses.”
Lifting her head to peer through the thick lenses, her stomach roiled, and her head swam. “Best not to actually look through these.”
She closed her eyes and shifted the spectacles a bit lower on the bridge of her nose before opening them again.
Her stomach and head were in complete accord. “Ahh, much better.” She tucked her spectacles into the small satin bag on her arm, slipped on her kid gloves and started for the door.
“My wrap!”
She hurried over to her fainting couch to retrieve it. Smoothing the garment over her arm, she took one last look at her reflection and tried not to laugh. “Time to dazzle the assemblage gathered at the Hollisters’.”
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